to the jockey, and refused to let him ride for him any longer. A more unfounded case of suspicion never arose on the turf, as it was evident to all racing men that the horse was sore, and that it was asking him too much to come out within so short a period for so many

races.

In 1853, which was the following year, Palmer had the greatest turn he ever had on the turf, by winning the Chester Cup (long the object of his intense desires) with Goldfinder, after a most severe race, in which twenty-nine animals ran; and so close was the finish, that the judge only gave Goldfinder the verdict by half a neck, and many imagined it was a dead heat between him and Talfourd. By this event Palmer netted upwards of £12,000 in bets, and near £3,000 in stakes, so that it might be thought his path might for the future be an easy and a straight one; and in the autumn he was rewarded with another good handicap at Wolverhampton, in the shape of the Wolverhampton Stakes, and his stud of horses was increased proportionally. In 1854, from some cause or another, his name does not appear in the Calendar as being an owner of horses, and therefore we suppose his animals ran in the name of the trainer, or under nom-de-guerres. But in the spring of 1855 we discover him running Lurley at Shrewsbury, and getting second to Shoreham for the Great Shrewsbury Handicap, and winning two races with her at Newton. He also started Nettle for the Oaks at Epsom, and backed her for such an enormous sum of money, that she was at 2 to 1 when the flag went down. Her sad accident in the race, which broke the leg of her clever and honest jockey Marlow, is fresh in everybody's recollection, and many are the surmises in existence as to his having dosed either his mare, or Marlow, as there was a degree of mystery about the manner in which Nettle fluctuated in the betting the night before, that has never yet been cleared up. This was the animal, it will be recollected, he purchased with the insurance money obtained by the murder of his wife; and, as if to prove the truth of the old adage, that evil always comes of blood money, we may add that The Chicken, whom he had bought at the same time, and from the same funds, upset his calculations at Warwick, by not winning The Leamington Stakes, running only second to Homily, and it is to be feared that to meet his settlement on that race he was obliged to have recourse to the money-lenders; and consequently when his securities to them were on the point of becoming due, his fearful position tempted him to destroy Cook, for the sake of possessing himself of his means, to stave off for a time the evil hour. At Shrewsbury, which was his last racing meeting, he won a plate with Staffordshire Nan, and the Copeland Nursery Stakes with The Shadow, after having assured a jockey, with whom he was on terms of great intimacy, that his other filly, Staffordshire Nan, could not lose-a trick which provoked from the peppery little artist of the pigskin the remark that "nothing else might be anticipated from a d-d poisoner!" for the rumours of his practice were rife enough in that part of the world; but so determined a man, and so popular with the lower orders was Palmer, that no one liked to throw the first stone at him, and this forbearance no doubt caused an increase in the number of his victims.

Palmer's general character among sporting men, was that of a good-natured, jolly fellow, of a sanguine temperament, and so eager to back his horses, that, provided a man would only lay him a big bet, he did not care two straws about the price, and would frequently take five to two when the legitimate price was four to one. His chief fault appears to have been an extraordinary desire to possess a large team of horses; and no sooner had he won a good stake, than he would invest it all in the purchase of some animal; and consequently, if he were beaten the next time he ran, Palmer was obliged to have recourse again to the betting-men, and the bill-discounters. Generally he was of a very taciturn disposition, and was never seen out of temper or intoxicated but once, viz., after the Ascot Cup, on which he had laid out a large sum on Rataplan, who ran second to Fandango; and so violent was he that evening from excess of liquor, that it required all the efforts of a Herculean gipsey to carry him back to his lodgings, which were situated near the grand stand; and while in that state, his amorous deportment to one of the Ascot Gitanas narrowly involved him in an unpleasant predicament. His brandyand-water he had the singular habit of drinking at one gulp, and he recommended all his friends to adopt the same plan; but one of them —whom it was strongly suspected would have been his next victim, and who is a celebrated member of the ring-flatly refused him to drink it so, adding that he had drunk brandy-and-water his own way for the last twenty years, and was not disposed to alter now.

After his wife's death, he pretended he was always so nervous he could not sleep in a bed by himself, and a well-known turfite generally occupied a double-bedded room with him, and his escape is looked upon as miraculous, especially as he generally carried a good sum of money about him. Generally his animals ran pretty straight, and the only real bad act that we know of him was that at a meeting which he got up at Rugeley, and to which he had invited a great many betting-men down from London, he stole the saddle-cloth from Morning Star, who ran second to his own mare Doubt in the Gold Cup, and who broke down in the race, and so got all the money through his own commissioners, while he had told the betting-men who were staying with him to bet on The Star. Had such a case happened at Newmarket, he would have been warned off the turf; but at Rugeley his influence over all classes was too great to prevent his dishonesty being exposed.

In personal appearance he bore a striking resemblance to the notorious Manning; and when the latter was tried at the Old Bailey, it was singular that the instant he was placed in the dock, two of the Ring who were in court, and who knew him intimately, should have simultaneously exclaimed "How like Palmer!" And afterwards, in chaffing him, they would frequently address him by that soubriquet; and so far from being annoyed, he only laughed at the appellation, little thinking, perhaps, that society would afterwards paint him as a deeper and more atrocious murderer than that individual.

In summing up Palmer's character, we may conscientiously state that the attempt to attribute his guilt to being connected with the turf is an entire failure; for, in whatever class of life he might have moved in, or whatever profession he followed, his true attributes

would have been displayed. As a son he was unnatural, as a husband he was a murderer, and as a man he was a fiend. He lived like a beast, and as such he was destroyed and buried; and may his example, and the horror which his simple name inspires, be a warning to those who would pervert to the worst of purposes the talents they are endowed with by Providence:

GAME BIRDS.

BY H. G. ADAMS.

CHAPTER I.-GROUSE.

There's a rush o'er the borders, of peer and of loon:
Have ye heard that the Southrons are coming full soon?
Have ye heard that the cry hath gone up from the town-
"Oh cast off the toga, and cast off the gown;

Leave the senate, the bar-leave the pulpit, the desk-
Leave the Thames and its mud, for the Tay and the Esk-
The sweets of Belgravia, the park's level sward,

The lisp of my lady, the smile of my lord,

For the rude Highland shieling, the bed of brown heath,

And the rush of the torrent, Ben Nevis beneath

For the shrill salutation of Sandy at morn,

And the eagle's wild scream, like a message of scorn?

Oh come! for the heather has purpled the hills,
The crags are all golden, and bright are the rills;
And far o'er the moorland the call of the bird
By the ear of the sportsman delighted is heard;
The grey-hen has led forth her fledglings to feed,
Till they're heavy and plump, and are prizes indeed;
The gorcock hath preened his red plumes in the sun,
Till they seem the rich warmth of its beams to have won ;
And the great capercailzie hath crowed in the woods,
'Mid the whisper of pines, and the flashing of floods,
Till the slim lady-birches afar in the glen
Seemed to dance, and shrill echo sent answer again."

Yes, come to the mountain, and come to the moor;
We sound not the pibroch, nor draw the claymore:
The sons of the mist to the Saxon give hail,

And welcome them all to the land of the Gael!

The Twelfth of August! This is the great annual exodus of the lovers of shooting and of healthful exercise-the going forth of all and sundry who can leave their daily avocations and cares, and enjoy themselves for a while amid the romantic scenery of "the land of brown heath and shaggy wood." Now it is, when a golden tinge begins to pervade the corn-fields, and the first leaves are turning

brown, and in the valleys, and on the upland slopes, the gossamers are weaving their silver webs, that the land of the Gael is invaded by an army of eager sportsmen, intent on filling their game-bags, and proving that they have steady arms and quick eyes. In the rocky glen through which the whimpling burnie flows

"Where the black-cock sweetest sips it,

And the latest fairy trips it,"

they who lately dwelt in the gilded saloons of Belgravia, lounged in opera or club house, and in the halls of legislature uttered words that ruled the destinies of nations, are content now to rest beneath the shelter of a Highland shieling, on a bed of fragrant heather, and to accept of such coarse fare as the situation affords. Noble lord, and most noble marquis, becomes for the nonce hail-fellow-well-met with the private gentleman, and even the banker's clerk, and works and eats (ye gods, how he does eat!) like a common man. Over the rough ground he goes (no carriage wanted now) from sunrise to sunset, feeling more strong, and fresh, and vigorous, at every step; and ten to one but you may hear him break out every now and then in a song, shockingly loud and ungenteel, something like that of the forester in "Waverley "

"As up Glenburchen's braes I ga'ed,
And o'er the bent o'Killiebraid,

And mony a weary cast I made

To crickle the muir-fowl's tail;

If up a bonny black-cock should spring,
To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing,
And strap him on to my lunzie string,

Right seldom would I fail."

Or, rejoicing in his freedom from the conventional trammels of "good society," and all such vanities and vexations of spirit as kid gloves, cambric handkerchiefs, faultless neck-ties, and polished boots that must show no wrinkle, be the corns never so rebellious and protuberant, shouting forth at the top of his voice

"The moors! the moors! the spreading moors!
The purple seas that have no shores!

The hills sublime

Who would not climb,

All in this golden autumn time?"

Ah! who indeed, the more especially when you may do it in highlows and gaiters, and a hat of no particular shape, that is not stiff and intractable as a chimney-pot, but adapts itself nicely to the form of the head; and a coat with huge pockets, wherein may be stowed any quantity of creature-comforts that the appetite may desire, and which is one of those accommodating "textile fabrics" calculated for all weathers, and all circumstances, and all places, except Bond-street and "the Mall."

But let us not forget that we have here undertaken to speak especially of grouse, which may be considered as occupying the place of the royal family among game birds: by sportsmen they are certainly held in the highest estimation, perhaps on account of the difficulties attending their pursuit and capture, for that is ever most

valued which is least easy of attainment. Perhaps, also, the large amount of positive enjoyment which attends the pursuit of game in the wild solitudes of nature, amid which only the grouse can be found, may greatly tend to give this species of game an increased value in the eyes of the lover of natural scenery especially. Beautiful as may be the more peaceful and highly cultivated districts of our island-pleasant as it is to press the velvet sward of the noble park where the feathery fern waves free, and the old ancestral trees cast shadows broad and deep far into the sea of golden sunshine, where the stillness is ever and anon broken by the soft "coo" of the dove, or the sudden "whirr" of the pheasant's wing, as it rises from the neighbouring thicket, and flies across the glade, in all the glittering splendour of its gold and russet plumes; pleasant to linger by the flowery dingle or the hedgerow bank, and see the speckled partridge lead forth her callow brood into the clover patch or corn field, to hunt amid the green stalks for beetles and wire-worms, and such like "delicacies of the season"; but what is all this to the wild delirious kind of joy, the unspeakable delight, of breathing the pure fresh mountain air, amid the wide wide moors? of seeing the black-cock spread his glossy wing, and hear his exultant crow breaking the stillness; or to mark the muir-fowl bask amid the heather; or, perchance (oh, rare sight!), to catch a glimpse of that monarch of game-birds, the capercailzie in his olden, though for a long time deserted home, the pine woods of Scotland, with

"The wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde,

Where the grouse lead their covies through heather to feed,
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on the reed ?"

Such are the pleasures that richly reward the grouse-shooter for his hardships and privations; his toilsome climbing up the steep ascents, and long, long walks over interminable moorlands; his desperate encounters with armies of old Scotia's emblems-the rough and sturdy thistles, and gorse and juniper-bushes; and his wadings through burns and rivulets; not to speak of rain and mountain mist, and fog that wraps him about like a damp garment, as he goes ranging, as "Craven" has it, "up to his loins in a sort of vegetable ocean" not to speak, either, of the days of cloudless splendour,

when

"The silent hills and forest tops seem reeling in the heat;"

when the gun-stock blisters the hands, and the skin peels from the face; and the panting dogs, with lolling tongues, are more eager for watercourses than birds, and the "gillie" thinks "she had petter rest awee" by the fountain in the glen, where the red berries of the rowan glisten amid the spray of the fall, and the bonny birks droop their light tresses unstirred by a breath of air. Notwithstanding, we say, these slight drawbacks, yet it is a marvellously pleasant life, that of the free ranger of the hills and moors—