CHAPTER V.-A FIGHT.

ALCOLM listened to Mrs. Bott's depart

he would have felt at parting with her under any other circumstances. He did not expect to sleep much that night, and would not take off bis clothes, but crept in between the blankets, and lay awake listening, Presently he heard the house being locked up, and Mr. and Mrs. Bott's footsteps on the creaking stairs as they went up to bed, and then all was silence, except when the clock struck the hours. He lay awake for a long while, starting at every little sound, inside the house or out. He fancied he did not go to sleep all night, for though he dozed a little, he was conscious all the while of feeling very nervous and uncomfortable, and turned frequently from side to side.

The dawn came, however, earlier than he had expected it, and then he could see the heavy chest resting still upon the spot where it had been overnight. It had served as effectually to bar the ghost's path as if it had been a horseshoe. He began now to rise above his fears, and to question with himself whether the appearance which had caused him so much alarm and trouble on the previous night had not been, after all, the creature of his own imagination.

An Unexpected Antagonist.

He wished he could think so, but it seemed so very real and lifelike; the form and features were impressed upon his memory still. He got up, and drew back the dimity window curtain. It was yet scarcely daylight, but the room was close, and the smell of the apples haunted it yet, if nothing worse did. So he opened the casement, and drew in the fresh morning

put his head out, but he was still rather nervous, and thought it necessary to keep an eye upon the trapdoor. There was no knowing what might happen to his legs if his head were thrust out of window. While he was standing thus, and watching with one eye and ear in the room and the other out of doors, he observed symptoms of distress in the hen-roost. Bright chanticleer had already in trumpet tones proclaimed the morn, but the sounds which now issued from the loft in which the hens yet lingered were of a less jubilant and cheerful kind. They were more like cries of distress, silenced almost in the outbreak. One hen after another burst through the little opening, crying out as plainly as hen could speak, in guttural tones, "O dear! O dear! O dear!" and the cock, who looked in to see what was the matter, turned tail, and ran away immediately. Malcolm could see this from his window, and he felt sure there must be something wrong in the hen-roost. Had the ghost made its appearance there? was there a trapdoor in their apartment also? or could it be the fox? Yes, yes, of course it was the fox!

A moment sufficed for Malcolm to slip

on his boots and jacket, the only part of his apparel which he had taken off overnight; and making his way cautiously along the passage and downstairs, he opened the door leading into the farmyard, and ran along as quietly and quickly as he could towards the hen-house.

How pleasant it was to be out of doors! The air was cold, but he did not mind that. waxed louder; and he hoped he should be in time to rescue some of the fowls, if not to catch the fox. It would be a set-off to his misadventure about the eggs if he could render Mr. Bott this service. As he approached the spot he went more cautiously, watching in the hope of seeing the fox issue from the house. He had a large stone in each hand, and trusted to be able to make him drop his prey, if he could do no more.

Yes, there it was, a red thing peeping out cautiously from the door of the henhouse. He poised the stone in his right hand; he took aim; in another moment he would have let it fly; when underneath the red thing, which turned out to be a shock of human hair, a pair of human eyes were visible, and a human face; and then a tall, whity-brown figure, with long thin arms and bony hands, grasping two hens by the neck, and dragging them after it.

That tangled mass of red hair, that form, those lanky arms and skinny hands, Malcolm had seen them before! He knew them again in a moment. The stones dropped from his grasp; he started back; and, if he had yielded to his first impulse,

would have fled. The ghost! the ghost! Yes, the ghost had indeed betaken itself to the hen-house, and was there now, visibly before him, dragging the miserable hens away--who shall say whither ?

For a moment or so the ghost and Malcolm stood face to face, surveying each other, the latter being too much overcome with mingled feelings of alarm and surprise to speak or move. The ghost was not slow in observing the effect which his appearance had produced; and, supposing that Malcolm, who was not much more than half his height, would not venture to interfere with him, grinned in his face, threw the captured poultry over his shoulder, and made off at a brisk trot.

Before he had gone many yards, Malcolm recovered himself. It is a great encouragement to any one to see the object of one's fears running away. Ghost or no ghost, Malcolm was no longer afraid of him, and resolved not to let him carry off his booty without trying to prevent him. Stop," he cried." "Come back!"

66

But there was no one within hearing except the thief himself, who was not disposed to do anything of the kind.

Malcolm ran after him, and they went at a rapid pace across the fields. Malcolm was a good runner, but the other had longer legs, and would soon have distanced him if he had not been encumbered with the fowls, which were large ones, and swung about awkwardly as they hung over his shoulder. He seemed resolved not to part with them, too, but put forth all his strength to escape with the booty. There were two or three stiles in the way which hindered him, or he might perhaps have accomplished his object. He had to climb over these stiles, and in his hurry caught his toe on the top rail of one of them and came a cropper," and though he picked himself up and the fowls also and continued his running, Malcolm, who cleared stiles and gates at a leap, gained upon him, and pressed him very hard.

Suddenly the thief stopped, and swinging the fowls round by their necks, struck them across Malcolm's face as he came up, giving him a severe blow and almost blinding him, but the next moment Malcolm had hold of him by the collar, and both fell to the ground together.

The thief was up first, and had evidently made up his mind to fight. He was a foot taller than Malcolm, and being now out of sight and hearing of the farmhouse, thought he could soon dispose of his adversary and then make good his retreat, carrying his booty with him.

They were both a good deal out of breath, but Malcolm did not think for a moment of declining the encounter, and rushing at his big opponent to seize him at once, received a severe blow upon his face, causing the blood to flow freely from his nose. Then he understood that he had a difficult task before him, and went to work more cautiously.

Neither of them had much science (as the art of boxing is profanely called), and nearly every blow struck on either side took effect. But as the fight went on the thief grew very uneasy, while the young boy only became more resolute and determined. The former wanted to get off, knowing that if any of the farm labourers should pass that way, going to their work,

as was usual about that hour, it would be all up with him, and at length, taking advantage of a blow which had stretched Malcolm upon the ground, he turned and fled, leaving the spoil upon the field.

But Malcolm was quickly upon his feet again, and bounding after him, caught him by the heel as he ran, threw him upon his face, and then, the thief's arms being also disabled, knelt over him triumphant.

"Let me go," cried the captive.
"No!" said Malcolm.
"Do, please."

'Why should I?"
"Every why."
"Who are you?

"Don't you know who I am? Will you let me go if I tell you?"

Malcolm reflected. Why should he detain the unfortunate lad? the fowls were safe, and it was not likely he would attempt to play the fox again. If he should deliver him up to Mr. Bott, the farmer would have no mercy upon him, he was sure. "Perhaps I may let you go," he answered, "I won't promise."

The boy made another effort to release himself, but finding it useless began to whimper.

Please let me go," he said; "you might as well; it ain't your place to go catching people like a policeman. You wouldn't like it yourself."

'Who are you, then ?" "Roberts-Jem Roberts." "The fellow they call Rabbits?" "Yes."

'The police are after you, then, I suppose you know that?"

"Yes, more's the shame. I haven't done nothing."

"How came you in my bedroom the night before last?"

Your room? Where? What do you

mean?"

to send Mrs. Wilkin. I'll lead an honest life if I can, wherever I go. I've had enough of this here."

"You'll promise that, will you?" "I will, so help me-'

"Ne, don't swear it. A man's word should be as good as his oath. I'll believe your word. But what shall you do for a living?"

"I'll manage somehow."
"Have you any money?"

"Not a halfpenny. If I had had my wages due from Mr. Bott I would have been off before now. I have been on the lookout for him, trying to find him alone, and to get something out of him. I am an unlucky chap. Nobody never cared nothing for me except Mrs. Wilkm."

The boy began to cry and sob, as if he had been a child of six instead of a tall old-looking youth of sixteen. Instead of running away now, as he might have done without hindrance, for Malcolm had released him, he sat upon the ground and buried his face in his hands. Those were real tears which trickled through his lean and dirty fingers.

"Honesty is the best policy," said Malcolm, thinking aloud.

"I'll be honest if I can," the other answered; "but it ain't so easy for a miserable chap like me. You couldn't help being honest, not if you was to try."

There's something in that,' said Malcolm. "Well, look here; this is all the money I've got with me; take it, and do the best you can with it.'

He emptied his pockets of all the silver they contained, amounting to about four shillings.

"You are a good chap," said the other, looking at him with surprise. "I wish I hadn't marked your face so; get a bit of something cold to put to it. Four shillings! Is that all you have got? Give me half; half will be plenty for me."

"I've got some more at home." "Have you, though? Well, Mr. (I don't even know your name), I hope I didn't hurt you much."

"Malcolm Frere my name is." "Malcolm Frere Frere Malcolm Frere!" He repeated the name half a dozen times. "I shan't forget it," he said; "no, never as long as I live. Get something cold and put it to your face as soon as you can. Here, this dock-leaf will do. I wish-but that's no good. I'll send you the money back some day.

"I shan't want it," said Malcolm. "My father has plenty."

"I'm glad he has; and I hope you'll never want for nothing. There's more of them dock-leaves."

66

"Never mind them," said Malcolm; run off, there are some men coming. Why don't you go?"

"I'm going, Mr. Malcolm Frere, straight away this minute; off to Lunnon. If you would be so kind just to let Widow Wilkin know where I'm gone, and that I'll send her a message soon, and that I shan't forget her and all she has done for me; but don't say as it was me as marked your face like that-you won't, will you?" "All right," said Malcolm; "you may depend upon me.

The boy lingered still, looking very forlorn and very strange and grotesque, with the tear marks upon his grimy face; and Malcolm felt his own eyes growing weak as he looked at him. He held out his hand.

"Good-bye, Jem Roberts,' he said. "You'll get on all right, I can see. Goodbye."

Roberts seized his hand, and pressed it hard in his own; then dropped it suddenly, rushed at the stile near which they were standing, stumbled over it, and slunk away at a slow trot, under the shelter of the hedge.

Malcolm looked after him till he was out of sight, and then turned towards home. He had crossed a field or two before he remembered the fowls for which he had fought so desperately. Returning, he took them up and went on his way to the farm, pressing the dock-leaves to his eyes as if they had been a pocket-handkerchief as he walked along, and wondering whether it was the blows he had received that made them smart and water so, or something

else.

(To be continued.)

ETON SIXTY YEARS AGO.

a moment the room was full of little blue balls of fire hopping over the carpet, over the beds, under the beds, over us, over everything. We rushed to the water-jugs, and then, making no head against the blue balls, screamed for help. Under a heavy drenching the blue balls vanished in hundreds of black spots. as quickly as they had come, leaving their mark

Another day we did a curious piece of mischief, and very properly suffered for it.

A clergyman of a neighbouring parish, an old friend of my father's, was very often at Ossington, and had a room in the south wing which went by his name, where we often played tricks with his clothes and shoes, left there from time to time. One day he said to us, "Boys, come and see me, and we will catch eels in my brook." Very odd," we said, "bringing us all this way Next day we went. He was not at home. for nothing; no worms ready, and no message where we are to try for eels;" looked into the dining-room, found nothing to eat. "We won't stay, of course; but we must let him know we have been here.'

66

IN

of the Venerable Archdeacon Denison,* he gives some pleasant recollections of Eton sixty years ago, when under the rule of Dr. Keate. For our younger readers, we preface the Eton notes with some of his recollections of earlier schooldays, first at Ossington, and then at Southwell, Notts.

Eton College.

Of Ossington he saysAt home, as at school, we had our mischievous recreations.

We had one day a narrow escape. We were about eleven and ten years old.

We had a room to ourselves in the north wing of the house. William said to me, "Let's make some gunpowder."

I said, "I don't know how, and am afraid.' "Oh," he said, "I know how very well, and I ain't a bit afraid."

I said, "How long have you known?"
Always," said he.

So we got the materials and mixed them, a good big heap, in one of the window-seats of the room. "Now then," said I, "let's try it;" and I took a broad-bladed kitchen-knife, and taking some of the mixture up, put it into a candle close by. Happily for ourselves, the house, and family, it was not very well made, and did not explode; but out of the candle there came a number of little blue balls of fire hopping all about; one or more hopped into the heap. In

Notes of My Life, 1805-1878. By George Anthony Denison, Archdeacon of Taunton. J. Parker and Co.

When William went to Eton, I was transferred to a grammar school of much repute at Southwell. Having been driven there in much state, four-in-hand, and deposited with my small hair-trunk and my cake, I made acquaintance with my schoolmaster and schoolfellows.

The schoolmaster was a good, kindly man, and a good scholar; the classes of schoolfellows much mixed. I was taught to sing, so far as such an an accomplishment was possible to me, "Jessie of Dumblane," "The Woodpecker tapping," and "Mr. Boney, if you please, let alone the Portuguese," by a son of the butcher at Newark who supplied our family with meat. In our equestrian combats among the gravestones, in the Minsteryard, which was our playground, my best horse was the hatter's son. There was another school in the town, which looked down upon us with much contempt. The boys had to pass, through the churchyard on their way to the fields beyond. Then we avenged our honour. Lying in wait behind the gravestones, we sallied out upon them, and punched their heads; occasionally bringing them in gentle contact with a gravestone. Our church was the beauchoir at that time, as at

tiful old Minster; its this, in great repute. While I was at Southwell I made two attempts to improve the fashion of my outer wardrobe, which had always issued, and continued so to do when I was at Eton, from the primitive shop of the Ossington tailor; as, to the great punishment of our feet, the family boots and shoes issued from the shop of the village shoemaker. When I came to wear topboots for hunting, I was obliged to rise very early; it took so much time to get them on, and more time in the evening to get them off. I represented that I needed repair and reinforcement; and, having obtained leave from home, proceeded to order a suit from the Southwell artist. The material throughout, as selected by me, was a bright green pepper-and-salt; the decoration of it, smooth white metal buttons, about the size of a half-crown. I was much mortified, having asked and received permission to go out into the town, to find that my appearance did not excite the general admiration I expected.

My other attempt was more ambitious. The "Brummel," the original type of the frock-coat,

was captivating all hearts. It was my first ambition to possess a "Brummel." So I represented again at home that, as the cold weather was coming on, I should be glad of a great-coat; and, upon permission given, did my best to combine a great-coat with a Brummel," with velvet collar-the correct thing. Going home for the Christmas holidays, I issued from a sidedoor in my Brummel," ready for church, before the eyes of the astonished family; and it was with much difficulty that decency of conduct was re-established at the church-door.

66

I never had but one serious conflict with the

Southwell authorities. I forget other particulars, but recall two: one, that I threw a brass candlestick at the usher's head; the other, that, having been upon this sent to bed, I was hauled out of it in my night-shirt, and taken to by the usher with an ash-plant, in the presence of the boys who had witnessed the assault, and who were not displeased to see the little gentleman taken down.

It was not till some time after leaving Southwell that I recovered the more polished pronunciation of the English tongue.

"What is it, George," my brothers asked, "that you call your school-feast?" "We call it "Potation."" "What is Potation?"

"Ploom boon and nagus," said I.

However, I learnt a good deal of Latin and some Greek at the school, and was sorry to leave it, though it was for Eton, in 1817, when I was eleven and a half.

At Eton I witnessed the Marriott rebellion; the scene in the upper school at "Prose;" the eggs thrown at Keate by many hands, but not before his back was turned. Not one of them hit him, though they spattered him plentifully from the wall and the door-frame. His return, with several masters, in a few minutes; his order to seize the first boy that said a word; the expulsion then and there of a good many boys, and the end of the rebellion; as tidy a bit of sound and wholesome discipline as one would desire to see.

I witnessed also the stand made by the upper boys with Chapman, Captain of the school, now Bishop, at their head, on Barnespool bridge, against the bargees. It made a great impression upon me, and more than fifty years after I told Bishop Chapman that I had greatly respected him all that time.

"What for?" he said; and I told him.

The bargees were furious against a particular boy, and came roaring down the street from the river, saying they would have him and throw him over the bridge. I got near enough to hear what passed; but, being a small boy, was disposed towards the rear, if it came to a fight. Chapman stood in the middle of the bridge, at the head of the boys; a short, stout boy, with his fists ready at his side. When the bargees came close, and demanded the boy, swearing they would have him, come what might, the only words that Chapman spoke were, You'd better not try."

The bargees looked at the boys, and the boys looked at the bargees; the bargees began to waver, the boys stood fast. No rush was made, no blow struck. The enemy fell back slowly by twos and threes, and the boys remained masters of the bridge.

It is reported of the Duke of Wellington that he said, "Waterloo was won in the Eton playing fields." I never hear this repeated without thinking of Bishop Chapman, and the army of his boyhood.

I suffered at Keate's hands three times; twice for playing tricks in my Dame's house, once for bathing at a forbidden hour, or rather, I ought to say, and with shame I say it, for fibbing to Keate when he caught us, just as we turned into his lane on our return.

I was very happy at Eton, in spite of my clothes. There was one boy only, I remember, whose clothes were made by Stultz, and the boys used to follow him up and down with admiring eyes. He had a swallow-tailed bright blue coat, with gilt buttons, and other things conformable. By his side, the contrast with the artistic developments of the Ossington

tailor was very humbling. But I was very happy, clothes, boots, and shoes, and made fast friends there, as I had done at Southwell. I

have now, at the age of seventy-two, survived them all; as, indeed, I have nearly all my intimate friends made at Oxford.

Upper School boys, when "taking leave" in my time, used to slip a £10 note into Keate's hand. Being in some fright when I found myself alone with him in chambers, just as I was putting out my hand I dropped the note on the floor. My tact, if I had any, deserted me, and I stooped to pick it up and present it. So doing, my hand came in collision with Keate's foot, which had followed the note, and covered and secured it. Since that time, a great deal of what is called "Reform " has taken place in this and other things at Eton. I don't observe that the "Reform" has done Eton any good. There was a good deal of a sort of prudery and false delicacy, I remember, talked about the notegiving practice. It was nine years after, that going from Oxford to Eton, I came upon Keate at the corner of his "lane." Off went my hat. "Ah, Denison," he said, " very glad to see you." He had a wonderful faculty of recalling faces.

BOAR HUNTING IN INDIA. BY LIEUT.-COL. GORDON CUMMING.

we

grown boar left the jungle, and, ascending the
bank, went off slowly over the open country.
We gave him a good start,
and then cantered after
him. By the time
topped the bank he was
well away, and we now
increased the pace and
closed up to him. On
finding himself pursued he
halted, looked round for a
moment, and then went off
at score. We now went
at him in earnest, and
both being well and evenly
mounted, we had a most
exciting chase. The pace
was good throughout, and
the boar ran true for some
distant sanctuary, which
he was doomed never to
reach.

I had got the best place, being on his left quarter; and as I made a rush at him I made sure of the spear, but with a sudden swerve he shot across my front, nearly upsetting my horse, and I missed him. He was less fortunate with Bulkley, who stopped him with a thrust behind the at shoulder, and we saw that Suheej. his race was run. He was struggled gamely on for a camped at short distance, but my this place second attempt was more with my successful, and piggy was friend laid low.

HE favourite meet with

was

I

us

Bulkley,

some extent on the other side. In a position commanding a full view of this covert we had placed a native in a tree as a marker. As we

could see him plainly, and he made no indication of the boar having gone on, we concluded he had lain up in the covert. We therefore arranged to put the beaters again into the place which we had first driven, and before long, another pig -a sow this time-came out, and went off, taking much the same line of country as the boar we had killed.

She gave a very good and fast run over some very rough ground, but our horses carried us well and never made a false step. As we reached some good riding ground we pressed in on her, and I took the first spear; on which she stood and seemed determined to act on the offensive. Bulkley advanced at her at a walk -a rather dangerous proceeding, as in the event of the spear missing, both horse and rider are at the mercy of the pig, which can make its rush and do damage before its foes can get away.

Bulkley, however, stopped her, but so determined was the charge that she managed to run in on the spear and bit him sharply in the foot. Fortunately he was protected by a stout deer-skin boot, and before further mischief could be done I had turned and given her the coup de grace. Again returning to the river we were met by grooms leading a couple of galloways,

our

vour, as the pigs were attracted to the cypress in the bed of the river. We left our tents about 9 a.m., our shikarees having been out before daybreak. They met us on the ground, and reported that

re

Bulkley takes a Mud Bath.

river.

the big boar which we had seen crossing the The beaters being sent round we took up our positions, and stood anxiously waiting the appearance of the monster. Tomtoms and drums were loudly beaten, horns were blown, and guns fired, but still no signs of the game; and it was only when the last man left the covert that I began to suspect the true state of affairs. Leaving the beaters, our shikarees proceeded to examine the ground round the cypress, and on coming to within a few yards of the tree on which our look-out man had been posted, they came on the tracks of the boar, leading up the bank. The fellow had either slept on his post or had been amusing himself by watching our runs in the morning, and had allowed the boar to pass up the bank unobserved. The footprints were not to be mistaken, for the boar was of the largest size.

Leaving the river, he had made a detour of about two miles in the open country, which, though cultivated, was at this season quite bare of crops. Our men were equal to the occasion, and taking up the track they moved quickly along, scoring the ground at every few yards with a short stick across the prints of the boar's hoofs. We now found that he was crossing a wide bend in the

The Boar Charges.

fast and sure, and we followed close in their

wake with the crowd of beaters.

At length we came to where a smaller stream

Bulkley was only a few yards from him, and driving in his spurs he rushed down the bank, regardless or forgetful of the muddy bottom. His horse seemed to turn heels over head, and as I checked mine and floundered slowly across he was picking himself out of the black mud and shaking his steed to his legs again. He had lost his hunting-cap, and his spear was buried in the grimy slush. I reached the bank in safety, and gathering up my galloway I went on after the boar. From his great size and weight I was sure he would make a good fight, and I saw I had work cut out for me, so I determined not to irritate him with a minor poke, but, if possible, to disable or check him till such time as my friend should emerge from the mud and come to my assistance. As the boar went along at an easy canter, I saw I should have no difficulty in overhauling him.

We were going up the side of a field, having a high mud-bank on our right, and watching my opportunity I lowered my spear and pressed my horse with the spur. In an instant I was alongside of the boar, and had my spear within a few inches of his shoulder,

he broke the bamboo shaft, leaving the head imbedded in his muscles. Turning my horse sharp to the left I got clear away, but having only the headless spear-shaft in my hand, my offensive powers were at an end, and I saw that my only hope of getting the boar lay in being able to keep him in view till my friend should rejoin me.

In this way we held on over many fields. At times I pursued and tried to turn the boar, at others he pursued me, and then I was forced to "advance backwards." Still no signs of my friend, and I began to fear that either he or his horse had been seriously damaged. The boar had nearly reached the spot from whence we had first started him in the morning, and as he went down the steep bank into the cypress cover I pulled up in despair. At that moment I saw Bulkley coming along at a hand-gallop, and with a frantic yell I again set off after the boar. Aided by Bulkley I succeeded in turning him towards the water, into which he hurled himself and lay still, apparently dead beat. Springing from his horse Bulkley lowered his spear and ran in at him, but the boar rose and charged.

He was stopped by a thrust in the neck, but his great weight broke the bamboo, and though Bulkley managed to get away unscathed we had no spears, and were now powerless for all purposes of attack. Unwilling to leave the wounded beast, and hoping that some of our men with spare spears would soon come up, we followed him slowly down the river, and seeing some cultivators irrigating their fields near the banks, Bulkley rode off to them in the hope of obtaining some offensive weapon.

Presently he came after me armed with a short crooked sword, but by this time the boar was going down a part of the river where he had an abrupt bank six feet in height on his immediate left. Bulkley vainly tried to force him out, as he found it impossible to reach him with the short sword. At length he made a cut, but the boar charging at the same moment ripped his horse in the foreleg, and finding that he could not again get him to go near the pig, he handed me the sword and I took up the running.

We here came to a tributary stream, joining the river at right angles. Into this we plunged, and as the boar swam almost on a level with my saddle I rose in the stirrups and made a cut at him with all the force I could muster. Had the weapon served me truly I should have laid the boar in two halves, but the blade of the sword being merely fastened into the hilt with