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14, 1863.] with us to a higher abnegation of self, which is the touchstone of real and enduring love.

But even bachelors must sleep, though their bed-rooms are only to be found in all the uncomfortable nooks and corners of a house. However, we were all of us old campaigners, who had learned sufficient wisdom to make the best of everything, and those who were not in love were I dare say soon asleep. I was “fancy free,” although, when my servant awoke me in the morning, I found myself possessed with a hazy idea that I had been hunting with Miss Keith, and that it was rather unpleasant than otherwise to dispel the illusion.

There was a very picturesque variety of costumes at the breakfast table. Mr. Danvers, Anton and Delapierre, in scarlet, buckskin, and top-boots, looked business-like to the last degree; while two youngsters, whom I have not before mentioned because they were only the “walking gentlemen” of the party, were scrupulously “got up” in costume something like what the hero of a play, were he at once a gamekeeper and a lover, would wear upon the stage. Irreproachable shooting-coats, spotless gaiters, and boots in which all the artist skill of a Hoby could not hide the strength, denoted that pointers and not fox-hounds were to be their leaders to-day. There was Miss Morland—whose ample skirts extended last evening beneath the piano, from the key of the profoundest base note to that of the tiniest treble—in drapery positively classical. I wondered how Delapierre could call his heart his own, when upon entering the room—holding up her riding-habit, with a pheasant’s wing shining gold and brown in the hat which crowned her beautiful features—she said:

“You must take care of me to-day, Mr. Delapierre.”

The individual addressed of course “could not desire a happier office,” and soon Lady Caroline came dancing in, and, with a saucy look at Anton, waved with her riding whip a matutinal salutation to Mr. Danvers, and seated herself at the breakfast table. In a short time Mrs. Linton and Miss Keith joined the party, and on looking round I saw that I was the only person at table whose dress was that of every-day life.

“Well, Major, what do you think of the weather?” said Mr. Danvers.

“Oh, first-rate; there’s plenty of sun to settle all this frost by ten o’clock, and the meet is not till eleven.”

“I say, Templar, hadn’t you better make your will, leaving your heart to some of these ladies, and your money to me?” said Delapierre. “Although,” he added, “I don’t believe you are such a bad rider as you pretend to be; you lawyers are cunning fellows, and I expect you intend to astonish us and bring Rover in at the death.”

“At all events, whether he gallops with me or without me, my horse will have an easier time of it than yours, Delapierre,” I replied, turning attention upon the good-humoured fifteen stone of humanity which was shaking with laughter at the idea of my coming to grief.

Every one was full of fun, and Miss Keith was laughing at a fancy picture of the battered condition in which I supposed I should return, when the grooms brought the horses to the door, and our host rose:

“Now then, ladies and gentlemen, our master’s very punctual—we must be off,” and, like a gallant old gentleman, he led Miss Morland to the door, and assisted her in mounting her horse.

I confess to an electrical sensation at the touch of Miss Keith’s foot upon my hand, and a less prejudiced observer might have thought she looked very pretty upon horseback, her animated features glowing with excitement, and her grey habit falling in graceful folds. We rode out of the gates, a goodly party,—four ladies and four gentlemen—with a groom, to return with Mrs. Linton and Miss Keith, if they preferred not to join the hunt.

The meet was at a certain toll-bar, where four roads joined, and, as we approached the place, horsemen became more and more numerous—in scarlet, in black, in brown and green coats, and upon horses of at least as many colours. At last we were moving along in a mass of very irregular cavalry, choking the narrow road and compelling observation of one’s neighbours. I observed, with much satisfaction, the general prevalence of good manners and kindly feeling. There were a few ladies in the throng; but nothing occurred to render their position in the least unpleasant. There were some who, like myself, perhaps, sat their horses with evident inexperience. But, where this was the case, the whole of the difficulty was between the rider and his horse, for every one seemed bent on his own enjoyment, and upon assisting, as far as possible, his fellow-huntsmen in the same pursuit.

It was not at all difficult to handicap the men as we rode among them: from the calm, self-possessed, carefully-dressed, and well-mounted noblemen and country gentlemen, or the professional men taking their holiday in a little less easy manner, to the sturdy young farmers, who only wanted better horseflesh and less weight to be a match for their more aristocratic companions.

I was never a member of that “Young England” party, the leader of which—who, by the way, is now grey-haired and wiser—expressed in boyish rhymes his contentment that art and science, learning and commerce should die, so long as “our old nobility” remained. But I am profoundly sensible of the constitutional advantages of an aristocracy, and “my first run” has convinced me of what I did not doubt before, that this national sport is of great service in preventing that isolation of the aristocracy which would act so prejudicially upon their proper influence in the State.

There was a good sprinkling of noblemen in the field, and more than once, as we approached the meeting-place, I overheard such conversations as this:—

“Morning, Mr. Brown.”

“Morning, my lord.”

“How’s that mare of yours? I’ll buy her foal of you if you want to sell her.”

“I mean to bring it up, as it’s a nice ’un, for my own use, my lord.”