out to be a wolf, at another a poor cow, or it may be a strayed horse, that falls under the undiscriminating lead of the hunter. The latter continues his wild course, like the hunter of the German ballads, and when the sport has been good, he returns with perhaps a dozen deer.

The inhabitants of Kentucky practise another kind of nocturnal sport, in which, however, they have no danger to run, and no fatigue to fear. Sometimes, in the evening, in approaching a village or an encampment, you hear firing, which is caused by the young men amusing themselves by "snuffing the candle." On the outskirts of a wood burns a light, which produces such a singular effect that one would believe it to be a sacrifice offered by pagans to the goddess of the night. A dozen tall strong young fellows, armed with carbines, are ranged at a distance of fifty paces from it; near the target a man, standing watching, has charge of the candle, it being his business to re-light it when it is snuffed out, to replace it when it is broken in two, and in general to attend to the results. There are among the Kentuckians many marksmen who can snuff the candle without extinguishing it; there are some, of course, less expert, who strike neither the wick nor the flame. The former are encouraged by loud hurrahs, the latter saluted with equally loud shouts of laughter. Audubon says that he has seen one particularly skilful marksman, who, in six shots, three times snuffed the candle, and as to the others, either extinguished it or cut it immediately below the flame.

But these are not the only games of skill practised by the young men of Kentucky, another being that which they call "driving the nail." It is in open day, not at night or in the evening, that this sport is carried on. The mark, which is erected at a distance of fifty paces, consists of a target

fixed in the earth, in the centre of which a nail of the required size is driven. The marksmen advance each in their turn, place a bullet in the palm of their hand, and cover it with a sprinkling of powder sufficient to carry it a hundred paces. To strike near the nail proves only very ordinary skill, to strike it and bend it is considered better, but only he who strikes it fair upon the head and drives it home passes for a really good shot. It is not uncommon to see a fine marksman perform this feat upon three nails in succession; and to have two nails for every half-dozen individuals is quite common. The competition continues to the exclusion of those who have not struck the nail on the head, and after every round those who have been successful begin again; at the close the number is gradually reduced to two, who contend for the honour of the championship of the society.

But the most extraordinary feat is that which Audubon saw done by one of these hardy pioneers, Daniel Boon, one of the first who explored the vast plains of Kentucky. He states that he and his companion went on and passed along the rocks which border the River Kentucky, when after a time they came upon a flat platform covered with willow and oak trees. As the acorns had already fallen, they saw the squirrels gambolling upon every branch before them. His companion, a tall robust man of athletic form, clad only in the rough blouse of the hunter, and with his feet cased in mocassins, carried a long and heavy carabine, which he said, as he charged it, had never yet failed him, and which certainly did not fail him in this instance, when he took a pride in showing him what he could do. The barrel was cleaned, the powder weighed, the ball duly wrapped in a piece of cloth, and the charge rammed home with a white

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willow wand. The squirrels were so numerous that there was no need for running after them. Without moving, Boon aimed at one of these animals, which having seen them had hid itself behind a branch at the distance of about fifty paces, and he asked Audubon to watch well the spot the ball would strike. He, having slowly raised his arm, fired, and the report resounded through the wood and the mountains. Just under the squirrel the ball had struck the bark, which, flying up, killed the animal, and sent it whirling in the air as if it had been blown up by the explosion of a mine. Audubon adds that he subsequently saw several marksmen perform the feat, which is called raising the bark under the squirrels.

Such is, indeed, the love of shooting among the Kentuckians, and the skill they have acquired, that when they have no other mark they take a piece of bark, cut it into the form of a target, and having, with a little water or saliva, placed in the centre a pinch of dust, moistened, and made to look like the eye of a buffalo, they riddle it till powder and ball are exhausted.

Among the higher order of sportsmen in England, and after them among the commonalty, pigeon-shooting has long been a very popular sport, and during the summer season the crack of the gun is heard at many a ground in London and the provinces. Clubs of gentlemen are formed, who compete for prizes at regular intervals, either in ordinary matches or in handicaps, and the prizes subscribed for are frequently of great value. At the Red House and Hurlingham Park, in London, shooting proceeds every Saturday during the season, and the contests are witnessed with great interest by large companies of the wealthiest and most fashionable members of society. The Prince of Wales is a