the woods in such a dark night?" and so on, &c. I can't begin to tell you how ludicrous the "scene" was, if scene it can be called, for all I saw after the mule started was the fiery tail issuing from the pan behind and heard the pitiful appeals of the old man's "whoa, whoa, whoa" intermixed with a sort of tearing sound, as the mule, regardles of obstructions, rushed through shrubs and bushes, to the great damage of rider's clothes, and to some extent, skin. If he had dropped his pan in the early stage of his "stampede," half his troubles would have ended, but he seemed not only determined to hold on to that, but to stop his mule with one hand, which would have been with all that fire pouring and falling on him, an impossibility. With both he failed, of course, and did not arrest his progress until he had disposed of the cause of the calamity, the pan. The deer skin, not being properly secured on one side, had slipped over to the other, and exposed, as before stated, the back of the mule.

When we came to estimate damages, found pan, Mr. D.'s hat, and one leg of his pantaloons gone, and skin considerably scratched. The pan we recovered that night, the hat the next day, pantaloons leg, scattered considerably, and hard to get together. The discovery of a few pieces satisfied us that it was beyond the skill of Aunt Dilsey and her needle to restore it to its pristine condition of useful

ness.

After rekindling the fire and properly adjusting the deer skin, we continued our hunt, but on another trail, and before our return had succeeded in killing two deer, one a very fine buck, the other a halfgrown fawn, both of which I shot. Mr. D. having shined the eyes, and I dismounting, walked between the light and the deer, and could see their eyes as plain as he could. They were not both at the same place; were about one mile apart; but after getting the two shots, and killing the two deer, concluded to return, as we had venison enough to last us until we chose to kill more, and had a great deal more than we three could consume fresh. However, we were in the habit of drying it, and had scaffolds made with four forks, and green sticks put across them, over which numerous other green sticks were so placed as to lay the long and thin strips of meat upon them, then being exposed to the rays of the sun, and with a slow fire under the whole, it was soon dried and saved. In this condition we used it with the fresh venison, wild turkeys, and sqirrels, which we procured from time to time, as inclination or necessity induced us to leave the cool shade around the sulphur spring for the woods, in pursuit of game. Years had, to some extent, impaired the eyesight of Mr. Durham, and he was not such a shot as I, but he frequently killed his deer, and before my arrival furnished with his rifle all the meat that he and old Aunty Dilsey needed. After which, and during my stay, he depended almost solely on me, and we never suffered for food, but always had an abundance of meat. He raised each year a small patch of corn, and had enough on hand for bread. The corn was ground in a steel mill, Aunt Dilsey being the motive power. We passed many happy, happy days. The old fellow dressed deer skins, made saddle trees, and did other small jobs, besides hunting and raising his little patch of corn. The products of his labour he disposed of at Fanthorps (now Anderson, the county seat of Grimes county) at a fair price, which enabled him to buy coffee and sugar,

powder, lead, and such other articles of necessity as the rifle could not furnish.

I could give you a long history of my sojourn at those springs, but fear to weary your readers. However, you may hear something more about my hunts up there.

New York Turf, Field, and Farm.

DISFRANCHISED.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY E. CORBET.

Wo-0-0-0 my lads. Will ye buy e'er a one on 'em, Guv'nor? I'll war'nt 'em sound-the same all round. 'Ave the chesnit; he'd do for you; jist hup to your weight; only wants a new bridle, with a bit o' blue satin round the front, and a saddle, and he'd take the shine out on 'em in High Park, of a Sunday; or, there, only jist ride 'un hup Constitooshun Hill, and I'll war'nt you'd 'ave the Dook down upon you in no time, wanting to swap. 'Ave him, Guv'nor? I can let you 'ave him at song. 'Ave t'other then? he's a hoss, if you likes; he is! There's a frame for ye! he doant want no parasauls, nor silk dresses, nor 'igh-'eeled boots to set he off, not he; only give 'em a wisp over, and you may see to shave in him. But I sees, Guv'nor, you don't go in for trimming. So much the better; for with your mistarch, a noseband, and a pair of long spurs, you may go cap'ring about on him, and be taken for a hossifer in the Blues, or a Gineral from Ameriky, with the tradesmen over-eager to give you any amount of credit, and the gals fit to jump out of the winders.

"Wants a summer's run," do you say? ? I'll give 'em a summer's run, ha, ha! Do you take me for one of them swell dealers, as keeps hosses to look at? No; I'm the cove as knows when to sell, and that makes the tin. I doant keep a lot of pampered shopkeepers at my histablishment, a heating away, with their eads a getting bigger every day, till at last they wants the assistance of the sheriff's hossifer to get 'em out of the stable door. Not I! I'll give 'em a summer's run, Guv'nor. Kim hup! I'll run 'em to Vitechapel for the furrin market, and by this day week, if I ar'nt very much out of my reck'ning, as you won't 'ave one to ride, you may 'ave 'em to heat, for they'll be real Germans by then, warranted sound, well-seasoned, and done brown. Kim hup, will ye? Bonswarr, Cap'en.

H

CAMBRIAN

RECOLLECTIONS.

PY PENCEAN,

A few miles north-east of Shrewsbury stands the old Llanymynech Rock, and near its base gurgling and winding along its devious bed runs the river Tannat, a pretty stream for the fly and reel. On the upper margin of the river and near its confluence with the Vyrnwy. may be seen Bryn-Tannat, which five years back was the snug resi. dence of J. B. Price, Esq., master of the Tannat-side Harriers. Had you approached it in the golden light of the summer, the fishing-punt moored hard by, the large nets hanging in the sun to dry, a spaniel or two lounging lazily about, or a straggling hound, would have indicated a sportsman's residence.

Of the house itself it is enough to say, it was richly stored with the good things of this world, and those good things were dispensed with great liberality, and an amenity of manners that gave the most delightful enjoyment to the whole. I need not say more of the hospitality of the worthy master, for he is a Welshman, nor of his kindness of heart, for he was a true sportsman, but I would speak of the gallant little pack, and Jack Morgan the huntsman.

Jack was born somewhere among the hills some thirty winters back, but as I never could learn his early feats, I will introduce him to the reader as a puggy, stiff, little giant of a fellow, with his hunting-cap, green plush coat, and fiery waistcoat. Suppose him at home in the squire's kitchen, and on intimate terms with his hounds. Jack formerly rode a mile to the hounds; but the pack were a fast pack—indeed, I may say a very fast pack; so it sometimes happened that Mulee did not like the pace, and then poor Jack would be spilled without difficulty: indeed, in those days indentures were to be seen in the soft soil like a cast of Jack's head, with the eyes downwards; for, as he was Dutch built, he was never known to fall otherwise than head foremost, or to hurt himself; but Jack found the mule de trop, and the mule found that taking a light market-cart to Oswestry twice a week, and now and then ferrying a guest across the river, a much easier thing; so it came to pass that all idea of again mounting Jack was given up, for on a summons to the still-room he said to the squire:

"Well, indeed, sir, God knows I canna ride, but I can run a foot, and I'll pound saving the yare, always in our own country, but in a foren cast I canna just say I'll do it."

Jack kept his word, and wonderful it was to see how he would keep company with the "creeturs ;" and Jack's whoo-p made the welkin ring, and I might say the Wrekin ring as frequently and as cheerily as

ever.

One fine scenting October morning Jack was half-way to the pretty village of Llansaintfraid with his hounds; the gentlemen were taking a stirrup cup, and one by one riding through the gate; one, however,