I remember another of the genus fox-hunting parsons, though of a different stamp; I only have a faint recollection of him however, for I was but young when he was called to the "happy hunting grounds" of his fathers: when I saw him his age I should think was fast approaching to sixty-hale, stout, and hearty, and I should think not under sixteen stone weight. He rode a strong cob, between whom and his master there seemed to be a perfect understanding that they were both too old and too heavy for flying leaps and other such equestrian exploits; but still they were not beyond making through a fence, and keeping pretty well up with the dogs. Many stories I have heard told of his exploits in younger days; for everybody loved him, and talked to and of him, as if he belonged to their own family. He had a kind word for all men; and his jolly-looking phiz and person, united with his good-humour, never failed to bring mirth along with them. The only fault, if fault it could possibly be called, that any one could ever bring against Parson as he was called, was his passionate love of hunting; and if his excitement in the chase ever caused him to annoy or injure any one, there was none so ready or willing to set about making ample reparation for it as he was. I will relate one story told of him, with how much truth I will not say.

One beautiful hunting morning he was coming from the parsonage to mount his horse, which was in waiting for him; he was early, but thought he would ride his hunter quietly to the meet. Before mounting, however, he observed some parties going towards the church; and the parish-clerk coming, bustling along, evidently in a state of excitement towards him. "I do perceive here a divided duty," says the parson; for he sometimes read Shakspeare, and we are not therefore astonished at his quoting him. A couple wanted marrying; the banns had been published before; but our hero had no notice that they were coming on this particular morning. He wished the nuptials to be postponed till another day, "a hard frost, for instance." But the clerk stated the case for the young lady: it appeared she had "loved not wisely but too well," and consequently was "in the way that ladies wish to be who love their lords." Under these circumstances the sooner the ceremony was performed the better. Putting on, therefore, his surplice over his hunting toggery, he hurried to get the service commenced, hoping to get through and be at the cover before the hounds found. When, however, he was about half done, he heard the cry of the pack. "They've found," thought he, "and I am lost!" On he went with the service, working himself into a perfect fever, and perspiring at every pore; the cry of the hounds came nearer and nearer, and he was not done; the ring was put on the bride's finger as the hounds swept past the church in full cry. Loud were the shouts of the gentry for the parson; but the parson answered not. At last, losing all command of himself, he said to the party: "There, there; I cannot stand this. I've half married you now you may finish the remainder in bed, to-night; for I see you have been there before." With this he rushed out, leaving the couple with their friends in amazement. He mounted his horse, and away he went, forgetting his surplice, until he was in some measure re

called to his senses by the rending of his sacred vestment at the first hedge; but the pace was too good to stop. He lost nothing, however, by tearing the surplice; for his parishioners immediately presented him with a new one. He made ample amends to the couple; for on another day, not long afterwards, he remarried them, and also gave them good reason to suppose, if forgetful of them before, he was not so then, as the lining of "tin" in the pockets of the bridegroom testified. This old clergyman retained his love for the hounds until the last; and notwithstanding what Diogenes might say, he also retained the high respect of all who had the happiness to know him. Poor old Parson !many, many years have elapsed since he died, yet he is still fresh in the memory of many of his parishioners. Peace to his ashes!

One more anecdote of a hunting parson, and I have done. It is of a "good man and true," who was a capital preacher, and rode good horses. This gentleman was only a curate, however, when he indulged in hunting, which may seem somewhat singular, as curates keeping hunters I should think are rare birds." He had, however, a good income from other sources, and was a thoroughly independent man in every sense of the word. He did not hunt in the usual clerical hunting-dress, but sported scarlet as unblushingly as if he had never been ordained. This coming to the ears of the bishop of the diocese, he summoned the young foxhunter to appear before him, to ascertain if such a monstrosity could be true. The hounds meeting in the neighbourhood of the bishop's palace, the young curate thought he would kill two birds with one stone-call upon the bishop, and then proceed to hunt. He was ushered into the study of the bishop, booted, spurred, and red-coated. The prelate was almost finished at the very sight of the curate-such impudence in one so inferior. He could hardly go through anything like a salutation; and the curate, observing the embarrassment of his lordship, hinted something about receiving his note, wishing to see him, &c.; and as he had not much time to spare, he would like to know his lordship's wishes. The bishop at this coolness was utterly confounded, never in his life having been in company with a curate who could treat a bishop with so much sang froid. At last he stammered out, "that it was about that dress, pointing to the hunting costume, for which he wanted to see the curate."

"Oh! I am glad I put it on then," says the curate. you like it?"

"How do

"I do not like it, young man," growled his lordship. "Not like it!-why, I think it is exceedingly becoming; but if you can point out any alterations that would not destroy the character of the dress, I shall be glad to adopt your lordship's valuable suggestions."

This was too much to be borne, even by a bishop. The curate was ordered out of the room, with-"You shall hear further from me, sir!" He did hear from the bishop, who took measures to prevent our hero from hunting: he also prevented him from getting a living in his diocese; for the curate being an independent man, as I before said, would not accept of a living out of the diocese where his pro

perty was situated, though several valuable livings were offered for his acceptance and notwithstanding the interest of his family and powerful friends in his favour to the bishop, he never forgave the cavalier treatment he had experienced by one whom he expected would look upon him with reverence; and though the curate became one of the first preachers, and I may say the best man of the diocese, he still refused to induct him to any living. Bishops are not immortal, however, and the right reverend prelate died; and our hero became the rector of a large and populous parish near his own estate, and all he now seems to live for is to make his parishioners and tenants comfortable and happy-to the industrious he gives work, the poor he assists, and the sick and weak feel the effects of his protecting influence. He has given up hunting now, as he is getting too old to ride to hounds; but I have no doubt, in his case as in numbers of others, that (and let who choose laugh at my opinion) many of his virtues, if not actually acquired, were at all events developed through the influence of the "field." I could give many more anecdotes of this class of men, but all tending to the same end, namely, that parsons may hunt, and still be good men; and having already occupied sufficient space, I will leave their characters to your tender mercies, hoping you will not deal harshly with them. I trust I shall, at a short interval, be able to lay before you another character for your judgment.

MY LAST HORSE.

BY SCRIBBLE.

When I first married-never mind how long ago-I lived in a very sporting little village. The squire of course was a sportsman, and the rector was a sportsman-there used to be nothing extraordinary in that; but when I say that the attorney was a sportsman too, I think I may call it a sporting village. I had two very nice horses at that time; for my grandmother, dear woman! kindly left me some money, long after the death of poor Brickdust; and I was really become a legitimate sportsman-not one of your breeches-borrowing, two-guinea a-day riding, turnpike-bilking minors, who spend more money in four years for the pleasure of larking to and from cover than they do during the whole of their after-lives in seeing sport-but a sportsman.

Talking of larking, I must digress a moment. When I was at college, in terms, when lectures were thick and saints'-days thin, it was necessary to ask to be excused lecture on hunting days, or else to cut it. I took the latter strong measure one morning, and away I went to Addlestrop gate. The next morning the natural inquiry came

66

Mr. Scribble, I missed you yesterday.'

"Please sir, I was out.

"I know you were, sir-out hunting; and if that had been all, I

shouldn't have said much about it: but, as I was coming home from a ride, I saw you larking,' as you call it, after a good run-a most unsportsmanlike practice, and for which I must trouble you to send me in yesterday's lecture written out in Greek and English."

I bowed my head. Rebuked by a don! Called "unsportsmanlike by a college tutor (albeit, the best in the world)! Caught napping by a professor of long whist and expounder of derivations! My pride was abated; and the censure was more severe than whole pages, even of the N. S. M. I have never larked since.

But to return. When Mrs. Scribble captivated me, I was a sportsman. I had two good horses: a grey mare that could go through dirt and bullfinches, and a wiry, bay horse that was not to be beat at water or timber; and I saw some sport, or believed I did. At all events, I was in that case, that all my friends said I was going "to make a fool of myself by marrying.”

For some time my friends believed themselves mistaken: so did I. The grey mare and the bay horse stood still in the stable. The latter went in a light buggy, and Mrs. Scribble was perfectly satisfied. On cold or wet nights we had a "fly" to eat a friend's mutton; and when it entailed a great expense (for grandmamma didn't die a millionaire), Mrs. S. kindly gave it up, and we stopped at home.

This was as it should be. Our friends, especially those rascally bachelors, were more attentive than ever; for they found in Mrs. S. a pretty woman and a good housekeeper; and they never said "no to a drop of gruel for the Mundig colt, and a slice of mutton and a glass of sherry for themselves, by any chance whatsoever. One or two of them have really been known to go two miles out of their road to get an extemporaneous invite to dinner.

At length, in due time, there came a little one: and if the little one had been the only thing that came, it would have made no difference to the stud; but then came "the doctor and nurse, and a great many more," and among the latter, "my wife's mother.' There never, perhaps, had been such a favourite as I was with my sisters-in-law and mother-in-law. Dear Jack was every thing, and did every thing (i. e. that his wife told him); and as long as Mrs. Scribble had her way, and didn't want any change of establishment, I was in high force: but here it ends. Contradict your wife with a mother-in-law in the housedeny her the most unreasonable request-say you won't sell your bay horse and buy a pair of ponies-refuse to drive your best hunter twentythree miles in a four-wheeler to call upon some grandee of your wife's acquaintance and you are "dear Jack" no longer: you are a selfish brute-an unfeeling wretch, thinking more of your nasty horses and hunting than of dear Mary and the children; and the whole family wonder how she could have thrown herself away upon such a "horsejockey of a fellow."

Now, my mother-in-law came, and she went away again, without saying all this; she only looked it. Your "wife's mother" always is a bore; but she was so especially, because she was a very stout mother-in-law, and could not get into a buggy, even had she condescended to do such a thing. She therefore, this visit, only looked"If I were your wife, Master Scribble, you would just see whether I

was going to put my foot into a nasty gig, when you might sell your hunters and buy me a nice large comfortable four-wheeler with German shutters, and a good, strong, steady horse; and with your family increasing too that I would." This is what she looked; but she didn't say it. And Mrs. Scribble was so good and so happy at home; and I nursed the baby so often, and never grumbled about having it at night sometimes, that I kept my hunters for a couple of seasons more. And then there came another little incumbrance. All married men know that with every new "babby importation of your wife's family; and accordingly, no note of triumph heard than down came a "train-full nexions. Railroads were just becoming fashionable.

comes a fresh sooner was the of female con

This second visit produced results-that is, it produced discussion; and when you enter into argument with your wife's relations, and numbers are on their side, and only reason on yours, you are sure to have the worst of it.

"Oh dear, Mr. Scribble, I wonder you don't sell that nasty gig, and get a nice four-wheeled chaise for dear Mary. She would enjoy it so much more.'

66

66

But, my dear madam, Mary likes the gig."

Yes, she tells you so because she doesn't like to vex you; besides, how can the children go out without something of that sort?"

66

The children why, there's plenty of room in the garden; surely that's air and exercise enough for them!"

"But how much nicer for them to have a drive sometimes!"

66

Well, there's the wheel-barrow."

Now, do be serious. Those horrid horses eat more than all the house besides; and the grey mare's no use.

"No use? You should see her go through a bullfinch!"

"But I mean to your wife: I'm sure you talk enough of expense, and if you were to sell her and the gig, it would be the best thing you could do."

As I retired for the night, I heard "Selfish "—"6 poor dear Mary "— "nasty gig "" kicking brute ;" and though I was at no loss to understand the turn the conversation had taken in "my lady's chamber," I was far from dreaming that night of complying with their very modest demands. Sell the grey mare, and buy a four-wheeler! And for what? To carry about my family and nursemaids wherever I went! give up a scurry in the open to the cry of the hounds for five miles an hour through muddy lanes, to the cry of a dyspeptic baby! Very likely, indeed, my dear mother-in-law; I wish you may get it. I didn't say this; I only thought it.

Constant dripping of the softest water wears away the hardest stone. Mrs. Muddiman's language-Mrs. S.'s maiden name was Muddimanwas not the softest in the world, nor was my heart a perfect flint. Need I add that I was conquered-that I surrendered to unremitted volleys of female musketry-that I was fairly scotched by vespertinal persecution? Every returning evening saw me the victim of an enlivening discussion upon the danger of gigs and the extravagance of horseflesh. One more season, and the game was up. I did manage that; but it was a conditional surrender on the part of my opponents for