began puffing and blowing his horn to get all the redoubtable dogs out of cover that he could. That feat being accomplished, at least as far as he could judge by the absence of noise, he shifted his saddle back off the poor galled jade's withers, re-adjusted the piece of carpeting, and proceeded at a gentle trot along the higher ground of the line they had gone; his next business being to catch and couple the dogs at the end, for which purpose he carried two most formidable bunches of couples at his saddle. So he hobbled and jingled away at his leisure.

The majority of our readers, we dare say, will have had experience enough of the elongated, straggling style in which scratch packs do their "splendid work;" the difficulty there is in telling which field has the head, and which the tail. Perhaps some of them may have unpleasant reminiscences connected therewith, so, as our paper is short, and our dinner we sincerely hope nearly ready, we will wind up this part of our sketch by describing the scene that burst on Joshua's astonished vision as, on rounding Fourburrow Hill, he came all at once upon Woolridge Valley.

What "strange confusion there was in the vale below!" as the poet sings.

First and foremost were Mr. Sylvanus Bluff's swallow tails flying out, as, horsewhip in hand, he hurried from one upturned ewe to another, rescuing herself or her lamb from the fury of the

savage pack. Others were similarly engaged, while their horses fled or grazed at their leisure. Dead ewes and lambs were scattered around, while some of the more depraved of the pack actually did battle with the rescuers for the bodies of their victims. Others sneaked stealthily around, diving up to the very eyes in blood as opportunity offered, and those that had gorged themselves with tender lamb, curved their distended sides, and sought repose among the bushes on the hill.

So the last state of Mr. Sylvanus Bluff was a deal worse than the first.

MORAL.

All you kindly disposed, generous-minded, country gentlemen who encourage fox-hunting without partaking of it yourselves, make allowances for masters, and beware, oh! beware, of the Scratchley dogs.

And now we really think, what with the chapter on the weather and this moral on the "muttons," we have done something to rescue our work from the charge of utter uselessness. It is somewhat singular that we should extract a moral from the misfortunes of the man who made the complaint; but truth is stronger than fiction, and performs far

The obligations we

more unaccountable feats. were under to Mr. Bluff for buying all our works, without wanting them, made us desirous of showing him some little civility in return; accordingly, we despatched our friend Phiz to make the sketch illustrative of the scene we have described, and which we hope the worthy man will like. We have kept a proof before letter on India paper, which we purpose framing and presenting to Mrs. Bluff, for her boudoir or physic-room rather. Phiz, when down on this errand, made a sketch of Hawbuck Grange on speculation, which, as things have turned out, was fortunate.

Our friend Scott doffed his red coat on his return to Hawbuck Grange with very different feelings to what sportsmen generally experience on parting with their "pinks," and as he replaced the breeches with tweed trowsers and the dusty tops with good honest double-soled shoes, he felt rather glad than otherwise that there was at last an end to the humbug of hunting.

"I wouldn't give twopence to have any day over again," said he, running the winter quickly through his mind as he sat changing his stockings, when his thoughts were suddenly directed into another. channel by the protrudance of a big toe through a great hole.

"Confound the thing!" exclaimed he, pulling the stocking off again and throwing it from him, "that's the care one's housekeeper takes of one;" whereupon

his thoughts immediately flew to Snails well and matrimony, and if he had not wanted most particularly to see how his drainers were getting on, and whether Jack Hoggers had harrowed out the oat field or not, we have little doubt he would have trotted over to Snailswell, and finished the day with a little tea and courtship.

"I'll go to-morrow, any-how," said he: "I'll not bother mother Bluff about her teeth: at all events I'll go over and see her," continued he, relapsing into cautiousness, and thinking he could make the old excuse of trying the brother's three-year-old serve again, as it had already served him very often.

Having at length equipped himself for country exercise, he broke cover and proceeded down stairs.

On the centre of a most bachelor-like little table in the middle of the parlour, conspicuous on the green baize cover, lay a note-pink paper with a blue seal, a woman's all over!—

66

Why here's a letter from her!" exclaimed Tom, darting to where he lay.

He opened and read it.

"MY DEAR MR. SCOTT,

Thus it ran:

"Snailswell, Friday.

"The kind, I may say fatherly, interest you have ever taken in my welfare makes me anxious to give you the earliest intelligence of a matter deeply affecting my future prospects. My cousin, Harry Crow, to whom you doubtless know I have long