A letter I found on my table, addressed to Edward Milford, Esq., Duke Street, St. James's, which, being my name and address, I took the liberty of opening, reminded me of the fact that I was engaged to my uncle for the Christmas holidays.

It ran as follows:

    "The Grange, Slopton.

    "My Boy,

    "You are booked to us for Christmas, so don't fail. It is to be ten days this time, and no telegram 'on important business' to call you away, as, if I remember right, was[Pg 263] the case on your last visit. There are many attractions here, or will be by the time you arrive. First, myself; secondly, a new horse, which you will have the pleasure of trying for me; and, thirdly, your cousin Grace. There are a few pheasants, and, besides, some of the old port. You will find a hearty welcome from your affectionate

    "Uncle John."

Uncle John (whose surname was Dawson) was the sole surviving relation from whom I had any expectations. He was my mother's brother, and on the death of both my parents had been left my guardian. He had never married; but about the same time that he undertook to train me in the path in which I should go, he had adopted the orphan child of his brother, and it was almost an understood thing that his property would, at his demise, be equally divided between myself and Grace Dawson, the lady referred to in his letter as cousin Grace.

[Pg 264]

A thorough sportsman of the old school, whose creed lay in horse, hound, and hospitality, he made The Grange as pleasant a place to stop at as one could well find. But there was (as there is in every enjoyment) one drawback—to me at least—and that lay in the "new horse."

My worthy uncle, excellent rider as he was, happened to be the worst judge of a horse in the world, and was always picking up wonderful bargains which, unfortunately, he insisted on my trying for him. How it is that I have hitherto escaped with an unbroken neck I cannot say; for there is scarcely any circus-rider in the United Kingdom who dare lay claim to more double somersaults, and I might almost say that I am an expert at flying in all its branches.

However, nothing venture nothing have; and I was not going to quarrel with Uncle John through any fear of Uncle John's new horse, besides the attraction of cousin Grace. So I sent an answer accepting the invitation,[Pg 265] and giving the train by which I should arrive.

It was a cold cheerless afternoon when, having wrapped myself up in my railway-rug, I selected a regalia reina and proceeded to settle myself in the space allotted to me by a magnanimous railway company in a smoking carriage attached to the 3.50 P.M. to Slopton.

There are three things that, when travelling, invariably strike me as peculiar; and which I am forced to put down either to the perversity of human nature or the desire not to give too much comfort for the money.

First: Why is it that the examination of tickets never takes place until nearly the last moment, when one is well wrapped up and settled—the finding of the required piece of cardboard entailing an undoing of the whole arrangement, a search through an infinity of pockets, a loss of temper, a letting in of much cold air, and, to wind up, the almost positive certainty that, having worked oneself into a[Pg 266] fever because the blessed article is not forthcoming, one suddenly remembers that, with a chuckle at one's own 'cuteness and in order not to be disturbed, it had been slipped into the band of one's hat, where it had been staring an idiotic examiner in the face for fully five minutes, he pretending all the while not to have seen it?

Secondly: Why, just as you have recovered from the effects of the official visit and have rearranged yourself with, perhaps, your feet on the opposite cushion, if the door opens and another passenger gets in, should he be certain to choose the very seat where you have deposited your legs, notwithstanding that there may be three or four other vacant places, and that by sitting opposite he inflicts the maximum of discomfort on both?

Thirdly: Why is it that the carriages are built with a projection, whereupon you are supposed to recline your head if disposed to sleep, but to effect which purpose you must perforce sit bolt upright, the said projection[Pg 267] invariably being, for ordinary mortals, some four inches too high?

And why, if either you yourself or your next-door neighbour, neglect to assume the rigid and perpendicular position necessary, but venture to fall asleep in a more comfortable posture, should it be very long odds that you find yourself reposing peacefully on his shirt-front, or vice-versa?

Before I had arrived at any solution of these phenomena, the train ran into Crosby Junction, and, together with a foot-warmer—which, so far as I could make out, was filled with cold water—there entered a portly individual, whose vocation was plainly stamped on his garments—to wit, a horse-dealer.

After the lapse of a few minutes, during which time the portly one kept the door open, he was joined by another member of the fraternity, who, from the likeness between them, was evidently his son. After we had started again, the father began the conversation by saying to his son: "Jim, I wonder how the[Pg 268] old gent likes his horse," at which the youth allowed a smile to steal over his face, and remarked sententiously: "Lucky you got the money down, dad."

Who, I wondered, was the old gent? Somebody else's "Uncle John" perhaps, I thought, and began to reflect on the possibility of his having a nephew to risk his neck over doubtful purchases. I felt a curiosity on the subject, as I knew most of the inhabitants of the country we were approaching, and made up my mind to try and find out.

So turning to the elder I said: "I see, sir" (it is always "Sir" in a first-class, "Mister" in a second, and "Mayster" in a third, I have noticed), "that you know something about horses, and, being a stranger in this country, I should be extremely glad if you could tell me where I am likely to pick up a couple or three at a reasonable price. I have a commission to buy three hunters for a friend in London, and am going down to a place called The Grange, to look at one[Pg 269] belonging to a Mr.—Dawson I think is the name; but I should be glad to hear of two others. By-the-way, do you know what sort of cattle Mr. Dawson keeps?"

As I concluded my speech, which I thought decidedly artful, I saw father and son exchange significant glances, and then my portly friend replied:

"Well, sir, you've come to the right shop for what you want. I have three of the very best you ever clapped your eyes on. If you will favour me with a call to-morrow or the next day we might do business. Though I must tell you that I am a one-price man, and keep none but the best. Perhaps, sir, you would take my card," and he presented for my inspection a highly-glazed piece of pasteboard, whereon was imprinted

JOSIAH BELL & SON,

Commission Stables, 
102, Bridge Street,
Muxford.

Hacks, Hunters, Harness.

[Pg 270]

When he saw that I had digested the contents and had transferred the card to my pocket, he continued in a more confidential tone: "I'll give you a little bit of advice, sir. Don't be too sweet on Mr. Dawson's horse; I know he has one for sale which he bought up in town, a rare good 'un to look at, but a regular beast. If he takes it into his head he will do nothing but stand still and kick, and if he can't shift you at that he'll lie down and roll. Poor old gentleman, he was awful took in over it! He should have come to me. You can't mistake the 'oss, it's a big upstanding bay with a white stocking on the near fore. But here's Muxford, so I'll wish you good-day, and 'opes to see you to-morrow or the next day. If I ain't at home my son here will show you the nags;" and he got down.

Just before the train moved on again, however, he came to the window and said, "Don't you buy the bay 'oss on no account."

It was not hard to put, in this instance, two and two together, and when we arrived at[Pg 271] Slopton I had quite made up my mind where the "new horse" had been bought. On getting out of the train I was nearly deposited under the wheels by a vigorous slap, administered in the centre of my back, coupled with the remark: "Why, my lad, you look like a Polar bear in that ulster. It isn't cold. How are you?"

Having recovered my equilibrium, I turned round and encountered the jovial face of Uncle John, whose nose, however, belied his speech anent the weather, for it was glistening red, like the sun through a London fog.

"I'm all right, uncle," I replied; "I can see you are. How are they all at The Grange?"

"Fit as fiddles," responded my guardian. "Grace is outside in the carriage, so get your traps together and let's be off. By-the-bye, I have such a grand new horse for you to try. You shall ride him on Tuesday, when the hounds meet at Abbot's Hill. A big upstanding bay; such a beauty! Got him dirt cheap; but there, I'll tell you all about him when we get home."

[Pg 272]

"Has he got a white stocking on the near fore?" I asked.

"Yes; how the deuce did you know, I wonder?" queried my uncle. "But look sharp with those things: you take as long collecting your traps as a fox does to leave a big wood."

"Alas, poor me!" I thought. "It is Mr. Bell's horse;" and I went out to see cousin Grace with anything but a feeling of "pleasures to come." The sight of her dear face and the warmth of her greeting, however, soon made me forget all about the white stocking, and the journey home was passed in questions asked and answers given. She told me that on the morrow the remainder of the party were expected down, among them old Lady Ventnor and her son Lord Ventnor, a young gentleman who gave himself considerable airs on the strength of his title, and for whom I had an intense dislike, owing perhaps in a great measure to an idea that he had designs on Grace's affections, which, although I had[Pg 273] never hinted a word of love to her, caused me more uneasiness than I liked to say.

As a set-off against this (to me) obnoxious element, my old school-fellow and almost brother, Jack Fisher, was already in the house, together with his sister, who was A1 whether across country or in a ball-room, and the life and soul of any house she might be staying in.

Old "young ladies" no doubt used to shake their heads and say, in their jealousy, that she was "so fast;" but a better girl, in every sense of the word, than Lettie Fisher did not exist, despite her boisterous spirits and reckless daring.

Naturally when we arrived at The Grange Jack and I had lots to talk over—old days, old sayings, and old friends; and in the smoking-room, when Uncle John, seated in his favourite armchair, with a long churchwarden, fast colouring from constant usage, in his hand, endeavoured to inflict on us a detailed description of the big upstanding[Pg 274] bay, we simply refused to listen to him, and I told him I would prefer to form my judgment from actual experience.

Next day the rest of the guests arrived, and I had the pleasure of seeing young Ventnor doing his little best to ingratiate himself with my cousin. I am afraid that my manner showed that something was wrong, for after dinner in the drawing-room Grace, having for a moment freed herself from his lordship's attentions, came across to where I was sitting moodily contemplating the piano, and said:

"What is the matter, Ned? You look as cross as two sticks. Everyone will think you have committed a murder if you go on staring into vacancy. Ventnor says you would make a beautiful Hamlet............