ble, was a small coppice of nut-wood. Through it murmured a narrow and deep stream of transparent water, full of fine perch and roach, which could be plainly seen at the bottom.

"Oh! for a bright worm and a hook!" exclaimed Tom Merryweather, as he espied a perch of a good pound and a half weight gently sculling his tail, like a coquette with her fan.

"Take your places, gentlemen," directed our host; shall drop upon 'em here."

"I expect we

In went the beaters and dogs, accompanied by Map, and I, with my friend, stood at one end of the copse, close to the verge of the stream. Hardly were the whole of the starters in, when «Mark!” was shouted by Map. At the same instant the report of a gun, and plump into the stream fell a cock-pheasant close at our feet. My old friend looked at it, and whispered, "That's Tom's for a hundred. Right through his head." A little active spaniel rushed through some reeds, and, seizing the bird, hurried off to obey the loud call of the keeper to "Fetch him here, Chloe!-fetch him!”

A wood-pigeon darted through the branches of a tree. I saw the quick pinion as he flashed in the sun, and snapped at him; but he was past just as the shot rattled among the trees, cutting the leaves off by scores to the ground. Again roared the long gun close to my startled ear. I heard a slight flutter.

"Another wipe, squire. I've crippled him!" exclaimed my host. "Hush! look out!"

A fine large hare cantered leisurely towards us, with ears erect, as if not seeing or caring for our proximity. She passed within eighteen yards of us; and, throwing back her long ears upon her back, rattled away at her best speed.

"Give her distance, and shoot forward," said my friend. Head over heels she toppled as I pulled, and laid without a struggle.

"Fairly killed. Better miss one than hit the quarters. Always aim forward at a Sarah," said my host.

The quick succession of reports told that all were having good sport. A brace of hens sailed over our heads just as I had charged. I took the right; my friend the left; and down they came with a simultaneous plump.

"Mark covey!" shouted a boy; and five barrels, one after the other, clanged through the wood. Like bullets the remaining partridges whistled past. I pulled both triggers at the leading-brace, killing the second bird, and in my hurry missed the first; but, before he flew ten yards further the charge from the roaring gun of my "eye-wiping" host was driven into him. Like an arrow he rose high in the air, losing the power of guidance, looking like a soaring lark, and with the velocity of one seeking the earth, he bounded, feet from the ground, falling dead as a stone.

"That was a towerer," said my friend, reloading.

They are hit just on the lower part of the spine when they mount so," replied I.

"Generally just behind the wings," said my host.

The spaniels were now yelping with all their power, in full chorus. Their musical cry echoed through the cover. Now and then one might be seen rushing through the tall grass, in full chace of a fugitive. Sometimes they would leap out upon the field, and snuff the ground eagerly for the scent, thinking the pursued had

vacated. Not finding, back they doubled; and, picking it up, off they rattled again merrily.

"Something extra here," said my host in a low voice, and screwing up his left eye, "I know we shall see."

Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when out burst a fox with a cub in her mouth. No tally-ho escaped us; but it was the first I had seen without giving the view-holloa. Away the careful mother went with her little one over the hill as fast as she could travel. Occasionally she turned her head to see if the dogs were in view, and then continued straight forward. Out burst the noisy team just as she was on the top of the hill; and it required all our exertions to whip off the ardent dogs, so that the fond mother might rest her fears from the barking pigmy pack. After several severe cuts from our pocket-whips the presumptuous spaniels were driven back into the copse to resume their more successful task of springing birds than running a fox.

My friend was standing with his back towards the stream, close to the edge of it, when a rabbit whisked past. Over and over it rolled as his never-failing charge struck it through the head. At the same moment a pheasant towered high over the trees. Raising his gun, without taking it from his shoulder, the outstretched neck of the gay bird fell backwards between his wings, and down he fell crash into a hawthorn-bush. While he was covering the victim his hat fell off, and rolled into the water. Quickly it floated upon the rapid stream; and, throwing down his gun, away ran my host in full chase. Now he stoops to snatch the broad brim; but, no; it escapes, and on it whirls. A bed of rushes holds the fugitive. Now he must recover it. Upon his knees he falls; stretches out his ready hand; his fingers are upon the brim; they clutch the edge; his balance is lost, and in he dives head-foremost into the water.

After much splashing, and amid roars of laughter from the whole party, who had just concluded beating the wood in time to witness the involuntary bathe of our host, he scrambled, hat in hand, upon the bank. Shaking the water from his clothes, no one enjoyed the joke more than himself. His red, fine, hearty cheeks, seemed ready to burst with the loud merriment which swelled them. But, casting his eyes into the soaked hat, in an instant the laugh ceased. He peered into it, and poked his fingers about the interior with a singular stir up, as if what he saw required the more convincing proof of touch. Holding out the hat, he approached us with looks. of pride, and hallooed

"There's something more than any of yon grinning youngsters can say. I've bagged a rabbit, a long tail, and an eel, all at once, as you may say."

It was true enough. At the bottom of the hat was a small eel of about four inches in length, which was scooped by strange chance from the water when our friend accomplished his successful dive.

The sun was just setting as we wended our way towards our host's old-fashioned farm-house. When we arrived the contents of the bags were spread upon the lawn before the door. By the side of lots of hares and rabbits, lay fifty-three brace of pheasants, three brace of partridges, and a couple of pigeons.

"That is a tolerable fair bag," said I.

"Yes," replied our host; "putting in the eel."

40

THE DANDY OF THE PRESENT DAY

AND

THE BEAU OF FORMER TIMES.

How do you distinguish a dandy? His face is so composed and plastic, that a sculptor wishing to represent complete repose and apathy might make it his model. His hair is artistically raised, or else curled according to the fashion of the day, not a lock being out of its place. His eyes have not, indeed, the fish-like expression of a Dutchman's; but they form a striking contrast with the sparkling roving eyes of the native of the south. His lips are a little compressed. His coat, without a plait, and of an elegant fit, is so little remarkable for show or ornament, that it might serve as an example of the levelling spirit of the times; his linen is spotless; his bearing seems careless and negligent, but is nevertheless studied. His demeanour is cold, and always the same; so that, as a modern author remarks, if a thunderbolt were to strike the wall of his room without destroying it, he would order his valet to replace the mirror necessary for the business of the toilet. His accent and voice are modified in a manner peculiar to the English language; he speaks quick, but monotonously, scarcely opening his mouth, and keeping his tongue close to his teeth; he gives utterance to his thoughts in as laconic a manner as possible, as if time, his most important capital, were not to be wasted. He is sometimes fastidious, and sometimes careless in the choice of his words; but he has no great variety of them; so that if English were one day to become a dead language, a gradus ad Parnassum, founded on the conversation of a dandy-like gentleman, would be very poor in the epitheta ornantia ; for the word capital always expresses his satisfaction, and the word odd his displeasure. The voice of the dandy is rather effeminate ;* as if the speaker still feared the reproach of coarseness directed against the English language in France under the ancien régime, might still apply to the modern gentleman's varied tone of voice.

Compare him with the fashionables of former times, the lively cavaliers of Charles the Second, and the English beaus of the last century. What a contrast do they present! How would a Chandos be shocked, if he saw his great ancestor,-whom, as a Tory, he must honour, the Duke of Buckingham, Villiers, the witty roystering minister of Charles the Second, who invented the word cabal so frequently employed at that time, revelling in taverns, or, with Shaftesbury and Rochester, rescuing his mistresses from the gay good-humoured Charles the Second! Even a modern Mr. Stanhope would perhaps find his great ancestor, Lord Chesterfield,

From the following conversation, which once took place in a coffee-house, we must conclude that Foote spoke with a loud thundering voice, and the dandy in a weak lisping tone:

"DANDY. Waiter, a cup of coffee, weak as a lady falling into a swoon, and cool as a zephyr.

"FOOTE. Waiter, a cup of coffee, hot as hell, and strong as the devil.

"

'DANDY. Pray, waiter, what is the gentleman's name?

"FOOTE. Pray, waiter, what is that lady's name?"

ridiculous, if he were to appear without a dress-coat or snuff-box, depending only on that grace légère, which ruled as sovereign the ancien régime.

Time has wonderfully changed the aristocracy of England-on the whole for the better, though sometimes in a laughable way. What a pity that no Addison, Fielding, or Bulwer was to be found among the English of the Restoration, to give us a lively picture of the details of the reaction against the severe puritanism of Geneva?

Look at a portrait of a cavalier of Cromwell's time, or of a courtier in that of Charles the Second. The face is muscular, marked by strong passions, swollen by sensual pleasure, with eyes and lips boldly prominent; his coat is rich and showy, his bearing lordly and daring. So loud and deep was then the tone of voice, even in social intercourse, that it sounded to southern ears like the roaring of wild animals. Swearing, now quite out of fashion, interlaced every phrase, and offended the puritans even more than drinking and fighting. "My good friend," said Cromwell once, ironically, to a royalist whom he wished to banish, "I advise you to stay no longer here. Swearing is taxed by the English Parliament, and, as you can't leave it off, you would soon completely ruin yourself."

Let me imagine a dinner at the Court of Charles, the rollicking Rochester, Buckingham, Shaftesbury, the King,-champagne and Spanish wines flowing in streams,-one witticism following another, -not the present puns or allusive jokes, but biting personalities, at which the King was certainly not behind-hand, though he sometimes could not find a ready repartee. "Shaftesbury," said he once, " you are the greatest rogue in the kingdom."-"Of a subject, sire," added Shaftesbury immediately, with a bow, and the King was exposed to the laughter of the rest of the courtiers. On another occasion he was obliged to listen to an impertinence of Rochester, who read before his face the following epitaph:

"Here lies our sovereign Lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on,

Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.'

The ladies who were present never failed to blush and look down on hearing witty inuendos, until the company of Lady Portsmouth and the Duchess of Cleveland had taught them to be immodest.

Though classes and parties were really more separate, they avoided casual and common intercourse much less than at present. In the taverns of London were to be seen the splendid laced coat, the innumerable loops, the long curls, the hat with feathers of the age of Louis the Fourteenth, mingled with the plain dress of the puritan citizens. However, the dandy distinguished himself from these, not so much by outward show as by noise, drinking, and cursing. In the country you met only gentlemen, who added to the coarseness of civil war, and the bluntness acquired in early life, the licentiousness of their chiefs, whose wit they did not possess, and whose polite manners were unknown to them. When they appeared at Court, often in the uniform of civil war, they were invari

ably objects of ridicule to the young wits. They therefore returned moodily to their country seats, to complain bitterly of the ingratitude of the merry monarch, to hunt foxes and hares, to associate with their tenants, and to lay the foundation of that class of country gentlemen, who in the last century supplied Fielding with the type of the incomparable Squire Western. If the two periods be compared, without regarding the interval, it would appear that the cavaliers of those days, and the gentlemen of the present time, had not a drop of the same blood in their veins. In England, however, the same passion for fox-hunting and the turf is still to be seen; the English flag, even then powerful, has since waved victoriously on all the seas of both hemispheres; the Parliament, as full of energy, and prudent as formerly, makes laws that will one day be as sacred as the Habeas Corpus of Charles the Second; England will, when occasion shall arrive, give birth to new Blakes; and an Algernon Sydney will always be found in case of need.

Whence comes, then, the striking contrast between the two portraits? It proceeds from the national character, — from the desire of individuals, as well as of classes, to take precedence of others,— from national pride, that repels with contempt everything foreign.

The wrecks of feudal nobility, broken and humbled, descended from the Normans, which since the time of Edward the Third had been overpowered by Saxon elements, by violence, and by the progress of civilization, rallied once more round the throne to vanquish, if possible, the hated majority represented by the Parliament. They were beaten. Their defeat, however, was not attended with such tremendous consequences as that of the feudal nobility of France in 1789. The serious character of the English preserved the nation from anarchy, from bloodshed, and from a revolution of property; the royalists defeated at Worcester and Naseby were spared; but few acts of violence were committed, and they were sufficiently blamed by public opinion. The chiefs alone, and a small body of their followers fled; the greater part remained behind, and suffered no greater calamity than the irritation and annoyance arising from Cromwell's famous espionage. It is well known that the victorious majority of the nation during that political reaction was inclined to the severe tenets of Calvinism, which naturally lead to a liberal form of government. This was exemplified during the civil war. The republican spirit gained ground; but it grew daily more and more gloomy, till at last it degenerated into a zealous monkish fanaticism. This never would have happened in merry France, if Henry the Fourth had adhered to the party to which he owed his crown, and which had shed its blood for him. Pleasure and gaiety were in the eyes of those austere republicans who traversed the streets of London with a sword in one hand and a Bible in the other, damnable and diabolical things. To sing a merry song, to play, or to dance, was considered by them as a sin; but to frequent the theatre, or to swear, was an abomination.

The Parliament decreed fines and corporal punishments against such indulgences, and prescribed, instead of recreations, fasting and prayer. No wonder that the royalists and moderate men complained of oppression. No wonder that they hated their enemies; for, instead of gloomy contemplation, rigid morality, and penurious economy, they were votaries of pleasure, licentiousness, and extrava