and sometimes met misfortunate accidents, as
when Reuben broke his arm, and the little
one was tossed by Farmer Reycroft's bull.
To be sure he bellowed louder than the bull,
and gin us a terrible fright, but were not so
desperate lamed after all. Warrant ye, after
he came down to the ground, he never tried
to pull the bull's nose by the ring in it,
again. But it's all the same now, sir, Jubily
and all; and it must be some years, they say,
before the people can enjoy another Jubily;
and so all over again, and over again. Well,
well! I don't fancy I shall have a shive off
that ox! (A short laugh.)

Oh, aye, aye, though I cannot see, I can
feel by the air and the hush, that the golden
sun is gone down, too. I dare say there is a
dark cloud; may-be a storm a brewing, just
where the sky was all so bright and
beautiful. And I must toddle. We living men
want to go down to rest, like the sun, when
the wearysome day and the ploughing, and
the labour is over. It is quite different from
the morning and nuncheon-time. We are
brisk as the bees, and buz and fancy we shall
never be tired, and we do our work cheerfully,
and come to be fed and refreshed. And
we hope our lot will be mended, and we
return to the work, and we work on alway
looking forward for easier times, and more
wages and holidays. And so we wear on
till—but it is drawing late, and I must
not go on talking. I must get home. I have
but a very short way to go,—only 'cross that
wee bit of scrub-common, and close agen the
church. Umph, umph, I am stiff with sitting.
Thank you, sir! You be going the same road?
Your help is very kind, to a poor, weakly
old man, four score and four.

[Pausing at the fence.] Thank you, thank
you! Good night, sir! Oh, yes, I shall have
my bit of bread and cheese, and drop of beer
for my supper; and then say my prayers and
go to sleep. Indeed and indeed, it is a
sweetening of life for an old man to say, "Our
Father which art in Heaven." It is not like
the young who repeat the words without
much thinking about the meaning; but as if
you were close to your Father, neighbourly,
could find him directly, and were a'most
speaking to him face to face, so that He'd be
sure to hear you. The older men grow,—it
is the nearer to Heaven. The old man then
whispered the prayer to himself; but gave
out "Amen!" aloud.

The summer passed away. The new-mown
hay of June had long been stacked: the corn
had ripened and was yielding to the sickle:
the hedge-row flowers had all withered away
and been succeeded by another odorous
bloom, the glorious sun was setting in the
west upon the first Sunday in August, when
I happened to turn my steps again towards
the spot where my ancient friend had
soliloquised and prayed. I thought I would call
and inquire about his health: perhaps indulge
in another senile colloquy. The door of the
adjacent church was open. I hurried up to
the paling within which his dwelling lay, and
where I had listened to his tremulous and
solemn Amen. Four bearers issued from the
door, and walked slowly past me towards the
church-yard, with a humble deal coffin, on
which, however, I read, rudely inscribed:

THOMAS HAWTREY,
AGED 84 YEARS.

HER GRACE OF THE HOBNAILS.

WE believe that, out of England, the name
commonly assigned to a young English lady,
or to an English racer, is Miss Fanny. In
the case of the fast young lady who travelled
last year with her mamma, all by herself
through some of the rough paths of Norway,
as we have to speak of her, and do not know
how she is called, we will assume for her the
title of Miss Fanny—but, no! "titles are a
weak point with all Swedes, and for fear of
going below the mark (in Gottenburg) they
dubbed us duchesses at once, with the style
and title of Your Grace." We will not be
behind the Swedes in courtesy, and since we
do not know the lady's title, let us take for
granted that she is one of our English
duchesses—the Duchess Fan. She is a lady
certainly of independent means, for, she tells us,
she will maintain that "ladies alone get on
in travelling much better than with gentlemen:
they set about things in a quieter
manner, and always have their own way;
while men are sure to go into passions and
make rows, if things are not right
immediately .... The only use of a gentleman
in travelling is to look after the luggage, and
we take care to have no luggage." This fact
is, however, modified by the statement that
each lady took her bag, into which she packed
one change of everything. The Duchess
thus describes her travelling attire: A solid
plaid shirt, a polka coat, a light waterproof
cloak, woollen stockings, and hob-nail shoes.
In the course of the journey we learn that
she bought herself some scarlet flannel out
of which she made herself, or caused to be
made for herself, a pair of fascinating
trousers. "They can be of any colour or fancy,
only red looks pretty among the trees,
charms the peasants, and frightens the
wolves: mine were quite a success, so I can
recommend them."

"Now," she cries, presently, with enthusiasm,
"now the non-talk-aboutables proved
their usefulness, bagging all my clothes in
their ample folds, I at once mounted à la
Zouave, and can assure every one for a long
journey this attitude has double comforts:
while mamma sat twisted sideways on a
saddle which would not keep its balance, I
was easy and independent, with a foot in
each stirrup; besides the scarlet having the
most beautiful effect through the green trees."
But to go back to the first equipment of her