at one discharge from a large gun. The extensive forest of the Zitikama, which supplies the colony with timber, abounds in buffalo, boar, and antelope, in pheasants, partridges, and guinea-fowl. The keen sportsman, not wedded to the pleasures of a city, will find abundant pastime and recreation in so gamy a land as this; and, when wearied by the monotonous occupations of his farm, may, almost without losing sight of browsing herds and drowsy Hottentots, pleasantly beguile an hour by stalking a "blesbok" or circling a bustard--the latter process consisting in riding round the birds in large but decreasing circles, which evolution, if skilfully performed, causes them to lie close till the horse walks them up. Such is the manœuvre advocated and practised by Mr Nicholson, who, having at last left off grumbling, and begun to be amusing, prematurely closes his very brief volume, as if afraid of writing himself into good humour on his favourite subject of sporting, and of retracting some portion of his previous depreciation of a colony which, with due deference for his opinion and verdict, we persist in considering a land of great promise to frugal, hardy, and industrious emigrants. THE CAXTONS.--PART V. CHAPTER XV. In setting off the next morning, the Boots, whose heart I had won by an extra sixpence for calling me betimes, good-naturedly informed me that I might save a mile of the journey, and have a very pleasant walk into the bargain, if I took the footpath through a gentleman's park, the lodge of which I should see about seven miles from the town. "And the grounds are showed too," said the Boots, "if so be you has a mind to stay and see 'em. But don't you go to the gardener, he'll want half-a-crown; there's an old 'oman at the lodge, who will show you all that's worth seeing,--the walks and the big cascade--for a tizzy. You may make use o' my name," he added proudly, "Bob, boots at the Lion. She be a _h_aunt o' mine, and she minds them that come from me pertiklerly." Not doubting that the purest philanthropy actuated these counsels, I thanked my shockheaded friend, and asked carelessly to whom the park belonged? "To Muster Trevanion, the great parliament man," answered the Boots. "You has heard o' him, I guess, sir?" I shook my head, surprised, every hour, more and more, to find how very little there was in it. "They takes in the _Moderate Man's Journal_ at the Lamb; and they say in the tap there that he's one of the cleverest chaps in the House o' Commons," continued the Boots in a confidential whisper. "But we takes in the _People's Thunderbolt_ at the Lion, and we knows better this Muster Trevanion: he is but a trimmer,--milk and water,--no _h_orator,--not the right sort,--you understand?" Perfectly satisfied that I understood nothing about it, I smiled, and said, "Oh yes;" and, slipping on my knapsack, commenced my adventures; the Boots bawling after me, "Mind, sir, you tells _h_aunt I sent you!"