wind with a wild snort of defiance. The captain allowed him to breathe himself completely, and then rode him back with the same quiet smile about his mouth, saying plainly " You all see what I can do." A half hour's ride brought us to the meet, and there we found half the country-side gentry assembled with the usual concomitant of yelping hounds, irate whippers-in, and eager huntsmen. A thin sprinkling too of ladies, who seemed to look forward with as great relish to a good run this frosty morning as their sterner companions. Reynard was soon unearthed, and hardly had the stentorian "Gone away, Tally-ho," rang out in the air, when the whole mass rushed forward in the mad excitement of the chase, every rider with whip-hand low and firm seat, for well we knew there was some stiff ground to be got over ere the hunt was done. A really beautiful sight it is, I take it, to see the hounds break out into the open, followed by the stream of huntsmen in scarlet and black, while the horn breaks out into a cheery defiance, or the master's voice sounds high "Yoicks For-rad!" For half-an-hour we kept well together, the Captain gallantly leading on Rupert, who swept along now manfully as if proud of his rider; Charley following easily, and myself bringing up the rear on my respectable old cob. Every now and then Grantley would hurl a glance of defiance at the man whom he evidently considered his rival, and I could see by Charley's set teeth and sparkling eyes that he was only waiting for some danger to test their strength; and he had not long to wait. Right in front lay the stiffest bit of fence with ditch beyond that had stopped us that day, about six feet in height, rising abruptly at the bottom of a hill, with a hedge in front and a dry ditch on the other side. Nothing to smile at, Captain Grantley, though you show your teeth to us as if in challenge. All at once Charley began spurring his horse, and with one rush was beside Grantley, and neck and neck they raced down the hill towards the deadly fence. Not for me to describe the various emotions which surged through those rivals' minds then as the danger neared. Such is the cunning of love, that each knew the other's mortal hatred, and now in the hour of peril there was no dissembling; but see with one bound they are at the fence. Charley, slightly leading his chestnut, rises at it like a bird, and with one flying leap is safe on the other side. Gallantly done, by Jove! With one wild oath ground through his set teeth, Captain Grantley urges the Irish horse to the leap. Gallantly the beautiful animal rises to the top, and then his hind feet caught in the rails, and down he went with a horrible “thud,” that sickening sound of falling bodies, into the ditch below, rolling over on his rider and crushing him terribly. "Good God," I exclaimed, "the man must be killed," and setting spurs to my cob was soon beside the prostrate horse and his lifeless rider. Charley hearing the 'thud,' had reined in his gallant steed too, and was now bending over the inanimate Captain. "Here, Charley, try and get the brute off him, he may not be dead yet. The horse does not seem very much injured.” My friend's strong hands soon dragged the struggling horse off, and then I stooped and examined the luckless rider. Perfectly still he lay, with one arm doubled back in an unnatural way, that I knew must be a fracture, and a thin stream of blood trickling from his pale forehead, that made my heart turn cold, as I thought of concussion of the brain. "Try some cold water, Charley; here take my hunting cap to that little brook. I wish the Squire were here, I hardly know how to act. Would to heaven the poor fellow had listened to his advice this morning." I sprinkled the cool drops over his brow, and he seemed to recover, with one hard gasping breath he opened his eyes. "What have I done? who are you?" he whispered in a low voice. "Oh, I remember now; the cursed Irish horse refused the leap, and you, my rival, got over beautifully." Then his voice sank to a groan: “Oh, my head pains me so, and I am sure my arm must be broken. I-I can't move it; however, I must try and walk. She must not see me in this state." He attempted to rise, but fell back with a groan. "Curse my ill-luck, to be smashed at a trifle like this. I saw my fate the instant the brute rose to the jump, but would not have turned back to save my life, for (I knew what was passing in his mind then.) A drop more water, I feel awfully faint, and my arm pains me infernally. Thanks." A few minutes and Charley re-appeared with a country cart drawn by a strong horse. "As good luck would have it, Captain," said the noble boy, with no malice in his heart now, "this cart happened to be at the road-side; we'll lift you in, and carry you to the Hall in a crack. Gently then, Jack, take care of his arm. Tell you the truth, I was equally afraid of a spill, but some good cherub watched over me and landed me all right-so that's all comfortable. Now, boy, drive very slowly; and perhaps you would not mind going with Mr. Grantley, just to prepare the ladies for the accident. I mean to ride on and try to get up with the tail of the hounds." With a bound he was in the saddle, and gone. A weary drive was that to the Hall; the Captain kept groaning miserably, and inwardly bemoaning his hard fate, and would receive no attentions from me; so I left him at last to his own reflections. "By the bye, don't you think that I had better go on up to the Hall, and tell the ladies, Captain; they will be so frightened otherwise?" "If you like," motioned the sufferer; and I accordingly ran on in front, past the lodge, up the stately avenue, dashed into the house, and regardless of etiquette burst in upon the fair girls, who were in the drawing-room. "I am sorry" and I could go no further-"very sorry that an accident has happened to Captain Grantley. The Irish horse fell on him, and I fear he is badly hurt; but pray don't alarm yourselves, my dear young ladies, it is nothing fatal." Did my eyes deceive me, or was Ella Stewart swooning? without a word, without a movement she had fainted away. Utterly beside myself with mingled surprise and terror, I sprang to the bell and pulled frantically. "Some water at once, your mistress has fainted." Could anything be more unfortunate; should the Captain arrive meanwhile and hear of this, goodness only knows how high his hopes will fly; and poor Charley, let him look to himself. In a few seconds Ella opened her beautiful eyes, and assured us that she was perfectly recovered, and then with a wild look of terror: "Is he very badly hurt? will he die?" Her modesty overcoming her fear, and the mantling blushes tinting her cheek once more: "Oh, how foolish I am, I must be mad." What could all this mean? Was it probable that this Indian Captain with his strange fascinating eyes, and fierce moustache, had wrought this change in my Charley's darling. I felt glad that he had gone off after the hounds instead of coming home; he would have been tortured by jealousy. No long time elapsed before the cart with its bruised burden stood in front of the hall-door, and I assisted Captain Grantley out, pale as death, with his face bleeding and his arm useless. "Oh "No more soldiering with this," said he, with a ghastly grin. no, my dear Miss Stewart, it is really not much-not much to grieve you," with a passionate glance into her dark orbs; and if I ever saw the language of love I saw it then. Not a word spake she in return, there was no necessity for it, her eyes said as plainly as eyes could say, "I love thee, I love thee." ""Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel than see The swelling of her heart." Oh, Miss Stewart, groaned I in bitterness of spirit, as I saw the ghastly truth, does your heart feel no pity for the gallant boy you have drawn on to his doom; is his love such a worthless weed then, that you should neglect it for this man, a comparative stranger. Then, God knows, I might be wrong, women are ever compassionate, and in my unskillfulness may have interpreted as love what was only compassionprobably Captain Grantley is but an old friend. Meanwhile the injured hero had been conveyed in state to the Blue Chamber, once the fabled resting-place of royalty, and had fallen off into a deep sleep. The evening shadows fell apace, and brought with them the hunting party, anxious to learn the fate of "Black Rupert's" rider. The Squire tormented with anxiety because he had suffered the Captain to ride him. "I knew it, the devil himself wouldn't hold him with the bit between his teeth," was his constant plaint. A weary dinner followed, in which each seemed to feel the absence of Grantley; and each for once broke through the conventional rules, which ordain that in society you must smile and joke with a broken heart, and showed their concern. The Squire was evidently chagrined. "There must have been some mistake," he exclaimed; "you should have seen him this morning, Ella, he made 'Black Rupert' as tame as a lamb in five minutes." The lovely girl's eyes sparkled with admiration, while from Charley's eyes there came a responsive gleam which expressed anything but admiration. "Jack," whispered my friend hoarsely in my ear, as we were driving home to chambers under the moon, "if that Grantley steals my darling's affections I'll shoot him like a dog, I swear to God I will” You must excuse the hot-headed boy, reader, if he is given to use strong language. Young men of the present day are not accustomed to choose their language when excited, and my friend was, in my opinion, unreasonable rage. in a very "Tush, fond lover," was my answer, "prythee, why so pale? If of herself she will not love, nothing can make her. Besides, you foolish fellow, what change have you noticed in Miss Stewart's demeanour, thus to sink to the lowest depths of despair. An unreasonable lot you lovers are; if a girl dares to look, smile, speak, for any one save your honourable selves, let him look to it." Poor fellow, he little knew all-perhaps 'twas as well he did not. And now, reader, I must make my bow. This intolerable "ego" drumming on your ears must have wearied you; I shall leave the characters in this little drama to play for themselves, you will probably see me again hereafter. Vale! and would I could add " Vos plaudite." (To be continued.) VOL. VI. 2 N 546 A HOUSEHOLD POET. To attempt on paper, an exact definition of the term "poetry," would be a work of about the same magnitude and utility, as an attempt to transfer to canvas a correct portrait of the sun. Both tasks have been repeatedly attempted it is true, but without any very satisfactory results. That Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, or Pope are true poets, are all inspired with the "fine frenzy," can be readily comprehended; but if any comparison between the relative merits of their works be attempted, or if we essay to measure their respective powers by any mental standard of our own, we are speedily at fault. All of them are brethren of a noble band, inheriting nothing in common beyond the glorious title of poet. Such being the case, it is not only idle, but unjust to endeavour to depreciate one writer's style by comparing it with that of another; and yet how frequently is this done now-a-days? Felicia Hemans is not a greater poet because she wrote in a manner different to, even if finer than, the flowery pathos of poor L. E. L. Neither are her works an iota less admirable, because not so sweetly human as those of Elizabeth Browning. Every writer has an allotted portion, and to our fancy none seem to have more honestly and steadfastly adhered to the fore-shadowed rôle than has Eliza Cook. Her works can be confidently recommended to every class of readers. They are unsurpassed for pathetic fervour, for purity of tone, and for clearness of expression. No living poet writes with less straining after effect, or with more apparent ease, and we can truthfully affirm that in her poems we have ever found "sound an echo to the sense:" her rhymes are always accompanied by reason. There can be few Englishmen to whom Eliza Cook's name is unknown. Of many of her lyrics it may indeed be said, that "they are as familiar in their mouths as household words." From golden-haired maiden to gray-headed sire, there are few, even now at the hundreth repetition, who can restrain the rising sob, or, who does not feel the eye grow dim with tears on hearing the well-known words of "The Old Arm-Chair." There was a time some several years since, when poems and songs flowed with extraordinary rapidity from this poet's fluent pen; but a long, long interval of silence came, until at last her admirers began to fear that they had lost their sweet songster for ever. Happily, however, it was, but a fleeting cloud, at least for us, and once again we have our former favourite in our midst, singing with all the fervency and all the beauty of "the olden golden time of long ago." The interval of suffering-suffering greater perchance than the world may deem-does not appear to have in any way dimmed the brilliancy, |