During the next three or four days, all the families to whom Jack was known called; and though "not at home" was the ordered reply to all, Jack made no observation: but he told Mrs. Meredith that he both wished and expected the visits returned.

"I thought," said Mrs. Meredith, with much asperity, "it was to avoid company we came here."

"Certainly," said Jack, "it was to avoid company to the extent we kept it, but by no means to shun all society."

"I suppose, however," said the lady, "I may be permitted to visit or not, as I feel disposed."

"Whether you may choose to visit my friends or not," said Jack, "is a matter of perfect indifference to me; but I should recommend you to pay them the common courtesy of returning their calls, if it is only done by dropping your card at their door, unless you prefer my accounting for your not doing so in a way that will be by no means flattering to you."

"And pray," asked the lady, "am I to make this detestable round in a Welsh car?”

"Such an observation," said Jack, "is as ridiculous as it is uncalled-for. I believe you are aware your pony-phaëton, your riding-horse, and a servant to attend you, are here; and for the close carriage, on the present or any occasion on which you want it, posthorses may at all times be had in two hours."

Mrs. Meredith had begun to understand her husband's habits too well to refuse his reasonable proposition. To have had it told that she was brought down, like a froward child, in consequence of her former conduct, was an idea too mortifying to be borne; and she was quite aware that Jack would not hesitate in doing this, rather than have it supposed that he meant disrespect towards persons and families he esteemed.

The visits were accordingly made, at least as far as leaving cards went; and even for this, the kindness of his manners to his lady on her return showed her the advantage of acting with proper consideration for her own and her husband's credit. Mrs. Meredith was not proof against this; and the evening passed off more cheerfully than any since their arrival in Wales. The truth was, though perhaps unthought-of, she was in better humour with herself. She had made a progressive step in the right way; and that silent monitor, her conscience, whispered what she would not have at the time allowed even to herself.

The morning after this, Mrs. Pearson called on Mrs. Meredith, and, not waiting for any observation of the servant's, walked in, and, learning that his mistress was in the house, did not wait to ascertain whether she was "at home" or not, but at once walked into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Meredith was sitting.

The latter lady, somewhat taken by surprise, did not attempt to conceal the emotion, but inclined somewhat stiffly.

Mrs. Pearson had seen too much of the world and society to be taken, in sea-phrase, "abaft." She knew her motives were in a right cause; and walking up to Mrs. Meredith, and extending her hand, she said, "I am aware I intrude, and perceive you think so; but, my dear Mrs. Meredith, we have known your good husband

from a boy. We regard him with the warmest feelings of esteem, and are quite prepared to love and esteem all those dear to him: therefore, bon gré mal gré, you must permit me to consider myself an old friend of yours, and one who will endeavour to make your séjour amongst us rude Welsh as agreeable as the limited means of ourselves and acquaintance will admit."

Human nature could not but be softened by such an address. Mrs. Meredith took the proffered hand, saying, "I must, I find, Mrs. Pearson, make you an exception to my resolve on seclusion."

"And why, my dear young friend,” replied her visitor, "should one so young, so formed for society, and, permit me to add, so attractive, form any so stern resolve? Doubtless you have found the world, as I found it, a heterogeneous mixture of vanity, pride, and apathetic feeling. You have become blasé sous l'effet, and have wisely resolved to make fashion your slave, instead of, as many do, being the slave of fashion; but I trust we shall show you there are some hearts in humankind alive to better feelings; and I also trust your self-banishment from the fashionable world for a temporary period will hereafter be recalled with many pleasurable reminiscences. I must now take my leave, but, in doing so, allow me to presumc on the kind exemption you have made in my favour. I have a daughter about your own age--a good girl, and one I am vain enough to think you would like. May I include her in your list of the admissibles?"

"Most willingly," replied Mrs. Meredith, with one of those smiles that won her husband's heart in the unpretending circle of Heathfield Cottage.

Mrs. Pearson lost no time in furthering her amiable determination of bringing about, if possible, a perfect reconciliation and right understanding between her own and her husband's friend and his young bride. She introduced her daughter; and, to Jack's unfeigned astonishment and gratification, he found that, on Miss Pearson's calling a few weeks afterwards, she had been invited to stay dinner.

Mrs. Pearson had shown herself a most accomplished diplomatist in all she did, on Jack's behalf, relative to Mrs. Meredith. Her leaving it to be supposed by that lady that her coming to Wales was held by Mrs. Pearson and her family as voluntary was a masterstroke of policy. It put all parties at their ease, and did away with any jealousy that might have arisen in the young bride's mind of a preconcerted plan between her husband and his well-meaning and estimable friends.

Jack was too good a politician to make any remark on his wife's growing partiality towards Mrs. and Miss Pearson. He was quite aware that his wife's primary reasons for refusing to visit his Welsh friends were, first, from a desire to annoy him, and secondly, from the idea that, by keeping them aloof, she should render the place as intolerably dull to him as she considered it must be to her. He was far too astute not to penetrate her reasons, and too good a tactician not to be able to render them futile, and turn the tables on herself. To this end, he gave two or three men's dinners in succession, at which he neither expected nor invited his lady to appear. Two days

after the last, was the one on which Miss Pearson had dined with them.

A considerable change had by degrees taken place in Mrs. Meredith's manners, temper, and conduct since her introduction to the rector's family. The pony-carriage, that for some weeks had stood unused and unnoticed, was now in almost daily requisition; and Jack was most agreeably surprised by his lady's remarking, one morning, at breakfast, that she feared she should become too nervous, from want of habit, to mount her horse again. This was said with a certain air of timidity, and without venturing a look at her husband. It was not lost on him, and he good-naturedly replied,

"I dare say, Matilda, your horse will make allowance for your want of practice, and will go unusually quietly."

"You think, then, I may trust myself, with William as my guide?" inquired the lady.

Most certainly, unless you will allow me the honour," replied Jack, smiling, and bowing low, "of being your faithful attendantknight."

Mrs. Meredith merely extended her hand, and, on Jack's pressing it, hurried out of the room.

A tear that had started to his wife's eye, on presenting her hand, produced the pressure that her husband gave, as a silent but certain assurance of commencing forgiveness. His newly-returning tenderness, on Mrs. Meredith's reaching the privacy of her own room, caused a flood of repentant tears. These, followed by a selfconstituted review of her past conduct, awoke her to a sense of the danger she had run of losing the affections of one both constituted for, and wishing to unite the tenderness of the husband and the guardian hand of the fond friend with the attention and devotion of the lover.

On meeting her husband again, it was with the same smile that had first made his heart all her own. It was not, perhaps, as bright as that; but there was a subdued sweetness in it that was more tender. Neither spoke, yet each seemed fully to understand what were the emotions of either heart. She looked in her husband's face, and, advancing to him, said, in a faltering tone,

"Am I forgiven?"

Jack caught her in his arms, and pressed her to his heart. That pressure precluded the necessity of words; and in each succeeding year, the anniversary of the day of their reconciliation was hailed by both as even more dear than the one that first joined their hands.

As a faithful historian, I must gratify my readers' curiosity or interest-if I have awakened either-as regards Mr. and Mrs. Meredith's after-movements. They did not quit Ap Swilly till a two-years' residence there fully made up the sum expended in the first year of their marriage. Mrs. Meredith had made herself so agreeable amid the friendly and unpretending society of the neighbouring families that, on their quitting Ap Swilly, the assurance that its owners would spend three months in each year there was hailed with sincere pleasure by all.

Mr. Meredith's position in life rendered it both desirable and proper that he should make his paternal property, Meredith Hall,

their usual residence. This, it need scarcely be told, though, as Jack truly said, it had been let for a term of years, was only so let at the option of the owner, redeemable at a trifling sacrifice. The town-house was not repurchased; and, at Mrs. Meredith's request, no other was sought for. A furnished one was hired for the two months they annually spent in London; and when the time drew near to revisit Ap Swilly, Mrs. Meredith was the most impatient of the two to see friends that had rendered themselves so dear to her. At the head of these stood the worthy rector's family.

"To-morrow," said Mrs. Meredith playfully, "we shall see those dear friends, and the spot that restored me to my husband's heart, and rendered me the happy, happy wife I now am.'

In narrating this portion of Mr. and Mrs. Meredith's life, I have merely used the plain and simple language required for such a purpose. Glowing and descriptive expression I leave to the novelist, quite satisfied if the words I have used may "point a moral," though not "adorn a tale."

"A FEW WORDS UPON SHOOTING."

BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX.

The First of October has arrived; the pheasant has succeeded the grouse and partridge at agreeable distances; and once again the sportsman is in the woods. His well-trained spaniels and tender-mouthed retriever seem as happy as their owner, at the joyful labour, in again ranging the plantation; while the deadly instrument, that scarcely ever misses its aim, shows that it has been carefully taken care of, during the summer. As the remarks we are about to offer, are more nearly connected with guns and gunners than game, and as our main object will be to warn the reader against negligence in the use of firearms, we shall, in the course of this article, borrow from a well known authority, whose valuable cautions have received a well-merited compliment from the leviathan of the press, the Times newspaper.

Every thorough sportsman, at the end of the shooting-season, will do well to intrust his weapon to the hands of a respectable gun-maker, giving instructions to have the inside of the barrels dressed with emery, the outsides browned, and the locks cleaned; and having satisfied himself that not an atom of lead remains in the fatal tubes, and that the machinery is in perfect order, the whole ought to be safely locked up out of the reach of curious striplings or inquisitive maidservants. No sooner has the yellow grain fallen beneath the reaping-hook, and the fields are filled with gleaners, than the gun is to be taken from the mahogany case, and always placed in a safe position. Every newspaper

that we look over is full of accidents by firearms; some occasioned by carelessness in getting over hedges with the gun at "full cock," others by leaving loaded weapons within the reach of inexperienced people, and occasionally from practical pleasantries in pointing the deadly instrument at a friend, with the assurance that it is not charged: alas! in how many cases have these words been falsified ? One golden rule ought to guide every man who uses a gun : Never-by carelessness or designlet it be pointed at any human being." We now proceed to give the following valuable suggestions, which have emanated from the pen of Mr. Bishop, of Bond-street, a man whose exertions to put an end to dogstealing, and whose endeavours to promote truly manly English sports, are too well known to require further comment.

"CAUTION AS TO THE USE OF FIREARMS.

"SIR,-As the shooting-season has commenced, may I beg of you to insert in your widely-circulated magazine this letter, which I trust may be of great use to the sporting world, and for which I venture to hope I shall not be condemned, when I bear in mind the many unfortunate accidents with guns which have befallen sportsmen, occasioning misery and sorrow in families otherwise happy, from the mere want of care and caution in the simple process of cocking and uncocking the locks of their guns, and from the unpardonable fault of many sportsmen in playing with the locks of their guns when they have but little else to do.

"Suppose the sportsman to have fired one barrel of his gun, and then being desirous of reloading the discharged one, he lets down the cock of the loaded one to half-cock. Now nothing can be more imprudent than this; for it frequently happens that, instead of the sear going into its place, it catches on the edge of the half-bent of the tumbler; with his gun in this state he reloads; and, should he be lucky enough not to shoot himself from the jar of loading, he is sure, when next he fires the reloaded barrel, to discharge both. I have even known this to occur in firing off a gun with enfeebled locks, when the discharge of one barrel has caused the scar of the remaining lock to move from its proper position to the edge of the full-bent of the tumbler, and the sportsman, unaware of his danger, has reloaded with his gun in this state, and an accident has been the consequence.

"Now let me beg of all sportsmen, in uncocking their guns, to let the cock down past the half-bent, and then to draw it back to the halfcock; in so doing the sear must come into its proper place, and all will be well, taking care that the fingers do not touch the triggers, as it may prevent the locks acting properly. To carry the gun cocked at any time is dangerous and unpardonable, as also with the hammer resting on the cap; in fact, the gun is only safe when at half-cock.

"The use of a thick glove upon the right hand is very dangerous; for in uncocking and cocking a gun, the glove may, with an imperceptible pressure upon the trigger, occasion the same disarrangement of the lock as above stated.

"Another cause of accidents with guns arises from the carelessness with which some sportsmen neglect attending to the position of the gun in loading, having the gun pointed at their heads, instead of invariably keeping the stock outside the left foot, when the gun, pressing against