Tom as the "very man for him ;" and Tights, being hard upon starvation, had not let the chance slip. He had now got himself into a complete new rig-out at Tom's expense-a flat, indeed a rather retroussé brimmed hat with a cockade, a tremendously long-backed, short-lapped, tight grey coat, with an equally long striped waistcoat, leathers that would do nothing for his legs after their accompanying stomach had had the run of old Hall's kitchen for a month, and roast-chestnut-coloured top-boots, with very long-necked spurs. Such was the gentleman who came working his arms into the little Guineafowle stable-yard, with his horse knee-capped and head-stalled, in proper marching order.de Ah, that's you, is it?" observed Tom, recognising them through the gathering gloom of a winter's evening. "How's the horse?"

asked he. T 1. b

All is serene, sir !" replied Tights, with a sort of military salute, throwing himself jockeyways off his horse.

91

"All is what?" muttered Tom, who had not got the last London phrase. led biome evi mala

"Well," said Tom, following Tights into the stable, "I shall want you to dress me in half an hour or so."

"By all means, sir," replied Tights, who had been imbibing on the road, and was obligingly drunk.

"Your things, and my things, and the stable things, are somewhere," observed Tom, whose fly-load of luggage had not been all for himself, though he had certainly brought as many clothes as would serve a moderate man a month.

“All is serene,” repeated Tights, lurching up to the horse's head.

Tom, puzzled at the phrase, then returned to the family circle in the parlour, where his quantity of luggage was undergoing discussion, raising the important speculation how long he was going to stay.

"I hope you find everything right and comfortable for your horse," observed Guineafowle, as Tom entered; adding, "I wish, though, you had brought a couple with you, as then we might have hoped for the favour of a longer visit; for really it's due to oneself to get as much hunting as ever one can before Christmas."

"It is," assented Tom, who had just as much taste for the thing as Guineafowle. 66 However," said he, "I have a very excellent groom a Melton man-who tells me he has a most wonderful recipe, by means of which he can bring a horse out every day in the week.”

"Indeed," stared Guineafowle; observing, "it must be a very valuable recipe; he must be a very surprising man.'

"It's an invention of his own," continued Tom, in an off-hand sort of way; "the Melton men offered him no end of money for it, but he wouldn't sell preferred dispensing it himself."

!,

Indeed!" said Guineafowle. "What is the principle of it?"

Don't know," replied Tom" don't know; it's some decoction of herbs, mixed with spirit-rum, I think. But he makes it at midnight, and won't let any one come near, let alone see what it is." Tights kept bad hours, and used to declare, when found fault with, that he was busy with his chemistry.

T

After some more forced discussion about the wonderful discovery,

during which Mrs. Guineafowle re-entered, showing by her anxious face that there was something wrong, our host proposed showing Tom his room-the best lofty four-poster, of course-with the usual indications of a lady's eye, where the redoubtable Tights was laying out such a multifarious wardrobe-such coats, such waistcoats, such cravats, such trousers, so many pairs of boots-that the major thought any deficiency of horseflesh was amply compensated by the quantity of clothes. Having stirred the fire, lighted the toilette composites, and told Tom dinner would be ready in half an hour or so, the major retired to learn the soup calamity, and indulge in the denunciations against Shell and Tortoise that we have already mentioned; and having duly anathemized them, our gallant friend proceeded to release himself from the bondage to which he had been subjected in his tight uniform, and instal himself in his green dress hunt-coat with bright buttons, velvet collar, and silk facings, and a roll-collared white waistcoat, with a yellow silk under one. Dressing was the order of the day throughout the house. Tinkle tinkle went the bells; hot water here, hot water there. One miss wanted her shoes, another wanted her comb; and the whisking commotion of petticoats sounded up and down stairs, and throughout the little house. Our Tom went to work anxiously, and, after no end of tryings-on and takings-off, alterings, and changings, and pinchings, and tyings, and twistings, he at length accomplished a toilette that stood the test of the mirror; for, being an ugly dog, of course he was correspondingly conceited-that is to say, in the inverse ratio, ugly dog, great conceit.

And Tights, as he now retired from valeting him, met Harriet, the joint-stock ladies' maid, as she emerged from her young mistress's room, and in reply to her inquiry what all the crumpled cravats dangling over his arm were about, answered, with the most pompous throatiness: "F-a-i-l-yars! f-a-i-l-yars!"

The sound of Pantile's phaeton-wheels, grinding under his window, aroused Tom from the admiration of himself, his studs and his stockings, his marvellous shirt-front and amplified Joinville, and caused him to put the finishing-stroke to the performance by a copious dash of essence of Rondeletia into his cambric pocket-handkerchief. He then gave his ivory-backed brushes a final flourish through his light hair, and, descending the little staircase, he re-entered the parlour just as the Pantiles were subsiding into seats, after the grinnings, and smirkings, and bowings, and curtseyings of coming were over. They then resumed the operation, and Mrs. Pantile's quick eye now seeing at a glance what Laura's beautiful pink silk, chain-stitch, embroidered flounced dress was for, by a skilful manoeuvre took a chair nearer the fire, leaving a vacant one between the pretty pink and the silver-grey silk of mamma for our Tom.

The major, seeing the petticoat movement, observed, as he finished introducing Tom, that Mr. Hall was a brother-sportsman who had come to have a little hunting with his hounds; and Mrs. Pantile, who was a tolerably skilful "mouser," said to herself, as she eyed Laura glancing alternately at our Tom and then at her own pink tulle drappé, "Believe as much of that as we like;" and as she was talking earnestly to Mrs. Guineafowle about the weather, thinking all the time what a shame it was dressing Laura out in that way, instead of in a neat book-muslin, like her sisters, the door opened, and, to Pantile's horror, the great

Billy Bedlington came sweeping the ceiling with his head. Pan hated Billy, and Billy didn't like Pan, and, moreover, Pan thought Billy wasn't exactly the sort of man to have to meet them. He, therefore, gave Billy a very cool reception, and closed in, instead of making room for him, at the fire.

Nor did matters mend when, on the announcement of dinner, Tom stuck to Laura, instead of offering his arm to Miss Pantile, who, consequently, fell a prey to the giant; and Pantile, who was watching how things went as he took Mrs. Guineafowle out, doubted, if he had known, whether even the turtle-soup could have induced him to come. Judge then of his dismay, when, after enunciating an elaborate grace, Joshua Cramlington gave the orthodox flourish to the tureen-cover, and the major began apologising for the substitution of mutton-broth! Pantile inwardly didn't believe a word about the turtle-soup; it was just one of the major's cheap flashes that he was always indulging in; and he began cross-questioning him most severely how the thing could have happened?-who wrote?-who took the letter to the post ?-whether it was legibly directed?—and, as a climax, who he sent to ?

This was rather a clencher, for if the major answered "Shell and Tortoise," the murder would be out, and his splendour thought nothing of; so, after a moment's hesitation-recollecting where Lord Heartycheer got his-he boldly answered, "Painter, in Leadenhall-street."

"Indeed," replied Pantile, thinking he had heard the name. "Have dealt with him for twenty years," asserted the major, this is the first time he ever disappointed me.

"and

"Very unfortunate," observed Pantile, wondering he had never heard of the major's turtle-soup parties before, and thinking he could have had mutton-broth at home; and presently Joshua Cramlington, as if by way of adding insult to injury, placed a green glass of punch under Pantile's nose; when an exclamation from the major of "No! no! you stupid dog!" so startled Jos, that he spilt the contents over his mistress's turban and silvergrey silk. Great then was the hubbub, and mopping, and napkining, and declaring that it wasn't of the slightest consequence, though Jos knew it would be a very different story on the morrow. However, that stopped the further supply of the punch; and when he got the tray into the kitchen, Tights, who was making himself agreeable to the cook, moved that, as they couldn't drink it in the parlour, they should have it in the hall; and filling glasses round, he tossed off a bumper to a better acquaintance with them all.

Mrs. Hogslard and he had been speculating whether the fine London dresses would be likely to catch his young master, and affording each other such insights into their respective families. as servants are in the habit of doing. There is very little that servants don't know, as any master or mistress will find if they make an unexpected descent into their receiving-rooms at meal or unexpected times. But to our story.

Cramlington's glass of punch, hastily swallowed after sundry bottle ends, coupled with the hurry of waiting and the anxieties of office, got into his head, and he nearly let the best chain-bordered porcelain down as he entered with the second course, giving Mrs. Guineafowle, and all parties interested in its welfare, the creeps. The major looked unutterable things at the great gouk; but the drink was more potent than the major's eye, and our host sate trembling as he saw the lad blinking and

winking at the candles, and every now and then making a false dart at the dishes. The major always insisting upon having everything handed round by the servants, the dinner made very little progress, and Jonathan Falconer, never having "led," was of little or no use. The major sighed for the days of Clearwell, who made all things go as if of themselves. The lad presently got stupid.

The sherry signal and the champagne signal were equally disregarded, and as the major, of course, could not be so unfashionable as ask any one to take wine, the guests were soon high and dry. The boy had been round once with the sherry, making some very bad shots at the glasses, then filling bumpers, and dribbling the wine plentifully over people's hands. "Get some champagne," at length snapped the major, as the guests being now helped to the contents of the dishes, Joshua stood winking and blinking, and disregarding the signal. a ba

Jos then disappeared, and finding Tights in his old quarters in the kitchen, they took another glass of punch together, then diving into the foot-bath in the sink, where he had the wine cooling, he hurried away with a bottle. It being the finest sparkling, not to say frisky, 423. a dozen stuff, made at the well-known champagne and foreign liqueur distillery in Lambeth, the major had especially charged Jos on no account whatever to cut the string until he had the wine in the room, well knowing that if it once got away, there would be no stopping it; and this injunction suiting the laches of which Jos had just been guilty, he now frantically seized a knife off the sideboard, and cutting the string, as he stood behind his master's chair, pop! bang! went the cork against the opposite wall, and w-h-i-s-h went the foaming fluid right into the major's hair! What a commotion there was! If the major had been played upon by a fire-engine, he couldn't have been wetter, while Jos, in the agony of the moment, put his thumb over the bottle-top, causing it to spirt sideways into Mrs. Pantile's face.

"Get out of my sight! get out of the room! get out of the house!" screamed the little major, rising from his chair, seizing the still fizzing, bubbling bottle with one hand, and Joshua with the other, whom he kicked and cuffed into the passage, while the remanets rose and offered such consolation to Mrs. Pantile as a lady in a new black-watered-now, alas! champagned-silk required. Great was the mopping and rubbing, and patting and drying, again.

At length, having done all they could, the guests resumed their seats; and it being impossible to rally the scattered consequence, Mrs. Guineafowle sent Jonathan Falconer to get Harriet to come in and wait. This she did so ably, that when the major returned, after locking Cramlington up in his bed-room, and changing his own wet upper garments, he found Pantile leading the charge against men-servants in general, vowing that they were nothing like women for waiting an opinion in which Billy Bedlington heartily concurred, adding, that he would match his Mary against any two men that ever were seen. But though the major wouldn't admit this view, attributing Pantile's preference a good deal to jealousy, because he only kept a tea-tray groom himself, he can didly admitted that Cramlington was not quite the thing, muttering something about his "old butler, Clearwell never used to have any trouble"-observations that were meant more for Tom Hall's ear than Pantile's, who was evidently on the alert for a cavil.

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However, now that they had got rid of the chill of etiquette, and people began to reach and ask each other for what they wanted, dinner progressed more pleasantly they got what they wanted to eat at the time they wanted, and not after, while Harriet subdued a bottle of champagne very skilfully, and doled it out to Guineafowl's satisfaction. As yet he could not accord his guests the privilege of helping themselves. The Duke" had had the wine handed round, and so must he. By the time the second-but what ought to have been the third bottlewas disposed of, and the chopped cheese had circulated, people began to be more at their ease, especially as they heard, by Cramlington's kickings and roarings at the door, that the dangerous boy was in safe custody. So the cloth was drawn, the wine and dessert set on, and the room presently vacated by the servants. Our friends then began to be more sociable, and to take the events of the evening more philosophically. Pantile was the least agreeable of the party. In the first place, he didn't fancy being made a cat's-paw of, helping Guinea to capture Hall; in the second place, he had been done out of a day's coal leading with his horse, by having to come there to serve, as he thought, on a turtlesoup jury; and, in the third place, he thought they had no business to ask Billy Bedlington to meet them. If Billy had had to rely on the parson's asking him to take wine, he wouldn't have got a drop. Thanks to the Cramlington catastrophe causing it to be within reach, he came better off than usual when dining with his distinguished friend.

Pantile, thinking to have a cut at his pretending host through Billy, attacked the latter about his hunting, as soon as the ladies withdrew. "Well, Mr. William Bedlington,' "drawled he-for he did not care to come the familiar "Billy"-"well, Mr. William Bedlington, I see you still pursue the chase."

"Whiles, Mr. Pantile, whiles," replied Billy, sucking away at an

orange.

"Well, but don't you think you might employ your time more profitably, more beneficially, than scampering about the country after a poor timid hare ?"

"No, I don't, Mr. Pantile," replied Billy, firmly.

"Life was given us for a nobler purpose, surely!" exclaimed Pantile. P'r'aps it may," replied Billy, carelessly.

Besides," added Pantile, " a man of your size and weight can never hope to ride up to hounds as he ought."

P'r'aps not," replied Billy; "but ar can glower at 'em all the

same."

"

"Glower at 'em all the same," snapped Pantile, as Hall and Guineafowle began tittering at Billy's cool treatment of the classic. "But where's the pleasure where's the excitement of glowering? I thought the great enjoyment of hunting consisted in braving and surmounting the dangers and obstacles of nature."

Ah," said Billy, "that 'ill be your steeple-chase gents, and chaps wot want to break their necks. I go to see hounds work, not to crack my crown."

n

The major here tried to turn the conversation by passing the wine, and engaging Tom Hall on the military tack, expatiating on the splen

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