last week was our grand archery meetin, and the first prize was won by little master tomkins, of grove house. i supose his fondnes for lolli pops made him ame best at bulls eyes. the miss courtenays were there as usul, and in comparison of arch angles look ralyarcher.—the wags propposed miss emilyshood

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have the second prize for shuting in too a cows eye that came to nere the target; she says she wos so nervus, it put her arrow into a quiver. in the middle of the meeting we herd a bad playd key buggle, and out of the shrubbery, were they had bin hiding, jumpd revd. mister crumpe and assistants; he is rector of bow and curat of harrow, and was disgised in every thing green, as robin hood and his mery men; after geting little john to string his bow for him, i am sorry to say, robin hood shot worst of every body, for he did not even hit the target, and we should have never seen wear his arrow went, but by hereing it smash in to the conservatorry. when we came to look for the prize, a silver arrow, every body had lost it, for it had dropt out of the case, and would never have been found, but for revd. mister crumpe sittin downe on the lawne, and wich made him jump up agen, as miss courtenay said out of byron, like “a warrior bounding from its barb.” the toxophilus club is very flurrishing, but talk of expeling sum members for persisting in wereing peagreen insted of lincon, and puttin on there spanish hats and fethers the rong side before.

thank you for the hoisters, wich was verry good. mary has took the shels to make her a groto, of wich i think is very shameful, as i wanted them to friten the burds. old mark lane, the man as cheated you out of them oats, has bean sent to jail for stealing barly. i am sadly afearde old marks corn will give him 14 ears of bottany.

pleas to remember me to al inquiring friends, if they should think it woth wile to ask after me.

from your humbel servant,

andrew axeltree.

p.s. i forgot to menshun the subskripshon stag hounds kep by the same members as the wist club, and its there wim to have fifty too dogs to the pack. if old bil, the huntsman, was drest

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like pam, theyd be complet. they have had sum cappital runs dooring the season. as you write for the sporting maggazins, you may like to notice an apereance rather noo in the felde, i mean the grate creol curnel brown, who is very pompus, and hunts with pompey, his black servant, after him. i have got a deal more to say, but carnt for want of room. mary says i should cros it, wich i wood, but i doant wish to put you to the expense of a dubble leter.

the sub-marine.

it was a brave and jolly wight,

his cheek was baked and brown,

for he had been in many climes

with captains of renown,

and fought with those who fought so well

at nile and camperdown.

his coat it was a soldier coat,

of red with yellow faced,

but (merman-like) he look’d marine

all downward from the waist;

his trousers were so wide and blue,

and quite in sailor taste!

he put the rummer to his lips,

and drank a jolly draught;

he raised the rummer many times—

and ever as he quaff’d,

the more he drank the more the ship

seem’d pitching fore and aft!

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the ship seemed pitching fore and aft,

as in a heavy squall;

it gave a lurch and down he went,

head-foremost in his fall!

three times he did not rise, alas!

he never rose at all!

but down he went right down at once,

like any stone he dived,

he could not see, or hear, or feel—

of senses all deprived!

at last he gave a look around

to see where he arrived!

and all that he could see was green,

sea-green on every hand!

and then he tried to sound beneath,

and all he felt was sand!

there he was fain to lie, for he

could neither sit nor stand!

and lo! above his head there bent

a strange and staring lass;

one hand was in her yellow hair,

the other held a glass;

a mermaid she must surely be

if ever mermaid was!

her fish-like mouth was opened wide,

her eyes were blue and pale,

her dress was of the ocean green,

when ruffled by a gale;

thought he “beneath that petticoat

she hides a salmon-tail!”

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she look’d as siren ought to look,

a sharp and bitter shrew,

to sing deceiving lullabies

for mariners to rue,—

but when he saw her lips apart,

it chill’d him through and through!

with either hand he stopp’d his ears

against her evil cry;

alas, alas, for all his care,

his doom it seem’d to die,

her voice went ringing through his head

it was so sharp and high!

he thrust his fingers farther in

at each unwilling ear,

but still in very spite of all

the words were plain and clear;

“i can’t stand here the whole day long,

to hold your glass of beer!”

with open’d mouth and open’d eyes,

up rose the sub-marine,

and gave a stare to find the sands

and deeps where he had been:

there was no siren with her glass!

no waters ocean-green!

the wet deception from his eyes

kept fading more and more,

he only saw the bar-maid stand

with pouting lip before—

the small green parlour of the ship,

and little sanded floor.