valuable part of the day for shooting; while at noon (when birds are stationary and afford little or no amusement) that meal might be agreeably made, we bent our steps towards the cool, leafy recess, hard by a chirping limpid brook, where we had directed our cloth to be spread.

In our sweltering, jaded condition, mere shade and rest were absolute luxuries; delicious, too, were the choice cold viands laid before us; most refreshing, the icy porter that we quaffed.

But who is this venerable and cheerful-looking man, clad in suit of sober black, that comes up the brook-side to visit us? It is the Rector; worthiest of old men! Doubtless he comes to thank us personally for the birds we sent him, and perhaps to invite us, as usual, to dine with him to-morrow.

"Hic corylis mixtas inter consedimus ulmos,'" says he, looking round with a smile, as he entered our shady nook.

"Welcome, my excellent friend," cried the captain, seizing his willing hand, and cordially shaking it, "welcome, with your apposite quotation from beloved Maro."

"A most delectable spot, upon my word!" exclaimed the rector, resuming his pleasantry, unmindful of the captain's salute. "Here we

have a green brook-side, trees, and dense hazel-bushes, backed by a hanging orchard, with its golden treasures. A classical retreat! No doubt haunted still in the moonlight by piping Fauns, Naiads from the stream, and dancing Dryads."

Sitting down, after returning our respective greetings, he explained to us the purpose of his visit, which was precisely what we had anticipated; then gave us quaint and amusing narratives of the various difficulties he, a nervous old man, had encountered in his endeavours to find us; though he had been, as he thought, pretty clearly instructed on this point, at "the Manor." He stayed with us the whole time we remained, nor did he refuse one glass of the fragrant milk-punch we indulged in after dinner.

We had not long recommenced beating, when an incident occurred, which, as it is curious, and the experience of many years shooting has not afforded the like, we shall be at the pains of relating.

One of our markers came in to inform us that there were several birds calling in a stubble below, named " the four acres." Although partridge seldom lie well when thus occupied, as the place was near, we were willing to try them; so we turned that way. Now the said field skirted the base of the little hill we were then on, and was divided by a low hedge from a narrow strip of green aftermath, through the bottom of which a small brook pursued its devious secret course, among alderbushes, ash, and poplar trees. On the other side of a similar reach of pasture, beyond the stream, there rose a majestic wood, which stretched away to the top of the opposite hill.

On nearing the upper fence of the stubble field, some turnip-hoers who were at work told us that by peeping cautiously over it we might see the birds on the ground, as they had seen them when last at the headland. We were curious enough to do this; for so closely do partridge lie, and so warily creep before dogs, that it is rarely indeed the sportsman sees them in this manner; however, when he does, he cannot have a more interesting sight of the kind, as the bird's walk is proud and graceful, very much like that of Guinea-fowl. Accordingly,

on looking over the hedge, we saw four partridges at a distance of about two hundred yards. Three of them were walking carelessly about, feeding; the fourth, with outstretched neck, was calling vociferously, making also short but rapid runs between each strain of the call. We had not long watched them when suddenly one of them gave a sharp note of terror or warning, on which they all instantly crouched so close, as to be no longer visible. Glancing upwards we descried a hawkprobably from the neighbouring wood-hovering in the blue lift above. Here indeed was sufficient explanation of this alarm. In a brief while three of the birds raised themselves timidly, and ran into the hedge for shelter. But the doomed one remained; nor did he make any attempt to escape; over him the hawk balanced himself with minatory trembling pinions; and dropped closer and closer, until within about twenty feet of the ground, where he paused a long time, as though to terrify his prey out of all power to escape. At length, plumb-like down he stooped; and ere the shout we now raised to scare him could be heard, the bird's death-stroke had been given.

After witnessing this feat, we clambered hastily over the fence, and ran towards the spot. But the hawk was not easily to be balked of his quarry. We had not reached gun-shot distance, when, to the surprise of us all, he rose slowly and heavily with the bird in his talons, and flying near the ground, barely cleared the hedge below, then crossed the strip of aftermath, and disappeared with his prey among the trees by the brook.

"You'll find him again, sir, if you try," said one of the markers, "he's dropped within a dozen yards of yonder pollard ash, on the upper side.

Giving our dogs into the charge of an attendant, lest they should defeat our object, we walked down to the brook, and stealthily entered its almost waterless channel, about a hundred yards below where the hawk had dropped. Creeping cautiously round a short curve of the stream, we espied him on a large flat fragment of mossy rock, busily engaged on the bird; his wings expanded, and playing like fans about his head; as is the case with birds of prey when feeding. It was rather a long distance to shoot; but what could be done? If we advanced another yard, he would detect us and escape; so we relied on our gun, and in a single instant the feathered murderer and his victim lay together in death."

The partridge, which we found slightly mangled at the base of the neck, was a young one of average size, and the hawk proved to be a large female sparrow-hawk-the most rapacious and daring of that

tribe of birds.

Our shadows were lengthening rapidly on the yellow grass; the unyoked oxen, followed by the singing ploughman, were plodding lazily home from their labour; the partridge was calling loudly in every direction, and would not lie, when we relinquished sport (intending to renew it on the morrow); and returned, weary, but satisfied with the day's pleasure, to "the Manor."

Not long had the starry huntsman and his fire-dogs set their nightly chase in the sky, ere our head was on the pillow; and sound, and sweet, and refreshing are the slumbers of the tired sportsman.

* Boötes.

PHINEAS QUIDDY; OR, SHEER INDUSTRY.

BY JOHN POOLE, ESQ.

AUTHOR OF "PAUL PRY," &c.

CHAP. XXXVIII.

OUR HERO, ENCOURAGED BY A FRIEND AT COURT, PERSISTS IN BEING DESPERATELY IN LOVE-A MYSTERIOUS ANNOUNCEMENT—“ THOUGH A LODGING-HOUSE-KEEPER SHE HAS A HEART:" QUOTATION FROM A SENTIMENTAL COMEDY-A CALAMITOUS EVENT "HONESTLY AND CANDIDLY" recorded.

"COME back?" exclaimed Quiddy; "I'm uncommon happy. And pray, my dear, good lady, when did Miss St. Egremont return?" "She has been in town nearly a month," replied Mrs. Fleecer. "She returned about a week after you went to Margate."

"I will not come down," said Miss St. Egremont to Mrs. Fleecer. "You may entertain your visiter yourself."

"But he is so very anxious to see you," said Fleecer, "and he'll think your refusal so very odd."

"What care I either for his thoughts or his anxieties?" said Honoria. "Then what shall I say to him, Norey?"

"You may tell him the truth: I will not see him either now or at any future time.”

"That girl is a perfect non compos—when he's ready, as he says, to pop the question at once!" muttered Mrs. Fleecer, as she descended the stairs.

"Miss S. sends her very best compliments," said Mrs. Fleecer to Quiddy" she hopes you'll pardon her for not coming down this evening, as she has a dreadful headach."

"I am uncommon sorry," said Quiddy; and he was uncommon sorry-at losing this opportunity of pressing his suit with a lady whose property was "not secured for her in the hands of trustees," but every shilling of which was entirely at her own disposal."

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"I know my sex, generally, Q.," continued Mrs. Fleecer; "no woman is in a hurry to give up her independence; and I know her as well as I know myself. If ever she should marry she'll marry the man of her heart, though he hadn't enough to buy the wedding-ring with."

This, like the half-hour's conversation that had preceded it, passed in whispers.

"And there's the danger," said Quiddy: "she may be snapped up by some adventurer who thinks of nothing but her fortune, and who might squander it away in a twelvemonth. But I, my good lady, with my wealth, and all made by sheer industry-"

"Ah! there!" said Fleecer; "knowing her proud spirit as I do, your wealth is more against you than any thing else could be. If, on the contrary, you were not so monstrous rich, and she liked you—

But, as I've often told you, all this is idle talk, considering that, as yet, she is scarcely acquainted with you."

"Scarcely acquainted with me, ma'am! Lord bless you! P. Q. is easily known. There's no guile, no deceit about me. You may see into my 'art at once."

And, leaving the important noun unsupplied with its dropt aspirate, this was particularly true.

"I saw into it from the first," said Mrs. Fleecer.

"Oh! ma'am, you flatter."

"But that's Miss St. Egremont's bell, so I must leave you.

How

ever, come again soon- Faint heart never won fair lady;' and, remember you have a friend at court. There's the bell again, so good evening, Q., good evening."

"Good evening, my dear good lady," said Quiddy; “nil desperado."

"What's the matter with you?" said Honoria to Mrs. Fleecer.

Let our promised seven-league-boots style of narrative still be borne in mind. Between our hero's "nil desperado" and the present question intervened nearly two months: these we have passed over at a stride. We might have related all that had occurred at the several visits which Quiddy had made in Surrey-street; recorded all his expressions of sorrow and regret at Miss St. Egremont's absence upon every such occasion; and reported Fleecer's various and ingenious excuses and subterfuges to account for it. The young lady had still resolutely refused to see him; the elder one had nearly come to her wit's end for pretexts to keep him on: and this task had been daily increasing in difficulty, inasmuch as Quiddy, wearied by disappointment upon disappointment, had begun to think of treating the pursuit of the great heiress as one would treat an impracticable riddle-that is to say, by "giving it up." We might also have stated at full length all the little schemes and plans imagined by Honoria for living upon her small income like a lady; all her friend's arguments to prove that they were every one unfeasible; and how many times a-day the latter had repeated that the only mode in the universal world, by which her laudable desire of living like a lady could be accomplished, was, by her becoming Mrs. Quiddy, which she might be on any day of the week if (as Mrs. Fleecer eloquently expressed it) " if, Norey, you were not as obstinate as the parish-pump in a hard frost." Instead of all that, we, for reasons of our own, jump to the question which was put by Honoria to her friend as they were sitting at breakfast one morning, nearly three months after the return of the former from Starveleigh Cottage.

"There is something the matter with you, I'm sure," said Honoria: "you have been crying-why, you are crying now."

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Nothing, dear, indeed it's nothing," replied Fleecer. "I did not sleep very well, that's all."

"Then, pray let me have no more of it, Fleecer. I had enough of that at Mrs. Woefield's to last me my life. Consider such a rainy season as I lived through! a set-in shower of tears for three months! But what can be the reason the newspaper is not come this morning?"

"As I told you, before, dear, I suppose the boy has forgot to bring

it," said Fleecer, pretending to sneeze, as an excuse for putting her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Then send Betty for it," said Honoria, "I can't hear to pass a day without seeing the newspaper."

"And now,

"Yes-no-by-and-by," stammered Mrs. Fleecer. my dear Norey, do come down if Mr. Quiddy should come to tea with me this evening. I've particular reasons for it. You must-you shall -I won't take a denial. You know I'm your friend; and believe me when I say there's no time to be lost. He'll marry you to-morrow if you will but say the word; and then you will be settled, and a lady for life."

This, and much more to the same purpose did she say, and with an earnestness that positively astonished the lady to whom it was addressed. At length, recovering herself, Honoria said,

"You have settled the point at last, Mrs. Fleecer. I had almost accustomed myself to your constant worry upon this foolish subject, and, lately, have done no more than laugh at it; but this serious outbreak of yours is really too much. At the end of this week I shall quit your house, and never will I enter it again. Remember-I warned you long ago that it would come to this."

The look, tone, and manner of the speaker, as she uttered these words, left no doubt upon the mind of the hearer that she was in earnest. And she was so. Miss St. Egremont quitted the room.

"Poor girl!-poor, unfortunate girl!" said Mrs. Fleecer, the instant she was alone: "I knew it would be so-I told her so.'

And while she spoke, she drew from her pocket the newspaper which, when Honoria joined her at breakfast, she had hastily, and unperceived by her, thrust into it. Again did she read the following cautious paragraph which appeared under the head of CITY INTELLIGENCE:—

"Just as business was over yesterday afternoon, it was whispered on 'Change that a certain highly-respectable house in the city had failed for a very large amount. As no names were distinctly mentioned, it would be imprudent, if not, indeed, highly improper, to say more at present than that the house thus mysteriously alluded to is that of Messrs. Wh-bble and Sc-tt, the eminent b-ll br-k-rs in B-rch-n L-ne. The failure (of which we fear we may confidently state that there is not the slightest doubt) is generally attributed to the losses at play and on the turf, and to the boundless extravagance of the junior partner, Mr. H-rry Sc-tt."

It is but a just compliment to the penetration of Mrs. Fleecer to say, that, cautiously and mysteriously as the "certain highly-respectable house" was alluded to, she, nevertheless, from amongst the numerous bighly-respectable houses in the city, singled out the right one. She reflected for a while how it would be best for her to proceed in this unhappy affair, and presently resolved to go instantly to Mr. Scott's office and ascertain the truth or the falsehood of the report. To save poor Honoria, in the mean while, from the dreadful shock which the paragraph, whether true or false, would occasion her, she kindly and considerately desired Betty to tell Miss St. Egremont, in reply to any inquiry she might make about the newspaper, that it had not been