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CHAP. XIII.

THE BLANK DAY.

Ir's four years since last February, though our friend Tom says he remembers it as if it were but yesterday, so rare are the calamities of blank days in the catalogue of his misfortunes.

The Duke of Tergiversation, having the Prince of Spankerhausen, Mynheer Von Cled, and several other great Dutch swells, whom he wanted "galvanizing," had written to Lord Harry Harkaway to bring his unrivalled hounds to Fast-and-Loose Castle, on that most forlorn of all forlorn speculations, the "chance" of finding a fox.

Dukes are people that generally have their own way, let them be ever so unreasonable; and even if Lord Harry had been inclined to object to trashing his hounds and horses such a distance, the offer of hospitality to himself and establishment would have caused him to think that he might as well avail himself of the opportunity for paying the duke and duchess a visit.

Accordingly the hounds were advertised to meet at Fast-and-Loose Castle on "their" day of the week, with a non-hunting one on each side of it, though what that day was, we don't pretend to

say, dates and distances being things we seldom trouble our head about.

It was the first season of Lord Harry's hunting the country, the hounds having just come out of Yarnshire with the usual high-flown renown of new packs.

Fast-and-Loose Castle, indeed the whole Tergiversation territory, had long been looked upon as extra-parochial in the hunting line, neither Sir Charles Wildblood nor his predecessor Lord Heavysop, ever having thought it worth while to play at drawing his grace's covers a second time. Not but that his grace is a patron of fox-hunting, a patron in his own peculiar way, just as he is a patron of racing, to uphold which, he keeps two or three wooden-limbed brutes that go the rounds of the district. Fox-hunting he looks upon in much the same light as racing; a sort of amusement of the hour, that requires no care or consideration during the rest of the year. He therefore gives hounds leave to draw his covers, on certain set days of the season-the 15th of December, the 15th of February, and again on the 15th of April, provided none of those days fall on a Sunday, in which case, the hunt stands adjourned to the Monday.

But the system will develop itself with the narrative.

The talk people make about anything new, especially anything new in the hands of a nobleman, made Tom Scott take a fancy for seeing Lord Hark

away's hounds, and though the distance from Hawbuck Grange is great, five and thirty miles to the kennel, yet the town of Barkeston being within easy distance of the castle, by lying out a couple of nights, he could easily accomplish his object, especially as like Lord Harry, he could kill two birds with one stone-get a hunt, and pay a visit to his old friend the Rev. Peter Blackcoat, the worthy rector of Barkeston.

Accordingly Tom arranged it so.

It was not until he got to Barkeston that he heard the exact state of the fox question. His grace having lately made one of his periodical changes of politics, Tom thought he had very likely turned over a new leaf in the hunting book too, and that things were going to be different.

"I am afraid you've come on a forlorn hope," observed Peter Blackcoat, wringing Tom's hand, as he met him at his neat parsonage gate.

"How so?" asked Tom, fearing the whole thing was put off. "The duke hasn't changed his mind,

has he?"

"Oh no,” replied his friend; "the thing is to take place; that's to say, there's to be a grand spread of a breakfast, cherry brandy-cheese, and so on but as to finding a fox, there isn't such a thing in the parish."

"The deuce there isn't!" exclaimed Tom; "then what are the hounds there for?"

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Oh, just for the duke to show them to his

friends. He's got a lot of great barge-built Dutchmen there, who can't speak a word of English, and he'll persuade them that the hounds are his, and that Lord Harry is a sort of retainer of the castle, and so they'll go back to the place from whence they come, and tell all the great boundless burgomasters and fellows what a tremendous great man the Duke of Tergiversation is."

"The deuce!" exclaimed Tom, wishing himself home again.

"Nay, don't look glum," replied the parson, patting the mare's neck. "I dare say the gamekeeper will manage something in the shape of a fox. All the world will be there, and it won't do to disappoint a whole country side."

"Manage something in the shape of a fox, my dear Peter!" exclaimed our friend, in disgust. "You don't think a fox is like a coat, that you can have to order and turn out when you want it. want it. Believe me, my dear fellow, a fox is very like what the young ladies, bless them! say of love; there is but one real love, though there may be a hundred different copies of it; so there is but one right sort of fox, though there may be a hundred imitation ones."

This very philosophical observation brought Tom to his friend's stable door, a comfortable threestall'd edifice, with a gig and harness room adjoining.

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We never get into a parsonage house without thinking if it wasn't for writing the weary sermons, we'd like to be a parson ourself. They are always so snug, and have such capital port wine!

But we will pass over the feeding and friendship, and proceed at once to the festival.

Tom's friend said the thing that was true. As he rode away in the morning through the usually quiet little town of Barkeston, all heads were at the windows, those who were to be left behind looking wistfully after those who were going, and one-horse chaises and two-horse chaises were loading and driving away with mirthful parties, to say nothing of an omnibus full inside and out. There were Mrs. and the two Miss Sugarlips in their yellow phaeton, driven by young Mr. Whateley, the rising apothecary; and there were Mr. Luxford, the bookseller, and "his lady," as the genteel ones call their wives; Mr. Kidd, the hosier, rode with Mr. Holmes the saddler, while their respective ladies, with some seven or eight children between them, followed in the public "private" landau of the duke's arms. The duchess-that is to say, the landlady-had just been confined, and couldn't show. Nevertheless, every horse they had, both from the hotel and the farm, were in requisition, and great was the demand for saddles, bridles, and tackle generally.

The plot thickened as Tom proceeded, until the road swarmed again. More gigs, more horsemen,