of life and the Grim Archer, whose quarry sooner or later we must all of us become. “And is old Double dead? See! see! he drew a good bow-and dead! he shot a fine shoot-John of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head !” and yet this veterau toxo. pholite, though he could “clap" the clout at fourscore, and carry you a forehand shaft, a fourteen and fourteen and a half,'' must go the way of all flesh as surely as the prime buck he loved to strike in season. And then the train of my ideas having once arrived at Shakspeare, the mighty niagician bears me off upon the wings of fancy to the golden days of Good Queen Bess, and the image of Falstaff; the reality of Sir Walter Raleigh, the progress to Coventry, and the pageantry at Kenilworth, drive from my mind all disagreeable ideas of archers, archery, war, flesh-wounds and slaughter, till unpleasantly reminded by my precarious position that I am still a denizen of this present world, though not likely long to continue so, if I persevere in such close proximity to the target, as my day-dream has lured me to, upperceived ---whiz! an 'arrow sticks six inches into the ground within finger's length of my patent leather boot. Whiz! comes another in its erratic course, threatening me with the possibility of the Red King's fate, and shaving my white hat so closely as to give me a very clear notion of the sensations entertained for that pomiferous youth who, as heir of entail to the celebrated Swiss sportsman, William Tell, so manfully stood up to the paternal shot. A ringing laugh from the lips of the fair Diana who has well-nigh sacrificed an unwary stranger, brings me completely to myself; and as Bagshot rushes forward, and, drawing me out of the line of fire, presents me to the dangerous charmer, I return a few unmeaning compliments, which will not bear repeating, to the apologies poured forth by Mrs. Montague Forbes -- for Mrs. Montague Forbes it is who so nearly “ hit the white,” though not exactly in the mauner described by the old chroniclers of archery. As their practice never approaches a much greater degree of accuracy than what may be termed “the roving range,” I presume it is the extremely picturesque and becoming dress assumed by its votaries that makes this such a favourite exercise with the fair sex. C'ertainly Mrs. Montague Forbes was got-up to admiration! and her fine rounded figure, large blue eyes, and waving golden locks, were set off to great advantage by the close green tunic, and Spanish hat and feathers, which seemed to be the uniform of the competitors for the silver arrow. I have reason to know the lady in question was at that time turned of forty ; but whatever attractions she might bave lost by the unavoidable fading of youthful bloom, were fully made up by that experience with which a woman of a certain age prepares with deeper craft, as she exhibits with greater skill, the restorative auxiliaries of the toilette. Really on that bright sunny lawn, with its fine old oaks, and its distant view, its crowds of welldressed people, bevies of lovely girls, and groups of handsome matrons - with all to attract and fascinate the eye - there was no object present animate or inanimate that received a greater share of spontaneous attention, than did the much admired widow, Mrs. Montague Forbes. Thanks to the good character with which it appears Bagshot had already furnished his friend, I soon found myself in high favour with the lively widow, who did not discluin, when the coutest for the great prize had terminated in her triumph, to instruct me with her own fair hands in the use of the Uthal weapon. After she had received the compliments and congratulations of the party, earned by her comparative superiority over her fair competitors, with whom the attitude appeared the great point, the further direction of the shaft being a matter of secondary importance ; and after a burst of triumphal music, celebrating the victory with an air compounded of “ See the conqu’ring hero !" and the prophetic intimation that “ This day a stag must die !” the most ambitious professors of archery amongst the gentlemen proceeded to compete for their prize—an old illuminated volume, treating of all the mysteries connected with The Bow ; whilst the uninitiated thronging round two other targets placed within easy distance, disported themselves with what may be not unjustly termed, discursive shooting. Amongst these humbler individuals I now took my place, to be instructed by Mrs. Montague Forbes in the arcana of the craft ; and though sorely distracted by the manifold charms of my monitress-charms that the different positions in which she herself placed me, gave me full opportunities of appreciating. I made very fair progress for a first lesson, actually hitting the outer rim of the target no less than twice, and once narrowly escaping the fate of the “struck eagle," who winged the shaft that quivered in his heart, by transfixing my plaid trousers, and grazing the cuticle of my thigh, in an ill-advised attempt to combine accuracy of aim with an easy and graceful deportment. Little did I dream that a dart was even then working its silent way to my heart—there to inflict an insidious wound to which torn “continuations” and an excoriated surface were indeed a joke! Shooting, flirting, laughing, and talking went on by turns, till the afternoon sun, throwing the long shadows of the giant elms across the lawn, warned us that dinner-time was approaching ; and need I say that Mrs. Montague Forbes did me the honour of accepting my arm to conduct her to the tent, where we were to rough it, as best we might, on white soup, cold chickens, lobster-salad, and iced champagne, not forgetting strawberries and cream. Of all auxiliaries to flirtation, commend me to those sort of impromptu dinner-arrangements, comprising the piquancy and ease of a picnic, with the luxuries and comforts of a well-regulated establishment. You have the fresh green turf under your feet ; but in case of rain, which spoils not dishes, you have a good canvass covering over your head : you need not sit with your feet in a puddle ; and a canebottomed chair is a pleasanter resting-place thau a piece of spongy moss on a three-cornered block of stone. The port-wine has not flooded the sallad, nor has anyone spilt the salt, and forgotten the corkscrew : so you have nothing to do but to eat, drink, and make yourself agreeable. “ Another wing, Mrs. Forbes, after your exertions with the bow? Let me give you a little more champagne ? and won't you venture on another slice of tougue ?" Diana works away like a good one, repaying my assiduities with a shower of smiles. We are getting on very comfortably, and the tongues of the guests becoming momentarily more loosened,--the men pledging each other with increasing cordiality, and pretty faces waxing a trifle flushed-entirely in consequence of having been all day in the open air, of course! Just as we are at the merriest, the clatter of knife-handles against the table produces a general silence, only broken by the voices of one or two prosers, who are somewhat slow in finishing their sentences – good line-hunters, as we say of hounds, and not to be done out of their share of the sport. Mr. Shaftoe rises, and, backed up by continuous applause, proposes the health of the “fair toxopholite who has that day carried off the silver arrow !" coupling with it the name of the successful male archer, who is consequently nailed for a speech in reply. Mrs. Forbes smiles and blushes, apparently having both these weapons quite at command ; whilst after a vast deal of hesitation and delay, Mr. Quivering rises to return thanks in a state of extreme confusion. I am convinced that if he-a first-class man at Oxford-bad only known what was expected of him, he would have shot in any direction rather than at the target on that fatal day. However, there is no escape, and up he gets : “Honour-happiness-distinguished party-hospitable landlord_fair archers-surrounded by a galaxy of beauty (great applause)-healthy recreation, and graceful pursuit !" Here the orator warms with his subject, and involves himself in a conplicated treatise on the antiquity of the bow ; the training of Cyrus ; the Parthians'flying warfare—with an attempted quotation from Horace, coughed down instanter by the ladies ; the weapon of Apollo ; the delight of the spotless Diana ; and the retreat of the “ Ten Thousand”— where he suddenly recollects himself, and abruptly breaks off, with a general good health, and a bumper of champagne, when he sits down, blushing hugely, amidst the congratulations of his friends, and sundry exclamations of “ Bravo, Quivering !” “fine scholar!” “ deep research !” “modest delivery !” “capital speech !” An over-dressed young man, evidently a swell in these parts, now rises, and in general terms proposes the health of the ladies, on which those charmers take their departure, and diving like a retriever under the table-cloth, I bring up and present to Mrs. Montague Forbes in rapid succession a laced pocket-handkerchief, a pair of white kid gloves, a small bouquet, a clasp bracelet, and a French (fan-all which articles I presume must have been lost but for my exertions. We drink a little more wine, and Bagshot introduces me to sundry “ capital fellows,” by all of whom I am most graciously received. Just as we are beginning to think of the charms of a cigar on such an evening, we are summoned to the ball-room, there to meet the ladies again, who have taken advantage of the mysterious interim to “ do up" their hair, exchange confidential secrets with their particular friends, and have a little tea. Judging from the welcome smile with which she greeted me, I should say Mrs. Montague Forbes was not a favourite with ladies ; and I have often reinarked that the good opinion entertained of a woman by her own sex is generally in an inverse ratio to her popularity with ours. Be that as it may, to my mind she was infinitely the most agreeable person in the room ; and after a night of music, waltzing, flirting, and philandering, such as I have seldom encountered, the early streaks of dawn greeted our aching eyes, as Joe and I climbed into the dog cart for our homeward journey ; and the pretty parsonage was smiling in the full light of a glorious summer sun, ere we sought our several couches, cordially agreeing that we had spent a delightful day. What may have been the nature of my friend's visions I am at a loss to state ; but I can safely aver, with all regard to truth, that I dreamt that morning of Mrs. Montague Forbes ! BROOK LANDS; OR, BY LINTON. CHAP. XIII. A horse was one day brought for his professional approval as to its soundness, and after having fully examined it he was requested to mount. He did so ; when just at the moment that he found himself in the saddle, ere his feet were in the stirrups, the hounds at full cry dashed across a field close at hand. The horse pricked up his ears and started racing pace. Hoofcut was not only a good rider, but possessed an admirable hand; but the brute he was about to pronounce sound in wind and limb had not previously permitted him to discover that he was an inveterate puller, with a mouth like iron. On raced the hounds ; on gallopped Hoofcut-like Johnny Gilpin-over hedge and ditch. All he could do was to steer clear of the pack, and keep his seat ; his broad and low-crowned hat pushed down on his head. He sat back firmly and pulled, now easing off a point, now pulling hard. But what availed it? To hear him describe the chace, and express his anger against all the pulling horses in the world, and the black beast Satan, as hc termed this one in particular, was a positive treat. The whole hunt were astonished—as well they might be—for by many, if not all of the leading riders, he was recognised ; and although generally well up with hounds, he by no means attempted, however well mounted, to show the way--in some measure, possibly, from deference to most of the members of the hunt, by all of whom he was respected, as from the habit of not being what is termed a bruiser. At length-strange as it may appear, but yet a truth-the hounds close to their fox, with a burning scent, entered what I should term an open covert that is, a wood of oaks and beech trees, with little holding. Through this they raced, and Hoofcut unwillingly after them, till at length, and at the very moment they were running into their fox in the adjoining field, while in vain he endeavoured to hold his iron-mouthed horse, he found himself literally transfixed, horse and rider, between two wide-spreading branches of an aged oak that crossed his path. Here he stuck fast, totally unable to extricate himself, while the whole field—at least, such of them as had lived through a fast run, and were up to witness the death of a gallant fox-passed him in review ; too intent, however, on the termination of so first-rate a chace, to do more as they galloped past than shout at poor Hoofcut, who struggled in vain for some time to deliver himself from his perilous position, till at length crash went the branch beneath the horse's weight, when steed and rider bit the dust. “ Be d-d for the greatest brute man ever threw his leg across !" said the quaint veterinary, rising from the muddy earth on which he had rolled. “Be d-d for the most houdacious puller in all the country round! and do you, Barleycorn,” he added, pulling his A A broad-brim tighter on his head, “buy him as a first rate match for the Jumper !” In truth, though eccentric in character as in dress, he was an admirable veterinary surgeon, and a most kind-hearted and charitable man. All the little boys and all the little girls of many a rural Gloucestershire village were ever ready to welcome Hoofcut, as Hoofcut was ever ready to bestow some kind words, or, what they deemed far better, some lollypops from his capacious pockets, on all the little girls and all the little boys. His remains rest beneath a stone in the churchyard of - ; and while many a tale is told by the elder ones of what manner of man he was while living, there were few who respected his memory, or appreciated his character and professional talent more than did the inmates of the Old Hall at home. CHAP. XIV. To resume my subject, however “ Talking of hunting, Master Fred,” said Hoofcut, “I fear me the hounds will not meet for a week or two to come, either in the Earl's or His Grace's country. Duck-shooting, I fancy, will be the best “ And why so ?” “Simply that the wind is shifting northwards, and a northerly wind and Christmas generally means frost, or snow, or both. However, I may be wrong, young gentlemen, and I trust I may, if your hearts are bent on the chace. What say you, Barleycorn ?” “ Why, maybe it will freyze, and maybe it won't. If so be it does, there won't be no hunting, that's fact! but a week's hard weather, with some snow, will do a world of good to the land and it has been so open hitherto. A rest will do the horses good also. But there be plenty of ducks, and no want of sport in the Brookland coverts, with good skating on the lake, if so be it sets in strong. So what God sends man must be thankful for, if so be he can't go hunting !" Well done, Barleycorn! I was not aware you were so great a philosopher. Indeed, every season has its pleasures and beauties peculiar to itself : even winter, however cheerless to some, fulfils also in this respect the benevolent designs of the Creator. What can be more agreeable than to see a hoary frost encircling the tops of the trees, and all nature as it were clothed in a dazzling mantle of snow? Were there no winter, neither spring, summer, nor autumn would display such a variety of beauties ; 'tis during the severity of winter, of all the tuneful tribes « The redbreast sole Confides itself to man." Nothing marks more distinctly the approach of each season than the feathered songsters. Early in the spring larks congregate and fly to the stubble for shelter ; the sparrow begins to sing ; the wren also pipes her perennial lay, " While yet the wheaten blade, Scarce shows above the new-fallin slower of show.” The skylark's note in short excursion warbles; jackdaws repair to |