'Tis pleasant when the fields are brown, and trees are wintry bare,
To follow on the upland downs the hunting of the hare,
To watch the lithe and active spring of the greyhounds as they go,
And the cunning skill of the wary chase as she doubles to and fro.
'Tis pleasant in the bracing air of a grey November morn
To wake the echoes of the woods with the sound of the bugle-horn,
To hear beside the covert wide the neighing of the horse,
And the bell-like cry of the questing hounds as they break from the dewy gorse.
And pleasant 'tis on the Highland hills to stalk the stately deer,
Where the thunder of the cataract comes grimly on the ear,
And far away upon the brae you faintly can discern
The antlers of the noble stag among the bristling fern.
But, oh! if you had even been upon the prairies wide,
Where yet the Indian Warrior roams in Nature's honest pride,
"Tis little you would think of deer, and less of hare and hound,
When the glories lay before you of that mighty hunting-ground!
We slept one night around our fire upon the velvet sward,
And no one, save the stars above, took thought of watch or ward;
We woke ere yet the stars were dim or the dappling sky was red,
And plunged into the crystal stream that flowed beside our bed.
Light fare was ours that morning, as 'twas the day before,
We had not seen a hoof or horn for forty hours and more;
But little did we reck of that, for we were young and bold,
And we laughed at every care as though we never should grow old.
Once more upon our steeds, once more we galloped o'er the plain,
We bounded o'er the river course, and never drew the rein;
We skirted hill and threaded dale, yet nothing did we see
Save a solitary Raven perched upon a withered tree.
"What luck, thou sooty messenger? is any quarry nigh?
Now, as I live, he flaps his wing, he croaks as in reply,
And slowly from the branch he flits and lights upon the ground,
Just on the broken summit of that rough and rugged mound!
"Still! still, my comrades-breathe your steeds-there's work for us to-day,
Yon wily bird is on the watch: ev'n now he scents his prey:
He cannot reach it save through us-fit caution let us take,
Not only for our noble selves, but for the Raven's sake.
"See here, upon the trampled sod what dented marks appear!
Not these the footprints of the elk, nor of the stately deer-
A thousand mighty beasts, be sure, this morning crossed the rill,
And may be pasturing ev'n now in the hollow of the hill.
"Peer noiselessly above the edge, and tells us what's below?"
By Heaven!-unsling your rifles quick!-a herd of buffalo!
Black shaggy bulls, with desert kine, they're straggling up the wind,
One bearded monster leads them, and the others move behind.
"Now, comrades, are you ready? Take heed of what you do ;
Be sure your reins are stout and firm, your aim is clear and true.
For once among the startled herd there's neither stop nor stay,
And a fearful enemy to meet is the buffalo at bay!
"All ready? onward then! hurrah!" and with a hearty cheer
We topped the broken bank, and then-I've seldom thrilled with fear—
But 'twas an awful sight to see these shaggy monsters turn,
And glare upon our little band with eyes that seemed to burn!
One moment savagely they stood, all silent as before:
Another-and a thousand beasts sent forth a hideous roar :
Another-and in sudden rout they scoured across the plain,
And their trampling shook the solid earth like a whirling hurricane !
Hurrah! hurrah! upon them now! Well ridden, comrades mine!
A prairie horse can keep his course with swiftest desert kine.
Hurrah! hurrah! upon them now! Pour in the deadly balls!
There's two are lying far behind, and there another falls!
The leader, friends-the leader bull! let's make our mark of him!
How fearlessly he tears along! how black his beard and grim!
How deep that surly growl of his, as he tosses back his mane,
I would not lose that monster bull for twenty of his train.
Hurrah! hurrah! he's struck at last! right well that bullet sped!
See there upon his hairy flank the blood is spurting red-
Another and another yet-he slackens in his pace-
Well hast thou run, thou prairie king, but 'tis thy latest race !
He turns, he turns! back, back, I say! let all the rest go by;
There's danger in that savage front, there's danger in that eye!
Wheel round, wheel round in circling ring, and keep the circle large,
Nor horse nor man can ever stand against that creature's charge.
He charges down with levelled horns, thick mane, and furious roar—
Aside we spring in circling ring, and in our shot we pour :
Again he turns, comes faster on, and holds his headlong way
Towards the youngest of our band who rides the dappled grey.
Spur fiercely, then! bend down thy head unto the saddle-bow,
"Twere worse than death to meet the thrust of that gigantic foe.
Beware! beware that marshy place, the footing is unsound-
They're down! both man and horse are down, and rolling on the
ground!
Fire on the brute, or both are lost! Ah, well that volley sped!
One other bound--one other toss of that tremendous head-
With failing knee one staggering step-another hideous roar-
And down he falls exhausted-dead-upon the prairie floor!
"Good luck to thee, old Raven! I see thee watching there,
We've struck the stately quarry-take thou the largest share.
Glad may we be to hear thy croak, whene'er we hunters go,
On the wild and lonely wilderness to track the buffalo!"
SCENES AND SPORTS IN FOREIGN LANDS.
BY LIEUT.-COLONEL E. NAPIER, 46TH REG.
THE ROAD, THE TURF, AND THE CHASE AT MELITA.
And order mules obedient to the rein;
For rough the way, and distant rolls the wave,
Where their fair vests ogygian virgins lave.—POPE's Odyssey, Book 6.
CITTA VECCHIA stands on an elevated site, almost in the centre of the Island of Malta, and about seven or eight miles from La Valette, whence I had taken my departure, to pass as I best might the time which must elapse ere a steamer should bear me from its "glowing" precincts, which always reminded me of a smoking limekiln, with its glare, and heat, and white pulverised dust.
Having been, as before stated, comfortably installed into that general medium of conveyance here, a calêche, we may as well give the uninitiated reader a short description of this extraordinarily constructed, though peculiarly convenient locomotive.
Imagine not, ye Knights of the whip and ribands, ye Members of the Four-in-hand Club, that a start for a journey at Malta in any way resembles a similar move either from the Bull and Mouth, or the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly. Picture not to your heated imagination the compact and well-appointed vehicle, the dapper coachman, the shining harness, and well-fed team, who, as the magic word "all right" is pronounced, start like firebolts from under the warm rugs, which, sole records of their presence, are left waving in the hands of the obsequious ostlers, as, devouring space and distance, they fly off on the wings of the wind.
In no one particular does the Maltese calêche resemble these earthly meteors. Picture to yourself, most sapient reader, a lineal descendant of the vehicle which conveyed Madame Noah and family to the ark-or one of its Phoenician ancestors at the time of the siege of Tyre by that "great Conqueror," Alexander-or a cousin-german of My Lord Mayor's coach, stuck on two wheels instead of four-and you may form some idea, though a very faint one, of these antique-looking chariots, which are nevertheless particularly adapted to the locality and the nature of the work required of them.
The "ground-work" of one of these constructions consists, first, of a pair of enormous wheels some six feet at the least in diameter: these, supporting an axle running completely abaft, or at the sternmost extremity of a pair of immeasurably long shafts, form one poin
VOL. I.-THIRD SERIES, N. S.-No. 1.
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