lent head, and a somewhat frail body. From "a noble gentleman of very comely presence,' who, at a stormy moment, when "Sir E. Coke wept," broke forth in Parliament with "Let us recollect our English hearts and not sit still, but do our duties," she inherits fine old blood, an integrity bracing and stern as the strong wind of their moorlands, and that strenuous, anxious, patient piety of which, in a day of great causes, English gentlemen were not ashamed. His beautiful lady gives her a dutiful temper, the high example of a wife and mother whom her grown sons worshipped, and the notable housewife's dainty hand. She grows up an essentially serious person, but one cannot deny the gift of humour to one who framed the clause, "Item, if any person mentioned in my will be not satisfied with their share of goods or legacies bequeathed to them, the person so dissatisfied shall loose the benifit of the goods and legacies bequeathed." The training of an eventful and a thoughtful age combined some acute knowledge of the world with the accomplishments and the culture of a high-bred lady; and Life, bearing bitter sorrow, yet withal pure joys, finds the girl not ill-equipped to meet her. But one chief bliss She brings not. For this fine creature the highest note is never struck. There is a touch of tragedy in the history which weds with honest, foolish Mr Thornton a woman who, in the hand of Love, had made a Rachel Russell. One's heart

rises at the sight of her, writhing in the grip of humiliation and distress, as he worries and sells and loses, travelling always down the hill; while punctilious ladyhood and wifely duty forbid her one home-truth of sound criticism, one complaint reflecting on her wedded master. Yet for Madam love could cover the multitude of sins, or of weaknesses even harder for a strong thing to bear. Had she loved the man, her championship of him had been a poem.

The Spring of Romance that runs strong in her, yet of whose sweetest waters she never tastes, overflows in а passionate motherhood, too often heart-broken. Tender nursery phrases lie on her lips like kisses.

Another outlet, too, it finds If Mr Thornton were truly, as he assured his betrothed,

❝ for moderated episcopacy and kingly government," yet "his conscience," like Bailie M'Wheeble's, "never did him any harm." But Madam's was one of the faithful hearts that could only bleed for their king. In face of sequestration, poverty, relations-in-law, she remains staunch, deserving to the full the Frenchified praise bestowed by Prince Charlie on loyal Mr Oliphant of Gask, who "never deroged from his principals." She never comes 80 near complaint of her husband as when he refuses to a short-lived son, born at the Restoration, the sacred name of Charles.

Akin is that loving honour for her noble dead, no mean arrogance of family pride, but

a fine heritage whose memory inspires her in darkest days. Through marriage and motherhood, for richer for poorer, her weary head is held high, as becomes Christopher Wandesford's daughter. She is never too poor to help some luckless nephew, or give house-room to his evil-tongued wife and her slanderous "maide Barbary," till Mr Thornton (at his best moment) "did kike that wench downe staires." Her long record starts with a vivid baby memory of the first Kirklington home, where "I was following my maide, Sara Tomlinson, who caired my brother Xtopher in her armes and I took hold of her cote" and tumbled, poor babe, on "the cornerstone of the harth, and broke the skull of my forehead (1) in the very top so grievously about an inch long that the skin of the braine was seene"! And one can scarcely know her without reading in her own words the following episode.

It is Easter Monday 1651. On the Saturday good sister Alice, grieved by a heavy quarrel between her brothers, George and Christopher, has, to her great comfort, persuaded them to be "reconsiled," that all might join, a loving family, in the Easter Communion. The Monday brings to Hipswell George, a gallant and accomplished gentleman of twentyeight, to talk family business with his mother, "affter his obeisance and craiving her blessing"; who

tormented with a paine in the righte &c. which caused me to cry out in side of my necke among the sinnews extreamity: nor could she imagine what was the cause, only she still anoynted it with oyle of roses. My brother, seeing me in such paine, asked how it came, of which I could give noe other account haveing bin as well before as ever till I was combeing my head towards the right hand and binding my necke as he came up the staires and ever since it had helde stance of that strainge paine which me grievously. This was the circumheld me strongly till about halfe an houer which was the very time of his drowning. After his walking three or four turnes about the chamber in his studieng of his bussinesse, till my thoughts I saw a greate deale of change, he looked so seariously and soberly, as if there was some great change neare, but what I knewe not, only feared the worst that we should be deprived of him whom I so dearly loved. He in a very reverent manner kneeled downe and asked blessing at his goeing out againe not long before: which my mother tooke notice of, praieing God Almighty to bless him, and said, 'Sonn, I gave youe my blessing, but even now: how cometh it that you take so He ansolemne a leave of me?' swered, 'Forsooth, I cannot have your prayers and blessing for me too often'; and so with her praiers for him in his preservation, and his most humble obeisance in a dutifull manner, he took his leave, bidding me Faire well, deare sister, I hope to find you better at my returne home.' I likewise praied him to have a caire of himselfe; and lookeing affter him, I thought he had the sweetest aspect and countenance as I ever saw in him and my heart was even full of feares for that we should losse him, there was soe great and intire an affection for him on whom we did all much depend:

and speaking of this to him, he said, I was allwaies full of feares for him, but he did not deserve it and this was the last parting we had in this world, with abundance of deare love and affection betwixt us as we ever had in our lives together."

Then follows the grievous story

of his drowning in the Swale, which he had to ford to get to Richmond, in a sudden flood resembling Jean Ingelow's "eygre." For, "when it comes from the Dales it falles with a mighty mountaineous force sudainly. And he rode alone." This is the voice of passion and of pathos, yet literary style Alice Thornton has none. She is too definite in her impression not to keep to the point; and she has an educated mind. But the moment she is interested, all writer's consciousness departs, and with it, frequently, as quotation has shown, her grammar. Her sentences wander and twist, overcrowded with details, each of which is a jewel; midway "Mrs Thornton" (as her patient editor often remarks) "inserts a thanksgiving, which may be omitted"; and her use of the conjunctive "which" would do no discredit to its great exponent, Mrs Sarah Gamp. Yet wherever we wander or wind, nothing interferes with our graphic and acute understanding.

Spelling in that day was apparently a matter of personal taste; stops are irrelevant interruptions; vowels mean what you like; the same names are written six different ways; and the more important the subject the more capitals and consonants, a respectful rule still obtaining among the serious poor. Madam's Round

head colonels are written much as to-day, but a good King's man has four lls, if not two ns.

Evidence is not lacking that she was a reader. She copies a telling poem of Francis Quarles into her book: "The Honble Sir Christopher Wyvill, Barronett," sends her an originall "elegie" on her brother's death; and she herself tries somewhat a 'prentice hand at the like. She bequeaths "my library of bookes" to a grandson, and fully appreciates the controversial theology of Mr Comber, and "deepe discourse" (not omitting argument) with brother Denton.

So moves through her simple picture a loyal, dignified, English gentlewoman, vigorously alive amid the stark conventions of her age, all unconscious how precious a gift she leaves to a day so different: a strong woman, a faithful soul, whose loves endure: who in hours dark or bright looks upward, giving thanks in the pit, and prays, "holding up holy hands."

So farewell, dear Madam! farewell to graphic phrase and unmanageable sentence: to son Robin, and "Dafeny" and good brother Denton, and the old, warm, wide-windowed house. Farewell! "The veil drops from trembling fingers," and the pale mists of two long centuries creep up and hide you

once more.

MARY J. H. SKRINE.

OVER

WHEN we write or speak of shooting over dogs we are usually supposed to be referring to pointers and setters. The reason is, that there are two or three ways of shooting grouse and partridges, and that dogs are not always employed for either sport. It is necessary, therefore, in describing them to specify which kind of shooting we mean. But there are some kinds to which dogs are indispensable, and, their presence being taken for granted, no one thinks it necessary to mention them. We should scarcely ever talk of shooting snipe or duck or woodcock over dogs, simply because we cannot well do it without them; and there are other kinds of game which, though we can get them without dogs, afford nevertheless the most interesting sport when our canine friends take part in it. Some men use setters and some retrievers in pursuit of them. But, in our own judgment, there is nothing like a spaniel. He can go where setters and retrievers cannot go, and his education has not been of a nature to prevent him from showing the delight which he feels in finding game, seeing it killed, and fetching it. He is more of a companion to his master than a setter-pointers and retrievers are out of the question-ever can be, because he can live in the house with him, feed at his board, drink of his cup, and sleep by his bed

side. This constant intercourse with mankind humanises the dog to an extent which would hardly be believed by those who have not witnessed it; and it is hardly going too far to say that it enables the sportsman to keep up a kind of conversation with his little friend all through a long day's sport, to understand what he means, and to make suitable replies to it. To explain the asking eye, indeed, is seldom very difficult, though it must be owned that this inquiring orb is but too often at luncheontime directed to the contents of the basket. The cheerfulness of the spaniel, his sympathy and sociability, to say nothing of his colloquial powers, should place him far above all other breeds in the estimation of those sportsmen who love dogs for their own sake, and not only for the assistance which they render him in the pursuit of his favourite amusement. Setters, we know, can be made great pets of. Mr Gilfil's old brown setter was his master's companion at night over his pipe and his glass of gin-and-water. Finette was the "parlour favourite" at Abbotsford. But they never can attain to exactly the same degree of intimacy as the smaller dog, who lives with us, and is as much one of the family as if he was a child.

Something must be said of the different breeds of spaniels before entering upon any de

scription of the sport to be enjoyed with them. Clumbers will be placed by many good judges at the head of the list. But they are not so active as some other breeds, and have no great liking for furze and brambles. Between the different varieties of the red-andwhite spaniel, the Norfolk spaniel, the field spaniel, and others, there is, perhaps, not very much to choose. The black-and-tan is also very good, very keen, and generally very hardy. But there is another variety, apparently the result of a cross between the Sussex spaniel and the Cocker, to which we are inclined to give the preference over all others. These are small dogs, with wonderful noses and wonderful perseverance, and for finding a winged pheasant in a thick wood we would back them at odds. The present writer was once fortunate enough to possess an old English water spaniel, a breed now nearly extinct, though he, too, had a strain of the Sussex in him; and many of the liverand-white spaniels, to whom no particular lineage is assigned, show traces of the water-spaniel in their ears, their coats, and their tails. Of the purely black spaniel we have experience, but have always understood that he was an animal of great merit. The Irish water-spaniel is a dog sui generis, and the fortunate owner of a really thoroughbred one has perhaps got the best kind of dog for all-round shooting which it is possible to prooure. But he is not equally

no

suitable for an indoor dog; and on that ground, and that ground alone, I would prefer a Sussex, a Norfolk, or a black-and-tan.

All alike have a reputation for being very good-tempered. But it is not invariably deserved. Clumbers are too apt to sulk, if anything displeases them; and they have another infirmity, of which, perhaps, all spaniels partake more or less, though in the Clumber it is the most conspicuous—we mean a dislike to carry snipe or wildfowl, so that after picking them up they will often spit them out again, leaving them perhaps on the other side of a brook, with no bridge less than a mile off. Most spaniels are very forgiving; and it is very touching to see one, after you have trodden on his toe or his tail, or otherwise injured him, look up at you at once with an affectionate glance, seeming almost to say that it was his own fault, and that you are not to distress yourself about it.

Spaniels, of course, can be used for partridge - shooting; but for this purpose they must be as well broken as a pointer or setter, drop to shot or to wing, and keep in subjection their propensity to chase hares and rabbits. Even with a dog not quite so perfect as this we may have pretty sport in the turnips or potatoes, especially if our ground be on occasional patches of gorse or bracken. In partridge shooting the spaniel should range within fifteen yards of the gun, never going farther away either to the right or the left or in front.