me at all events. The duty I have to perform shall be done as becomes a man, at the same time as befits a gentleman. You will leave this place you will cease to afford my uncle facility for interviews that can lead to no result but pain and mortification to one who has high claims on your consideration: the rest I must myself care

for.

On my return I found the preliminaries of explanation anticipated by the presence of my mother. She had arrived from Brighton the preceding evening, and was closeted with her brother. Our meeting was a melancholy one-gloomy would indeed describe it better. Her grief was full of natural earnestness, but it was sorrow without the tenderness which is not only the graceful but the truthful test of its sincerity. Family affairs had formed the subject of their discussion, and I could see that she had been made the depositary of a secret, which, at the same moment, probably, was confided to myself. The widow's "inky suit" aggravated the cold expression of her face and the stern character of her figure; yet there was more cordiality in her manner than it usually wore, and, if it was not love, it was the strong instinct of nature that moved me towards her.

"It will embitter my own last hour," she said, "that I was not with him in his: it was a death wherein we were doubly partedbut we shall soon be united again-for ever, and without end."

"I have a small casket, my mother," I observed, with the design of interrupting reflections which too painfully weighed upon her heart, "that I discovered among my father's private papers, with an inscription intimating a desire it should be placed by me in your possession. I will do so now."

Having broken a seal attached to the clasp, I took from it two miniatures; one representing a youth, blooming into the golden summer of manhood-the other a bright and bird-like girl, in the sunny springtide of existence; the former I put into her hands-the latter I retained on both I gazed wistfully. What is death? What, life? The dead man that I had seen laid within his grave, "to lie in cold obstruction and to rot," did he differ more from the fair youth of the one picture, than the living woman at my side, wan as marble and rigid as a statue, from the blythe and glowing maiden of the other? My mother, too, had her meditations not less anxious than my own, but she also thought in silence, and spoke rather from habit, than plan or purpose.

"Shall you remain here, Hyde, any time-and what are your intentions about Shropshire? Your uncle will return with me to Brighton in a few days: I wished to go to-morrow, but he appears to have engagements which detain him here awhile. What a spoiled child of fortune he has been from the cradle! What a strange chain of circumstance helped him to the Staffordshire property. Has he

had

any communication with you on that latter event?" "None whatever; and from his abrupt change of name, as I conclude, my letters from B-, announcing the illness of my father, and subsequently its fatal issue, never reached him. Your design of inducing him to accompany you into Sussex gives me great satisfaction. You will conceal from him that I have urged you to hasten his

departure, a step I entreat you to precipitate by every means in your power. Presently I will show you how vitally it concerns his happiness, his peace of mind, that he absent himself-for some time at least -from Cheltenham. Do not enquire the reason now; I know you can bring this about if you will. I am sure you will, because it is of such great concern to him, to yourself, and to your son."

My uncle's extraordinary epistle, in which he spoke of his brother's being "quietly inurned in the family vault," thereby alluding to his metaphorical burial in a country-house, alone, at Christmas, was explained by the failure of my letters having left him in ignorance of the bereavement I had suffered; while the position of affairs at Cheltenham proved that my father's hints touching the state of the ancient gallant were too prophetic. These lights, however, threw anything but a pleasant radiance around my own situation, which was without one solitary ray of comfort or consolation, save that the effort to redeem it might serve to distract my spirit from its bitter fancies, whatever the result of the attempt. In these days, when excitement grows small by such desperate degrees that a sensation is as scarce as an earthquake, how many a fine gentleman would give a handsome premium for the doubt and anxiety in which I strode forth into the air at the conclusion of that interview! As I paced moodily onwards, I looked askance with a grim satisfaction on the lank limbs and vinegar ' visages that were gliding about like slovenly ghosts in a murky cockcrow. It was a pleasure to see and feel that there were others apparently not much better off than myself.

Thus did I plod my weary way, full of disquiet and racking anxiety, to the scene of my morning's interview-by no means heavily disappointed when the servant informed me that the lady of the mansion was not visible. I felt assured Caroline was at home; but so many conflicting feelings had been at work for the last twelve hours, that I had become supine from absolute exhaustion. The wane of the afternoon to one in doubt, or debt, or the depths of blue-devilism, heralds a relief for which he must be graceless indeed who does not feel a lively gratitude. I knew a spherical little major of twenty stone, belonging to a light infantry corps, who never heard the dinner bugles sound without ejaculating-" Ah, the Lord be praised! there's another day gone beautifully." The hour that used to draw this daily thanksgiving from my friend, the fat field-officer, was at hand as I turned into the High-street from my fruitless visit. As usual, it was full of idlers; on that occasion the most prominent group being a rollicking knot of Irishmen in red coats, recounting their exploits with Colonel Berkeley. "You'll feed with us at seven at the Royal," said D-B-,"in honour of the thaw; one would think the frost always came at this season on purpose to spoil sport. Let us only have open winters, and it may snow and freeze the other nine months of the year if it pleases." How was it possible, in the present pressure of my circumstances, to refuse the invitation of such a philosopher?

THE LIFE OF A JOCKEY,

WITH ANECDOTES OF THE TURF.

(Continued from p. 125.)

BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX.

"We're off to the races,

With smiles on our faces,

Lobster, salad, and champagne and chat-

Prime Newcastle salmon,

And Westphalia 'gammon ;'

And there's no mistake about that.

All the world and his mother

Are jostling each other:

City madams are cutting it fat'

In silks, with their spouses

In white hats and blouses:'

There's no mistake about that.

Drags, go-carts, post-chaises,
Come rushing like blazes!"

"CRAVEN."

CHAPTER II.

A PROVINCIAL MEETING-THE CHARACTER OF THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE TURF DULY DEVELOPED-A CROSS-A GOOD DAY'S WORK-OUR HERO LEAVES HIS "HOME, SWEET HOME"-A LEG

OF THE BLACKEST HUE-ATTEMPT TO POISON THE FAVOURITE DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND."

At the conclusion of our last chapter we introduced our young hero, Samuel Milsom Styles, to the race-course of Ditchley; and never was greater joy experienced by any youth than when he found himself in this gay yet noisy scene. Sam had hitherto seen little of real life, and, to use his uncle's expression, was quite "flabbergasted," as he drove over the course. I am rather doubtful as to whether the first visit to the race-course is not more delightful to the stripling than the first visit to the theatre; and they are both, like scenes of enchantment, long treasured up in the mind. Certainly, upon the occasion I am now alluding to, young Sam Styles never felt himself more happy; for, thanks to the kindness of his parents, he not only entered into the sports of the turf, but was initiated into all the delights of the drama; Mrs. Styles having, in the course of the day, treated her son and herself to Mumwell's Theatre, Gagley's Fantocini, Sander's Equestrian Circle, and Mograbin, the tiger-tamer's, wonderful den of wild beasts. Here was a theatrical performance worthy the London boards. To resume. The race of the day, "The Ditchley Stakes of 3 sovs. cach, 30s. forfeit and 1 sov. if declared, &c.,

P

with 5 sovs. added by the stewards and proprietors of the course, heats, three times round and a distance (six subscribers, three of whom paid 1 sov. each)," was to come off at one o'clock. Up to this period, the brothers-in-law were speculating upon their winnings; the five pounds bet had increased to ten, Lord Stakeland having laid five-and-thirty to ten against the horse with the long name. The bell now rang for saddling. Some half-dozen constables attempted to keep the course; the clerk of the same, decked out in a pair of white-cord unmentionables, dark-coloured top-boots, and a red hunting-coat, which he had hired for the day from Moses Levi's second-hand clothes warehouse in Gosport, appeared in all the dignity of his office, mounted upon a raw-boned, spavined hack, which he in vain tried to coax into a canter. "Clear the course, gentlemen-the horses are out. Back, back, there!" shouted the hero of the hunting-coat.

"You mayn't go there!" exclaims a constable. "Vy not?" asks a genuine cockney pea-and-thimble proprietor. "Make your game, gen'lemen-lots of time before the 'osses start. It's I to hide and you to find: now, I'll bet any sportsman five or ten as he don't say where the little hobject his. Von, two, three-the game of the little pea! Portsmouth, Portsea, Gosport - Portsmouth's vhere the Queen's dock-yard is-now, the only difference between her Majesty's dock-yard and my thimble is, hers is perminent and mine is locomotive. This is the game that is called the multum in parvo, which means as you may win a werry large sum with a werry small capital. Down with your mopusses, gen❜lemen! them as plays can't win, and them as don't play can't expect to win. Silence, young man; I heard you vink! Make your game, gents; vhen I loses I pays, vhen I vins I pockets. Vot argufies if I spends my fortin; aint I a right to do vot I likes vith my own, as they say in the 'ouse of Parliament Peers? It only requires a quick eye and a good hobserwation for to say vhere the little hobject his."

"You must clear the course-you must muv on!" cries the constables.

"Make 'em stand back!" vociferates the clerk, amidst the shouts of "Go it, old scarlet-coat! "Does your anxious parent know you're out?" "Why don't you go home and tell your mother to chain up ugly?"

"Here's a card and a sheet-list, noble sportsmen! names, weights, plates, and colours of the orses and riders." And, as our readers may like to have a copy, we lose no time in presenting them with

one :

DITCHLEY RACES.

ONE O'CLOCK. THE DITCHLEY STAKES.

Lord Stakeland's b. g. Dick Turpin, by Cracksman, six years old, 9st. 3lb. Captain Freeman's ch. h. "Hop light, ladies, day's a breaking," four years old, 8st. 4lb.

Mr. Colling's gr. c. Cream of Tartar, by Saracen, out of Dairymaid, three years old, 6st. 12lb.

Mr. Smith's b. c. Flare-up, by Lamplighter, aged, 9st. 5lb.; Mr. Roger's bl. f. c. The Singing Mouse, by Mus, out of Syren, three years old, 7st.; and Mr. Williamson's b. g. Never-cry-die, four years old (half-bred), 7 st. 111b.-paid forfeit.

At half-past three o'clock, the Fakeaway Plate of 5 sovs., for the beaten horses (handicap), added to a sweepstakes of 3 sovs. each, p. p.

At four o'clock, a Match for 50 sovs., h. ft.; twice round. Lord Stakeland's b. m. Epsom Lass, five years, 9st. llb.; against Mr. Milsom's ch. c. "Go it, my cripples; crutches is scarce," brother to Crutch, two years old, a feather.

All dogs on the course will be shot.

Stewards' ordinary at Parslow's Flying Horse booth, at the end of the first race.

Tickets, 2s. 6d. each.

Mr. W. FAIRMANER,
Mr. BURTON,

JOHN TRAILL.

Stewards:

Clerk of the Course.

The high-mettled racers were now paraded in front of the stewards' stand, which was a small wooden box about six feet square; from the top of which floated majestically a blue-peter flag, borrowed from a neighbouring slop-shop. "Dick Turpin," instead of appearing short of work, looked as if he had just returned from his far-famed namesake's journey to York. He was ridden by the trainer, in a splendid new jacket of rose-coloured satin and black velvet cap, which was a great contrast to the other two turns-out. Our friend Dick Milsom mounted a pair of dark-coloured, greasy unmentionables, with boots the tops of which looked as if they had been cleaned with walnutjuice; the jacket had once been white, edged with light blue, but was now so stained with dirt of different soils, that scarcely a vestige of the original could be traced; while the light blue velvet cap, from the same cause," harmonized" (as the painters say) admirably well. The lad that rode the three-year-old had evidently borrowed his dress from the gambling-booths: he was decked out in a pair of white "cords," boots with patent leather tops, and a cap and jacket made of blue and white calico, striped across the body. Three to one was now freely laid on Lord Stakeland's horse. The bell rang, the course was cleared, and away went the three terrible high-bred cattle at a slashing pace, Dick Turpin leading, Cream of Tartar lying well up, and the horse with the long name pulling double. Thus they remained until within half a distance of home, when Milsom eased his hands, and the Almacks colt sprang forward and won gallantly by six or seven lengths, Cream of Tartar second, Dick Turpin dead beat, nowhere. The betters of the odds looked downcast: Milsom gave Mr. and Mrs. Styles a knowing sort of a wink, as he repassed the winningpost to go to the weighing-stand. Young Sam was delighted at seeing his uncle win, especially as during the last week he had ridden the horse in his exercise. The odds were now completely changed: three to one was freely laid upon Milsom's horse; Lord Stakeland had drawn his horse, to run him for the beaten horses' plate, and hedged all his money by betting four poneys to one upon "Hop light ladies." No sooner had Dick Milsom weighed, than he anxiously sought his brother-in-law, whom he found, with his wife, enjoying the delight of seeing a "fresh-water sailor," with one leg, jumping over sundry chairs and tables, in a manner that quite astonished the natives. Young Sam had slipped away from his revered parents, to witness a young lady in a pink, spangled, muslin frock, white trousers, elaborately frilled and vandyked, with a tartan satin bonnet, dance a minuet