About that time came into those parts a stranger who was immediately allowed to be 'some pumpkins,' inasmuch as he was a southerner, rich, young, and handsome. His name was Sinclair Preston; he came from Mississippi, where he owned one estate, beside another in Louisiana. He really was a fine-looking fellow, tall, fresh-complexioned and regularly-featured, with most aristocratic hands and feet; and knew enough to eschew all loud patterns, and dress very quietly. Not to go into particulars, he knocked' all the adjacent male population, native and imported, in the matter of looks, and would have made us all very envious, if the lords of creation ever were envious of such things; but I believe that is a privilege of the other sex. Moreover, he was, for a southerner, marvellously quiet and undemonstrative. He did not get drunk, rarely swore, and, mirabile dictu, never gambled. Nay, more; he always paid his debts when asked, even if they were not debts of honor; and was so disgusted when his state repudiated, that he repudiated it, and ever after called himself a Louisianian. Farther, he had a good education, and did not put 'sir' or 'ma'am' more than half a dozen times into every sentence he uttered. In short, he was a paragon of social virtues—but for one unlucky failing. Sinclair Preston was the most forgetful and scatterbrained of men. He was exactly the sort of person to whom the old woman's saying applies: 'If your head were loose, you would forget it.' To make an appointment with him was a farce. If you asked him to dinner a week a-head, and sent him a reminder the day before, it was two to one he never came after all. If he was going on an excursion, and there was no kind friend at hand to jog his memory, he was sure to be wandering somewhere else when the boat started. There was no counting on any of his movements with the most distant approach to certainty.

The rich young southerner having come to our locality, fell in love, according to rule, with the prettiest girl there, which Mary Hertezoff as decidedly was, as Sinclair was the handsomest man. They were engaged very soon after their first acquaintance, and married very soon after their engagement. I am sure the whole affair did not occupy two months. They had a gay wedding one night, and were to start next day on a southern tour. When I say they had a gay wedding, I am not using the adjective at random, or for merely ornamental purposes. It was a gay wedding, a very gay one; perhaps a New-Englander might have called it too gay. Hertezoff had some old Madeira, and the guests knew where it was. I remember that Harry Masters, who tried to steer his household home that night with a four-in-hand, could n't keep in the middle of the turnpike, (which is about as wide as the Third Avenue,) but ran into the ditch, and broke his pole. To be sure, Harry had the excuse of its being a very dusty and windy night, (more by token, as Pat says, I lost a hat of my own on the same occasion,) but some said he was more in the wind than the state of the weather alone could account for. However, my host and I were up in good time next morning, for it would have been a positive sin to lie in bed such mornings as we had. While Phil. and I were running extempore races round the grounds-one of our usual morning amusements, and a very good way of getting up an appetite for breakfast- a boy came along with some game. We were none

of us ardent sportsmen, and should have been very badly off for the article, had we depended on our own exertions for the supply of it; indeed, game was scarce any how, and it was not often that any one in the vicinity had a good lot at a time. So Phil. was glad enough to buy all that the boy had, and then, like a kind, thoughtful, neighborly fellow as he was, he recollected that Hertezoff was very fond of partridges. 'Frank,' said he, 'will you drive down after breakfast, and take these to the old gentleman, with my compliments?' Phil. knew that I was too happy to have any excuse for driving about the country.

Mr. Hertezoff lived not many miles from us, but a pretty good way – that is to say, a pretty bad way—from the steam-boat landing at Vienna. I found his front gate open, and, bowling unceremoniously into it, nearly ran over old Sarah, the cook, who was holding an animated conversation with another servant in the very centre of the lane.

'Something for you,' said I, pointing to the plump birds at my feet. 'Ah! it's little we care for them now,' she replied, regarding the lovely animals with a look of indifference that, in a cook, was positive impiety. 'Why, what in goodness' name is the matter?' Her bewildered look, which I at first attributed to her narrow escape from pulverization under Charley's hoofs, had evidently some more permanent cause.

'O Sir, Mr. Preston's been and gone, and forgot Mrs. Preston.'

It was so very absurd, and yet so like the man, that I could with difficulty suppress a roar of laughter.

Yes,' she continued, 'he took the rockaway and the team this morning,' (the Hertezoffs were not so flush of horses and vehicles as some of us; their establishment was always denoted by the singular number and definite article,) and all his things, and some o' hern. I wonder Jake was such a fool as to go with him. And they did n't find it out for nigh half an hour, and now they're ravin' distracted; and Sam has gone off on old Ploughboy, but he 'll never catch 'em.'

I thought it highly probable not, from my own recollections of Ploughboy, the farm-horse; but at any rate there appeared no use for me in the present state of things; and doubtless I should have gone straight back, but the Hertezoff grounds were so arranged that you could not turn conveniently without driving round the house; so round the house I drove, and at the farther corner of it a ludicrously pitiable spectacle presented itself. The bride, all equipped in her travelling-dress, and looking none the less beautiful for her consternation, was walking, or rather trotting, round the broad stoop that encompassed the house, as if performing some charm to restore

'Her Daphnis to her much-desiring arms.'

In a rocking-chair near the door sat her father, on one side of him a pile of band-boxes, on the other his half-smoked cigar, which had fallen helplessly to the floor. He was rocking as fast as his daughter was running, and every time she passed him in her round, he would lift up his eyes and hands, and exclaim: 'My poor, forsaken child! what is to become of you?'

The land

I checked my horse instinctively. A thought struck me. ing was seventeen miles off, or a short eighteen at most. The Swallow

usually arrived there at eleven. I glanced at my watch; it was not yet ten. We had an hour and fourteen minutes.

'Mrs. Preston, I will take you to the boat in time.'
'Can you?' and she stopped short in her career.
'Yes; but you must leave your baggage.'

She glanced at the band-boxes, and hesitated a moment; then, just as I had lightened my vehicle, by pitching out the birds almost into Hertezoff's lap, she leaped into the wagon without waiting for me to bias the front axle and make room for her.

'Hold fast, Mrs. Preston. Partridges, with Mr. Van Horne's compliments. Ke-ip, Charley! Good-bye, Mr. Hertezoff!' and away we rattled down the lane and out at the gate, leaving the old gentleman more bewildered than ever; his daughter whisked away, he had hardly time to see by whom, and three brace of birds left in exchange for her.

Though our road descended most of the way, (else would our chance have been small indeed,) it rose at first, soon after emerging from the Hertezoff place, for nearly a mile, and pretty stiffly too. To press the horse up this hill would have been suicidal; we were obliged to mount at any easy pace. By way of keeping up my companion's spirits during this delay, I extemporized some most apocryphal stories of my nag's performances against time. HEAVEN forgive me for Munchausenizing! I am not sure but I made Charley distance Trustee in a ten-mile heat. However, this romance served to keep Mrs. Preston quiet till we had climbed the ascent. A lovely view it was from the top, and a lovely day to see it in. Every variety of hill and valley and wood and water in sight; and far away below, the blue Hudson and the white sails gliding over it; and far away above, the blue sky and the white clouds sailing on it. But I had no eyes save for my horse's ears and the road straight before me. Straight enough it lay, descending for miles, the few occasional elevations being not more than the velocity due to the previous descent would carry us over without trouble. I drew up the reins: 'Hold fast, Mrs. Preston; don't mind the dust. Ke-ip, Charley!' The gallant bay made a hop forward, and then took hold of the bit and settled down to a tearing trot, making the dust eddy and the pebbles spin around us. He-e, boy! g'lang!' and away goes Charley!

And first we overtook the hopeless messenger. Sam, a diminutive black, was bobbing up and down on big Ploughboy at a hobby-horse canter. We shot by him like a steamer past a liner when there is no wind, and my hind-wheel nearly took off the top of one of his boots. Whether he saw that his services were no longer needed, I don't know, for he was instantly lost to sight in our self-raised cloud of dust. 'He—e, boy! he-eh!' and away goes Charley!

What's this? A flock of geese spread over the road. We take no notice, Charley and I, but go right at them; Mrs. Preston cannot suppress a scream. I understand geese; I have seen a great many in Rhode İsland, (no arrière pensée against the inhabitants of that good state, though they have adopted the M-e L-w;) it is a physical impossibility to run over them. Right and left they vanish, as by magic, from under our wheels, and the wagon speeds on smoothly without a jar. That's right; he-e, old fellow!' and away goes Charley!

Some minutes-that is to say, a mile or so- -farther on, a huge haycart is drawn diagonally across the road, while the careless driver stands on one side of it, gossipping with a crony. 'Hey! Hallo there! Those men ought to hear us: I'm sure we make noise enough; but they won't take the trouble to. Ah, my fine fellows! We have n't driven on the Bloomingdale-road for nothing. We know where there is just room to get through, and where there is n't. There is just room on the right side, exactly where you are standing. Without a moment's hesitation, we dash at the opening. Our wheels shave the ponderous orbs of the hay-cart, and the two natives, tardily bestirring themselves to escape Charley's onslaught, are precipitated into the ditch. We hear the beginning of some tall swearing behind us, but the half-formed anathemas die away on the breeze. All right; get along!' and away goes Charley !

The pace continued so good that I began to be afraid, not that we should miss the boat, but (a more important loss to me) that I should kill my horse. To be sure, I had once performed a similar feat, about the same amount of road in the same time, with a mare belonging to old Bacchus. (It was to escape a thunder-shower when driving a young lady home from a dinner-party.) But Dolly never was altogether herself again after it, and Bacchus, who was then worth only one hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year, never forgave me for the injury done his property. Well, we are not so mean as Bacchus, thank God! and if Charley dies in a lady's service, his tomb shall be honored for it. Think of that, old fellow, and step out more than ever. 'Hey, get along!' and away goes Charley!

O gioja! potamos! potamos! We are close on the river. Terribly blown, and puffing like a steam-engine, but with something left in him yet, Charley rushes into the little village of Vienna; (the smaller a place is in our state, the bigger name it is sure to have.) For the first time since starting, I dare look at my watch. Three minutes to spare! Hurrah! go it, old fellow! this is the last spirt.' Horse and man making noise enough to startle all the inhabitants, we rattle through the village slap to the end of the wharf. Just in time! The red flag is flying from the staff; the good boat Swallow is making her landing. The disembarking passengers have 'toted out their plunder,' and a goodly pile of trunks is going on board. Watching them and smoking a cigar, a tall gentleman leans against a post. It is Sinclair Preston.

Hallo, Preston! here's your wife!' I shouted with such voice as I had left, for my throat was hoarse and dry between the dust that had gone into it and the yells that had come out of it. By way of supplementary emphasis, I nearly ran Charley's head into his face.

'By Jove!' ejaculated the Louisianian, stepping forward just in time to catch his bride as the jerk with which I pulled up threw her into his arms, 'I thought I had forgotten something.'

They have finished the grave and plumped the poor old horse into it. Franky has been scooping out a little grave with sticks in imitation. He has found a chicken's head, and is interring it with much care and ceremony. Dear Franky! how near we were both going to the grave together, though you never knew it, all by reason of Charley. No-let us be just to the departed; it was my fault more than his.

--

One fine April day we lived in town then, and Franky was just beginning to talk-I took him and his nurse on a drive. We had a comfortable top-wagon-not exactly the thing to trot and an old harness rather too light for the wagon. But not having the least intention to go fast, I started in the middle of the day, when the roads were empty. So we had a nice time of it till, as we were returning through Yorkville and climbing a hill, evil destiny sent a couple of b'hoys in a wagon behind us. I heard them yelling, and drew Charley in, not without some demonstration of reluctance on his part. All would have been well, but as they passed us on the top of the hill, one of them made some contemptuous allusion to my horse. Piqued into a forgetfulness of prudence, I gave my pet his head, and started him down the descent. We were just lapping the other wagon when he broke. Vexed at the occurrence, I did not attempt to stop him until he had run past the b'hoys, and then tried to catch him into his trot. But the pull on the reins had no effect; he continued to gallop; and I then saw, to my consternation, that his breaking was only the consequence of the breaking of something else. The breeching flapped loose about his flanks. He couldn't stop if he wanted to. And Franky, delighted at the rapid motion, claps his little hands in childish glee, and exclaims: 'We beat, papa! faster, faster!'

The old horse is going fast enough now. We spin through the village. My coach-maker is standing in front of his shop, gossipping with some neighbors. I hear him say, 'There's a runaway;' and another answer, 'Oh, he'll stop when he gets to the bottom of the hill.' It is an incident great variety in their morning, a decided case of suave mari magno. How provokingly cool their observations sound!

of

Yes, when we got to the bottom! But what might happen in that half mile! The horse might kick or fall, and in either case we should be thrown in a heap together; or a wheel might come off, or a jolt upset us. One consolation-there was no fear of our running foul of another vehicle; the road lay perfectly open. After all, the greatest danger was that the nurse might be frightened, and attempt to jump out with the child. I dared not even say, 'Sit still, Jane;' but changing the now useless reins into my right hand, kept firm hold of the boy with my left.

We were not long going down that hill, but it seemed to me an age. I could feel the perspiration breaking out all over me, and trickling down my face in big drops. At length we reached the level ground, and the instant Charley felt the weight drawing behind him, instead of pressing on his heels, he struck his trot, and in another second I pulled him in. Pouring sweat, and trembling in every limb, he stopped, not all at once, or motionlessly, but with an evident inclination to go on again. I was in dread lest the other wagon might come up before we were fairly disembarked, and so start him off once more. But it was far behind. I tumbled out somehow. 'Now, Jane, give me the baby. Thank God! Jump yourself! Keep well back out of the road; go to the stone wall.' A chill and faintness came over me with the revulsion of feeling. My head swam and my knees shook. With a last instinct to hold fast to the horse, I shortened the reins and took him by the head, and then went off into a fainting-fit just as I stood, half holding him, half supported by him; the last thing I heard, before losing consciousness, was Franky's exclamation: 'Oh, papa, did n't we go fast!"