tricacy of the walls of Troy. Then follow the shouts of victory and the murmurs of defeat, till the contest is renewed under the mingled emotions of hope and fear--the vanquished trusting that the tables will be turned, and the conquerors confident that they will remain the same. At this stage of the business, which may be aptly enough described as Act the First of the curling drama, rations of bread and cheese, with a glass of the real "mountain dew," are handed round; and when the combatants feel their stomachs warmed and their strength recruited, to work again they set with fresh vigour, the one party bent on recovering the ground they unfortunately lost, and the other determined to retain the laurels. they have already won. In a trice the eager players are marshalled, and the broom put in requisition as before-again the stones boom away. and away, meandering here, meeting there-again shot succeeds shot, and game follows game until the conclusion of the bonspiel, or the shades of evening proclaim that it is time the sport should close for the day. Such is but a faint outline of the grand and glorious game of curling, so much sought after in Scotland.

In this county (Perthshire) the game of curling is a very favourite sport with almost every shade of society. The Duke of Athol is a keen curler; the Earl of Mansfield; Lords Kinnaird, Stormont, and Dupplin; Hon. Fox Maule; Sirs Thomas Moncrieff, J. Mackenzie, and J. A. Macgregor, are all keen "knights of the broom and channelstone," and are always ready at their post, and busy on the rink, during the keen frosty days of winter. Each of these noblemen and gentlemen have formed artificial curling rinks, and where the "roaring game" is enjoyed with mirth and glee, and made open to all curlers, for in curling there is no aristocracy of feeling; and so, for the time, a universal saturnalia prevails. On many of these artificial ponds these noblemen order from their mansions a most substantial luncheon to be brought on the ice, and where all partake of the bountiful repast. On the Scone ice, hot "beef and greens" (the curlers' favourite fare) is put before every curler, with a famous stew made à la Meg Merrilies, with a bountiful supply of "hot toddy," and lots of home-brewed for all comers, and no one seems to enjoy the sports and pastimes of the ice better than the noble Earl of Mansfield.

On the Scone ice many keenly contested matches have been played within these last four or five weeks; and in many other of the curlingponds in the vicinity of the "fair city" of St. John (Perth). But enough has been said to give our brother sportsmen of the south an outline of the "roaring game," and with all due respect, we subscribe, Your old correspondent,

February, 1850.

HAWTHORN.

222

"THE BATTLE OF LIFE."

ENGRAVED BY J. WESTLEY, FROM A PAINTING BY G. ARMFIELD.

"The Battle of Life" comes in such apt illustration of the following lines from the Poet Laureat of the Chase, that we see no just cause or impediment to at once joining them together.

And loud uproar.

"Wild tumult reigns,

Ah! there once more he vents!

See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink
Together lost but soon shall he repent

:

His rash assault. See, there escaped, he flies

Half drown'd, and clambers up the slippery bank
With ouze and blood distained. Of all the brutes,
Whether by nature form'd, or by long use,

This artful diver best can bear the want

Yet there

Of vital air. Unequal is the fight
Beneath the whelming element.
He lives not long, but respiration needs
At proper intervals. Again he vents;
Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced
His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound.
Fix'd is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath,
With him it mounts: sure guide to every foe.
Feebly he groans; nor can his tender wound
Bear the cold stream. Lo to yon sedgy bank
He creeps disconsolate his numerous foes
Surround him."

LITERATURE.

THE HAND-BOOK OF GAMES.-This is the volume of the "Scientific Library" for Feb., 1850, published by Henry G. Bohn, of York Street, Covent Garden. It contains six hundred and seventeen pages, and is sold for five shillings retail, and wholesale from three-and-sixpence downwards, according to the quantity taken-a heavy blow and great discouragement to such as offer as a bargain "sixteen yards of songs for a ha'penny." Philanthropy, for the nonce, is monopolized by those who labour with the hand, or rather with the finger: sympathy is engrossed by the needlewomen, and eke the needle-men. When shall Charity find

time and a tear for those who travail with the head? Mr. Forster, in his memoir of Goldsmith, thus moralizes on the fate of the author of the "Deserted Village".... "In a garret writing for bread, and expecting to be dunned for a milk-score! The ordinary fate of letters in that age. There has been a Christian religion extant for now seventeen hundred and fifteen years: for so long a time had the world been acquainted with its spiritual responsibilities and necessities. Yet here, in the middle of the eighteenth century, was the one common eminence conceded to the spiritual teacher-the man who comes upon the earth to lift his fellow men above its miry bogs. Up in a garret, writing for bread he cannot get, and dunned for a milk-score he cannot pay! And age after age the comfortable prosperous man sees it, and calls for water, and washes his hands of it, and is glad to think it no business of his; and in that year of grace and of Goldsmith's suffering had doubtless adorned his dining-room with the Distrest Poet' of the inimitable Mr. Hogarth, and invited laughter from easy guests at the garret and milk score. ......" We pay some guineas," writes a commentator on this passage, "to a lecturer for a few hours' instruction: we pay other guineas in the course of the year to see the drama performed, or to hear music. For the book which has, perhaps, given us more gratification, more mental occupation, more intellectual excitement, than lecture and drama and concert put together, we have paid a few shillings." Doctor Johnson informs us that he induced the bookseller, as a personal favour, to give sixty guineas for the copyright of the "Vicar of Wakefield." What was the per centage against the seller in that transfer?

The author of

a century ago denounced the publisher as a literary Shylock: circumstances have since placed both the writers and vendors of books in very different relations. The rage of rivalry, it is said, broke out with desperate determination, once upon a time, between two dealers in brooms. In the extacy of opposition, one of the competitors for patronage put forth the following advertisement-" This is the cheapest house in the trade for brooms! The manufacturer steals all his birch!" To this his rival rejoined "The proprietor of this establishment can undersell the universe for brooms! Every article in his shop is stolen ready made!" Literary larceny is amenable to the law, but "translation" is a very comprehensive term, and embraces a far wider meaning than merely turning one language into another: it has other versions. Of such, artistically applied, comes that which is called cheap literature, save as the exception. Knight and Chambers have given to the reading world sterling works at marvellously low prices, but they did it legitimately. The book which has furnished occasion for these remarks is one of the cheapest of the cheap. No one will open it without wondering how it was done "at the price." They will also take it up" on charitable thoughts intent." It must be expected that the muse will halt now and then in songs which are sold "sixteen yards for a ha'penny."