of her companion but "Yes, ma'am," and "No, ma'am,” because the more Henry tried to converse the more he felt himself embarrassed. However, when he got near the church, he met many of his old friends, and all of them were delighted to see him; and his face brightened up as he shook hands with one and another, promising to call on such members of each family as from ill health or infirmity were not able to come out.

When he got into the church, he observed that a pew in the chancel, which he had never seen occupied but by inferior people, had been fitted up since he had been at school, lined with green cloth, and supplied with handsome prayer-books; and while he was wondering what this could mean, he heard the trampling of horses in the churchyard, and immediately afterward an old lady and two young ones, in riding habits and round hats, with whips in their hands, walked up the church to the newly-repaired pew. As the eldest of these ladies passed by Mr. Dalben's seat, Mrs. Bonville, who was standing up and looking about her, nodded very significantly to her, and then turning to Henry, she said, "That lady is a very old acquaintance of mine; why did not you tell me she was in the country?"

"I do not know who she is," replied Henry; "I never saw her before."

Mrs. Bonville did not hear Henry's answer, for she was nodding to the young ladies, who were already in their pew; and their courtesies and signs of recognition did not cease till the service began. But the clergyman had hardly read the first prayer, when the congregation was disturbed by the noise of dogs yelping in the churchyard, added to which were the voices of persons bidding them be quiet, in that sort of language which is generally used to quadrupeds of this description; and then three young men, the youngest of whom might be two or three years older than Henry, entered the church, in sporting jackets (though of course without any implements for sporting), and being followed by their dogs, walked straight up to the pew in the chancel, their boots creaking as they went, as if the soles had been made of sealing-wax.

Those persons can have but little knowledge of the human mind, and especially of that mind in our younger years, if they are surprised to be informed, that these various phenomena in a place where they were so little

expected, together with the grimaces of Mrs. Bonville, who seemed to be as anxious to make the young gentlemen acknowledge her as she had been to attract the attention of their mamma, should have rendered it very difficult for Henry so to command his attention to the duties of the place as his conscience told him it ought to be; and indeed, how often, how very often, does it happen, that the most decidedly pious and serious individuals of the human race are obliged to confess that they have repeatedly found their attention diverted from its course in a place of worship, by things which, at another time, and in another place, would not have held it for an instant: hence it should be the endeavour of all those persons who know their own hearts, to keep a watch upon their eyes during those hours which are set aside for the exercises of religion.

As soon as the service was over, Mrs. Bonville hastened from her seat to join the party in the chancel; and Henry, who went immediately out of the church, took occasion to ask the first person he met, when quite clear of the church, who this new family might possibly be. The person informed him that it was that of Squire Hargrave, who had lately come to an estate called the Ferns, at the most remote point of the parish. He informed him that the old gentleman himself was never seen abroad, having had several paralytic strokes, and being almost reduced to a second childhood. He added, that the younger members of the family consisted of three sons and two daughters, all of whom Henry had seen at church with the lady their mother. Henry's informant spoke very well of the eldest son, who, he said, was in fact master of the family, the old gentleman being non compos. After a few minutes' reflection, Henry recollected the house, although it had only been tenanted by inferior persons within his memory: knowing, however, that the party must needs pass Mr. Dalben's to get home by the most direct way, he walked quietly on, in order to give Mrs. Bonville opportunity to overtake him; for as he had come out with her, he thought it was necessary for him to return with her, although he heartily hoped that she would meet with some other companion. While sauntering in the lane, he was overtaken by Thomas and Maurice.

"Where did you leave Mrs. Bonville, Thomas ?" asked Henry.

"With the gentry on the church-green," replied Thomas; "they are waiting till their horses are brought up; and Mrs. Bonville has got the young squire by the arm."

"Then she will not want me," returned Henry; “I have a great mind to run home."

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Stop, Master Henry, stop," said Maurice, putting in his word. "I seed a stoat in that there barn just off the road-he poked his nose out at me as I come along to the church; I wants to tell the folks of it up at the farm; and if we could get the terriers down, we should have him in a trice. I dare say he is somewhere about where I seed him."

"You young rogue," growled Thomas, " don't you be thinking that I shall let you off on such a chase as that, on a Sunday morning, and the people scarce out of church, and you in master's livery. Make haste home, or I shall be sure to tell master of your pranks."

"Here they be, here they be!" exclaimed Maurice, without seeming to have heard the last words of Thomas: "here they come," and he stood on tiptoe, looking over the hedge, and chuckling with delight.

"What, who!" exclaimed Thomas, "the stoat, or the terriers, or what? If I do not take the boy to be a born idiot; what is he gaping at now?"

Henry, in the mean time, had climbed to the top of a heap of rubbish by the wayside, and looking in the direction pointed by the finger of Maurice, he saw half a dozen or more heads, several of which were covered with jockey-caps, rolling with a rapid yet irregular motion along the top of the high-clipped hedge, much in the way-for there were no bodies visible-as the head of Orpheus might be supposed to have rolled along the waves of Strymon, when torn from his fair shoulders by the Bacchantes, while still calling on the name of Eurydice; for these heads, belong to whom or what they might, were no less vociferous than had been that of the Thessalian hero; although, instead of Eurydice, it was that of Master Milner, with which the hills and woods, and rocks resounded.

"It is those wild blades of the Hargraves," said Thomas; "and who has put your name in their mouths? Take my advice, Master Milner, have naught to do with them; but here they come, round the corner, dogs and all, neck or nothing-stand by, for the life of you."

And the old man-for the younger ones were more alert in their motions-had hardly time to get into a place of security, before the whole posse comitatis of horsemen and horsewomen were close upon him. Here they came to a dead stand, and were found to consist of two young squires in jockey-caps, three ladies, habited à l'equestrienne, and a little footboy, dressed in a very knowing costume, leading a horse belonging to the elder brother With these were many dogs, which all set up a sort of yelping in various keys, as soon as ever the party came to a stand.

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"Is that Master Milner?" said the elder lady, reining in her horse, and fetching a deep breath; a pretty sort of a gentleman you are, to undertake the care of a lady, and then to leave her to any one who will have pity upon her. To look at you, sir," she added, as Henry bowed, "I should not have thought that a heart so perfidious could dwell in a form so fair; but you must absolutely wait where you are, till Mrs. Bonville comes up with my son. I must lay my embargo upon you-not a step farther must you stir." The lady was proceeding, when the dogs, which had been yelping and growling during the whole time she had been speaking, gave such demonstrations of disturbance that the young men began to call to them, crying, Whisht, whisht, what ails the curs?-quiet there, Viper-down there, Biter"using other expressions, more suited for a dog-kennel than the presence of ladies.

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"It's the stoat," said Maurice, "it's the stoat; sure as I am alive, they scents the stoat."

"What does the boy say?" asked one of the heroes of the jockey-cap.

"He says the dogs scent a stoat, Mr. Benjamin,” replied the young footman on horseback.

"Where-what-where is it?" exclaimed Mr. Benjamin, who was the youngest of the brothers,-" where is it?"

"In the ditch, under the barn wall, just afore us," replied Maurice.

"Hold your tongue, Maurice," said Thomas.

"I seed it this very morning as I comed along to church," continued the boy.

Vain were Thomas's and even Henry's entreaties and commands to Maurice to be quiet and to go home; in vain did Mrs. Hargrave and her daughters call to their

sons and brothers to remember it was Sunday, and no day for stoat hunting.

The two young Hargraves, being guided by Maurice, and accompanied by the dogs, had hastened on into the farm-yard; and by the noise of shouting and yelping which proceeded from within, it presently appeared that the attack upon the poor miserable little animal was already commenced; Farmer Harris and his men, who were just returned from church, not being tardy in joining the sport.

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"If ever again I take that lad's part," said Thomas, against Mrs. Kitty, my name is not Barns; but since you and master have been away, the boy has got worse and worse and harder to guide than ever." So saying, the old man walked off. In the mean time, the noise in the barn was such, that many people who were returning from church over the fields, came crowding into the lane, while the ladies found it difficult to rein in their horses; and although they wished to wait till the elder son and Mrs. Bonville came up, yet they were more than half inclined to ride on unattended. But while they were deliberating, Maurice's old enemy Tom Bliss, having heard the uproar from the distance of two long fields, the farthest of which he was traversing on his way from his master's, to visit his mother in a cottage in another parish, came running towards the scene of action; and because it was easier for him to vault over the hedge into the lane, than to go round about ten yards to the stile, he made a run and flying leap, and came down into the lane directly before Mrs. Hargrave's horse, which taking alarm, began to rear in a frightful manner; while the lady, who, though she affected the airs of youth, or at least of hale and nearly middle age, was by no means the expert horsewoman she would have it thought, was in imminent peril of being thrown back from her seat. In the mean time, Tom Bliss had run on to the barn. The young ladies and the little footman found it almost more than they could do to keep their own steeds in subjection, especially as the led horse began to prance and snort in an alarming manner. Such was the state of things when Mr. Hargrave, with Mrs. Bonville hanging on his arm, turned the corner of the lane, and saw the life of his parent in the most imminent danger; for the horse continued to rear