Our sportsmen do not confine themselves to the gentle art of angling—they shoot also; and some of them even acquire a sort of celebrity for the precision of their aim. This class of sportsmen may be divided into the in, and the out-door marksmen. These, innocuous, and confining their operations principally to small birds in trees; those, to the knocking the heads off small plaster figures from a stand. The following brief notice of them we transcribe from our Vichy note-book:—

Those of bad blood, and mischievously gay,
Haunt "tirs au pistolets," and kill—the day!
There, where the rafters tell the frequent crack,
To fire with steady hand, acquire the knack,
From rifle barrels, twenty feet apart,
On gypsum warriors exercise their art,
Till ripe proficients, and with skill elate,
Their aimless mischief turns to deadly hate.
Perverted spirits; reckless, and unblest;
Ye slaves to lust; ye duellists profess'd;
Vainer than woman; more unclean than hogs;
Your life the felon's; and your death the dog's!
Fight on! while honour disavow your brawl,
And outraged courage disapprove the call—
Till, steep'd in guilt, the devil sees his time,
And sudden death shall close a life of crime.

In front of some of the hotels you always observe a number of persons engaged successively in throwing a ring, with which each endeavours to encircle a knife handle, on a board, stuck all over with blades. If he succeeds, he may pocket the knife; if not he pays half a franc, and is free to throw again. It is amusing to observe how many half franc pieces a Frenchman's vanity will thus permit him to part with, before he gives over, consigning the ring to its owner, and the blades to his electrical anathema of "mille tonnerres!" A little farther on, just beyond the enclosure, is another knot of people. What are they about? They are congregated to see what passengers embark or disembark (their voyage accomplished) from the gay vessels, the whirligigs or merry-go-rounds (which is the classical expression, let purists decide for themselves) which, gaily painted as a Dutch humming-top, sail overhead, and go round with the rapidity of windmills.

In hopes to cheat their nation's fiend, "Ennui,"
These cheat themselves, and seem to go to sea!
Their galley launch'd, its rate of sailing fast,
Th' Equator soon, and soon the Poles they've past,
And here they come to anchorage at last!
These, tightly stirrupt on a wooden horse,
Ride at a ring—and spike it, as they course.
Thus with the aid that ships and horses give,
Life passes on; 'tis labour, but they live.—
And some lead "bouledogues" to the water's edge,
There hunt, à l'Anglais, rats amidst the sedge;
And some to "pedicures" present—their corns,
And some at open windows practise—horns!
In noisy trictrac, or in quiet whist,
These pass their time—and, to complete our list,
There are who flirt with milliners or books,
Or else with nature 'mid her meads and brooks.

But Gauthier's was our lounge, and therefore, in common gratitude, are we bound particularly to describe it. Had we been Dr Darwin we had done it better. As it is, the reader must content himself with Scuola di Darwin—

In Gauthier's shop, arranged in storied box
Of triple epoch, we survey the rocks,
A learned nomenclature! Behold in time
Strange forms imprison'd, forms of every clime!
The Sauras quaint, daguerrotyped on slate,
Obsolete birds and mammoths out of date;
Colossal bones, that, once before our flood,
Were clothed in flesh, and warm'd with living blood;
And tiny creatures, crumbling into dust,
All mix'd and kneaded in one common crust!
Here tempting shells exhibit mineral stores,
Of crystals bright and scintillating ores!
Of milky mesotypes, the various sorts,
The blister'd silex and the smoke-stain'd quartz;
Thy phosphates lead! bedeck'd with needles green,
Of Elbas speculum the steely sheen,
Of copper ores, the poison'd "greens" and "blues,"
Dark Bismuth's cubes, and Chromium's changing hues.

Here, too, (emblematical of our own position with respect to Ireland,) we see silver alloyed with lead. In the "repeal of such union," where the silver has every thing to gain and the lead every thing to lose, it is remarkable at what a very dull heat ('tis scarcely superior to that by which O'Connell manages to inflame Ireland) the baser metal melts, and would forsake the other, by its incorporation with which it derives so large a portion of its intrinsic value, whatever that may be!

Here, too, we pass in frequent review a vast series of casts from the antique; they come from Clermont, and are produced by the dripping of water, strongly impregnated with the carbonate of lime, on moulds placed under it with this view. Some of these impressions were coarse and rusty, owing to the presence of iron in the water; but where the necessary precautions had been taken to precipitate this, the casts came out with a highly polished surface, together with a sharpness of outline and a precision of detail, that left no room for competition to Odellis, else unrivalled Roman casts, which, confronted with these, look like impressions of impressions derived through a hundred successive stages; add, too, that these have the solid advantage over the others of being in marble in place of washed sulphur.

Thus much concerning us and our pastimes, from which it will have appeared that the gentlemen at Vichy pass half the day in nothings, the other half in nothing. As to the ladies, who lead the same kind of out doors life with us, and only don't smoke or play billiards, we see and note as much of their occupations or listlessness as we list.

In unzoned robes, and loosest dishabille,
They show the world they've nothing to conceal!
But sit abstracted in their own George Sand,
And dote on Vice in sentiment so bland!
To necklaced Pug appropriate a chair,
Or sit alone, knit, shepherdise, and stare!
These seek for fashion in a mourning dress,
(Becoming mourning makes affliction less.)
With mincing manner, both of ton and town,
Some lead their Brigand children up and down;
Invite attention to small girls and boys,
Dress'd up like dolls, a silly mother's toys;
Or follow'd by their Bonne, in Norman cap,
Affect to take their first-born to their lap—
To gaze enraptured, think you, on a face,
In which a husband's lineaments they trace?
Smiling, to win the notice of their elf?
No! but to draw the gaze of crowds on Self.