made for the river, crossed and killed at Nepti-a good run-28 minutes. 4th. The Bhesht Bagh, ran the fox into a pit after a sharp brush of 20 minutes; succeeded in getting him out and killed. 26th.-Met at the Risalu lines; scent bad-lost after a great deal of cold hunting. 29th.-Threw off at the same ground, run by Schendi to the Khind on the Joour road and killed after a very beautiful run through a large mass of grain in 50 minutes. 31st.-Near the same lines, overran the scent soon after going off, and did not recover it for a considerable time; hit it off at last, and, after a great deal of cold hunting, ran up to the fox in grain near Nimblak and killed; a long and harassing run-time not taken. January 5th.-Met at Sarvedi, went straight away for Hingingaum, and when close to the grass lands turned to the right for Numblak, killing between that village and home-capital sport— time 40 minutes. TO ONE OF THE OLD BRISTLER HUNT. Parody on "Come take the Harp, 'tis vain to muse." Come take the spear, 'tis vain to count On all the wavering tinkering crew; Come take the spear, and let us mount, And once more beat the jungle through; Ride, let us ride with hogs in sight, Sharp spurs will make our Arabs fly, Oh! for the glorious, proud delight Of "One more chase at Casselsye." Let me but see that long bright spear Once more in boar-blood bathe its blade, And I would blush fo feel a fear, MR. EDITOR, Would even funk to be afraid, Give him, old boy, that dexterous touch We used to try long, long ago, Before the snobs had known as much As now they all pretend to know! Bright days! of former fun and freak, Of all that looked so joyous then, Now gone and past! fie, fie! let's seek The jungle ground and try again! Art thou a snob too? no! the glow Of tuskied triumphs fires thine eye; Mount, mount at once and off we go, For " one more chase at Casselsye." ON PERCUSSION POWDER. As the flint and steel system is now quite out of date and so discordant with the ideas of the sportsmen of the present day, it would perhaps be better to leave this matter in the hands of those few who are still its supporters. With regard, however, to the subject of this epistle, and those who have been the upholders of percussion from the time of its invention, allow me to say that the gunmakers have undoubtedly had a great laugh at the expense of the latter, or rather have been chuckling in their sleeves for some years past at finding how much the detonating system had improved their trade by knocking out the barrels in one half the time that the old flints did. Joyce's unlucky invention of the anti-corrosion powder has now nearly destroyed their harvest; it was indeed a damper to them one and all, and any man who has been much in the habit of using the common powder (made of oxymuriate, nitrate, or neutral carbonate of potash*) will, on examining the state of his barrel, soon discover that they have suffered more or less according to the care that has been taken in cleaning them immediately after use; upon this circumstance much depends, and a gun would last at least half as long again where immediate cleaning is attended to, which effectnally prevents the possibility of the corrosive particles eating into the iron by not giving it sufficient time. As a proof of this being the case, I have with one of my guns fired away nearly 4000 corrosive caps, and the interior of the barrels still have as fine a polish as the day they left the maker's *The percussion powder for caps (says Col. Maceroni in the 2nd Vol. of the Naval and Military Magazine) should by all means be composed of the nitrate of mercury, first brought into use by Mr. F. Joyce, of Old Compton-street. This, instead of having the slightest tendency to corrode the piece, would appear rather to possess an antioxidating property; for I have repeatedly found that having fired 20 rounds with this percussion powder, and laid the piece by for a month without the least cleaning, it has been at the expiration of that time as perfectly free from the least speck of rust as the day it came new from the maker's shop. Col. M. is also of opinion that the superoxigenated muriate of potash corrodes the parts of a gun as much as a drop of nitric acid itself, and leaves upon combustion a residuum of that active fluid upon the iron. hands; this, however, has not been the case with one barrel out of ten that I have taken the pains to examine in order to satisfy myself on this point, and some, apparently new guns, shockingly damaged from the nitrate of potash. To those who are unwilling to throw away their stock of caps, although they be of the last-mentioned description, the following plan is recommended as nearly counteracting their bad effects. In the first place, a thorough cleansing of the barrels immediately after returning from the field, not by a mere washing, but in such a manner as to take out a considerable quantity of lead, which assists the nitrate of potash in corroding; and secondly to grease the insides of the barrel slightly with mercurial ointment, which is another antidote to its poisonous effects, and will at all times protect iron from rust longer than oil possibly SIR, In spite of your editorial remarks upon the wholesale criticism which I ventured to send to your Sporting Magazine for publication in No. 5-in spite, I say, of your flippant observations and not-to-be-laughed-at jocularityin spite of the mawling you wish me to experience from the literary lashes of those whose productions pronounced upon-in spite of all this, my object has been triumphantly attained, and your Sporting Magazine will I trust be no longer stained with the indelicacy of your correspondents' too prurient emanations. That I am right in supposing my criticism has effected thus much good, the contents of your last number fully establishes. Guzerattee has taken my hint, and is on his guard about his grammar. Then John Dockery has gone to the Tomb of all the Capulets, that's one good riddance; S. Y. S. has declared his correspondence at an end-that's another; The Tinkers have ceased their pot and kettle businessthat's another; and Andropais has dropped his Three Macs,*and that's another. Under this impression, therefore, and in the expectation that similar will attend my present labours, I shall take the liberty to success STEPHEN will find his triumph on this score is rather premature.- ED. "And where is Squeakilla, the sow that I sighed for, And where's my friend Tiggy, who sighed for her too?" conveys an immoral impression, which it would have been as well to have avoided. His anticipation of his fate so exquisitely expressed in the words "I can feel my chops fry" is really in the genuine spirit of poetical pig-prophecy. Centaur seems to think that the Belgaum Antelopes are Wild Gazelles. He is quite wrong; and what in the name of common sense does he mean by a "Wolf's inhumanly smelling tail?"-did he expect it to be redolent of Beer and Brandy, or esprit de rose? This comes of a misapplication of epithets, unless, indeed, he suspected the wolf to be like a Centaur, half man, half beast; I mean his signature, not himself. "Rifle" has made a vile attempt to copy the celebrated Geoffry Gambado. "A Lover of all sports" must be a lover of humbug with his thousand Bustards, and his one day tailing a Bullock to kill his bird, and the next day actually ploughing up to the game! He says his shot is B. B. I should say as a query Y. Y. Does he expect I people will swallow all this? need not animadvert on the highly immoral tendency of the "Kitten's catastrophe;" fie, fie! "Wine and woman -worse and worsealmost filthy. "Spear" certainly requires brightening, for he is as dull as cold iron and as blunt as a sledge-hammer, or, as a witty friend of mine observed, "Spear must be only a handle, for he evidently wants a head. Nimrod is incorrigibly lengthy -24 desperate columns-but the glorious party and the noble sport he describes so well are certainly a fair excuse in this instance for prosing he, too, like "Guzerattee," has taken my advice, and left off a good deal of his low slang, and shows his good sense and good nature in so doing. Stirrup's tour, though fanciful and whimsical enough, possesses much merit, and Dragsman is a very useful writer. I was sorry to see so little from O. K. Your readers who read for real information were disappointed. The rest, or, as I before called them, "the mob of your contributors," are harmless and unpretending, and therefore not legitimate objects of criticism, so I shall let them pass. And now a word to yourself. I am not much obliged to you for pointing me out as a fit object for burking, though how a half-starved critic as you call me can have that obesity about him which you say "constitutes Stephen a fair subject for dissection," I must leave to your sagacity to explain; but let me tell you that here we have not yet had one instance of that dreadful practice, whatsoever you may have experienced at the Presidency. Your most obedient Servant, THE THREE MACS. Continued from Page 236. Oh! wreathe the lyre with cypress-let the strain McCleod was one day lecturing on full batta, Still stood his tongue, and soon his audience saw At first his hearers laughed, but soon with awe, He rests unmourn'd upon a foreign bier, For him there heaves not man's heart-rending sigh, (I think the Scotch should watch, 'twill do no harm, It might be well just now and then to send 'em The two last Macs once started to shoot bustard, In circles narrowing his head grew fluster'd On the red ground the youth lay low, and painting The thoughts came o'er him of his native Scotland, Like Niobe, though not so lovely quite, His legs, erst bow'd, became knock-kneed with fright, But still, although he felt, as well he might, Uneasy at so awkward a disaster, His heart was guiltless-though the world might slang him, His conscience cared not so they didn't hang him. |