And even now, although friends had turned their backs on his fallen fortune, and he felt the fangs of ingratitude, yet, as far as his means extended, he never permitted the needy and distressed to go from his door unrelieved or unsolaced.

"God bless him!" was the fervent ejaculation whenever his name was mentioned; and then tale after tale would be told of his liberality, his dashing deeds by field and flood, his jokes and jests; for few, indeed, were they who, living within a score long miles of Wynford Grange, could not narrate many a story concerning Sir Godfrey Flamstead.

Far and wide it was known that the last opportunity of ever beholding the Baronet at the head of his hounds, or, probably to many, ever on earth again, was on this closing day of his mastership. Crowds, therefore, from every quarter of the compass congregated at the place where the meet was to be held. Old men, leaning heavily on their staffs with long white locks flowing to their shoulders, tottered forwards, saying, "It would go hard, indeed, not to see his honour once again; for they remembered him a boy fifty years ago and more." Their dames, too, with crutch-stick in hand, followed in their wake with palsied limbs, adding, "Ay, forsooth, those were times, those were!" Sturdy peasants, troops of urchins, and maidens dressed in holyday gear, assembled to pay their parting respect to Sir Godfrey. The ploughshare was abandoned, the flail no longer swung musically on the barn floor, and the hum and bur-r-r of the spinningwheel was hushed in silence. Not a creature, not even the spectacle-nosed pedagogue presiding in austere and dreaded authority, was to be seen in the village school-room; and even the club-footed tailor deserted his board on which he sat and stitched away the greater portion of his life, crooning old ballads to himself. All had gone to take a respectful and reluctant farewell of the good Sir Godfrey Flamstead.

"Here they come!" hallooed a hundred tongues, "here come the hounds," as Jacob Prettyman made his appearance from the end of a long, winding lane leading on to a steril waste called Gipsy Hollow.

"It was a different sight, I ween, some twenty years ago," whispered one to his companion, as the huntsman conducted his limited pack through the throng mounted on a horse showing the effects of time and hard work. "I remember," continued the speaker,

"when the meet was gayer than a fair day."

"So do I right well," replied the other. "But look, here's Sir Godfrey coming up, and the young Sir Edward that is to be, with him."

"And a noble young gentleman he is," returned the first speaker. "Nobody could mistake him of being a sprig from the old stock. He's a Flamstead from head to heel." "And in heart and speech, too," was the rejoinder. "For he has not only a kind feeling towards every body, but a kind way of letting one know that he has."

The crowd, both mounted and on foot, gave way as the Baronet and his son arrived; and as they passed, audible whispers were heard showering down all sorts of blessings upon their heads. Sir Godfrey rode through the congregated mass of his humble but sincere well-wishers, exchanging salutations with all within hailing distance, and bowing to the yeomen with the same punctiliousness that he would have done to his sovereign.

To many he gave his hand, and long hearty gripes were given in silence, although, if eyes ever performed the office of the tongue, many spoke on this occasion.

Jacob Prettyman, with no assumed gravity, had withdrawn himself and his hounds to some little distance off, where, on a small hillock, he remained contemplating the scene before him with as dejected a countenance as a man, bereft of every earthly happiness can readily be conceived to wear, without any very great stretch upon the powers of the imagination.

Perceiving that his master was approaching, he settled himself in his saddle, raised his whip-hand to the peak of his black velvet cap, and spurred a few paces to meet him.

"Now, Jacob," said Sir Godfrey, ". we are ready."

The huntsman slightly raised his cap, turned his bony horse round, and, giving him both the rowels deeply in his flanks, crashed through a tall bull-finch hedge into the furze brake called Gipsy's Hollow.

"Jacob, I see," remarked Edward, with a smile, "has determined to give us a touch of his best quality to-day."

"Poor fellow!" responded the Baronet, “it will be more from his courage and resolution to burn brightly to the last, then, than from any pleasure he can feel. Pish! I'm getting as sentimental as that pale, pasty-faced Emily Matilda Jones," continued Sir Godfrey, laughing.

necks over the stop to their course in hesitating fear.

"Clear the way!" hallooed Jacob Prettyman, coming up; and cramming his old, welltutored hunter at the fence, he flew through and across it with the ease of thought.

"Hie-over!" cried Edward, throwing out his whip-hand, and charging it at the same moment with the huntsman.

"Now, gentlemen," said Sir Godfrey, in a rallying tone, "what are you looking at?" And while he spoke, his horse rose like a bird, and dipped across the rasper as lightly as if possessed of feathered pinions.

The way being led, many who feared to pioneer the course for themselves now followed in the rear, and vainly strove to recover the distance lost. For such was the pace that but a few yards forfeited to doubt were never to be regained.

Now, flying over elastic and velvet-bladed turf; then scouring through the deep and heavy fallows; at one moment skimming up the steep acclivity, and then over the top they dipped, and down the slope they rattled at breathless speed. On went the chase!

Gates, rails, walls, banks, brooks, and fences were taken in the course without a thought of their difficulty or danger. The ardour waxed warmer at every stride, and that which, at an earlier period of the run, would have made hearts and nerves flutter, was not even heeded with a thought. On went the chase!

Flocks of sheep, and herds of frightened cattle scampered to the corners of their boundaries, and stared at the fleet hounds and throng sweeping past in dumb but palpable amazement. Horses, ranging idly in rich pastures, roused by the inspiring and wellknown sounds, stood statue-like at first, with pricked ears and distended nostrils, and then, as the gladdening cry of the pack gave notice of its approach, their eyes flashed fire, and, scorning all restraint, away they rushed over rail, hedge, and ditch, to join in the noble sport. On went the chase!

Mile after mile was scoured, and yet with unabated vigour the hunt continued. Occasionally a view halloo was heard at a short distance forwards, announcing that Reynard, with all his desperate struggle to get ahead, and make the space long between him and his enemies, had met with very indifferent success, considering the great exertions used. Fly he must, and fly he did; but there were those in his track that kept pace with him.

Abreast of Jacob Prettyman, rode Edward Flamstead; and it was a gallant sight, let who will gainsay it, to see both ride with such skill and noble spirit. There were no swerving-no faint hearts with them. Straight as feathered shafts they flew at the yawning impediments stretched before their horses' heads, and, neck-and-neck, held the enviable position of leaders of the van.

"Heads up, and sterns down!” cried the huntsman in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, pointing with his whip to the hounds not two hundred yards in advance; "that's the way, Master Edward, I love to see 'em go."

Jacob having addressed his young master by this juvenile title, when in long winter nights, he used to charm his ears by relating daring deeds by field and flood, as he sat astride upon his knee, a mischievous, fat, chubby boy, still observed his ancient custom by calling him "Master Edward."

"What a head they carry!" returned Edward admiringly.

"Yes, sir,” added the hunstman; “and if I'm not out of my reckoning, and no accident happens in the shape of an open earth, they'll hold it for some time to come."

Sir Godfrey, as was his habit, held a conspicuous position; and if it was not so forward as his son's, still he well maintained his declared resolution "to be there or thereabouts."

Like leaves in autumn weather, the field now dropped off one by one; and, instead of the motley number thundering along helterskelter, as at first, there were but a select few left in their glory alone. And even this choice number gradually became more choice, until some half dozen only had the power of living with the pack. On went the chase!

Through dark, deep woods, and across wide, open fields, and down green vales, and up steep, precipitous hills, and over heath, common, and waste, the hounds continued the rapid race between life and death-life in escape and death in defeat. There was no lack of ardour in either the pursuing or pursued. The latter evinced his love of existence by the terrific struggle made to preserve it, and the former the keen and whetted appetite for blood, in the desperate effort to pull their victim down, and let flow the crimson current from his arteries.

Hour after hour fled. Long shadows streaked themselves upon the earth, the sinking sun gilded the tree-top, and, at length, the thickening shades of evening fell in misty folds around; but still the chase went on.

Sir Godfrey's jaded horse had for some

time exhibited those symptoms of distress which told that nature was exhausted; and his rider, finding that he could go no further without the torture of force, pulled him to a stand-still, with the determination of not going a step further.

"By the Saints!" exclaimed the Baronet, dismounting, "this run will last till midnight."

There were now no followers left except Jacob Prettyman and Edward Flamstead. All the rest had been beaten off; but they still held their places. The flanks of their horses, however, told the severity used to keep them at the breathless speed, for the rowels of their spurs and their heels were speckled with gore, and mire, foam, and sweat, covered their bodies from crupper to bit.

-

Night now began to drop darkly around. The moon struck her pale beams through thin fleecy clouds :-still the chase went on. Bright stars twinkled in the blue firmament, and were reflected in the mirror of waters :still the chase went on. Rustics, who had finished their labours for the day, paused in their return home, or rushed to their cottage doors, to listen to the unusual sounds at so late an hour; and then, as silence became suddenly again restored, began to question the correctness of their senses.

"I can go no farther," shouted Edward, in a dry, husky voice.

"Hold on," returned Jacob in a similar hoarse tone, "hold on, sir," repeated he, "for a minute longer. He's not fifty yards afore 'em."

Thus cheered, Edward pricked his beaten horse forwards, but, staggering for a few yards with a last effort, his head dropped between his knees, and he fell dead on the greensward.

His rider was thrown lightly, and without a bruise, and disengaging himself from the stirrups he sprung to his feet, just as a loud, hearty, and ringing "Who-whoop!" burst from the lips of the huntsman.

"By Heaven, they 've killed him!" exclaimed Edward, running forward to witness the victory of the gallant hounds.

He had not proceeded far when he saw the indistinct form of Jacob returning. The huntsman was leading his horse, and the hounds were following panting and exhausted at his heels.

"Well, Jacob !" ejaculated his young master, "the success has cost us dearly, for the Roan dropped dead from under me; but where's the brush ?"

The huntsman replied in a thick, inarticulate, mysterious voice, that "he didn't know." | "Not know!" echoed Edward. "What do ye mean?"

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Exactly what I say, Master Edward,” replied Jacob, in a slow, measured voice. I saw the fox," continued he, 'as plainly as I now see you; and I had done so for minutes before, when we were running him from scent to view. I say, sir, that I saw this with my own eyes, and I also saw the hounds run in to him, and pull him down in the middle of this very grass field that we are now standing in."

"Well!" said Edward, as the huntsman arrived at a pause in his narrative.

"With a who-whoop, which you might have heard, sir," resumed Jacob, "I jumped off to save the brush and pads, when there was nothing left to save or to see."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Edward. "What, they swallowed him, skin, marrow, bones, and all!"

"Swallowed him!" ejaculated the huntsman. "Could five couple of hounds, sir, break up and gorge a fox while a man was throwing his foot out of the stirrup? No, no, no," continued he; "I thought a miracle would be worked on the last day of Sir Godfrey Flamstead's hunt, and I didn't live to be mistaken."

CHAPTER IV.

"Too old, by Heaven: let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him.
So sways she level in her husband's heart."

MRS. FRANCIS JAMES JONES sat in the breakfast parlour of Franca Villa, in a gloomy disconsolate mood. Before her on the table were some writing materials, and the County Herald, containing in one column an advertisement for the disposal of Sir Godfrey's horses and hounds, and in another a paragraph announcing that the Baronet and his son were about to proceed immediately to the Continent, much to the regret of every body in the vicinity of Wynford Grange.

Seated at some little distance was Emily Matilda, busily engaged with pencils and colours, in the endeavour to draw the representation of some animal with legs and wings, but whether the design was intended for an eagle, cock-robin, butterfly, or grasshopper, would have puzzled a naturalist of high pretensions. Emily Matilda was certainly that which Sir Godfrey designated her to be, a pasty-faced girl." There was no appearance whatever of blood in her features, and her

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lips had that ashy hue which might lead an observer to conclude she was in the constant habit of indulging in pickles. Her hair was approximating to red, if not positively of the shade called "carroty;" and her figure had that want of roundness in all points, that her chronicler would be unworthy of credit, and prove himself to be a gross flatterer, if he described it by any other term than the graphical one scraggy."

"Matilda, my love," said Mrs. Jones.
"Yeth, ma?" returned the young lady.

"Leave the room, child," replied her mother. "I wish to be alone for an hour."

The request was readily obeyed, and Mrs. Jones left alone: that is, if the society of a small fat spaniel, snoring on a neighbouring footstool, is to be considered as nothing.

"So," said Mrs. Jones, glancing for the fiftieth time at the paragraph in the newspaper," they are going to leave, and my hopes are doomed for ever to be blighted. "Tis useless to deceive myself," continued the widow, rising hastily from her chair, and pacing the room hurriedly; "I never have, and I never will. Emily Matilda is plain, and far from being so accomplished as the money spent on her education would lead one to hope. But then her fortune I depended on as the attraction; and this, notwithstanding my frequent hints to the son, and plainer intimations to Sir Godfrey, has proved, from first to last, a complete failure."

Mrs. Francis James Jones said no more aloud; but her lips continued to mutter, and she walked the length of the apartment a hundred times, as her limbs sympathized with the rapidity of her thoughts.

At length she paused. Doubt was in her glance. Her brow knit deeply, and then her lips compressed, as if the purpose was resolved and fixed.

"I'll do it," said she, "let the result be what it may;" and, sitting down, Mrs. Jones seized a pen, wrote, and addressed a note to Sir Godfrey.

After despatching this, she summoned the tirewoman, and commenced her toilet with scrupulous care.

The rich brocaded silk dress, with sweeping train and farthingale beneath, was put on, with due attention for effect to every fold and crease. High-heeled and buckled slippers tightly and even pinchingly encased her feet. The most becoming wig, powdered and redolent with unctuous perfume, rose like a pyramid above her head, and surmounting this was one of the neatest, most coquettish,

useless, captivating, little coifs, that ever lured the admiration of man in maid, wife, or widow.

Black patches were then placed where formerly there were dimples; for their places had long since been usurped by other indentures called "wrinkles." A touch of rouge was then administered to the cheeks, and, after softening down the bridge of the nose, the centre of the forehead, and the chin, with a white powder, Mrs. Francis James Jones's mirror gave evidence that the labour of art was complete.

"Just in time," observed the widow, as a knock at the hall door of Franca Villa announced the arrival of the expected visiter.

In less than a minute more, Mrs. Jones, with a slight but palpable trepidation of feeling, entered the withdrawing room with all the grace and dignity of that formal era, giving the tips of her fingers to Sir Godfrey to conduct her, with a profusion of bows, to

a seat.

At the conclusion of this ceremony, the usual questions and answers, commonplace then as they are now, concerning health and the weather, were interchanged, and then an opportunity was afforded to the widow to open her masked battery by the Baronet observing, that "he had had the honour of a note requesting his early attendance at Franca Villa, and it was a great pleasure to reply to it in person immediately upon receiving the intimation."

Mrs. Francis James Jones coughed, drew her laced handkerchief across her lips, and replied, that "Sir Godfrey would doubtlessly consider her a strange creature when he learned the cause of her desire to see and consult him. But the truth was, she had lately thought of a matter on which no one could give her so much valuable information as Sir Godfrey."

The Baronet was quite delighted at the preference shown him, and expressed his readiness to reveal all within his power and keeping.

"Without further mystery, then, Sir Godfrey," resumed the widow, bending her eyes on the points of her slippers, "I intend to purchase your fox-hounds."

"Fox-hounds!" exclaimed Sir Godfrey, astonished beyond the power of delineation, and as if his breath had been taken away, by the sudden plunge of Mrs. Jones thus diving at once to the pith of her subject.

"Yes," returned the widow. "I find that you are really going away from us, and it