"Oh, there's Mr. Scott, and Mr. Sheepskin, and Mr. Brown, and Mr. Randall of Reay, and several others," replied Tom.

"They are not owners of covers, I think," snapped Muff.

"Hazelhanger belongs to Mr. Scott," observed

Bowles.

"Well, you know your orders best," observed Muff pompously, "but if you were my servants, I should say you had done extremely wrong in throwing off on such a day, especially to such a field, disturbing such an extent of country;" whereupon he gave a loud hem, and returned with the ladies to the luncheon, repeating as he went, "extremely wrong, indeed!"

"Vain his attempt who strives to please them all!”

CHAP. XII.

THE BAD MEET.

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"Он! уau-au-Neville's at the chase. Monday," puffed great Captain Rasher through a mouthful of mustachios in his barrack-room at Scrapetin, as he read the county paper. "Sha'n't go-never get a run confounded woodland place-up to one's horse's hocks all the day in mud and clay bad for curbs" with which observation the man of war settled the matter; and being the hunting authority of the regiment, of course all the subs followed suit. Lieutenant Scrimagour denounced it as the most uncivilised place that ever was seen; and little Cornet Muttonjaw, who is just weaned and entered to hunting, swore "he wouldn't go if anybody would lend him a horse and give him five pounds into the bargain."

So they settled the matter in barracks.

"I sha'n't hunt to-morrow, William," said Tarquinius Muff, strutting into his stable at the four o'clock feeding time, with his friend old Major Tinhead, to show off his stud. It's the most confounded nasty place to get away from that ever was seen, and a very likely one for an accident. Strip that horse, Tom," said Muff to helper No 1., who

had just replaced the clothing, "and let the major see him."

"There!" exclaimed Muff, as the lad swept the highly-finished richly-lettered clothing over the horse's quarters again. "There," repeated he, extending his right arm, "I call that shape. You may go up to him," continued he, seeing the major stand in the vacant way people do when called upon to admire a horse in a stable, "you may go up to him -he's quite quiet;" whereupon Tinhead availed himself of Muff's liberality, and squeezed up the stall till he got beside the servant, when he underwent the usual penalty of spanning the horse's knee, grasping his pastern, admiring his loins, and criticising his colour.

Muff then rewarded him by making him do "ditto" by another, and so on through the five; four hunters and a hack being Muff's complement, though one would do all his work. We need scarcely say that Tinhead is Muff's toadey. He looks like a toadey-a little shrivelled, parchment-faced, precise, old-maidish sort of animal, that nine men out of ten would take a dislike to at first sight without knowing why.

"You may exercise the horse to-morrow, as well as the mare," said Tom Talkington to his half groom, half flunkey, "I sha'n't go to that beastly Chase-was nearly smothered in a bog the last time I was there."

"What horse will you ride to-morrow, sir?"

asked Joe Beans of his master, Mr. Muffinmouth as the latter came in from coursing. "To-morrow!' exclaimed Muffinmouth, "to-morrow-what's tomorrow?"

"The Chase," replied Beans.

"The Chase be hanged," replied Muffinmouth, turning on his heel as though it were not worth a thought.

Every country has its proscribed meet-its place that "nobody thinks of going to," which redeems itself every now and then by some tremendous run, drawing all the chatterers back, to be choked off by degrees, and Abbeycroft Chase is the "beastly place" of Mr. Neville's hunt; not that it is a bad place, looking at it as far as the interests of hounds are concerned, for it is sporting-like and spacious, and lying on the verge of two countries, is always full of foxes belonging to each. In short, it is one of those sort of places that requires routing out every fortnight or so, in order to be sure of finding foxes in the smaller ones. Its great imperfection undoubtedly is the absence of fences and leaps, which are hardly compensated for by sundry terrific bogs that dye a red coat black in no time. Still that is not the sort of excitement Capt. Rasher, Cornets Muttonjaw and Shaver, or such like cocks, delight in; they want a cutting whip, and a line of flags through four miles of stiff country, with a break-back brook in the middle.