ing anent their provint. Why should the history of a tour differ in anywise from those vexatious histories of Sir Palmerin, Sir Parismus, and Sir Rowland? who, according to friend Hudibras

"When through deserts vast,

And regions desolate they passed,
Where belly timber above ground,
Or under, was not to be found,

Unless they grazed, there's not one word

Of their provision on record;
Which made some confidently write,
They had no stomachs but to fight;"

he exclaims, who having passed a sultry July evening, inhaling the poisonous miasma of a London theatre, sups at two upon oysters and iced champagne. At the same hour of the next day, this man of aching head and shattered nerves lounges in disgust over a breakfast-table loaded with every temptation the foreign cuisine of Perigord, Strasbourg, and Bayonne can supply, but which he tastes not. This is easily understood; so is the context. Two persons in robust health-born and bred in an atmosphere, and following exercises which impart to man the appetite and stamina of a race-horse- pass day after day, from sunrise to sunset, in clambering the most rugged mountains, floundering through watery bogs, in a word, courting all the sources of fatigue incident to a sportsman's life. After the exhaustion of days thus spent, and after a fourteen hours' fast, they arrive at their inn: can it be matter of surprise they should speculate on the probability of a dinner, or amply enjoy it when before them? Retiring to rest with the peasant, and as fully fatigued, and, like him, afoot ere sunrise, is it strange that the quality and quantity of their first meal should be looked to? Travelling through a thinly-populated alpine country, being very unlike travelling through the broad, fat, fertile, thronged plains of merry England, the chance of any intermediate refreshment between a sunrise breakfast and a seven o'clock supper, is more than apocryphal—we ever found it so.

Being now, I presume, rectus in curia touching our gourmandise, let me get on with my narrative.

In about an hour after the bird of Esculapius had been transferred from roost to spit-for every wayfarer, who forswears bluepill and a murdered digestion, will make that interval twixt strong exercise and a hearty meal of animal food-our dish of trouts and roast chicken appeared. Having handled them as Dugald Dalgetty or sportsmen might, who had tarried long for their suppers, and burnt half a dozen cigars, we sought our dormitories. There was a previous understanding that the accuracy of our landlord's report upon Vermiew, should be tested with the first break of dawn.

Possessing the faculty, common enough among fishermen, of rising at any hour it best suits me, I found myself rubbing my eyes, bolt upright in bed, by a few minutes to five o'clock. But the patter of rain against my casement, and the pools that stood thick on the road beneath, showed plainly that wind and rain had been making a merry night of it.

Nothing, therefore, was left but to dream away some of the prospective honours of a wet day at a country inn, and rise to a late break

fast. This was accomplished by eleven o'clock. It fortified us against the frowns and disappointments of the weather, to listen to our landlady's bill of fare for the day.

"Indeed, gentlemen, I was grieved to serve you with a supper so little creditable to our house. But, nam o'goodness! my husband, she rouse before day-dawn this morn, and go to mountain; she pick out nice fat sheep, kill him there, and pring him home on her pack-iss indeed! I have kill nice chicken too; and, perhaps, if weather clear, you have a trouts. Should you like cranberry pie, too? I have plenty preserved in house, for they grow in thousands and thousands on hill side, where my master keeps his sheep."

The presentation and perusal of a carte of the most recherché Palais Royal restorateur was never half so appetising as this; we prayed only that weather might permit the exercise and fatigue indispensable to the right enjoyment of it.

A stray watery sunbeam once or twice flitting across the doorway, showed that hysterical April, all smiles and tears, might yet vouchsafe a sporting afternoon.

To while away the hour, and prepare ourselves for the only sort of angling practicable in a flooded stream, we fitted each a short hair line to about one foot of silk worm-gut, with No. 6 hook. At this junction, there was fastened a pistol bullet, to run upon the ground, and find the bottom at all times, permitting the gut branch to float about, and show itself naturally to the fish. A small swivel between the hair and gut is a great improvement upon this; the worms then playing gently in the water, and spinning after the fashion of a winnow. The next move was to order the collection of a bag of brandlings, and a smaller one of cuddis.

By the time our arrangements were complete, it was noon. The rain had ceased, although the sky remained still overcast; but, tired of confinement, we ordered dinner at seven and started.

Verniew,

There was an ample choice of good streams all around us. thick and turbid, ran in sight of the doorway. Twrch, one of its most remarkable tributaries, and a capital river in spring, was a mile or two westward. A brook, flowing from Llyn (lake) Gwyddan, came from the south. The upper branch of Verniew lay a mile or two off; and the Cowni, another good brook in March and April, could be soon reached at a good pace. Every one of these, on a day such as I have described, yields capital sport with the worm. We selected the Twrch, and followed its course up the mountain for about three miles, and then turning our faces downwards, began to fish. The sun had now broken through the clouds with great brilliancy; and our trout, to adopt the phraseology of my young companion, "took like mad." Twrch descends over precipices and ledges of rock to its junction with Verniew, in a succession of falls, forming natural basins at the bottom of each, and from these we hauled our game. Disregarding every thing but the sport, we clambered from crag to crag, grasping the stones with one hand, and holding the rod with the other: stumbling, slipping, and often midleg deep in bog water, in the struggle to see who could first drop his lively little brandling into the deepest and likeliest hole. Nor had we long to wait ; the bait had scarcely in any case reached the bottom, ere there was that tremulous motion of the rod, and running away of the line, which

warned us to strike-and strike we did to some purpose, tossing the golden trouts to bank, sometimes high above our heads, upon some rocky ledge, where we had to clamber for them. One little pool, about two yards square and one deep, gave us three fish, weighing together upwards of two pounds, in the space of five minutes. Though not very large, your Twrch trout is a truly game, lovely-looking fish, yellow as a marigold; and as our lot lay piled within the pannier, on their bed of dripping rushes, still shining as though coated with varnish, the brilliant eye all unquenched, and every fin erect as in life-marry, they seemed not unworthy to be laid on golden platter at the feet of Victoria herself.

Our watches now apprised us that it was three o'clock, and our appetites that we had thoroughly digested breakfast. The lad who jogged behind us with a modicum of bread, cheese, and ale, was therefore desired to spread the contents of his basket on some convenient spot. We were cold; and, although no timber grows hereabout, there was plenty of grig-a woody, very combustible plant, seen everywhere upon mountain land. Our combined industry soon tore up and piled a cart-load of this against a great wall of rock, and, applying a match, we had forthwith smoke and fire enough for a mountain beacon. Again we set to work to procure another heap, to protect our limbs from the damp earth, and, seated thus to windward of the smoke, we warmed, dried and fed, ourselves, whilst the lad threw on the supply necessary to maintain a cheerful blaze.

An hour thus consumed, we again fell to fishing. After taking four brace additional, we reached a spot where the steep and precipitous descent of the stream rendered our progress most dangerous and toilsome there, therefore, we took our rods to pieces, and, striking up the hill side, ascended and descended over a great boggy waste, ere we again made the turnpike road. A brisk walk soon brought us, wet and weary, to our inn.

The contents of the panniers, now ascertained by scale to be fifteen pounds, were committed to the cool stone flooring of the host's dairy, preparatory to being despatched eastward by the morning's mail. Then, doffing our wet and miry habiliments, the evening passed cheerfully in discussing the merits of an excellent dinner, and the varied little occurrencies of our sport among the hills.

(To be continued.)

"BEAUTY AND THE BEAST."

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY THE LATE
W. BARRAUD.

"Beauty and the Beast," or, to fit the title more closely to the figures in the print, the Beast and Beauty, is one of the last subjects sent to us from poor Barraud. We believe it will be no disgrace to his memory. As may be supposed, the animals here grouped together are both portraits. The mare has in her day fully realized that common want, but

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