sport is a white tailed coat, light blue breeches, patent leather hessian boots with brass spurs, a red neckerchief--such as one may see whispering to the gale in Field Lane or Wapping,--a turned-down shirt-collar, a gun, a cutlas, and an enormous game pouch. Thus arrayed and mounted on the “chevaux fougueux” of our island, we pursue and capture the crafty fox.--When we add that Monsieur Bazard, who is the author of this singular production, is of the opinion of Boiardo, that the English have an especial talent for falling off their horses--and no wonder, riding across the country in such trim!--we have described the leading points of this accurate picture. Most of these distorted views of English life originate with the French with whom we have had most intercourse, and who ought to know us best; but our German and Austrian friends, the dramatic caricaturists, have a very hard hit at us now and then. Only last month we were attracted to the Carl Theatre, in Vienna, by one little line in a play-bill, which announced a new piece, the English title of which is, “The Benefit Night.” Here is the line:-- ~=Lord Pudding, ein reisender Englander Hr. Heese.=~ Lord Pudding, a Travelling Englishman Mr. Heese. In rigid obedience to the law, which has impressed the names of eatables upon the eaters thereof, the author had christened his “pock-pudding-Englisher” (to borrow a pleasant periphrasis from Scotland), out of the pot. Nevertheless “The Benefit Night”--in which we think we descry some reflection of a very good French vaudeville--is written with considerable cleverness and wit. The plot was chiefly evolved from the endeavours of a manager to obtain the assistance of certain eminent “stars” of the profession for his benefit. He first presented himself to a great singer, who was, of course, afflicted with a cold, but who was at length frightened into voice by hearing that a rival had already agreed to sing his part, and by an assurance from the manager that the new singer had already taken everybody by storm at the rehearsal. A great tragedian the manager won by flattery; “the food of gods” being the only thing worthy the acceptance of so august a personage; and a dancer he bribed by assuring her that the wealthy Englishman, “Lord Pudding,” would be in the house, especially to fall in love with her. He also promised a troop of experienced claqueurs to applaud her new “pas.”