is too good a name for them), from the very worst kennels in England; they were all deliciously fat, more like pigs than hounds, and went in such a higgledy-piggledy (is that spelt right, Mr. Editor?) sort of way, that I felt quite ashamed of myself for riding behind such an assortment of brutes. Notwithstanding all this, they went a very respectable pace, almost too good to last long, I was afraid; and as it was not what I should have called a good scenting morning, I could not help asking Dick if he could explain why the hounds were running with the scent breast high. All aniseed, my dear fellow, all aniseed," was his answer, I have it on the very best anthority that the poor devil of a stag is rubbed over with aniseed every hunting morning."

"What a deuce of a lot of gooseberry bushes," said I, as I found myself crashing through a lot of small trees, to the no small detriment of the same, "the French people must live on gooseberries in the season, don't they?"

Gooseberries, you muff, those are not gooseberries," said Dick, laughing," those are vines, this is a vineyard we are going through now."

"A how much! I always thought vines hung out on walls, and in hot-houses, and that sort of thing."

"So they do in England, but they grow naturally here, and I should imagine that we are not particularly improving their growth at this minute."

"So that old lady with the legs seems to think," said I, as I saw an old woman screaming and shaking her fist at us, and looking very much as if she would have liked to smothe: us both, which she could have done with the greatest ease if she had caught and sat down upon us, for she was big enough to smother an elephant.

"Oh never mind her," said Dick, "she's too fat to do much harm. Holloa! by Jove, Joe, get to the right quick, there's a savage-looking man with a pitchfork behind that tree, and I can assure you, he won't make no bones about sticking it into one of us if he gets within reach."

What an unchristian country, Dick. Isn't it too bad that

VOL. VII.-NO. I.

F

an individual cannot have a ride across country without running the risk of a pitchfork in his gizzard ?"

"It isn't pleasant, certainly, but then don't you see we can't help it, and as the old lady has not caught us, and the gentleman with the pitchfork is a long way behind, I don't think it much signifies."

The hounds, who for about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour had been going very tolerably, now began to show most decided symptoms of distress, and all at once, very much to my astonishment, they all stopped short, laid down, and looked at us.

"What on earth is the matter with the hounds now?" asked I, as soon as I could recover my breath, which was almost taken away by the suddenness of the proceedings; "are they took wuss,' or has the aniseed rubbed off, or what is it?"

"Can't say," answered Dick, "think they're blown though. Come, Joe, you know more about hounds than I do, or if you don't, you ought; get up to them, and try and cast them forward."

I rode up to them hat in hand, in the most scientific manner. “Get forrard, hounds, get forrard." Hounds don't even wink, much less move. "What are you looking at, you ugly brutes? If it's me you are admiring I am very much honoured, I am sure; but there will be plenty of time for that when we have circumvented the party with the ribbons. Get up, you beasts, or I will cut some of you in two. I am blowed if they will move. Dick, what's to be done?"

66

Why, old fellow, I thought you had more sense; you must hunt them in French; they don't understand English."

"Oh! ah! I never thought of that. Now, then, let's try the French dodge: Vous bétes, voulez-vous’– -what's the French

forget up,' Dick?"

Dick burst out laughing, and came up to help me. Just as he reached me a great big hare jumped up right under his horse's feet. Away goes the hare, away go the hounds; Dick laughs and I holloa. Come back! Ware hare! Stop, you devils ! By Jove, they have got up now with a vengeance. What are we to do now?" asked I, as the hounds disappeared over the fence.

"Go after them, of course," answered Dick, "the beasts have and they will go like old boots' for the

got second wind now,

next ten minutes."

'But it is hardly fair on the committee, is it?"

"Oh, bother the committee, we are not supposed to know we are hunting a hare. Come on, old fellow, don't be proud," said Dick, jumping the fence, and making strong play across a ploughed field after the hounds. I followed him, and we ran a ring at a great pace to the field where we had seen the gentleman with the pitchfork, whose existence, by-the-bye, we had both forgotten in the excitement of the moment.

What's on the other side of that fence ?" cried I, as we came to a big bullfinchy sort of hedge.

"Can't say," said Dick, crashing through it like a shot, and coming, very much to his astonishment, into the middle of about a dozen men headed by the proprietor of the field, who had been lying in wait for him on the other side of the hedge.

I got through the fence a little higher up, and saw Dick lying on his back with three men sitting on him, two more standing over him, and a lot more running after "the grey."

"Cut like fun," roared Dick, "that fence to the right takes into the Paris road, turn to the left, and go straight; you can't mistake it."

you

I would have gone to his assistance, had I not seen they were too many for us, and a pitchfork whisking within an inch of my nose, cousiderably accelerating my movements, I was over the fence in a second and going towards Paris as fast as the mare could lay legs to the ground. I am not fond of hammering along a hard road, but I will undertake to say, that no man or horse ever went such a pace along a road as Cerito and I did on this occasion, Lord bless you, 'The Flying Dutchman' would never have seen us, and there's no denying that he's a good horse. I don't think a regiment of infantry would have stopped us, and I am certain that the gens d'armes at the barrière took me for a courier or something important.

Going down the Champs Elysées, the mare (I did not know

quite so much about the geography of the place as the man in the moon) luckily took the right turning, and I at last found myself, to my great relief, in the courtyard of Dick's' Hotel.' I was received by Bob, to whose tender mercies I consigned the mare, and rushed upstairs to change my hunting toggery for more sober habiliments, for I could not quite get over the idea that some individual would recognise 'the pink," rush up and stick me with a pitchfork. Bob insisted on my having some

lunch, as he called it, and as he was laying the cloth I told him the whole story, and asked his advice on the same; but as he merely exclaimed, "My heye, vot a go!" I did not derive much benefit from him. Lunch being finished I lighted a weed, and sat down to await patiently the issue of the row, and make myself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. I was just beginning to recover from the shock which my nerves had sustained when I heard a noise in the street. I rushed to the window, and-can you imagine may horror?-saw Dick walked by in the custody of four or five hairy gensd'armes and followed by the parties who had nobbled him and sat down upon him.

This was the finishing stroke to all my misery. I could not stand any more at any price, so having found out from "Bob" that he "rather believed he did" know how to get a passport changed for England, I despatched him to get mine; packed up my things, wrote a note to Dick, to be delivered when he appeared, telling him "he was a devilish good fellow, but I was blessed if I was going to be doubled up in that sort of way;" found a diligence starting for Boulogne, jumped into it, arrived at Boulogne, found a steamer starting for England, got to England; and, finally, to the no small astonishment of my doating parent, ran to ground in the family mansion at Stumpemrather; and the French hounds must be better dogs than I take them for, if they ever unearth me again.

To be continued.

THE

HAILEYBURY OBSERVER.

READING MAKETH A FULL MAN, CONFERENCE A READY MAN, WRITING AN ACCURATE MAN.-BACON.

DECEMBER 11, 1850.

“AN INCIDENT," OR "PLEASURES OF TRAVELLING," OR "THE TRAVELLER," &c.

It is evening. The setting sun, just emerging from a cloud, sheds a dazzling light over the blue waters of the Corinthian gulf, gilds for an instant the summit of Parnassus,-hoary with eternal snow, and then plunges behind the dark mountains of Lepanto. Changing their hue, they become bluer than before, while the sky assumes that well-known, yet surpassingly beautiful, tint which, almost purple at the horizon, fades away in the cloudless vault above into a pale blue, so pure, so transparent, that it seems to invite the gazing eye to holier and happier realms beyond. On the highest ridge of the Isthmus stands a traveller. He is on foot, and ere he descends to the farther shore, has paused to take a last look on the calm dignity of the scene. He was an ardent lover of Nature and antiquity, and had come thus far to see both in their fairest forms. He had stood on the plain of Waterloo, and visited Imperial Rome; reached the fountains of the Nile, and searched for the traces of Nineveh; drunk VOL. VII.NO, II.

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