"What does he call the ponies Macaroni' for, papa ?" said the youngster. Why," replied his communicative sire, "because it is long and taper-don't you recollect you had some macaroni for dinner last Sunday?" "Yes, papa," responded the little dear-"but Macaroni isn't made of ponies, is it?"

At this stage of the proceedings we took the liberty of requesting this exemplary parent not to annoy our party by repeating to his child the dialogue kept up by the actors; at the same time hinting as delicately as we could, that it had been an overstrained act of courtesy, the admitting him into our box at all. By this very temperate remonstrance, we were romantic enough to hope that we had succeeded in putting a stop to the interruptions. Bootless expectation! our rhetoric was

thrown away.

In the celebrated screen scene, where Lady Teazle endeavours to conceal herself, when the plot of the play has reached its most interesting point, and at the moment when every individual in the house was worked up to a pitch of breathless anxiety, this interesting child squeaked out, I say, pa, what has she run behind the screen for ?" and his devoted father answered, "to hide herself, my dear, from her husband; you know Sir Peter Teazle's her husband, and she's in another gentleman's room!"

This very interesting colloquy had the effect of directing some hundred pairs of eyes to our box-a remarkably pleasant occurrence; in order, however, to satisfy the gazers in our immediate vicinity that the bear and cub were not of our party, we expostulated with the parent in not the gentlest mood, hinting at the same time, in the plainest terms, that if he or his troublesome brat sinned again in like manner, we must request him to vacate his seat. To our inexpressible horror he added impertinence to ill-breeding, stating that "he should do as he pleased."

Well, as the comedy proceeded the nuisance was repeated at intervals; the last occasion occurred on the announcement that Sir Peter Teazle was wounded, and had received a thrust of a small sword through the ribs, and "a bullet in the thorax;" for on his re-appearance before the tattlers who had circulated the report, the little boy screamed out "Is that the gentleman who has got a bullet in his borax ?” ! ! ! This was too much; the force of patience could no further go, for just as we received an audible hint from an irascible gent in the pit to "turn him out," we had risen from our seat, and making our way to the back row, we insisted upon both father and son leaving the box.

"

This the highly respectable gentleman" refused to do, and grew noisy, vulgar, and uproarious; we told him that the box of a theatre was not the place for angry discussions-that as ladies were present he had better refrain from abuse-but that leave his seat he must and should. Whereupon we opened the door, and having called Mr. Spring, explained to him the nature of the annoyance to which we had been subjected the whole evening; and this civil functionary, who knew and performed his duty to the public with credit to himself and advantage to them, immediately ejected the obnoxious pair. The rage of the father knew no bounds; he fumed and stamped about the lobby as if he were demented he asked for our card, and vapoured about our "hearing" from him in the morning. The card we refused, as we had already had quite enough of his company. "You are no gentleman then," said our

A A

friend; "but to prove to you that I am one, there's mine, sir, and I shall expect that you will give me satisfaction.'

We thanked the blusterer for making us acquainted with his name and address, as we should be afforded an opportunity of avoiding him for the future; so, taking unceremonious leave of the "respectable gentleman," we returned to our box, the tenants of which, the female portion at least, had passed their time rather uncomfortably during our absence. As soon as the comedy was finished we handed the ladies to their carriages, and returned into the house with a brother of ours, who had just arrived on sick leave from India, and had never seen poor Liston, who was to perform one of his best characters in the farce. Does the reader imagine that our troubles were at an end for the evening?

He shall see.

On re-entering the lobby we learnt from Mr. Spring that the box we had previously occupied was full, but that he would endeavour to find us a couple of seats towards the centre of the house. After opening and shutting a dozen or so of doors, the obsequious box-keeper found us what he was pleased to call two vacant places; and as we were apprehensive of losing the only chance of seeing Liston that night, we hopped nimbly over the cushioned bench, preparatory to taking our seat. This salutary effort was not unattended by danger, for our unlucky star so willed it, that ere our foot reached the floor of the box, it descended, with an aplomb" worthy of " Perrot" himself, on the toes of an exceedingly formidable-looking gentleman of gigantic proportions, who had cultivated a most luxuriant crop of whiskers.

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"Oh, thunder and turf! but that's my worst corn; what do you mane by that, sir?" was the salutation we received, and which disclosed to us the land which had given birth to the sufferer. To apologise for our “maladresse" was the work of a moment, and we expressed ourself, as we really felt, extremely sorry for having inflicted the accidental injury; but instead of being mollified, the Hibernian waxed more wroth, and enquired for the second time, in no very dulcet tone, "What do you mane, sir? you've trod upon me fut." We replied that we were conscious of having accidentally placed our foot upon his, but that he must be aware such a mishap was perfectly unintentional; and that having expressed our sorrow for having so done, we trusted he would be satisfied.

"That's all very well," replied the unappeasable gentleman; "but you've trod upon me fut."

“We did, sir," was our reply; "we have apologised for it, and can do no more."

The other occupants of the box, having heard quite enough of the squabble, were pleased to command "silence," and as the curtain was about to be drawn up, we took our seat; but the six feet two and the whiskers would not allow the affair to drop, so he muttered forth something about "Patrick O'Connor wishing to see the man who would tread upon his fut with impunity.'

Of this little outbreak of temper we did not take any notice, in the hope that the hero's ire would subside with the pain in his fut. This, however, was not to be.

Our old favourite, Liston, had scarcely made his appearance, and commenced the narration of his grievances as "Lubin Log," when the

discomfited Irishman leant forward and said, "You've trod upon me fut sir." "Silence!" bawled some one in the box; so we answered not; a brief pause of about a minute ensued, when we were saluted once more with "You've trod upon me fut, sir." It was evident our enjoyment was doomed to be marred for the night, and being somewhat irritated by our previous crossings, we jumped up and asked the troublesome, quarrelsome fellow, what he wanted? "You've trod upon me fut, sir," he repeated, "and I want to know what you mane by it?" What we answered matters little; but the next minute found us in the lobby, face to face, with the pugnacious Patlander.

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My name's Captain Patrick O'Connor, sir," said he with the whiskers; "and I want the satisfaction of a gintleman, for you've trod upon me fut-there's my card, sir, and I'm at the Ould Slaughter's Coffee House;" (appropriate place for such a fire-eater, thought we); "and I'll thank you to let me know who you are?" We replied that we were not in the habit of giving our name on so short a notice, neither did we conceive it at all necessary, as we had, by apologising for an unintentional injury, done all that any gentleman would require. "By the powers that won't do for Patrick O'Connor; give me your card, sir, or I'll be under the necessity of telling ye you're no gintleman."

We felt in our pocket for our card case, but as good luck would have it, we had left it at home; a thought flashed across us, which was acted upon at the instant-we had a card in our waistcoat pocket-the identical piece of pasteboard we had received from the "highly respectable gentleman with the son. We handed it with "empressement" to Captain Patrick O'Connor, who, having made himself acquainted with the characters engraven thereon, gave us to understand that "we should see him in the morning." We ventured to express a doubt upon this point; when he fired up for the last time, and said, "Do you mane to say, sir, that you'll not hear from me after treading on me fut?" We replied that "we were not quite certain as to the probability of our meeting again." "Och, then," rejoined our irascible antagonist, "you don't know Patrick O'Connor; and by the powers! you'll laugh on the wrong side of your mouth to-morrow morning." "We shall see," was our reply, and thus we parted.

It is but right to state that we have never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Patrick O'Connor since our exchange of cards; neither have we heard whether the father of the little boy and our Hibernian hero ever encountered each other; although there was a rumour, shortly after the occurrence of the events we have recorded in this chapter, that a peaceable-looking middle-aged gentleman received an unexpected horsewhipping one fine morning from the hands of a stranger, to whom, of course, he had not given any provocation.

we

Whether the individuals alluded to were our two "pleasant men did not ascertain; although we have no doubt in our own mind that the meeting actually took place on the morning after Madame Vestris's benefit, in the year 18-; and should the particulars ever come to our knowledge, we shall not fail to communicate them to the discriminating readers of "Maga.'

OTTER HUNTING IN FRANCE.

BY R. B

"This subtle plunderer of the beaver kind
Far off, perhaps, where alders shade

The deep still pool, within some hollow trunk
Contrives his wicker couch, where he surveys
His long purlieu-lord of the stream, and all
The finny shoals his own.

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On the soft sand
See here his seal impressed; and on that bank
Behold the glittering spoils: half-eaten fish-
Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast.
Fresh on that yielding flag-bed now once more
His seal I view. O'er yon dark rushy marsh
The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course,
And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman, bring
Thy eager pack, and trail him to his couch.
Hark! the loud peal begins; how greedily
They snuff the fishy stream, that to each blade
Rank-scenting clings!"

SOMERVILLE.

The otter is a native of almost every country of the world. He appears to be less affected by climate and other external agencies than most other animals of the same class. This probably arises from his peculiar mode of life, and from the element in which he chiefly lives. There are fewer varieties among these animals than any other; for the distinctions which have been made by scientific naturalists are grounded upon such slight and trivial variations of bodily structure, that they have been obliged to make the different countries in which otters reside the basis for the classification of the species.

Otter-hunting has always formed one of the established modes of sporting in England; at least, from the time of the Conquest to the present day. This fact is clearly confirmed by many of our ancient books of sports and pastimes, and from other historical sources. It was always held in high repute in France and the Netherlands. In Laroux's "De Chasse," (folio edit., Antwerp, 1506,) we find the following remarks at page 74: "It appears from the general current of historians, relative to affairs of the northern parts of France and of French Flanders, that otters were very numerous in all our rivers and estuaries; and the nobility took great pleasure and delight in hunting them, not only with well-trained dogs, but spears, and traps, and a species of strong net in which they were caught as they came out of their hiding places on the banks of the rivers and lagoons. Several of our older chroniclers affirm that there were appointed certain days in the year when particular districts of the country were to be scoured, and every otter which could be found, old or young, was to be destroyed. Some of the communes gave rewards to those who were most successful in the good work."

A short time ago, a number of English and French gentlemen, residents in St. Omer and the neighbourhood, and enthusiastic admirers

of the chase in all its various and practised modes, determined to have a day's sport on the banks of the river Lys, which lies about ten miles distant from the town. Several communications had been received from the farmers in the vicinity that there were many otters in the higher branches of the stream, and that they had not of late contented themselves with such food as the waters could afford them, but had ventured into the farm-yards and committed great destruction among the young poultry. Acting upon the general statements these persons made before us, a party was formed, and a day named when we should make a descent on the river, and scour its banks, from Therouanne to its primitive springs.

The Lys is an important and interesting stream both in France and Belgium. It enters the Scheldt at the city of Ghent, and traverses many districts possessing great historical interest to Belgians, French, and English. It takes its rise near Fruges; and the distance from its source to the spot where it enters the Scheldt will be nearly a hundred English miles. From the town of Aire to its highest extremity it is the most otter-looking river that I have ever seen. Even in the Highlands of Scotland, where the largest animals of this kind are to be found of any country of Europe, I have never witnessed so many fishable requisites and adaptations as the Lys affords for the harbouring and breeding of this destructive river poacher. The waters are clear, and confined within narrow shelving banks; its streams are deep, rippling, and gushing; the brushwood on its edges is thick, entangled, and in many spots quite impenetrable; and, above all, it flows through a country remarkably tranquil and sequestered, and abounds with both salmon and trout.

It was arranged that the place of meeting should be Therouanne. Dogs were much wanted. All that could be mustered from St. Omer, and twenty miles around it, were only three couple, and these were none of the best. On a fine morning in the latter part of the month of September nine of us left St. Omer for the above town, or rather village. Here we found nearly a score of French sportsmen, some of whom had come full twenty miles to enjoy the day's sport. Several had rifle pieces, and a few long spears, while some contented themselves with a stout walking staff or a light cane.

Therouanne, though now appearing to the outward eye a mean, scattered, and rather squalid-looking village, is full of historical interest; more so, indeed, than any other spot in the north of France. Though now clothed in the garb of a common agricultural village, yet it was for many centuries the seat of royalty and splendour. It was the capital of the powerful Gallic tribe of the Morina, who gave the Roman conquerors more trouble in their subjugation than any other of the northern nations. Indeed, we have only to look around us, and we readily recognise many remnants of its former power and greatness. There are still extensive remains of its old walls and fortifications, and in some spots they are tolerably perfect, even after a lapse of nearly two thousand years. The locality seems admirably situated for the seat of a great city, as it is just placed on the side of a gentle slope, and encircled by rising ground in almost The inhabitants are constantly direction. every finding large quantities of Roman and native antiquities; and very recently a huge stone figure, half man and half fish, supposed to have