it can be pursued, Sardinia has the first claim to the Sportsman's attention. In the latter island, a five-minutes' ride from one's quarters generally wins the magnificent waste, when, if steadily horsed, and with good dogs, the most exciting sport may be enjoyed with the least amount of fatigue.

Of the beasts of chase, the red deer and the fallow deer (in Corsica there are none of the latter) haunt the woods; the muffoli delights in the highest pinnacles of the mountains, the wild boar roams through the forests, and is often found in the bush; nay, will even venture within the stone enclosures. In the mountainous and wooded parts of both islands, large game is to be found; fallow deer and boars are especially abundant in Sardinia, though, as a set off, the red deer of Corsica are larger than those of the sister island. Deer-stalking being unknown, the woods are surrounded by shepherds, who, having placed strangers in the most favourable posts, drive them with a few dogs, while an incessant shouting is kept up in every quarter but the one where the shooters are stationed. This mode of hunting, which has probably not altered since the earliest ages, generally causes the slaughter of some deer and boars, especially the latter, which are not easily turned from their point. The prey is equally divided amongst those who beat as well as those that remain at the posts; the successful marksman can only claim, in addition, the hide and horses. Sardinia is famous for a race of boar hounds of unrivalled courage and strength. In appearance, they more resemble a powerful lurcher than any other dog known to us, and are probably a cross between the once celebrated Spanish mastiff and the greyhound. One of these hounds will seize a boar by the ear, and hold the captive till the huntsman is in; who, dismounting very coolly, feels for the heart, and gives the coup de grace with a clasp knife, the blade of which is often not more than four inches long. Those dogs will also bring wild cattle and horses to the ground.

Pheasants and partridges are found in Corsica; the former are now very rare. There are no pheasants in Sardinia, but it numbers the grey as well as the red-legged birds at the southern extremity. Quails, woodcocks, snipes, wild ducks, and rock pigeons are common to

both islands.

The red-legs are extremely difficult to deal with on the ground; once on the wing, they offer the most exciting shots, as their flight is much more eccentric than that of the grey bird. The speed of these partridges is extraordinary; a crippled bird will keep a swift dog at a good round canter for at least a quarter of a mile. A covey, therefore, when marked down, should be immediately followed on horseback; if they are not soon found, a very wide cast must be made before dismounting, as there is every chance of their running at least half a mile a head. It is at this trying crisis, when the ardour of pursuit almost amounts to ecstacy, that the mettle of dogs, horses, and men is tried the most. After the second, or at most the third flight, the red-legs never rise in coveys; two or three birds are then generally flushed at the same time, which direct their course across or over the head of the sportsman. Scent, "that very fiery particle," presents more wonderful phenomena in these southern

H

regions than in our own country. On days, hot to suffocation, when a strong man can hardly support himself on horseback, so furnace glowing is the air, the red-legs are generally found, brought down, and retrieved in superior style. On other days equally oppressive, when the African sirocco is blowing, not a bird is to be seen. Α moist, warm, drizzly day is not unfavourable to partridge shooting in Norfolk stubbles; in Sardinia on the contrary, in such weather very little sport can be expected. In a cold wind the birds completely disappear; no satisfactory reason can be given for this curious fact.

It is the opinion of the best French writers that the red-legs migrate, if not beyond the seas, at least to districts very far distant from their birth-place. Much weight must be given to this observation, as it is otherwise next to impossible to account for the dearth, in certain years, of birds in their most frequented haunts. Besides, the enduring strength and speed of the red-legs appears to have been granted by nature for the purpose of seeking their food over a wide extent of country of very unequal fertility.

These birds are found in valleys, and on the sides of the lower hills, by the banks of rivers, near those little patches of tilled land so often met with in Sardinia, in the midst of the bush, and especially about the ruins of old castles, churches, and shepherds' huts, whither they repair for shelter during the autumn and winter nights. They are more rarely to be met with in the deep forests of holm and cork-oak, and are seldom, if ever, seen on the tops of the highest mountains.

Much might be said on the banditti and brigands with whom Corsica and Sardinia are overrun, but this interesting topic requires a lengthened discussion which would far exceed the limits of these short notes. Suffice it to say, that much circumspection and selfcommand are necessary in one's general intercourse with the people of both islands, who are still, especially in Sardinia, very little removed from a state of nature. It is requisite, also, that one at least of a shooting party should be a very fair Italian scholar. Before deciding upon an excursion to these magnificent islands, it is necessary to pass calmly in review the amusement of shooting in England, in contrast with its enjoyment in Corsica and Sardinia. In our happy land the accessories of the sport are as enjoyable as the sport itself. The hospitality and almost regal luxury of country life in England, unknown elsewhere in the world; the social intercourse of our friends; and last, though not least, the assistance of a numerous train of keepers, beaters, markers, and other men skilled in woodcraft, who lighten in every way the toils of the amateur-all these are wanting in the southern highlands. Your enjoyment must be in the immense expanse of the green waste; your only friends are too frequently your horse and your trusty dogs; your only intercourse with yourself, with that intellectual being which transports us to other times, and scenes, and changes, so often amidst the solitude of nature, the present for the past and the future. In addition, many discomforts must be borne, and borne patiently, which all your skill will frequently be unable to remove; prudence, therefore, recommends that our capacity for enduring privations, as well as our relish for pleasures, very different in kind, if not in degree, should be tasted before determining upon a trip to Corsica and Sardinia.

ORLANDO,

WINNER OF THE DERBY.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY J. F. HERRING, SEN.

"I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth." AS YOU LIKE IT.

Such of our readers who are in the habit of reading ancient history, the Racing Calendar, and other entertaining and useful works of that kind, have no doubt a tolerably clear recollection of two gentlemen, the mainstay of whose celebrity was delay, whose motto was or is festina lente, and whose names we may add, for the information of all who have not Goldsmith and Weatherby at their fingers-ends, are Fabius Maximus, surnamed Cunctator, and Samuel Chifney, surnamed the Old Screw. Now, in this mile-a-minute age of steam, aerial, and such like infernal machines, one would naturally suppose that this brace of heroes would have gone right out of fashion, but, so far from this being the case, we pride ourselves no little on having taken a leaf out of their book within this last three months. Only just fancy that we, instead of biding our time, and watching every move of the enemy, had taken every word those Jews and Gentiles swore to as gospel, and given the horse called Running Rein as the winner of the Derby. Only fancy the pertinent remarks we should have made about "gold tried in the fire; upright conduct; justice no respecter of persons; how glad we were to see an humble individual like Mr. Badger Wood carrying off the great stake," and a vast deal more hyperbolical humbug of this sort; and then only fancy the "fix" we should have been in at this moment to work ourselves right again. If any of our friends cannot sympathise with us on this occasion-if they cannot echo the good judgment we have displayed in backing out of this hobble, still we are sure there is not one who will hesitate to join in with three cheers for the "good cause" (as they say at the political spreads). Hurrah for the Colonel! hurrah for justice! hurrah for Lord George! and one more-one cheer more— hurrah for the gentlemen!

Having devoted a separate paper in the present number to the consideration of the late Derby, and the rascally proceedings connected therewith, we neither see the necessity nor feel the inclination for renewing it here, and gladly confine ourselves to our immediate and far more agreeable subject. In our remarks on the state of the odds for April last, we thus spoke of the veritable Simon Pure, the real winner of the Derby, and no mistake::

"While Orlando, the ostensible, and certainly (from the past) deservedly second hope of the Newmarket men, still keeps his own, if not on the improvement. The Colonel, as the Hedgford lads say, is