of the fox-hound is to the English sportsman.
Unearthly as the uproar is, the boar but sulkily
responds to it, and jogs slowly and stubbornly
but silently along the undergrowth. Just
previous to breaking cover he stops, as it were, to
consider his line of country, then suddenly leaps
forth with a long lobbing canter that does not
seem to be fast, but which will try the speed of
the fleetest horse in the hunt. A shriek of
"Gone away!" and some twenty horsemen burst
forth from the cover like so many devils. The
boar slightly increases his pace, and the race
fairly sets in. A little to the right it is rather
rocky, and there are some ugly dry water-courses
which he thinks will puzzle his enemies, so he
makes for them. But all his tactics are of no
avail. A grim-bearded old stager, mounted on a
flea-bitten grey Arab, that bounds over the rocks
and nullahs like an antelope, has been slowly but
surely creeping up; and before the boar has
completed two-thirds of his journey, he finds this
cool and determined-looking customer riding
alongside of him. Such presumption makes him
whet his tusks again with rage, and turning short
round with a couple of savage grunts, he charges
ferociously, but it won't do. The spear is down
in an instant, and by his own impetuosity he has
stabbed himself deeply just above the shoulder-
blade; and the gallant flea-bitten grey, with a
light bound forward, has kept clear of his tusks.
His fate is now sealed, for the delay occasioned
by the charge has let up some of the other huntsmen.
He charges first on one and then on the
other, receiving deadly wounds each time. At
last, exhausted by loss of blood, without a groan
or a grunt, he sighs his last breath away. It is
useless to attempt to beat the same piece of
jungle over, for those hog that remained in when
the first broke cover have long ago sought refuge
in flight in another direction; but the "shikaree"
knows of another likely spot some three miles
distant, and it is immediately decided to proceed
thither. This time a whole sounder break forth
at once, and the hunting-party is broken up into
two or three different lots. Two huge tuskers
and one sow are the result.

HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER LXV. THE LAST OF THE BATTLE.

IT was now nearly four o'clock in the afternoon.
Throughout the search at the barricade,
Saxon had seen the shells flying at a great
height overhead, and heard the battle going on
unceasingly in the streets of the town. Sometimes
the sounds advanced, sometimes retreated;
but never ceased for one minute together. Finding
at length that neither friends nor foes came
round in their direction, the men posted at the
barricade became impatient, and dropped away
one by one; and presently Saxon, being to all
appearance no more likely to find his friend in
one place than another, followed their example.
He traversed one whole street without seeing
a living creature; then, coming to a cross-road,
paused and listened. The musketry now
seemed to be very distant, but he could not tell
precisely from what quarter the sound
proceeded. While he was yet hesitating, a couple
of Neapolitan soldiers came running towards
him. Seeing an armed Garibaldian, they stopped
short, as if doubting which way to turn; and
Saxon called to them to surrender.

At that moment, some six or eight red-shirts
made their appearance at the top of the street,
in full chase. The Neapolitans immediately
fired upon Saxon, flung away their rifles, and
fled down a by-street to the left.

But the balls glanced harmlessly by, and
Saxon, anxious to know how the great interests
of the day were faring elsewhere, went on his
way, and left the fugitives to their pursuers.

A few steps further on, he fell in with a
detachment of Tuscans led by young Beni, now
on foot.

"Holà! amico," cried the Palermitan, "where
do you come from?"

"From the barricade in the Via Lombardi.
And you?"

"From the beach, where those cursed Regi
have been pouring down shot and shell as thick
as fire-stones from Etna."

"How goes the day?"

"Triumphantly. We are driving them up towards
the castle from all sides. Come and see!"

So Saxon fell in with the Tuscan company;
and as they pressed up against the hill, winding
round by a steep lane on the eastern side of the
town, the young men, in a few hurried sentences,
exchanged such news as each had to tell.

"The whole of the lower part of the town is
ours," said Beni. "Medici's men have done
wonders—the Genoese carabineers have lost
half their number—Peard's company has
possession of an old windmill on the heights above
the castle, whence they have rifled the enemy
clear out of the northern works."

"This is great news!"

"It is great news. Before another hour is
past, we shall have them all shut up in the
castle, like mice in a trap."

"Where is your horse?"

"Shot under me, half an hour ago. Where
is your friend?"

"Safe, I hope. He vanished in the mêlée
down at the barricade. I have not seen him since."

"Silence! I hear a tramp of feet. Halt!"

The column halted, and in the sudden silence
that ensued, the approaching footsteps of a
considerable body of men were distinctly audible.

It was an exciting moment. The lane was
winding, steep, and narrow. On one side rose a
stupendous cliff of solid rock; on the other ran
a low wall, overhanging the poorest quarter of
the town. A worse place for a hostile
encounter could scarcely have been selected;
but the young Palermitan, unused to command
as he was, at once saw the difficulty of his
position, and prepared to meet it.

Silently and promptly, he drew up his little