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ness to return home, but insisted upon appearing, with all his marks of good riding, at the dinner which had been made to celebrate his triumph. A taxed-cart was procured, with a driver who promised not to jolt him much, and, after sending a troop of persons in search of the runaway horse, I followed the remains of Bob's beauty, as chief mourner. Arrived at home, I, of course, had him bled and physicked, plaistered his features together, and made him look as decent as I could.
When he appeared at the dinner, the company were already assembled. The suppressed smile and knowing looks of the gentlemen, who seemed as if they had been laughing heartily, and the half-pitying, half-mirthful expression of the ladies, convinced me at once that Bob's essay was thought to have been a failure. It was clear that they did not understand the peculiarity of his tactics, though they condoled with him very handsomely on his misfortunes. But Bob did not understand condolences when he expected congratulations. He declared, with a modest confidence, that he would ride with any man in England, expatiated on the delights of the day's sport, expressed an ardent desire for just such another, alluded to a few of his leaps, and occasionally pinched his nose into shape.
For all this, I could not avoid perceiving that Bob had lost much of his ascendency. His supposed failure in one accomplishment (which he only possessed in a degree too great to be understood) had caused an unaccountable mistrust of all the rest, and the folks not only talked fearlessly of hunting and shooting, but on every subject which had only yesterday been considered his peculiar province and private property ; nay, if he sported an opinion that was not quite satisfactory, he was overruled without ceremony, just as if he had been any body else. Poor Bob became gradually silent and crestfallen, and, in the end, was reduced to the single and forlorn enjoyment of pulling his nose straight. His nose, however, had as obstinate a will of its own as the rest of the company, and always took a wrong shape, so that, when he thought the work was cleverly completed, he looked such an outrageous scarecrow, that I was obliged to take leave, and smuggle him away, lest he
should frighten us out of our wits. We, accordingly, took our departure, fully agreeing that we had never spent so disagreeable an evening in our lives, and that, in future, all such blockheads
-hunt should ride their restive horses themselves.
As my readers must naturally feel a great interest in Bob, I just inform them, for their satisfaction, that his beauty was not quite so much dilapidated as I at first supposed, though his nose is still very considerably askew-that my opinion of his universal genius remains as great as ever-that he still retains the surname of Robert the Devil, and still challenges to do any thing with any man in England.
She had a song of — Willow-
There lies in the north of England a considerable tract of land, now known by the name of the Waste Lands, which once formed the richest property of two wealthy families by whom untoward circumstances had caused it to be deserted. For some time, it was looked after by stewards, too much bent upon profit. ing themselves to regard the interests of their employers. The tenantry, who, drained of their hard earnings, were obliged to vex the land till it became a bed of stones, dropped off one by one. The hedge-rows, being unremittingly assisted in the progress of decay by the paupers of the neighbourhood, were soon re
duced to nothing but dock-weeds and brambles; which gradually uniting from the opposite ends of the fields, the property became a huge thicket, too encumbered ever to be worth clearing, and only valuable to poachers and gypsies, to whom it still affords abundant booty and a secure hiding place.
The two mansions have kept pace in ruin with the lands around them. The persons left in charge of them, being subject to no supervision, put themselves but little out of their way to preserve that which was so lightly regarded by the owners. Too careless to repair the dilapidations of time and the weather, they were driven, by broken windows and rickety doors, from office to office, and from parlour to parlour, till ruin fairly pursued them into the grand saloon ; where the Turkey carpets were tattered by hob-nails, and the dogs of the chase licked their paws upon sofas of silk and satin. In due time, the rain forced its way through the roofs, and the occupiers having no orders to stop it with a tile, the breach became wider and wider. Soon the fine papering began to shew discoloured patches, and display the lath