of heels that had often saved my head, coursed away out through the park, I knew not whither.

I ran on and on, never looking behind till I was brought to a stand by a broad piece of water. I paused here, and stooping, bathed my hands and throbbing temples with the clear, cold element-a proceeding by which I was mightily refreshed.

There was now a considerable degree of light, the moon shining freely out between two clouds. Looking round, I could see no living creature. I listened-was that the wind?-the soughing of trees, or the distant rush of water? No; now it's over! Hark again! It is-yes, the noise of a carriage-it is, by Heaven! and I could now hear the sound of wheels and horses' feet galloping over gravel. I sprang forward again, and ran in the direction of the sound. But presently it became fainter and less distinct. I am running from it !-where is it? I stood to listen, and again the murmur rose on the air. It is in this direction! and I ran a little. No, it's the other way! Oh, how torturing was that feeling of uncertainty and suspense in the lonely park! I could have sat down and cried in very bitterness. At length came a breath of wind, bearing loudly and distinctly the sound. I ran against it with my utmost speed, and, in a minute or more, saw the moon shine on the bright yellow body of the chaise I had so strangely travelled by, and it appeared to be rapidly approaching me. A couple of minutes more, and I was seated securely in my former position on the hind axle, and we were out through the gate and careering along the road.

It was not long now, till, fagged and exhausted, I fell into a broken and dreamy slumber, from which I was only awakened by the hard jolting and rattling of the wheels over a pavement of stone, and found we were travelling along the identical street that had so bothered my brains five or six hours before. This street, by the rapidly advancing light of the morning, I was now enabled to recognize, and leaving my seat, I hurried home, tumbled into bed for an hour or so, and then posted off to morning lecture.

The whole events of the night appeared like a wild and troubled dream, but there was a palpable reality in the fact, that poor puss lay along stiff and cold, but not a bit the worse of that, in one of the unfathomable pockets of my pea-jacket. Nor was it a matter for scepticism that she served for a nice supper to a select few, to whom, over a tumbler of punch ("toddy," as other legends sing), I took the liberty of relating the ad

venture.

But not the least curious point was, that never to this day could I form the least idea as to where I was that night,-who were the parties to whose duello I had so singularly put a finis, or who was the gentleman on whose carriage I had enjoyed such an eventful ride.

Whether the poacher and keeper ever met again to settle their difference, I know not-I should like to know, I confess. But there was one

of my friends, a serious, sedate, sanctified sort of genius-Old Father Isaacson we used to call him-who told me that night I had merely been an instrument in the hand of Providence for the prevention of a great crime, viz., nothing less than Murder!

The Secret Mourner.

I was apprenticed to Dr. Weld, of Albanstoke, in one of the midland counties. He was surgeon to several extensive mines, and other public works, all within a circuit of five miles round the town. It was my duty to ride from one to the other twice every day, and see how our patients got on, the doctor himself visiting only those whose cases were of such importance as to demand his immediate skill and experience.

My morning rounds I generally got over before breakfast; and as I did not ride out for the evening visit till considerably after dinner, I had the whole mid-day to myself, to read or amuse myself as I thought proper, if there was not sufficient work in the surgery or laboratory. This was in summer; in winter we went the rounds but once a day.

I cannot conceive a greater intellectual treat than a solitary walk in that season, through a beautiful country. It is a pleasure I have always sought, and always, when I obtained it, enjoyed. I am naturally inclined to solitude and air-castle building—though certainly not a melancholy character, by any means; and probably this may account for my strong propensity to rambling.

It is all the same to me, whether I walk along a green lane, with its high, dense hedges, from behind which comes sounds of distant rustic merriment; trace the margin of a wide river, rolling majestically along in the sunlight, or of a bright limpid brook, dancing gaily from stone to stone, and singing to itself a fit roundelay the while; or whether I climb a heathery mountain-side, pausing often, and turning to look back upon the glorious landscape below, basking itself in the fervent noon-tide; then with a long glance at the blue and white heaven, fixing my gaze on the sharp shepherd-built cairn, that shoots up like a spike from the far-off summit, and anon, with eyes bent to the earth, slowly picking my steps up the rocky acclivity. Nor is a walk by the sea-shore less a luxurybut it must be summer, and quite calm, not a little new-born wave must kiss the white-pebbled beach, nor a breath of wind dimple old Ocean's cheek; and this is not from any dislike to the waves, for I have had my home upon them ere now, but I never was one that liked storms or storming of any kind; nor do I privately think there ever was a living soul, who, in any circumstances, admired a tempest (unless it be the one with Ariel and Miranda in it), however much they may have said or sung to that effect.

Amid such scenes, a walk in the morning is exhilarating, at noon rapturous, at twilight-or gloaming, as our Northern brothers and sisters more softly call it-delightful. For all this, I am not a pedestrian-not one of those who boast their so many miles in so few hours. My object is not to get over the ground, but to enjoy it. Miles are not my thought, but fields, flowers, cottages, sheep, cattle, and above all, woods and

waters.

The pleasure of a walk is utterly spoilt by anything offering the remotest pretensions to the name of company. A book-pooh! Is not the book of Nature unfolded before you? A friend! Is not the bright sun smiling upon you the best, the greatest, and certainly the warmest friend you ever had?

But a female friend, Mr. Student-ungallant vagabond!-How can you- ?

Alas! must persist, she does not merely spoil a right walk-she annihilates it altogether. It is no longer a walk at all-it is a tryst-an assignation. The most interesting part of the landscape to you is the ground she treads on; the blue heaven you worship is the one beaming in her eyes; and as for the prospect, that of an early wedding is the only one you are dreaming of.

Yes, fair Agnes C-1 (heaven bless your far northern home!)—will you permit me to breathe it? How often, gentle spoiler, have you thus been the ruin of my most promising walks? And yet there is no rule without exception--there is one companion, who, far from destroying, enhances a thousandfold the delights of a walk. One of the sweet sex too is she--heaven-born. Do you know her? It is the Muse!

There was one walk in the neighborhood of Albanstoke that was a peculiar favorite of mine. It was a narrow road, that had been formed in its day to communicate between the town and several mines. These had been long in disuse and shut up-grass growing over the dismantled buildings at their mouths--nay, flowers springing out from rusty cylinders of the old ruined Newcomen engines. It branched abruptly from the high road, and not much frequented has been even that, since the opening of the Grand Something railway. After you had passed one turn, all was silence and solitude. I have walked along it for hours without seeing a face-this was in the day-time though. In the evening it was quite another thing, for it rejoiced in the name of Lover's Lane. But as it was in the full life of the meridian sun that I mostly enjoyed it, I had it in general altogether to myself. It led along in a sort of zigzag way, through fields and plantations, for a mile and so, being flanked by tall, clustering hedges of eglantine that had not been clipped for several years, or by low, broad turf walls, on which you could set down, or loll most luxuriously.

At one place, however, it widened out into a triangular space of an acre or more. This was the mouth of an old mine, long ago stopped up and covered over, the heaps of rubbish being now converted into little knolls, clothed with a carpet of thick short ward, and plentifully besprinkled with daisies, buttercups, and other wild flowers, with clumps of fieldrose bushes filling up the angles. Here I used often to find a couple of families of gipsies, that travelled the neighborhood, encamped, with their shy, black-eyed little daughters playing about, and stout boys hammering away at pots and kettles; the smoking caldron swinging over the fire in front, and the coarse tents of old canvass spread upon hoops of hogsheads, with, probably, a dirty drab-looking woman lying along in one of them, and a small covered cart, and quiet, sedate donkeys grazing beside it,

filling up the background. Shortly after passing this, the road as cended

About the skirt of this diadem wound the road, descending on the other side a little more abruptly. The low soft wall bordered it here. After overtopping the hill, rounding on the way the peculiar cluster of trees that crested it, a most living landscape certainly opened to the view. The hill-side itself was verdant with the grass of June, round as the bosom of youthful womanhood, and sloping away, by imperceptible degrees, into the rich plain, outspread below.

At its base flowed a broad, sluggish stream, approaching almost to the dignity of a river. You could see it winding away for miles, through a rich meadow-land, cultured like a garden; enclosing perchance in the embrace of one of its bendings a wide green wood-in the deep fold of another, a high-gabled, ivy-covered, old-fashioned farm-house, surrounded by tall, sheltering sycamores, or lime trees; while the corn-fields stretched themselves out all around it, in wanton dalliance with the sun. This stream, just beneath, widened into a reservoir, the water from which passed through a sluice, and away round to a little mill, whose corner, topped with a populous dovecot, just peeped past the edge of the hill, round which its merry hum, floating to the ear, sang bass to the clear notes of the lark high chanting overhead, and the richer warblings of the blackbird and thrush, from out the diadem of trees behind.

To the far left, again, its waters washed the base of a rock, covered with dense wood, from over the topmost foliage of which rose the turrets and pinnacles of a ruined castle. Not far from this was spread a wide and noble park, stretching up from the water to the proud mansion of the high-born owner of all these domains. At a respectful distance to its rear, a modest and most beautiful hamlet showed itself from amid clustering trees, a prolongation of the wood that begirt the ruin, the windows glancing in the sun, and the blue smoke rising in vapory wreaths from the narrow, quaint chimneys, of every sort of shape, that peeped out here and there among the foliage. From out a separate grove, hard by, rose, tapering aloft, the slender, reed-like spire of the little village church; one of those sweet, rural, peaceful-looking ones which sweethearts like to have painted in their valentines. Far away lay the little town of Albanstoke; a dim, hot, hazy vapor appearing in the distance to float over it. Beyond this, again, a circle of low hills bounded the prospect.

Imagine this landscape stretched out before you, in all its varied luxuriance of green, golden, brown, and soft aerial blue, and steeped in the glowing sunshine of ardent midsummer. Such was the scene, and such the season, in which, one day at high noon I strolled along on my solitary walk. The heat was great--almost overpowering, but not on that account unpleasant; it only made me move the slower.

I stood upon the highest part of the road, and gazed around me, feasting on the beauties of that magnificent picture. Close by the roadside stood a single tree-a noble sycamore. Amid its foliage, about half way up, the branches had grown into the semblance of a seat, and here it was my wont to recline, and look abroad from among the boughs. Some half a dozen paces from its root, a tiny spring of water, clear as its kindred air, bubbled out from underneath a broad flat stone embedded in the sod. With a long refreshing draught from this I climbed into the tree, and was soon lost in a world of bright imaginings.

I might have been there half an hour, when my eye was attracted to an individual slowly wending his way up the road. He would often stop and gaze over the fair prospect below, then turning, would resume his march up the hill side. At last he stopped, right under the tree, and seated himself on the low soft turf wall. There was nothing particular about the man; he seemed just a person of every-day life. He had certainly nothing aristocratic about him, nor, on the contrary, any, the remotest, indication of poverty or low station in society. In short, he appeared to be a highly respectable man of the middle rank, and had that air of quiet dignity and independence so strongly characteristic of his class, and not to be found either above or below it. His features again were neither fine nor coarse--neither interesting nor devoid of expression. It was a face such as you would expect to see at dinner at your friend Thompson's--an every-day countenance; the features of an ordinary man of the world. His hat was a superior beaver, somewhat worn; his boots, though dusty, unimpeachable in themselves; his clothes black, made loose and easy; a plain gold chain, with a seal and key, hung from his waist, and he carried a brown silk umbrella,-for though the weather was fine, the great white clouds, however beautiful to see, must to a prudent man have looked rather indicative of rain and rheumatism.

He sat a while on the wall, looking forth upon the prospect, then put his hand into his waistcoat, drew forth a small silver box, and took one or two pinches rather quickly. Shortly he lifted his hat, took from it a very rich silk handkerchief, and blew his nose; and this was done not as one at his ease would do it, but with suddenness and impatience, as a man would in the theatre at the sight of a pathetic piece well played. He continued to sit, holding the snuff-box in one hand and the handkerchief in the other, gazing down upon the landscape smiling below. After a little he slowly crossed the low turf fence, came into the field, and sat down under the tree, close below where I was. The foliage shaded him from the sunbeams as he gazed with a long and absorbed look upon the glorious landscape I have so vainly attempted to describe. For lack of other amusement I watched him. After this fond,