There, indweller of the town, what think you of that? Come out from your halls of marble and double-breasted doors, your porcelain vases and flaunting ottomans,-come out into the heather, and shaking the cramps out of your hair, exclaim with Thomson — Through which Aurora shows her blushing face!" The books that delineate these eternal pleasures speak a universal language, and are accessible to all men, who, be their appreciation of the Beautiful never so feeble, must still find something in them that will touch their hearts. Just such a work is Mr. Hansard's "Book of Archery'," full of pictures of the green wood, of legends of the old times, of forest sanctuaries, and pleasant sports, where the old will find a world of sunny reminiscences, and the young a perfect budget of life-inspiring suggestions. The reader need not be a toxophilite to enjoy this book; he may be utterly ignorant of cross-bows, braces, shooting gloves, nocking arrows, butt fields, barbs, and thumb-rings, and yet enter with a hearty zest into the poetical associations that are inseparable from the history and uses of archery. Mr. Hansard is thoroughly engrossed in his subject, and treats it with a corresponding comprehensiveness: never was the love of the science so fully sifted; never did archer discharge such a shaft as this splendid volume, with its historical narratives, its national descriptions, its peeps of scenery, its anecdotes, its strict analyses of the various orders and modes of bowmen, and its charming illustrations. We believe it would be impossible to improve the work by additions, and, massive as it is, we should grudge to lose a single page of the erudite treatise. It is divided into numerous sections, each of which is dedicated to a special topic-such as the early periods of archery in England and elsewhere, foreign archery, societies of archers, yew trees and yew bows, roving or rural archery, &c.; and the whole is so agreeably enlivened by traditions, and so richly set off by the earnest feeling of the writer, that it will not only delight all those who are already skilful in the exercise, but will tempt thousands to test the strength of their arms in this manly and invigorating sport. Twelve years ago, says Mr. Hansard, London possessed but two establishments for vending archery tackle: now they amount to a score at least. We believe he underrates the progress of his favourite study. We suspect there cannot be less than forty places where the archer may accommodate himself with the requisite means of taking the field. The spread of toxophilite societies of late years has been remarkable, not only in England, but throughout the Continent; and targets are to be found in almost every country gentleman's grounds. To be sure we cannot draw the bow to the ear as they used to do in the merry days of Robin Hood; but we can have pleasant sport for all that. The Seminole Indians are the most skilful and powerful bowmen probably on the face of the earth, and Mr. Hansard relates some curious anecdotes of their wondrous feats against the Spaniards, whose mailed coats were easily pierced by the sinewy and expert foresters. The Spaniards, wondering that a piece of armour worth 150 ducats should prove no defence against a reed arrow headed with a bit of flint, resolved to try whether their own arrows would be equally efficacious, and, placing a coat of mail round a wicker basket, they promised a young Indian captive his freedom if he could pierce the mark at 150 paces. 1 The Book of Archery. By GEORGE Agar Hansard, Esq., Gwent Bowman. London: 1840. Immediately the barbarian clenched his fists, shook himself violently, and contracted and extended his arms as if to awaken all his force; then, stringing a bow which had been previously delivered to him, he elevated it at the mark; and, loosing his arrow, it drove through both armour and basket, and came out at the opposite side with violence sufficient to have slain a man. The Spaniards, finding a single piece of armour was ineffectual to resist the arrow, threw a second upon the basket, and ordered the Indian to repeat his shot, when he immediately pierced that likewise." The accuracy of their aim is equal to the vigour of their shot. The skill of the Indians in this respect is almost incredible. A mariner who was shipwrecked on the Isthmus of Darien declared that he had seen them stand a hundred yards from a bird feeding on the ground, and, by shooting directly upwards, cause the arrow to pin it to the earth; and that they would stick a shaft upright, and, shooting perpendicularly as before, split it in two by the descent of the arrow. Extraordinary feats are also recorded in the annals of the bowmen of England, Scotland, and Wales; and, looking back upon the age of the yeomen archers of this country, we are afraid it must be granted that the rural population has much deteriorated since this healthful amusement has fallen into disuse. The cause is ably advocated in the following passage from a curious treatise cited by Mr. Hansard, entitled "The Lament of the Bow." "And as in fight I give you protection, so in peace I supply you pastime; to your limbs I yield active plyantnesse, and to your bodies healthful exercise; yea, I provide you food when you are hungry, and help digestion when you are full. Whence then proceedeth this unkinde and unusual strangenesse? Am I heavy for burden? Forsooth, a few sticks of light wood. Am I cumbrous for carriage? I couch a part of me close under your girdle, and the other part serveth for a walking stick in your hand. Am I unhandsome in your sight? Every piece of me is comely, and the whole keepeth an harmonious proportion. I appeal to your valiant princes, Edwards and Henries; to the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, Agincourt, and Flodden; to the regions of Scotland, France, Italy, Spain, Cyprus, Zea, and Jury, to be umpires of the controversie; all of which, I doubt not, will with their evidence plainly prove, that when my adverse party was yet scarcely born, or lay in her swathling clouts, through me only your ancestors defended their country, vanquished their enemies, succoured their friends, enlarged their dominions, advanced their religion, and made their names fearful to the present age, and their fame everlasting to those that ensue. Wherefore, my dear friends, seeing I have so substantially evicted the right of my cause, conform your wills to reason, conform your reason by practice, and convert your practice to the good of your countrie. If I be praiseworthy, esteem mee; if necessary, admit mee; if profitable, employ mee; so shall you revoke my death to life, and shew yourself no degenerate issue to such honourable progenitors. And thus much for archery, whose tale, if it be disordered, you must bear withall; for she is a woman, and her minde is passionate.' "There is an energetic spirit," observes Mr. Hansard, "in this passage, sufficient to rouse the sympathies of even the most apathetic. And, indeed, whether the 'meed of the green archer be battled for in the target ground,' accompanied with all the pomp and circumstance of banners, pavilions, and strains of martial music; or whether, in our lonely rambles, we seek to strike the cushat from the tall pine's topmost spray, or transfix the dusky cormorant as, with outstretched neck and flagging wings, she rises from the shingled beach to seek her home in some far-off islet of the sea,-there are few of us, I believe, who, at such moments, do not in imagination antedate existence a century or two, identifying ourselves with those greenwood rovers, as we see them on the title-page." Turning from Mr. Hansard's fascinating pages, we find another book before us, which deserves to come within the same category,-"A Treatise on Fishing and Shooting." Now, much as may be said on behalf of archery,-partly for its utility in the development and preservation of physical strength, and partly for the legendary and picturesque associations connected with it, we are not altogether sure but that these more modern amusements * Fire-arms. 2 The Rod and the Gun: being two Treatises on Angling and Shooting. By JAMES WILSON, F.R.S. E.; and by the Author of the "Oakleigh Shooting Code." Edinburgh: A. & C. Black. 1840. modern, at least, in their present improved practice-would poll a greater number of votes over the kingdom. Archery demands a certain degree of taste, some inquiry into and knowledge of the usages of antiquity, a somewhat elaborate preparation, and, above all, the formation of an agreeable company of bowmen. Angling and shooting possess at least this advantage, that they may be pursued alone; and that they require the simplest possible materials, which may be obtained ready to your hand. We are free to admit that archery is a nobler pastime, more graceful, exciting, and pleasurable; but sportsmen are such keen lovers of their own particular game, that it would not be very easy to persuade them out of their rods and their guns by any arguments of this nature on behalf of the arbalist or the long bow. The pursuit of the black cock or the golden trout has many attractions, and appeals in different ways to those who delight in the daylight world, far away from ashes and smoke. He who goes out on the moors with his lusty gun upon his shoulders pities the stealthy angler, who, pacing slowly and silently the banks of the mountain stream, has no need to put his shoulder to the wind, and exert his brawny muscles in the toils of a long day's shooting. He thinks, of course, fairly enough, that the avocation of the angler is a pitiable business, in spite of all the minute and anxious exertions it entails; and that the manly fatigues of his own bracing sport elevate him to a higher rank in the scale of gusty delights. But, have a care, good youth with the shot-belt, and let us investigate a little before we decide. What is the angler thinking about in the solitude of this shaded brook? Do you believe that while he is sauntering through the trees, and watching the flies on the surface of the water, there are no emotions growing up in his mind? Do you believe that his loneliness is destitute of visions thronging through his imagination, sweet sights and sounds that strike upon his heart, conjuring up memories of sad or happy hours, and transporting him into dreams of the future? Do not suppose he is idling all this time, or merely waiting vacantly for a nibble. He cannot help the suggestions that are constantly floating around him: he cannot be alone with Nature, without being conscious of gushing feelings which, perhaps, he has no great inclination to reveal to every body he meets. The gentle influences of the place are not lost upon him: he has leisure and aptitude to take them in, which the man with the gun has not, for he is too hurried, and fluttered, and occupied, to give a single thought to any object but that for which he came out. And the angler, also, has a touch of philosophy in his amusement, over and above the philosophy pressed upon him by the scene, which the shooter of birds cannot aspire to. Hear Mr. Wilson on this point, and a more competent authority cannot be found from the banks of the Shannon to the rocky stream of Beauly. "When Plato, speaking of painting, says that it is merely an art of imitation, and that our pleasure arises from the truth and accuracy of the likeness, he is surely wrong; for if it were so, where would be the superiority of the Roman and Bolognese over the Dutch and Flemish schools? So also in regard to fishing; the accomplished angler does not condescend to imitate specifically, and in a servile manner, the details of things; he attends, or ought to attend, only to the great and invariable ideas that are inherent in universal nature. He throws his fly lightly and with elegance on the surface of the glittering waters, because he knows that an insect with outspread gauzy wings would so fall; but he does not imitate, or, if he does so, his practice proceeds upon an erroneous principle, either in the air or his favourite element, the flight or the motion of a particular species; because he also knows that trouts are much less conversant with entomology than M. Latreille, and that their omnivorous propensities induce them, when inclined for food, to rise, with equal eagerness, at every minute thing which creepeth upon the earth or swimmeth in the waters. fact he generalises-and this is the philosophy of fishing." On this We submit to Shotbelt that there is nothing like this in the art of shooting; that it has nothing in it approaching even to the spirit of imita tion, which your bunglers suppose to be the secret of fly-making and flythrowing; and that when a man hits a grouse, "Whistled down with a slug in his wing,' he performs a feat, very clever if you please, but remarkable only for steadiness of hand and accuracy of eye. The parallel goes a little farther towards leaving Shotbelt at a discount. Flash! pop! you miss your bird, the chance is over, and you must load again. Mark the angler in an emergency, where the trout makes play with the line. A single error of judgment and all is lost-but, there! see how the experienced fisher keeps that wary trout in perpetual action - now moving onward, now retreating, -now giving line, now shortening it. Over and over again the prey seems to escape, but anon he is drawn back; and many a pull, and many a tug, and many a scheme of negotiation with the banks, and shadows, and shallows ensues, until after a long and agitating struggle the trout is sprung to the green sward. You have nothing like this in shooting-you have no devices and arts to practiseno tarrying and toying with your game, once the wing is on the air; you must do it all in the wink of an eye, or your sport is at an end. Shotbelt, however, makes up in excitement what is wanted in tranquil pleasure and profound skill. On the 11th of August, says the author of the "Oakleigh Code," the sportsman arrives at his shooting quarters; probably some isolated tavern, as old as the hills. Here he meets the keepers, and poachers, and young men of the country side, the sport for the next day is discussed and arranged: three o'clock in the morning is settled for breakfast, in order that the whole party may be on the moors by day-break; and if the sportsmen be wise, they are all stretched at an early hour on such beds, sofas, chairs, or rugs as they can get. Morning arrives -the landlady is called-breakfast is hastily despatched - the dogs are looked at all is bustle, confusion, and uproar - the dram-flasks are filled sandwiches are cut, and the tumult grows louder and louder as hour of attack approaches.' • the "Next is heard the howling and yelping of dogs-the cracking of whips-the snapping of locks the charging and flashing and firing of guns, and every other note of preparation. The march is sounded, and away they wend; an emulous band, each endeavouring to eclipse the other in the number and size of birds killed. On that day there is an universal scramble for game; almost every person who carries a gun then strives to fill his birdbag, to the exclusion of every other object, regardless for a while of companionship, or personal comfort, or the savage grandeur' of the scene before him, and indifferent whether an undeviating level bound his view, or whether 'Lakes and mountains around him gleam misty and wide!' It is not until after days of leisure, and when a series of trivial adventures, or recollections of past doings, have made several sites classical, if we may be allowed the term, that the stranger-sportsman becomes enamoured of the hills, and shares the feelings of the native hillsman; who bears the same love to his mountain-home and mountain-sports as the Switzer does to his." This is excellent sport- fine, rattling, joyous sport; and if the bag be well filled, Shotbelt returns to the old tavern in an enviable state of ecstasy, at the very top of his animal spirits. But is there no bag-filling for the angler? Has he no bounding rapture as he plays some noble rainbow-hued creature through the troubled stream? Let Mr. Wilson answer that question. First, suppose that the angler, instead of dragging a cloud of flies along the surface, as some anglers whom we have seen bungle are wont to do, has just cast his line as far as he can, and, after allowing it to lie there for a few seconds, has gradually lowered the point of the rod to within a foot or two of the water. The entire tackle is now under water—all disturbance is over, except the gentle prowling of the line (this most significant, illustrative, and admirably descriptive word prowling, belongs to Mr. Wilson, who writes exactly as a high-bred angler thinks), when, suddenly, a magnificent three-pounder, having faith in the stillness of the place, is attracted by one of the floating flies. "He rises upwards, - at first sedately, like a king in court; then the broad pectorals are expanded, as quickly closed; the deep rudder is waved from side to side with powerful sway, a rapid dart ensues, a single pectoral is again protruded for a moment; a slight and instantaneous turn takes place; the jagged jaws are closed; he has seized the Professor, [so called, may we advertise thee, good reader, after the stalwart poet of the Noctes,] and goes down head foremost, with a most indignant flourish of the tail! Up then with the tip of your rod, which, owing to the dream-like calm already so well described, and for reasons just assigned, is pointing downwards, and almost in a continuous direction with the line- a most dangerous direction, seeing that the tug of war then rests entirely on the latter; so up with your rod, which action also serves to strike the fish, and let the reel ring out as it may. Down he continues to go,-Sam Slick beat by a couple of lengths, the Professor engulphed, and invisible even to Kelpie's eye; and Long Tom also diving downwards, nolens volens, at a fearful rate, but wondering greatly what to make of such a sudden change from softly shaded light to dingy darkness. Our spotted friend now pauses for a moment; the line slackens, and your heart, though a bold one, beats with fear, for you think him gone for ever; but no, the tightened line and the thrilling reel reassure your doubting grasp, and away he goes again, launching lake-ward as if he really thought of crossing over. Now this freak won't suit you if you are wishing only to wade, have no boat, and can't swim : so (but not ungently) try to check his speed, or wheel him round; and, as one good turn deserves another, he may have his own way on the gridiron towards night. Neatly done, youngster! Now he goes onward, right or left; perhaps comes pretty quickly towards you, as if to inquire by whom has been disturbed his solitary reign (reel up, and keep no slack upon your line); give way again,-- for, behold, another burst of virtuous indignation, followed by a sudden spring of at least a yard into the air!” He now begins visibly to peck-works along uneasily close to the shore, give him his way-lead him gently inwards-he flags, and grows as heavy as lead his mouth opens, as if he were puffing for breath he wavers and flickers, and shows a broadside blazoned with gems and flashing a thousand hueshe is now almost upon the pebbles, his dorsal fin dimpling the shallower depths and now, looking as beautiful as the golden beetle under the influence of a powerful magnifier, he turns on one side. Huzza! his head is out of water another dexterous jerk (every thing depends upon the strength of the gut), and—as our true professor of the nangle sayethSic transit gloria truttæ! Let Shotbelt go to the moors if he will; give us the rod, a doubtful day, a dark stream, trees with birds in them, a few broken masses of rock, safe banks, and sure shadows; and there, till the twilight melts over the solitude, we would linger, thinking the light too brief for the contemplative sport. Old Chaucer was assuredly an angler. Thus he singeth in his ditty of the "Cuckow and the Nightingale :-" "There I sate down among the faire flours, And the river that I sate vpon, August, September, October, are coming on; the grouse and the trout will be in perfection; there never was such a season expected on the moors or in the rivers (they always tell you so!). Macintoshes are as cheap as blouses |