spot. We would fain have stopped to ascertain whether or not the result had been fatal; but Colonsay seemed to think the accident in no way uncommon, and would not be prevailed on to slacken his pace. We had now, to all appearance, the issue in our own hand; but we had, in our anxiety for Sitwell, forgotten the Cross Roads at Cook's House.

Yes-in our anxiety for Sitwell. Would you have had us pull up and ask him if he were dead? That would indeed have been humane; but what if we could not pull up nor you either—had you been in our saddle, and instead of a Sumph a Sampson? This cant about cruelty is confined, we trust, to the pestilential coxcombs in whose cowardly and caluminious throats it must have been generated of spleen and bile. Fishing is cruel-hunting is cruelracing is cruel-boxing is cruel and pugilists are cut-throats. So writes the Grub-street liar. Christopher in his Sporting-Jacket is cruel-Christopher on Colonsay is cruel-Christopher with his crutch is cruel-Christopher in the Crow's Nest is cruel-in the Crow's Nest with Scoresby, keeping a look-out for icebergs, and gazing on cathedrals painted with a pencil that Turner's self might envy, by Frost on the polar sky!

Nobody with eyes in his head can have passed Cook's House without looking at it with pleasure; for there is a charm-though we know not well in what it consists-in its commonplace unpretending characterseated by the roadside, a little apart -with its back-garden of fruit trees and in front an open space flanked with an ample barn, and noways demeaned by one of the most comfortable pig-sties that ever enclosed a litter of squeakers. Let the roads be as dusty as they can be, still you see no powder on those trees. And as for that meadow-field over the way-irrigated by a perennial rill that keeps for ever murmuring through the woods of St Catharine, below the shadow of the Giant of Millar Ground, and thence with many a lucid leap through the orchard behind the chapel-like farmhouse on the lake-side into the quiet of Windermere-a lovelier meadowfield never adorned Arcadia in the

golden age-nor yielded softer and greener footing to plume-pruning swan. A little farther on, and lo the Cross Roads! To the right the way up into Troutbeck-to the left to Bowness-as a sign-post-a sore perplexity to strangers-used of old to attempt to tell-by means of a ruined inscription on a rotten plank laughed at by the foliage of the living trees-a contrast between the quick and the dead. The bold breezes from Ambleside were wooing our forehead; but Colonsay remembering rack and manger in Mr Ullock's well-stored stablebolted-and taking the bit in his teeth-by which he at once became independent, and changed his mas ter into his slave-set off at a handgallop to the White Lion.

Now of all the Inns in England, the best then, as now-to us cheapest and also dearest of all-for there, at moderate charges, we got all a wise man could desire-was the White Lion of Bowness. Many a day-many a week-many a month-whole summers and winters-springs and autumns-years-decades-at a timehave we it inhabited-a private cha racter in a public place-not there unhonoured, though as yet to the wide world unknown-unnoticed as a cloud among many clouds to and fro sailing day or night sky, though haply in shape majestic as any there

upturning its silver lining to the moon, or by the sun now wreathed into snow, now bathed in fire. But

at that hour we had no business there we knew even we should be unwelcome-for the village stood deserted by all but the houses, and they too had been at Orest-head had it not been for disturbing the furni ture-the Tower did not like to leave behind the Church-the Church had business with the Pulpit-the Pulpit was overlooking the Desk-and the Desk busy in numbering the Pews. The White Lion continued to hold his mouth open, and his tail brandished, without an eye to look on him-rampant in vain-and had he even roared, he would have frightened only the sucking turkeys.

At this period of the match we have never been able to ascertain what was the true state of the bet ting, but we believe a considerable change took place in most men's

books. There-as we were afterwards told-was Shuffler in no promising plight on the wrong side of the ditch, and Sam Sitwell in a state of insensibility, with his bared arm in possession of Mr Wright, the surgeon, whose lancet for a while failed to elicit a single drop of blood. The odds which a few minutes before had been guineas to pounds on Sam and Shuffler, changed with the group there to guineas to groats on Kit and Colonsay; but on the instantly subsequent bolting and disappearance of those heroes, they were restored to the former quotation, and then betting on all sides grew dull and died. The most scientific calculator was at fault with such data-at a loss, a positive nonplus-whether to back the wounded-perhaps dying-or the absent and certainly fled. Should Sam recover, and Shuffler, who bled freely, be able to proceed-then, as they enjoyed the advantage of being on the spot, it was certain they would become favourites; for we, though fresh, were far off, and prudence declined speculating on the probable period of our revolution and return.

We indulged strong hopes that Colonsay, on the way to Bowness, would turn in to Rayrigg, by which we should save nearly a mile-nor were we disappointed-for saving us the trouble of opening the gate, he put his breast to it, and we found ourselves at the door of that hospitable and honoured mansion. Most fortunately one of the young gentlemen was just mounting to ride to see the start and having communicated to him the predicament in which we rode, we returned together to the scene of action-for a strong friendship had long subsisted between our steeds-and by the side of that chest nut, Colonsay trotted along as if the two had been in harness and followed by a phaeton. Loud cheers announced our approach-and there was Sam on Shuffler-somewhat more pale than wonted-and his head bandaged-but game to the back-bone, and ready for a fresh start. Having shortly expressed our satisfaction at reseeing him alive, we gave the office, and set off on the resumption of our match-and each of us feeling our resolution carried by

acclamation, we both immediately made strong play.

The run from Cook's House to Troutbeck Bridge, is a slight slope all the way-and there is not prettier ground in all England than that quarter of a mile or thereaboutsfor such a match as was now again in progress. The mare led-which was injudicious-but we have always suspected that Sam's wits were still a-wool-gathering in the meadow whereon he had had his fall. On approaching James Wilson's smithy, we heard the forge roaring, and saw the Shuffler cocking her ears as if she were going to shy. At that moment we were close on her left flank, and as she swerved from the flash of the furnace, we cried "no jostling, Sam," while Colonsay, impatient of the pressure, returned it more powerfully, and in spite of all our efforts, ran the mare and himself in among a number of carts, waggons, and wheelbarrows, to say nothing of various agricultural instruments of a formidable charactermore especially a harrow reared up against the cheek of the smithy door, fearfully furnished with teeth. This was rather more than tit for tat, and Sam getting quarrelsome, nay abusive, we had to take our Crutch out of the holster, and sit on the defensive. Meanwhile, though the pace had slackened, we were still in motion, and after some admirable displays of horsemanship on both sides, we got free from the impedimenta, and Colonsay led across -not-as we say in Scotland-over the bridge. We would have given a trifle for a horn of ale, at the Sun or Little Celandine, a public adjoining the smithy, and kept by Vulcan

and so we do not doubt would Sam, for the morning was hot, and told us what we might expect from meridian-but false delicacy prevented us both from pulling up, and the golden opportunity was lost. We exacted a promise from ourselves not to behave so foolishlynot to throw away our chance-on the next occasion that might occur for slaking our thirst. And we looked forward to Lowood.

One of the most difficult passages to execute in the whole course of the piece now awaited us at the gate of Calgarth-Park. Never once had we

been able to induce Colonsay to give that gate the go-by; and we now felt him edging towards it-drifting to leeward as it were-anxious to cast anchor in some one of the many pleasant pastures embosomed in those lovely woods. But we had placed at the entrance a friend on horseback in ambuscade, who the instant he saw our topping, was to sally out, and lead in the direction of the Grassmere Goal. This expedient Mr S. executed with his accustomed skill and promptitude, and his beautiful bit of blood being first favourite with Colonsay, the lure took to admiration, and we kept all three rattling along at a slapping pace-the bay at a hand gallop-not less than sixteen knots-up Ecclerigg-Browthe mare sticking to us like wax. She seemed if any thing to have the superior speed-but the horse was more steady-and below the shadow of those noble sycamores-as Sam was attempting to pass us-the Shuffler broke! We looked over our shoulder, and saw her turn as on a pivot-but before she had recovered her top speed, we were more than fifty yards in advance, and at that moment nothing could be brighter than our prospects-alas! soon to be overcast!

Half way between Ecclerigg and Lowood-say, one-third of the way nearer Lowood-is a piece of irregular unenclosed ground-an oasis though surrounded by no desert at that time not without a few trees, and studded with small groves of more beautiful broom than ever yellowed Faery Land. Round it winds the road up to Briary-close, and away on by Brathwaite-fold to the mile-long village of Upper Troutbeck, at which painters have been painting for half a century and more, and yet have left unshadowed and unlighted ninety-nine parts in the hundred of its inexhaustible picturesque. On that shaded eminence had a division of the Egyptian army encamped and lo! their tents and their asses! and hark, the clattering of pans! for the men, forsooth, are potters, and the women and children dexterous at the formation of hornspoons. One bray was enough-it did the business-in fear blended with disgust and indignation, Colonsay recoiled, and at full gallop flashed

by the Shuffler, whom he met making up her lost ground, careless where he went, so that he could but evade that horrid bray, for despite of the repeal of the Test-Act, of all the horses we have ever known, he was the most intolerant of asses. It was not the blanket-tents that were to blame-nor was it the pans or kettles

least of all, the harmless hornspoons, or the innocent spoons of pewter. "We never taxed them with the ill that had been done to us"-it was that vile vicar-that base vicar of Bray-and his accursed curate-who stretched their leathern coats almost to bursting against us -and in the bitterness of our execration, we called on goddess Nature to strike the wombs of all the long-eared race with barrenness, that it might become obsolete on the face of the earth, and nought remain but its name, a term of reproach and infamy, with scorn accumulating on the hateful monosyllable Ass, till it should become unpronounceable, and finally be hissed out of the English language, and out of every other language articulated by the children of men.

And what, we think we hear you ask, what became of Us? For a season we know not, for the pace was tremendous-but had we been running parallel to the Liverpool and Manchester rail-road, we had soon left out of sight the Rocket. Yet Colonsay, even in the agony of passion, never utterly forgot the mainchance-and that with him was corn. Better corn than Mr Clerk's of Ecclerigg was not grown in Westmoreland. So he

"Leant o'er its humble gate, and thought the while,

O that for me some home like this might

smile,

There should some hand no stinted boon

assign

To hungry horse with terrors such as mine," &c.

and without uttering these words, but signifying these sentiments by a peal of neighing, he forced his way into the court-yard, and soon brought the family to the door, whose amazement may be guessed on seeing us there, whom they had fondly believed far ahead of the Shuffler, on the Plateau of Waterhead!

A detachment of sons and servants was forthwith despatched to order or bribe the gipsies to strike their tents-though even in that event we doubted if any earthly inducement could persuade Colonsay to pass that haunted nook. Meanwhile, not to be idle, we took our seat, as requested, by the side of Mrs Clerk, and fell to breakfast with what appetite we might-nor was our appetite much amiss-and the breakfast was most excellent. Are you fond of peas-pudding? You are; then we need not ask your opinion of pork. Let no man kill his own mutton-let all men kill their own bacon-which, indeed, is the only way to save it. An experienced eye can, without difficulty, detect thirst even when disguised in hunger and Mr Clerk nodded to a daughter to hand us a horn of the home-brewed. "Here's to the greycoats and blue petticoats of Westmoreland!" and the sentiment diffused a general smile. We never desired to resemble that wild and apocryphal animal the Unicorn-so we did not confine ourselves to a single horn. We are not now much of a malt-worm-but every season has its appropriate drink-and ale is man's best liquor in the grand climacteric. 'Tis a lie to say it then stupifies any but sumphs. Hops are far preferable to poppies-in all cases but one-and that exception strengthens the general rule-we mean the case of the inimitable English Opium-Eater. Yet even in those days we could, against his Smyrnean laudanum, have backed our Ecclerigg ale. The horn that held it seemed converted into ivory and rimmed with gold. How it over-mantled with foamy inspiration! How sunk that dark but pellucid stream like music in the heart! What renovation! what elevation! what adoration of all that was mighty, and what scorn of all that was mean! "Rule-rule, Britannia-Britannia, rule the waves!" That was the first song we volunteered and all the household joined in the chorus. Then sung we "Auld lang syne"-the only Scottish air popular-as far as we know-in the cottages of England-and it, we fear, chiefly because some of the words have to common and vulgar

minds but a boisterous bacchanalian spirit-whereas, believe us, they are one and all somewhat sad-and the song may be sung so as to melt even a hard eye to tears.

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast"-and though assuredly we did not seem, sitting there, to be on the fair way or the high-road to victory, something within us told us we should yet win the day. The whole family were equally confident of our ultimate success; and now a lassie from the oasis came to tell us that the gipsies, grieved to think it had caused our disaster, had removed their encampment-and were desirous to give us all the help in their power, should we think of attempting to get the grey horse past the braying-place. This was cheering intelligence; and Colonsay having finished a feed of corn, when brought out looked more than ever like a winner. Fortunately we thought at that moment of his predilection for side-saddles and horsewomen; and having arrayed and burdened him accordingly-pretty Ella Clerk not refusing to try a canter-we led him snorting past the Oasis of Asses, and back again to the precise spot where he had made the wheel-and there, after gently assisting Ella of Ecclerigg to get down, and replacing the Marquis of Granby, we mounted incontinent, and again surrendered up our whole spirit to the passionate enthusiasm of the Match.

It was yet ten minutes to seven! Fifty minutes since starting had been consumed, and we had performedwe mean in the right direction-not much-if any thing-above two miles! That seems no great going; yet the average rate had probably been about fifteen miles an hourwhich if not great is good goingand not to be sneezed at, on one of his best ponies, by either Lord Caithness, or the Duke of Gordon. For you must remember the primal fall at the beginning of all-which occupied, one way and another, several minutes-then there was the episode to Rayrigg-and the delay that occurred about the fresh-that is, the third start at the Cross-Roads at Cook's House-then you must add something for the shying, and swerving, and shoving, at the smithy, and

for all that entanglement and extrication-and when to all these items you add the half hour consuming and consumed at Ecclerigg, you will find that not more than eight minutes were occupied by positive match-trotting between the antique mile-stone where took place the first great original start, and the spot where occurred our latest disasterif disaster it may be called that led to a breakfast in one of the pleasant est cottages in Westmoreland-close to the nearest ash-tree, on the left hand side, to the Oasis of Assesalias the Donkey's Isle.

Hitherto our mind had been so much engaged, that we had had neither time nor opportunity to observe the day-and knew little more of it than that it was dry, and dusty, and hot. Now we fell not to such perusal of her face as we would draw it, but we chucked Miss Day under the chin, and looking up she acknowledged our courteous civilities with a heart-beaming smile! The Day was not comely only, but beautiful-never saw we before nor since more heavenly blue eyes, sunnier clouds of golden hair, or a nobler forehead ample as the sky. The weather was not dry-for there had been some rain during the early hours of the night, and its influence still lay on the woods, along with that of the morning dew. It was not dustyhow could it be-when every rill was singing a new song? If madmen will trot at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and gallop at the rate of fifty, they will perspire; but their odious condition does not prove the air to be hot; and now, at seven of a midsummer morning, it was cool as that of a whole continent of cucumbers. Ah, far more than cool! We hear too much and too often of warm kisses; but the sweetest of all kisses in this weary world are the sweet, fresh, fragrant, almost, but not quite, cold kisses of those virgin twin-sisters, Air and Light!

Such, for a few moments, had been the innocent dalliance of Aurora Day with Christopher North, when the eyes of that amorist caught a peep of Lowood; and over its then proud lake-side pine-grove, now ruefully thinned, and the two or three remaining trees, the ghosts

of what they were-and the worst of all ghosts are the dead alivebower-embosomed half way up its own silvan hill, the delightful DoveNest. Collected in front of the Inn, a vast crowd! and in the midst of it as sure as that China oranges are cheap in Pekin-Sam Sitwell, on Shuffler, ready to start! We felt we could afford to ride up to him—and, besides, we were curious to hear him prate of his hereabouts. Could it be that he was on his return from the goal at Grassmere? No. But we soon had a solution of the mystery-or, rather, except to ourselves there was no mystery at all. For, having met us flying home, as he was entitled to believe, at the rate of a young hawk's flight, Sam, who had not then recovered the effects of that ugly fall, wisely decided to breakfast at Lowood. And, according to his account, which we fully credited, Mrs Ladyman had given him a superb déjeuné à la fourchette. Shuffler had all the while stood at the door feeding kindly out of a nose-bag, to be ready at the first symptom of our return; and never saw we so great a change wrought in so short a time, by judicious treat. ment, as well on man as on horse. Sam was quite spruce-even pert― and rosy about the gills as an alderman. As for Shuffler, we could have thought we saw before us Eleanor herself, had that glorious creature, who was then carrying every thing before her, plates, cups, and all, not been of a different colour. Yet we were proud to find that Christopher on Colonsay divided the popular admiration, and as the rivals shook hands, a shout rent the sky.

We now remembered that it was Grassmere Fair-day, which accounted for the crowd being greater than could have been brought to gether perhaps even by the bruit of our match. There could not have been fewer than a thousand souls, and the assemblage began to drop off towards Ambleside. It could not but occur to our humane minds that the lieges would be subjected to great peril of life, were we to start at score, and make play through the fragments of that crowd. And start at score and make play we must, if we were now to resume the contest, for our cattle were pawing to be let