glass," replied the old man. "When you're at fault, and the hounds can't make it out of themselves, let your first cast be quick; the scent is then good, and they're not likely to go over it. As the scent gets worse, let the casts be slower and more cautiously made, and when the hounds are picking along a cold scent, don't cast them at all. There are other rules to think of besides these; but what I've told you are the general ones, which, I hope, you'll follow as closely as your hounds will a fox, when they've the chance."

Certainly, governor; and I'm much obliged to you for them," said Will. "Not a man living knows more about the bow-wows than

you."

CHAPTER XXX.

BUTTON AND THE BADGER.

"This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick,
It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,

Such as the day is when the sun is hid."

It was a bright moonlight night, and just nine o'clock, when Striver, accompanied by Button, entered a cover on the margin of the heath. A thick mist was rising, and already the broom and furze were spangled over with the moisture. At each step the trapper took with his dog, they brushed the wet from the boughs, and now and then Button sneezed his dissatisfaction at the prospect of catching cold from this untimely visit.

"You may snuffle, Button," said his master; "I don't care for that. If you've been at work all day, so have I; and if there's more to do, which there is, we must do it."

Button continued to hang his head and tail sulkily, notwithstanding this pithy argument, and tracked his master's footsteps with anything but his accustomed pleasure.

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"You'll alter your tune presently," continued the old trapper, or I'm amazingly deceived."

Button gave a sharp cry, as much as to inquire the nature of the business they were upon.

"Ah! yes, yes; you want to know all my movements," said Striver; "you're more curious than any old woman."

tell

Button rubbed his head against the legs of his master.

"You may coax all ye like," continued Striver; "but I shan't you what I'm about. You'll see in a minute, my boy, and then I expect you'll be brisk enough."

Button anticipated the moment for this nimble display, by pricking up his ears and raising his short tail.

As they entered deeper into the wood, its denizens became frightened at the interlopers. The hare stopped from cropping the bitter weed, and listening for an instant, to make sure that her fears were not groundless, away she scudded to a more secluded spot. The nimble rabbit fled to his burrow with a palpitating heart, and the wood-pigeon rattled from her roost on the wings of fear. From the dark shade of the fir the pheasant peered, and, after the disturbers had passed, he shook his bright plumage, and settled again to rest.

About the centre of the wood, Striver stopped, and looked care

fully at the entrance of a large hole dug in the sand. By the light of the moon, he was enabled to see fresh tracks made on the verge of the earth.

"He's out, Button," said Striver, exultingly. "Yes, he hasn't returned," continued he, looking carefully at the marks in the sand.

The shrewd Button now seemed to comprehend the whole matter. He skipped here and there; placed his nose to the hole, and suddenly became quite an altered Button. At length, his joy was not confined to silent expression; but, as many an incautious dog has done before him, he ventured to give tongue to those feelings which discretion should have taught him to suppress.

"Quiet-Flames and flax! What are ye after?" said Striver, lifting his foot, and almost inclined to make Button feel the weight of it.

The reproved Button immediately squatted down upon his haunches, and watched his master's proceedings silently.

From under his arm the old trapper produced three sacks, with drawing-strings run through their mouths. With great caution he placed one in the hole, and fixed the end of the string to a convenient stub. A few yards from this earth there was another, but not quite so large. Here he put another sack just in the same manner.

"I couldn't find any more this morning," soliloquized Striver; "but there must be another somewhere; they always have three, at the very least. Where can the other be ?"

Scarcely had the old trapper delivered himself of this query, when, suddenly, he fell backwards into a luxuriant furze-bush. The long sharp prickles made sad havoc with Striver's flesh ere he could rise from his recumbent posture, and, with muttered curses, he rubbed the wounds, and, between smiles and frowns, discovered that the third earth, secreted among some thick broom, was the cause of his tumble.

"A lucky fall, Button; a lucky fall!" said Striver, pushing the last sack into the hole, and tying the string as he had done the others.

The ardent Button perceived the preliminary arrangements were complete. He stood with restless eye and quivering nostrils, curbed impatience swelling every vein. Like a crouched tiger, he waited for the moment to spring and hunt his victim down.

Striver saw, with pride, the willingness of his favourite. A smile separated the old man's lips as, with folded arms, he looked at Button for a few moments, ere he gave the desired signal. Stooping down, he caressed the eager animal, and whispered, "Softly, Button; softly, my boy." And, after a short pause, he waved his hand, and said, "Hold up."

Away rushed Button. Through furze and broom, bush and brier, the dog crashed. With his nose bent to the earth, Button pursued the badger's track, but gave no tongue as he hunted on; and, within a few brief seconds, Striver lost all sounds of the pursuer. On a clear wind, and in a listening attitude, the old trapper stood. He grasped a thick ashen stick, and kept his eyes fixed on the hole in which he had placed the first sack.

"He'll make for that, I think," whispered he.

Now was the reign of silence. In the thick, deep wood, not a sound was to be heard. The dazzling moonbeams streamed upon the earth, and stole in silver streaks between the mingling branches of the grove. A thick mist hung like a bridal veil upon tree and flower, shading, but not concealing, the covered charms. The wind was hushed like a child at rest; scarcely a young leaf flapped in his gentle breath. It was a night for lovers to love in.

"Hist!" said Striver, to himself, as a slight noise caught his watchful ear, and, kneeling, he bent it to the ground to listen with greater facility. Again the sound was heard, and the trapper rising, and bending forwards, seemed to anticipate a speedy view of the badger. Now a rustling was plainly heard; on it came closer and closer. In the stillness of the night, boughs and twigs cracked and snapped, as if animals of larger growth than Button and the badger were making their way through them.

At last, within three yards of where Striver was standing, the badger appeared, closely followed by Button. The trapper made a blow at the fugitive as he passed him, but he missed his aim. The gallant Button, however, was more successful. His victim was diving into the sack, when the dog seized him by his loose skin, and flung him back several feet. The badger turned to the bite, and snapped his teeth through Button's shoulder. Over and over they rolled. Striver rushed to the rescue, and tried to inflict a deadly blow upon the enemy; but the struggles of the two were so great, that he dared not risk the chance of injuring Button. The badger, in his usual way, had thrown himself upon his back, and with his sharp claws and teeth was inflicting deep gashes in poor Button's body. With a hearty good-will, the courageous Button retaliated, by clutching his enemy by the throat, and shaking him with more than his natural strength.

"He'll kill him-I know he will," said Striver, in a woeful voice, and, seizing Button by the tail, he lifted him up by this ornamental member, in order to get a fair blow at the badger. The attempt was futile; Button was not to be drawn off by his tail. With a strong and sudden twist he disengaged his master's hold, and, with a loud, angry growl, sent his teeth deeper into his victim's windpipe.

Nails and grinders the badger used vigorously; but the firm hold of Button upon his throat began to weaken him. He blew up his skin, and, by every manoeuvre, tried to loosen the gripe; but Button knew too well for him the importance of sticking to that tender spot.

"What shall I do?" exclaimed Striver; "he'll kill him- I know he will. You're not a match for him, Button, I tell ye; it's a heavy weight against a light un."

Button, however, was of a different opinion. He discovered, sooner than his master, that his enemy was getting the worst of it, and renewed his exertions in the deadly conflict. From countless veins in Button's body, the blood streamed in crimson currents, while very little flowed from the badger. But, as no doubt the experienced Button wisely thought, it is better in fighting to lose blood than breath. The thick skin of the badger prevented his arteries from being opened; but it afforded no protection to the loss of his wind, which momentarily became worse. After some very violent struggles, to which

Striver fruitlessly endeavoured to put a speedy end, the animals lay motionless, held down by each other's jaws.

"They're both dead," sobbed Striver, who was about catching up Button, when a waspish growl informed him of the error of his conjecture.

The bloody feud recommenced. Button placed his fore-paws upon the neck of his enemy, and literally stretched the windpipe from his throat. Still the badger was not beaten. He continued to carve deep gashes with his claws, and made his strong teeth meet as he varied his bite in poor Button's carcase. Not once did the cunning dog change his gripe. He knew victory depended upon retaining hold of his enemy's throat, and there he held him with the firmness of a screwed vice.

At length the badger became exhausted. His struggles became fainter, and, as he lay almost breathless, Striver watched an opportunity to inflict a stunning blow upon his head. The defeated animal opened his clasped jaws, and permitted one of Button's mangled feet to drop from between them. For this act of lenity Button returned a vigorous shake, and, finding no farther renewal of the fray by his opponent, he released his teeth from their tough duty, and shook himself for refreshment.

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Stop a bit, Button," said Striver; "I'll finish him."

Blow after blow was repeated upon the badger from Striver's cudgel, till at last no signs of life remained. Then the trapper seized Button, who was industriously engaged in licking his wounds, and, holding him in his arms, he carefully examined the bleeding injuries. Numerous and deep they proved, and tears swam in the old man's eyes, as he perceived one of his favourite's feet was lamentably crushed.

"You'll limp for life," said the trapper; "and may I be flayed alive if I wouldn't prefer being lame than seeing you so!"

Button, notwithstanding his pain, wagged his tail at this expressed affection from his master.

"We

"Lie there till I take up the sacks," said Striver, pulling off his coat, and spreading it on the ground as a bed for Button. must get home as soon as we can, to dress your wounds, poor fellow."

The sacks were soon taken from the earths, and the body of the badger placed in one of them. Throwing it over one shoulder, Striver lifted Button under his arm, and took his way homewards.

"You must have a dip in the river, Button, although it is cold," said the trapper, as Button's blood trickled down his fingers. "There's nothing like a running stream for a flesh wound."

Proceeding towards the bank of the river, which was not far off, Striver continued to caress and talk to his dog.

"I'll have a new cap made of this warmint's skin," said he; " and when I hear 'em talk of dogs' pluck, Button, I'll show it to them, and relate the fight you had to-night, my boy. You were a wonder from your infancy. I recollect you bit a kitten's tail off before you were two months old; and when the old woman that owned her threw you into a pond for doing it, you scrambled out again, and

yapped at her afterwards. I said then you'd be a wonder, and so you are."

Coming to the stream, Striver picked out a convenient spot, and laved the body and limbs of his favourite. In the moonlit water Button was placed with as much gentleness as if he had been a tender child. His sores were cleaned, and from his sleek skin all stains of gore removed. With a fevered tongue he lapped the clear water, and soon became much refreshed. After wiping him with his handkerchief, Striver wrapped his coat about Button to shield him from the cold, and continued his road towards home.

MONTHLY MEMORABILIA.

ON Wednesday, the 13th ult., the following horses, a portion of the stud of the late Capt. Lamb, were disposed of at the hammer, at the Regent Stables, Leamington. Vivian, who was brought from the Vale of Aylesford, where he had been at Mr. Crommelin's quarters, near Tring, on being "put up," was "knocked down" to Captain Creagh (of the 44th, now stationed at Weedon), at the sum of £33. Chit-chat was purchased for £91: 18s., by Mr. Stanley, of the firm of "Rose and Stanley," veterinary-surgeons, of Leamington. E. Greaves, Esq., mayor of Warwick, offered £52 for Speed, and, as no further bidding was advanced, that gentleman became the owner. Bullock, Lord Warwick's trainer, purchased a chesnut filly (three years old), by Muley Moloch, for 18 guineas. Beelzebub fell to the lot of Mr. Rose, of the before-mentioned firm, at a price of 34 guineas; several other hunters and hacks were afterwards brought out and disposed of. The Irish horse has thus become connected with an Irish owner, and was removed to Weedon on Friday afternoon.

EXTRAORDINARY DEATH.-Riches Dawson, the gamekeeper of Lord William Powlett, of Downham Hall, who was missed from his house on Wednesday, the 29th of September, was found on the following Monday morning, hanging by one leg, with his head down, from a crotch in a fir-tree, twelve feet from the ground, and had evidently been dead a long time. The tree was near a pheasant's preserve; and as he was accustomed to get up trees at night, to see what quantity of birds there were, it is probable his foot slipped, and in his fall was caught in the manner in which he was found. At the foot of the tree were his hat, and a pitchfork with which he used to shake up the buck-wheat that was close by for the use of the pheasants. An inquest was held on the body by Mr. Wayman, coroner, when Mr. Ward, surgeon, who examined the body, said his death was occasioned by apoplexy, which would be caused by the way in which he was suspended from the tree; but he should think from his appearance that he was probably apoplectic by habit.

We have received the programme of the Calcutta Meeting for the