We are fast coming to that period of life when it is more agreeable to talk about sporting than to practice it. We recall with infinite pleasure recollections of old sportsmen and their deeds.
The present generation may beat them for aught we know — they have better guns and better equipments — yet the obstinacy of age is very strong upon us, and we find it as hard to believe that any of the present generation could beat Charles Taylor, Littlebury Mosby, John Syme, John Heth, Beverly Heth, Meriwether Vaughan and Milks Selden, when they were in their prime, (and, alas!
but one of them, Mr. Selden, is now alive,) as we do to believe that any of the horses whose fame now fills the racing journals, are superior to Eclipse and Henry, or Flirtilla and Ariel.
We mention the gentlemen above-named, because they were all genuine sportsmen — men who did honor to the craft — men who would as soon think of stealing a sheep or robbing a hen-roost, as of shooting into a covey on the g