a sale by auction of the furniture and
stacks. Mr. Barnard's horses were placed in
the stables of the principal hotel under the
charge of the Yorkshire groom, and an
advertisement in the local papers announced
them for sale, "the property of a gentleman
declining hunting." They were sold, with the
exception of two reserved, at high figures,
fetching the largest prices ever known in the
county; but they did not give unmitigated
satisfaction to all the purchasers. Perhaps
it was the weight or the hand; but the sorrel
and the grey never went so well with any one
as with the lady in the Spanish hat. The
groom was proof against gin, brandy, crowns
and half-guineas. His master could ride a bit,
he could, so could his missis; and that was all
they could get out of him—probably it was
all he knew.

After two more seasons, Lord Bullrush
gave up the Blankshire hounds, and not only
disgusted the whole neighbourhood, but I
verily believe killed the Countess Dowager
by marrying a pretty girl—a country
surgeon's daughter—the very picture, as he
declared, of the lady in the Spanish hat. After
that, we travelled on the continent for three
years. I published my book on Peculiarities
of Digestion, and my Analysis of the Cries of
Infants: on the strength of which, with Lord
and Lady B.'s patronage, I set up in practice;
until, at a fortunate moment, his lordship,
who had settled down into a steady voting
politician, was able to put me in the snug
appointment I now hold. I live genteelly in
Calverdish Square, and have a great reputation
for the diseases of infants.

I continue a great favourite with both my
lord and my lady, and am often asked, in the
dull season when Parliament sits late, to take
a vacant place at their table. It was after one
of these dinners, on a hot July evening, that
his lordship proposed a stroll and a cigar.
We walked up and down divers quiet streets,
until we came into a modern neighbourhood,
where a magnificent chemist's shop occupied
the corner. " Let us go in," said my lord, "I
should like a glass of soda water."

Now, though my conscience went against
patronising a surgeon who demeaned himself
to sell soda water, I could not say no.

We walked in and had the soda water; but
the sight of all the pretty things in glass and
china set Lord B. (always a gossip) chatting
and asking questions; at length the shopman
was obliged to appeal to his master about
some question of eau de Cologne. The master
came forward: a tall man, dressed in the
professional black and white.

As I was looking over the labels, a name
repeatedly caught my eye, and reminded
me of something, when I heard Lord B.
exclaim, "Pray, sir, where have I seen you
before? Your face is familiar to me."
I looked up, and the truth flashed upon
me as the druggist answered quietly, "In
Blankshire, when your Lordship had the
hounds, and I went there to spend my honeymoon,
and sell my father's horses, while
waiting until I could buy a business to my
mind. My father was a Yorkshire farmer,
and made me—his third son—a surgeon. He
had horses: of course we rode them. I went to
Paris to finish my education, and there
picked up my moustache and boots. When
I married Farmer Cherry's heir-at-law, a
neighbour of my father offered to lend us
the house and told us the story of the Hunt.
We were young, much in love, did not want
impertinence, and did like fox-hunting.
I heard of a surgeon's and druggist's business
likely to suit me, and I left your county.
We have three children. I am doing a good
business—indeed it cost me some thousands of
pounds—and we often laugh about the
Blankshire Hunt. I hope to have your lordship's
custom." Here he handed an ornamental
card: Robert Barnard, Surgeon Accoucheur.
Prescriptions carefully made up. Eau de
Cologne, Seltzer, and all other German
Waters.

Lord Bullrush laughed with delight; gave
a large order for Seltzer water and
perfumery; and hastened home to tell his wife.
Barnard's has since become a favourite house
of call. My lord delights to tell the story
of the Russian Prince and Princess. And
the other day, when young Lord Pie
Poudre, grandson of Soffington of Lombard
Street, was expatiating after dinner on
"blood," and its inscrutable advantages,
"Bosh," answered Bullrush, in his rough way,
"Blood in horses, blood in greyhounds, blood
in gamecocks, I understand; but, as for men,
we must take him round to see our sporting
druggist, eh. Doctor?"

THE STYRIAN MECCA.

PERCHED upon the summit of some pleasant
hill, with cloistered paths under greenwoods
about it, the rambler in Germany finds often
some deserted hut, used now perhaps as a
place of occasional prayer and meditation,
wherein he is told that there once dwelt a
holy man. Often there is a little chapel near
the spot, and sometimes it retains much of its
old character for sanctity. In some of these
places bygone monks have established shrines
to which pilgrims continue to repair, and of
these in all Germany the most famous is
Mary-Cell (Maria-Zell) in Styria. It is a
place of resort much resembling in character
the Maria-Einsiedeln in Switzerland, or the
Maria-Czenstochau of Poland, not less
distinguished in its way or less frequented than
the Italian San Loretto or the Spanish shrine
of Sant Iago di Compostella.

The church of Mary-Cell is built on a
charming hill which rises from the centre of
a wide natural basin. Green slopes environ
it, swelling behind each other. At a little
distance forests take the place of grass, and
in the far back-ground there are picturesque