Tom,' shouted a voice from the gallery, 'ought you not to be after giving your ducks a swim?'"

After threading the crowd on the pier, we were assailed by numerous idle boys, "cads," shoeblacks, fly-drivers, boatmen, perambulating vendors of fish, and omnibus conductors, all of whom were anxious to carry our umbrellas, show us to the best lodging-houses, clean our boots with the most brilliant Day and Martin's blacking, furnish us with a fast-stepping trotter to any of the neighbouring places, give us a sail or a pair of oars to the wreck of the Northern Belle, sell us a pint of fresh shrimps, or convey us for sixpence in the 'bus to Ramsgate, or to Canterbury and back, thirty-four miles, for two shillings. Declining all these proffered civilities, we left our luggage at the steamboat office, and proceeded in search of apartments, little imagining the difficulties we should have to contend with.

"Have you a quiet sitting and two airy bedrooms?" I inquired at a house facing the sea.

"Yes, sir," responded the owner, showing us into a small parloura back dormitory about twelve feet square, and an attic of rather smaller dimensions. "Our garden wall rather darkens that room, sir; but the shade of the trees is very pleasant." I looked through the window, and saw a patch of burnt up grass, two stunted laburnums, almost leafless, and a diminutive border of marigolds, tastefully ornamented with flints and shells. "Only three guineas a-week, and sixpence a-day for the kitchen fire."

Tempting as was the offer, at least in the eyes of the landlady, we did not feel disposed to accede to it, and tried another house, where the drawing-room and bedroom floors were unoccupied.

"A party," said the maid-of-all-work, are about them, and offered missus five pounds a-week, but she won't deduct the shillings." "Why, what on earth's that noise?" inquired the Colonel.

"Only the young gentlemen at play," responded the servant; "they occupy the parlours and attics, and of course never think of coming upstairs, except to go to bed." This assertion was immediately belied, by a rush of eight noisy brats into the drawing-room, shouting, hallooing, and bellowing "Follow my leader," which game was practically carried on by a youth in full chase, and hotly pursued by his juvenile comrades, who, perfectly reckless of consequences, scrambled over the sofa, upset the table, and very nearly tripped up the Colonel. "Playful creatures," said the maid; "so full of spirits!"

Westerham looked daggers, and was about to apply his light bamboo cane to the hindermost urchin, when I appeased his anger by remarking how fortunate we had been in discovering the noisy propensities of the inmates before we had engaged the lodgings. House after house did we visit, seeing many eligible apartments; all, however, had some drawback. In one instance we had nearly concluded our arrangements, when a double perambulator attracted our attention, and two splendid twins, with lungs that would have done credit to one of Wombwell's wild beast showmen, began to scream in the highest note known in the infantine gamut; this was quite enough for us, who hastily, and rather unceremoniously, quitted the premises.

Disgusted at last with the incumbrances, the exorbitant demands, the extras, the flippancy of the landladies, we ordered a fly, and,

calling for our luggage, desired the coachman to drive us to Kingsgate and Broadstairs. Upon reaching the former place, which is one of the prettiest spots in the Isle of Thanet, we were told of a farmhouse near the North Foreland which was to be let; hastening there, we found a very comfortable rural cottage, with garden, barns, piggeries, and strawyard, and at once secured it for a month. Baillie Nichol Jarvie remarks, "When you leave home, ye cannot expect to tak' the comforts of the Salt-market wi' ye;" and, agreeing with the saying of that worthy Glasgow body, we made up our minds to rough it, when, to our great delight, the advantages of this rural dwelling greatly predominated over the disadvantages. It is true we were nearly driven crazy by swarms of buzzing insects that pastered us in our evening walks, and who bore the ominous title of July bugs; but then, as a set off, our beds were free from their phlebotomising namesakes. If we were awaked at an early hour by the crowing of the cock and the cackling of hens, we were amply repaid by the new-laid eggs for breakfast; if the geese treated us with those sibilations so unpleasant to the ear, the prospect of one stubble-fed at Michaelmas quite consoled us for their hissing propensities; if the flies would try to sip our cream, what a comfort to know it was worth sipping, and that no cow with an iron tail had furnished it! There was one great delight in our country quarters-the facility of bathing at all times without the aid of a rumbling machine; the sands all about Kingsgate being perfect, and recesses in the chalky cliffs forming admirable retiring nooks for dressing. My only wonder is, that some spirited individuals have not established a joint stock company for the improvement of Kingsgate. With ample means and good management a harbour might be made, new houses built, hotels erected, and baths opened, rendering this spot, so highly favoured by nature, one of the most perfect watering-places in England. An occasional drive to Margate, Broadstairs, and Ramsgate, tended to pass our time agreeably. While upon the subject of these visits, I cannot refrain from referring to a practice which is a disgrace to humanity, and which, unfortunately, is carried on to a frightful extent; I allude to the cruelty of the donkeydrivers, and those who employ them; indeed, the greatest blame is attributable to the latter, who, from their position in life, ought to know better. How often have I seen a party of fat, bloated, vulgar-looking people, with their lanky sons, scraggy daughters, and obese babies, crowding a heavy phaeton, with one jaded, galled, overdriven, illtreated quadruped drawing them-umbrellas, whips, and pointed sticks being used by the passengers and driver to goad the wretched creature on! How often, too, have I witnessed a troop of asinine cavalry, mounted by gaunt, long-legged youths, and flaunting misses, flogging, spurring, kicking, pricking the naturally patient animal, and scampering along the highroad, to the imminent danger of her Majesty's liege subjects, and, what was a minor consideration, to their own necks! This unfeeling conduct of these modern Balaams ought to be brought under the notice of the magistracy; the brutality of the drivers ought to be taken cognizance of by the police; and should the local authorities decline to interfere, it then becomes the imperative duty of the humane portion of the inhabitants and visitors to raise their voices against this crying evil, and, if necessary, to call in the aid of the Society for the Suppression of Cruelty to Animals.

While here, I met with the following lines; and they are so joyous and spirit-stirring, that I cannot deprive myself of the pleasure of quoting them they prove that one of our best writers, Martin Tupper, is as great a poet as a philosopher.

"At five on a dewy morning,

Before the blazing day,

To be up and off on a high-mettled horse,
Over the hills away,

To drink the rich sweet breath of the gorse,
And bathe in the breeze of the Downs,
Ha! man, if you can, match bliss like this,
In all the joys of towns.

"With glad and grateful tongue to join
The lark at his matin hymn,

And thence on faith's own wing to spring,
And sing with cherubim.

To pray from a deep and tender heart,

With all things praying anew,

The birds, and the bees, and the whispering trees,

And heather bedrop't with dew!

To be out with those early worshippers,

And pour the carol too.

"Then off again, with a slackened rein,
And a bounding heart within,

To dash at a gallop over the plain,
Health's golden cup to win.

This, this is the race for gain and grace,

Richer than vases and crowns;

And you that boast your pleasure the most,

Amid the steam of towns,

Come, taste true bliss on a morning like this,
Galloping over the Downs."

SPORTING INCIDENTS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.

BY ROVER.

(Concluded.)

Swiftly revolves the wheel of time; and a few weeks spent amongst the charming places in my last chapter soon come to an end. The enthusiastic fisherman and admirer of rippling streams sighs yet again for swift rivers and pastures new-a good exchange for the close atmosphere and dusty purlieus of Bearn's capital. Merrily our little horses trot along the poplar-lined route to Orthez, famed for its cavalry combat, and the monument that commemorates the same; of their own accord they stop at the sign of "La belle Hôtesse," amidst loitering diligences and lounging suspicious gens d'armes. This is the hostelry, so says tradition, which the Duke of Wellington made his head-quarters, and found, to his dismay, that those active foragers, the French, had

left nought to appease even the ducal appetite. The production, however, of a glittering sovereign, by one of his staff, freshened up the memory of the then belle hôtesse. From a corner she brought forth the remnants of a turkey, and, on the receipt of the promised reward, won an ironical eulogium from the Duke on her method of doing business. To this day her successor keeps up the system; but the quality of the fare prevents the hungry wayfarer from being dissatisfied with the fleecing propensities of his hostess.

But this is no place for the angler to waste his precious time. To the left of Orthez, about twenty-seven miles distant, by a good, but hilly, road is Sauveterre-a village of no pretensions, but prettily situated on the ridge above the river. Through the town of Salues (where beware of taking the wrong turn), old, picturesque, and dirty, lies the route. Oh! those gabled ends and ancient mansions-how they impress me, just fresh from England's plain brick and stuccoed edifices, with romantic notions, and bring up reminiscences of tales of "Auld lang syne!" Why do I indulge in a nearer scrutiny? Why must I discover that dirt is a sad antidote to the pleasures of imagination, and that the scent of garlic-no odoriferous Syrian perfume-puts to flight every romantic idea? But Sauveterre is reached, and at the little inn are we located, having previously, in French fashion, made our bargain with the landlady, whom we knew of old to be a voracious cormorant, devouring all that she could put into her bill. At the bottom of the village flows the gave of Oloron, now swelled into a respectable river, its sides dotted here and there by the ever-revolving salmon-barrow, whose monotonous creaking sound would give warning of danger to anything but a deaf and foolish fish. Like windmills, these barrows have sails of wood, which the current of the water acts upon instead of wind. Two of these sails are fitted with nets tightly stretched, and terminating in a wooden box, from whence there is no exit for the captured fish. Now in mid-air-now plunged again into his native element, in vain the captive beats the sides of his wooden prison, till the fisherman makes his daily visit and summarily despatches him. The barrows are placed, of course, by the side of the river where the water runs deepest, and it is wonderful how many salmon fall victims to this simple contrivance. But though destructive to the salmon, let the trout-fisher regard them with feelings of pleasure; for the wily farmer, the owner of the barrow, forbids the use of nets, which might, by entrapping salmon as well as trout, interfere with his lucrative harvest.

In

Below the town a smaller gave falls into the principal river; to this we first paid our attentions, under the guidance of a civil, and more intelligent than usual, fisherman. The water was clearing from the effects of the late showers, and the moment was propitious; but no sooner had we caught a few fish, than all was spoilt by the wind commencing to blow, and the trout, consequently, being prevented from rising. The effects of a wind are a perfect mystery to me. England, and even in Brittany, a breeze seems to make no difference, but rather increases the chances of success; but let ever such a little wind ruffle these southern waters, "Shoulder rods, and retire," is the order of the day; you may just as well attempt to fish in a dusty road. The next day, and the day after, we carried on the war below the confluence of the two gaves; and though, owing to the unfavourable state of the

weather, we had but poor sport, we saw enough to make us determine to pay Sauveterre a third visit at no very distant period. Our guide, who was not given to romancing on other points, confessed to having hooked numerous large fish; but not being the happy possessor of a rod, he had never landed a victim of more than a pound weight; he lives to regret the loss of many casts of flies in certain rapacious throats. On the two occasions that I visited Sauveterre, the salmon had not ascended the river, or, at any rate, were few and far between; but last July and August they said that an enterprising Englishman had killed some two or three salmon; all bore witness to the sport he had had with the trout. Fish not, I pray, above the town, that much-loved resort of unemployed tailors and cobblers of Sauveterre; night-lines, by dozens, are hidden in those whirling pools, to be fished up at daybreak by the enterprising Gaul. Ludicrous are his movements when an unwelcome stranger comes in sight. Dodging amongst rocks and thickets, he arranges and casts in his destructive implements. Is not our cobbler well aware that his countryman, if cognizant of the whereabouts of the night-lines, will creep down next morning, and attempt to reap the harvest that he has not sown? Round the cheery blaze of a wood-fire are our evenings spent in that humble whitewashed room; and while discussing some undeniable claret, the value of which our hostess alone wots not of, we listen to the nightly tattoo that summons the publicans to close their doors, or the last songs of the conscripts, who have drawn the unlucky numbers that exile them for seven long years. Poor fellows! they have need of something to keep up their spirits on the eve of such long banishment,

From Sauveterre our route lay to St. Jean de Luz, viâ Peyronade and Bayonne. This little town is in the Basque country, between Bayonne and the Spanish frontier, and is good head-quarters for fishing the Nivelle and Bidassoa; for anyone however, unprovided with horses, or not liking to hire that useful quadruped a pony, the distance is a trifle too far from both. Though St. Jean de Luz is on the Nivelle, there is no fishing this side of Ascau, a place at least five miles distant, to which the tide goes up: the town is remarkable for nothing but its chance of subsiding, some fine day, into the sea. It is indeed a wonderful sight, on the occasion of an unusually high tide, to witness the operations of the inhabitants, and the confusion that reigns. triumphant. Over a paltry bulwark sweeps the mighty element, inundating cellars with water instead of wine; men look on apathetically from a distance; women clutch their crucifixes with one hand, and, with a cracked basin in the other, attempt to bale out the sea! All is doubt and uncertainty. This is to be the highest tide of the year; it may, or may not, bring down their houses about their heads. Hope returns once more, as the sea gradually recedes; the cigarette is lighted; the men of Basque-land stand on the pier, listlessly gazing, through the live-long day, at naked urchins disporting themselves in the water. If Demosthenes himself was present in person, his eloquence would fail to wake up the descendant of a hundred conquerors from his dreamy laziness, or incite him to erect dykes or defences for his native town.

For a day or two we are threading the narrow cart-road, whose circuitous windings are to bring us to Ascau. Here the water is sluggish and deep, and here is the residence of salmon and trout, unscathed,