"You have a nice horse there," he continued, more than up to your weight."

I am proud of the compliment, Mr. Mayor, for as the man says in the play, approbation from (Mr. John Bannister) is praise indeed." "Your mare, too, is quite of the right sort, and I warrant she's a good one."

Why, I have seen worse," replied the chief magistrate," by the way, I almost forgot to tell you that Lord Maryborough was anxious to know whether you were on leave, or at the barracks."

During this conversation, especially when mention was made of Sir William, and the above noble lord, the mighty Nimrod looked a little surprised, and not a little pleased.

"I beg your pardon, Sir," said he, "I was not aware of the honour-__”

"Oh !" I interrupted him, "look upon me as a brother sportsman, that's a tie that is acknowledged all over the world. But we must not lose our start, old Merryman is on the scent.

I was right; away went the pack, followed by a troop of equestrians and a company of pedes

to see so distinguished a guest at the barracks.

"I thank you for the flattering compliment," responded my friend, "there's nothing like combining business with pleasure. Unfortunately, my cards were left in the chay cart, but my address is well known to the world at large; and if ever professionally or privately, I can be of any service to you or your friends, pray command me."

I took off my hat, extended my hand, which my acquaintance grasped, and turning my horse's head towards Windsor, pictured to myself the flaming paragraph that would probably appear in the sporting papers, headed, "Wonderful run with His Majesty's staghounds," with a full, true, and particular account of the nine' who were up at the end of the day. In the mean time, having some slight personal acquaintance with a neighbouring provincial editor, I concocted an article in my head on the road home, which I reduced to writing the moment I reached my barrack room. Not wishing to vaunt my prowess too

much, I merely named myself as one, who, with the celebrated sporting writer Nimrod, the huntsman, whippers in, and a few others had kept with the hounds during the run of the season. The paragraph appeared; it was on a Friday morning; I purchased at least a dozen papers; for the editor, thinking that my modesty, like that of Tom Thumb, (I mean the original, of that ilk)''was a flambeau to my understanding,' had given us more credit than we deserved, describing the heroes alluded to, as having led the field the whole day, and gallantly swimming the Thames across a rapid current. The Sunday papers published in time for Saturday's afternoon coach, were to reach me by dinner time that day, and having given orders for two copies of 'Bell's Life' to be sent, I awaited with no little impatience the arrival of my servant, who I had despatched to look out for Moody's coach.

"A parcel from London," said my trusty groom. I opened it, and rapidly glanced at the hunting news, but no mention was made of the run; disappointed at not finding the long

looked for account, I was about to put down the paper, when my attention was attracted to the following pithy paragraph: "We stop the press to say that we have just received a communication from Nimrod (C. J. Apperley, Esq.) begging us to contradict a statement that appeared in a provincial newspaper of yesterday's date, to the effect that he had formed one of the field with His Majesty's hounds last week."

This talented author adding, "that unless, like Sir Simon Roche's bird, he could be in two places at once, the thing was impossible, he having been out on the very morning mentioned with the Warwickshire hounds." To this was added the following note by the editor.

"We rather suspect the original article in question, was a regular paid for puff of the Day and Martin school, inserted by one of the 'hard riders' so flatteringly mentioned in it."

To adopt a sporting phrase, I was regularly at fault," nor was the mystery dissolved until the following morning, when a letter reached me by the post; it contained a few printed

cards, with ten pence to pay, for in those days Rowland Hill's "penny wise," and certainly not "pound foolish" plan, had not been introduced. I was about to throw the card into the fire, when a small note fell from the letter; picking 1 found it ran as follows:

it

up,

"Mr. Bugsby's compliments to Mr. Pembroke, and in thanking him for his kindness last Monday with the stag hounds, begs to enclose a few cards."

66

'Bugsby," I exclaimed to a brother officer "what does this mean?"

"See here," he replied, reading the card in a solemn and theatrical tone

Puce, bug, and black beetle extirpator!!! One trial will suffice! Copy the address!!!!

Fleeance avaunt! Sleep unalloyed;

Here Bugs, by Bugsby are destroyed."

No. 2, John Street, Clerkenwell.

I cannot attempt to picture to my readers