gratefully acknowledges "hur raily thinks it does un more good than a power of doctor's stuff." In all matters relating to ferrets, rats, or rabbits, Sam is universally admitted to be a high authority, and inbut, Lord bless us! this will never do; should we, as at starting we intended, go slap through the catalogue of our hero's capabilities, we might keep on for a fortnight at least; as a closer, then, what shall we call him, or what would he call himself? Ostler, horse-breaker, keeper, poacher, gardener, clipper (or rather Tov pov for, like many other professions, it sounds all the grander when smothered in Greek), hedger, or must we fly to "factotum," " jack of all trades,” or something indefinite of that kind. To none of these, to our certain knowledge, will Sam submit; at the ostler, poacher, and so forth, he is indignant, as of course he ought to be, and" factotum" he will not hear of" at any price." Only ask him, as we did, and you will be satisfied in a moment: no answer could be more correct or more to the purpose. "What am I, sir? Why, if you want's to know what I am, I'm a gentleman's servant, out of place." "Out of place" -can anything beat that? We always thought Sam a sharp fellow, but this convinced us. Yes, Sam, yes; we never remember hearing of your having one, but should you, we will pound it you could not be more out of place than when in a place.

Let there be anything like a public meeting in our own or the adjoining county, two of our townsmen are almost sure to meet there— the big brewer and Sam Keene; yet, nine times out of ten, it is impossible to give the slightest idea what could have induced either of them to come. On, however, facing the parties themselves, you find they have perhaps better reasons for their presence than any other two men of the whole assembly. The brewer, indeed, is always particularly anxious to let you know that it was quite accidental his being there at all: "Just calling at some of his houses when he first heard of it"-" Chanced to be going through to see a new tenant at the Oak;" in short, what you never for a moment supposed, the brewer is there entirely on his own business, and what makes it rather singular, if there ever is a lark in the wind the brewer is sure to have business which requires his attendance in the same direction. Nay, the first on the ground, and the last to leave the dinner table, is the man who "dropped in quite by accident, and never heard a syllable about it until within a mile and a half of the rendezvous." An old saying terms "everybody's business-nobody's business;" but Sam is a striking example of its fallacy, for everybody's business is Sam's peculiar care. There is not a sale by auction from one year's end to another but Sam trots out and makes the most of the black cob, which half-a-dozen elderly gentlemen have come on purpose to purchase; polishes up the harness and garden tools, and fills up the odd lots with the most wonderful and heterogeneous mass of lumber. When the squire gives a grand day, and drags the great fish-pond, who is head man with the head keeper in throwing the nets and sorting the fish? Who but friend Sam, the biggest poacher alive, and well known to the keeper as such; but then the latter (and the squire himself has only an under-voice in anything relating to the game) is equally well aware that it would be quite impossible to find so

or

good, and next to impossible to go well through the day without Sam Keene as an assistant. Who is sure to have a horse to sell at this fair for one man, and on the look-out for another at the next? who can show a nag off better, or cry one down more effectually? "Now hiding a stumble, now concealing a trip,"

now calling attention to an incipient spavin, curby hocks, or swearing to an imaginary splint, just to suit his book-buying or selling, as the case may be. It was Sam, too, who trained the winner of the last Farmers' Cup; and, up to ten minutes before starting, was not only confident of winning with the four-year-old, but on him. At the moment, however, the bell rung for saddling, an objection-purposely delayed-was put in as to Sam's qualification as a gentleman jock, and a most amusing but exceedingly fierce wrangle followed. On his behalf it was affirmed, that "as he was not in any service or trade, and was in the County Yeomanry Cavalry, of course he must be a gentleman." On the other hand, as " he would be paid for riding, was in the habit of clipping horses, and had dined in the stewards' servants' hall, of course he could not be a gentleman." These arguments, with every possible variation, were gone through and through, and over and over again for something more than an hour, when, the spectators waxing impatient, the steward-who had been smoking a cigar in his own stand, neither hearing or caring a word about the matter was called upon to decide; and, having been previously whispered by the clerk of the course, did decide that Sam's being permitted to ride as a gentleman would be a bad precedent, and that he was sorry to say Mr. Trueman must provide himself with another jockey. Again the bell rang; and farmer Trueman, having scarcely time to look around him, gladly availed himself of the services of a gentleman-a real gentleman jockey this time, and no mistake!— who, to qualify himself for the character, had been three times through the Insolvent Court, and had, nevertheless, profited by some very considerable dealings in horses and bills; having, report said, done everything short of stealing the former or forging the latter. Though generally allowed on these grounds to be a gentleman jockey, we must in candour state that he rode anything but like a gentleman. Not that we mean to infer anything derogatory by this quite the contrary-for he rode uncommonly well: equal to, many said far better than Sam would, and won his race very cleverly in two heats -thus sharing at least half the honours of the victory with the trainer, and pocketing rather more than half the specie given with the silver cup, according to a quiet agreement made with the owner immediately after receiving his orders. So much for being paid for riding! We might continue this part of our subject, treating of Sam's abilities as scout at a cricket or pigeon match ad infinitum ; but in mercy for, and for fear our readers should begin to fancy we are romancing, or that our aim was to out-do the admirable Crichton himself, we will hold hard; merely repeating that if there is a public meeting of any description within reach, whether held for the purpose of electing a knight of the shire, or baiting a badger, swearing in the mayor, or turning out a bag-fox; no matter what-so long as

there be a chance of a run or a row, so sure is Sam Keene to take a prominent part in the day's proceedings.

Two qualities highly requisite for so public and so popular a character, Sam possesses in an eminent degree-viz., a capability of swallowing almost an unlimited quantity of liquor without its having any apparent effect on him, and his invariable good humour. Without the first, or indeed either of these, it would be impossible for him to preserve his reputation for any length of time; for let him undertake a job-no matter whether it occupies him three minutes or three days-one standing item in his agreements is, "A morsel of something to eat, and a drop of drink." And we are convinced that he would feel more thoroughly satisfied with one shilling, something for the inward man, and a chat in the kitchen, to five times the amount in dry money. This secret of drinking without getting drunk makes Sam the wonder of all the country bumpkins who have the honour of his acquaintance; and they look on him with a kind of envious admiration, as if contemplating some rare virtue in the man, shaking their heads, and occasionally grunting forth-"Lord! what a nation sight of beer he can stand, sure-ly!"

If anything, however, these Johnnys have perhaps more reason to envy him for the second quality-his good humour; which, coupled with his good looks-for he is a fine, black-muzzled fellow-makes him quite as much an object of admiration with the women as his anti-intoxicating powers may with the men. And this, many old house-keepers tell us, is the great objection they find to "the morsel of something to eat in the kitchen;" for while there he turns the heads of all the maid servants-sure of their ears, if not of their hearts; and that, in fact, for a few days after his visit they are fit for nothing. This we have been told. From our own observation we can venture to say that he has more work in carrying trunks and band-boxes for maids who have left, or who are going to their places, than any three rural beaus in the county; but for these little "helps" he makes no direct. charge, giving his services, no doubt, for love. To prove, however, Sam's execution among the fair sex, let us take a case or two of his conquests. Imprimis, then, there is Dr. Brightenem's cook, a steady, good servant, "fair, fat, and forty," who has been in her place we can't say how many years, and has nobody knows how much money in the saving's bank, despite of all her friends or his foes say, would make Samthe chandler" to-morrow. A second example-but now, confound the fellow, we have half a mind never to give him another good word, for we cannot help thinking that little Fanny, the rector's nursery maid, a really pretty girl, with a dark bright eye and a neat ancle confound the fellow, we say, we are inclined to fancy his impudence (it can be nothing else) has had some influence even with her. Walk when we will of a fine morning up "the fair mile"-and somehow or other of late, like the brewer, business has frequently required that we should-there we are sure to find Fanny with "those fine healthy children" in the shady walk, looking as bewitching and pleasing as ever; but then there is one figure which sadly mars the effect of the picture-almost as sure are we to find that villain Sam also on business in "the fair mile." Exercising

a horse, carrying a message, something or other which makes it necessary for him to walk up the whole mile by the side of Fanny, ay, and generally back again. What a silly girl she is to listen to him, as indeed we have told her before this, for he never for a moment thinks of making her his wife

"Well! but do you, sir?"

Why, gentle reader, that is the very question Fanny put to us her self. It is an awkward one, we admit; and, as you may see this is rather a sore subject, with your permission, we'll drop it.

*

*

Having said so much in favour of this Sam Keene, it is but fair we should let our readers know a little per contra (we cannot forget" the fair mile” affair.) Like all mortals, he is not without his failings; among the most prominent of which are a trick of at times giving short, or rather verging on saucy answers; a determination to have entirely his own way in everything he undertakes to do, or not do it at all; and, far greater than either of these, he now and then does get into trouble, and has to make his bow in the Town-hall to "his betters." The charge is generally trespass-merely looking for a few mushrooms, as Sam says; while, according to one complainant," he was after and ready to sack anything from a h'earwig to a h'elephant." Though a conviction rarely follows, or if the verdict should be against him, in consideration of the capital excuse he makes, a small fine only is inflicted. The pith of this same excuse, by-the-bye, must be ours for saying so much about him, and the very one the poor street singers are at this moment repeating under our window; the chorus, if we mistake not, of one of Lover's ballads

"Because we have nothing else to do."

SPORTING PEREGRINATIONS.

BY ROBIN HOOD.

SCENES IN THE KENNEL AND AT THE COVERT SIDE.

-Vocat ingenti clamore Citharon
Taygetique canes.

There is something appertaining to the autumnal quarter peculiarly in unison with the character and amusements of Englishmen, especially when they are enabled to enjoy that period of the year in the exhilirating pursuit of field sports and other rural pleasures which a country life affords. The first of September is ushered in and welcomed by the reports of the fowling-piece, as though all were unanimous in firing a fue de joie on the occasion. The gratifi

cation of the tyro frequently exceeds that of the crack shot, whose triumph is centred in the boast that he has secured nineteen head out of twenty shots, firing only at those within range; while the aforesaid appears to think one part of his pleasure is accomplished if he make one in the demonstration of rejoicing, judging from the fact of his frequently blazing at whole coveys when far beyond reach of an ordinary charge of powder and shot. The past month of September has however been as unpropitious to the lovers of the trigger as almost any within remembrance; almost the whole of the time the ground has been so dry, and the atmosphere so hot, that during the middle of the day the scent has been so defective as to baffle the efforts of the steadiest and finest-nosed setters or pointers, whilst the oppression occasioned by the heat has rendered it an undertaking equally fatiguing to man and dogs.

October introduces an additional stimulus in the pursuit of the gaudy pheasant, the attainment of which in covert, not being so dependent upon the olfactory senses of the dog, has not been so much influenced by the dryness of the season as partridge shooting, if the sportsman had the vigour, courage, and resolution to contend against the oppressive heat of the day in strong woods, and content with the shooting his game in the coverts instead of following such as may escape to the hedge-rows, brakes, and thickets-a system which embraces by far the most exciting and sportsmanlike system of pheasant shooting.

The merry harrier has already begun to tune his vocal music in chase of the timid hare, although the same obstacle-the dryness and heat of the season-has materially postponed the commencement of his operations. The early dawn has been the only period when the exertion of his powers could with any degree of practicability be put in requisition, and even then the propriety of working him has been more than doubtful. The adamantine hardness of the earth has been so conspicuous, that the very great probability of laming hounds must have operated strongly to recommend the due consideration of the results which must succeed work when the ground is in such a state.

Simultaneously with the appearance of this number, the emperor of British sports-fox-hunting-will commence its reign for the season, and come forth with cheering power to dispel the gloom, the sorrow, and the cares which that otherwise dull and disconsolate month would inflict upon the phlegmatic constitutions of Englishmen.

These engagements naturally invite most men to resort to their homes, a hallowed designation, dear to the hearts of all. Dryden says

"Home is the sacred refuge of our life,
Secured from all approaches, but a wife."

It is a sanctuary which we all seck, and one, after all, which affords us the greatest pleasure; and as an augmentation to the happiness which it provides, nothing creates greater zest to a country life than the engagement of field sports. There is a magical influence in a country house, when the occupant has the power and the inclination