Where these would have ultimately led to we know not, for when they had got through about half a dozen of them, Mr. Trumper suddenly stopped short as if shot-an evolution so quickly followed by the rest of the cavalry, as to have the effect of shooting several of the loose riders on to the pommels of their saddles.

Trumper saw the hare! Indeed they all saw her; but Trumper saw her first.

She was bearing right down upon them, in a style that would most inevitably have led to a collision, had they not pulled up. Full of what was going on behind, she never thought of looking ahead, and nearly ran into them. Poor thing! She came so close, that they distinctly saw the curl of warmth on her soiled fur, and the big heaving of her anxious breast.

A hare is a curious mixture of cleverness and stupidity. We see them lobbing and staring along as if they hadn't an idea in their heads, and then all at once they perform tricks worthy of a wizard.

"She's a fine-un," observed Mr. Trumper, sotto voce, as he sat, whip erect, staring her out of coun

tenance.

The noise he made had the effect of awaking her to a sense of their presence, and caused her to pop through a meuse in the hedge.

"She's about done," observed he, eyeing the performance, for Trumper can calculate the amount of "goment" left to a nicety, -Tom Hobbletrot

then pulled out a great turnip of a watch from his fob, of which having made a good open exposure, he shut it up, with the observation that "it was about time."

"Domplins be ready, ars warned," said Stumps, feeling the effects of hunger himself.

The hounds now came towling and picking along with the weak scent of the sinking animal.

Just as Twister and Towler were again eliciting the admiration of the field at the way in which they unravelled the line, a loud shrill hoop! hoop! hoop! from the rising ground in the next field but one, got up the hounds' heads, and caused them to work their ways through the high hedge to get at the halloo.

Great was the horror and perturbation of the field, as the hounds flew away, and greater still their disgust at seeing a great fat man in white leather trowsers, and bright heel spurs, with a gold-banded blue cap, and a registered paletot, capping them away at a canter.

"Hold hard, Sir," "hold hard, Sir," "God bless you, hold hard, Sir!" "God d-n you, hold hard Sir!" were shouted and vociferated by the indignant field, now rendered perfectly furious, by not being able to get at him, unless they either charged a tolerably sized fence that looked to them like an impregnable barrier, or rode two hundred yards "t'other way," to get through at the old established gap.

In vain Trumper, having dived into the bottom of his bed-gown, fished up the little bugle in vain he blew, in vain he screamed, in vain he imprecated. There wasn't an evil or an adverse element that Trumper didn't wish the stranger visited with.

The hounds topped the hill, and were out of sight in no time.

Fury, unspeakable fury, was depicted on the faces of the field; nor was it diminished by seeing the hunted hare pop out of the hedge, as they moved away to ride for the gap.

Moreover, she accompanied them as far as their joint lines lay, in the direction of the hills, almost as it would seem for the purpose of deriding them. As they pounded and clattered down the stoney, rutty field-road, she kept working her way up a furrow, about twenty yards to their left, in the next field. Doleful were the looks our friends cast on her as they passed on the alteration of their lines.

"She could'nt have stood two minutes before them," sighed Tom Hobbletrot, who was next in rotation for a hare.

"Who could it be?" gasped Parson Goodman, who was riding a still pulling four-year old, and had had something else to do than stare about.

"I know," responded Trumper; "I'll sarve him out," added he, bringing his ponderous hunting whip crack down his boot.

"Most infamous thing that ever was done!" exclaimed Giles Gosling.

"So like those wild fox-hunting fools," muttered Trumper, leaning over his horse's shoulder to open a gate. "Never happy but when they're galloping," added he, throwing it open, and striking into a gallop himself.

He presently reached the eminence over which they had seen the hounds disappear, from whence Trumper was horrified at seeing "white leathers" absolutely casting the pack! casting the hounds that Trumper deemed it next to high treason for any one to speak to but himself.

There was the stranger in the middle of a twenty-acre turnip field riding about, tasselled cap in hand, describing a circle, which he kept enlarging each time round, after a fashion of his

own.

Trumper turned deadly pale at the sight. If there is one thing in the world that he hates more than another, it is a pair of white breeches, and his detestation seemed to increase by the length of the present articles.

"Mister Muff! Mister Muff!" gasped he, as if in the last agony of a stomach-ache. "Mister Muff!" repeated he; but Mr. Muff was deaf to the "He's mad! he's mad! he must be mad!" continued Trumper, eyeing Tarquinius's manœuvres among the turnips, who, regardless of Trumper's

cry.

imprecations, continued his career to the damage of the turnips and the danger of the hounds.

Trumper then put on all steam, and charged down hill, followed by the train-band, bold.

Tarquinius, full of his own importance, not only as a first-class swell, but a fox-hunter, held up his hand as he saw them coming, exclaiming most importantly, "Hold hard, gentlemen, hold hard! Pray hold hard!" continued he, seeing the exhortation was disregarded; adding, "I know how far they brought her."

"You know how far they brought her?" grinned Trumper, in agony, as he leaned fumbling the chain off the gate opening into the field where they were. "You know how far they brought her? I wish I knew how far I might take you to hang you." "I never did ride over turnips in my life," observed he to himself as he got the gate open, "but I'll have a shy at them to-day."

So saying, he stuck spurs into Golumpus, and went pounding and smashing through the middle of them.

If it had'nt been for the hounds, we believe Trumper would have charged Tarquinius full tilt. Luckily, some of the beauties popping above the turnips, which being guano sown were uncommonly forward, caused Trumper to get his horse more in hand, and ultimately to pull up a little short of assaulting distance.

"Oh Mr. Trumper, it's you, is it?" observed