That Pond at Lashmere.

AWA

BY NERISSA.

E had often seen it-on the map; read of it-in the guide books, and gazed at it with that deceptive eye of the mind. It was doubtless a lake, at least the very least, bounded by high hills, overhung with tall trees, crowded with luxurious vegetation to the highest pitch; a very gem in the wilderness, an oasis in the desert-for did not the Myriophyllum alterniflorum and the Helosciadium inundatum grow there, and even the Viola canina flourish on its banksso said the guide books.

This was too much for us. We are fond of botany, and to think that the Myripy-what-you-may-call and the Helosci-er (see above) and positively the Viola canina flourished upon its banks, was, as I said before, too much for us. Our botanical selves yearned to be there; it was indeed a wonderful spot, we would go without delay. But how? This last remark from one of our party fell upon us like a damp towel from a house-top. “Ha, ah, but how?" we all echoed in unison, like a band of ruffians on the stage, so loudly that the very house shook; although I believe the shaking was caused by a passing train below - but no matter. Ha, ah, but how?" we repeated. There was a dead silence for 22 minntes by the eight-day clock upon the stairs, and 26 by my watch-a fearful waste of time. At length, with a face of determined purpose, one of the ruffians-I mean one of our party-arose, and held forth for three-quarters of an hour, during which wę took most careful notes. When the oration was finished, we all partook of a captain's biscuit, and then compared notes, and finally, after half-an-hour's debate,

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came to the conclusion that the speech had made clear two important facts-that it was too far to walk, and that no coach went in the direction. That was indeed satisfactory; I mean the speech. We felt that there was some hope, that we should get to Lashmere Pond at last, so we took another captain's biscuit, aud settled ourselves for thought once more. The scene was interesting and business-like. Over every clear space of floor, on every chair, on the table, on the sideboard, were spread maps and guide books. (I may state that we had spent a large part of our substance in guide books and maps on the first day of our arrival in the Isle of Wight.) We poised them on our laps, we held them in our hands, for although one or two might have answered the purpose of the whole number, still, as we had bought them, we each inwardly thought that to use them would ease our consciences; so there they

It was dark. The shades of night had fallen, but we had solved the mystery-we had cleared the intricate path to Lashmere; we were going! For after long thought, and much searching into many guide books and maps and local Bradshaws, we found that the railway went within a few miles of the spot; but upon further searching we found that the railway fare was more than our economical minds considered just, or even kind. We thought they did not give us nearly enough for our money, rattling one along at such a rate, and allowing no time to look at the country. We all considered that the engines might stop occasionally, and let the passengers look out of window a bit, and see the view; and any who wanted to get to their journey's end quickly, might get out and walk (not at all a bad idea that); but the railway people don't seem to think of these little things. Yes, the railway idea was decidedly

repulsive, both dear and unpleasant; besides, much railway travelling is bad for the constitution, and we had come from London only a week before, and who knows but that another half-hour in a rattling carriage might injure our spines. No, we would not go by train. This was the grand idea: to hire a pony for the day, and walk there, carrying the day's provisions in saddlebags, riding by turns for rest. Only three of us were to hazard the journey; all the rest were to search for us supposing we did not return. It was all arranged by 11.30 we wearily crawled upstairs, and sought our well-earned rest.

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The morn dawned. The day of our great undertaking at length arrived. As regards it, all our expectations were realised—it was wet and windy; just the sort of day that our dear England thinks we like for a picnic, nice weather for ducks, as they say, with plenty of moisture about. But Sarah Jane, Susan and I are of determined natures. Let us go, we all cried-it may clear; who knows? We did not, but we spoke so with that despairing hope which always springs up on like occasions. Our bag of provisions was packed. We had girded on our waterproofs, armed ourselves with umbrellas; all was prepared, and by nine o'clock we stood on the doorstep of our apartments, awaiting our charger. We were not great riders; if my memory serves me rightly I had once poised myself on a donkey at Hampstead Heath, and I believe my friend Sarah Jane had once ridden a pony in panniers; but that was the extent of our equestrian feats. Maybe my friends felt some little trepidation as we stood there on the doorstep, awaiting our steed. I don't say they did; I did not, but then I had had a little more experience in riding-donkey riding-than they had; moreover I remember the man saying I should soon ride quite well,

for he made the donkey trot, and I didn't fall off, although I had to hold the pommel very tightly. But our steed would soon be here; would he prance up ? I hoped so. It looks so well to see a prancing steed at one's door. We had not hired it from a livery stable; it was to come from a shop over which hung a board"Licensed to Let Pony Carriages, and Waggonettes for Hire." I-"Here it is." It did not prance up! We mounted Sarah Jane with the aid of a chair; round her waist was pinned a waterproof, to serve as a habit. I thought it safer that she should ride first, as I could explain to her how to hold,on in a trot. We started amid the cheers of our friends on the doorstep. We had not gone a hundred yards when Susan turned back, and with great rapidity ran towards the house. stopped; what could be the matter? when "the veal and ham pies, and jam puffs-are they packed?" was heard whispered by the breeze in a loud and agitated tone. "It's all right," we heard another voice murmur. We started again. We had not proceeded a mile on our journey before something worthy of remark occurred. It began to clear up. This was very remarkable, clearings up are so scarce now-a-day, that it quite startled us, besides, when you go for a picnic you never expect a fine day. However, we recovered from the shock of the surprise, and proceeded.

Our pony-that is our charger-had, I dare say, been hunting the day before, for somehow he seemed disinclined for long runs-in fact, for runs at all. Already had we considerably thinned the hedges we passed cutting switches. We lost our riding whip soon after the start. Susan dropped it the first time she trotted, and forgot to tell us. It was but a foot long, and belonged to our landlady's little girl. I don't think it would have had much effect on our charger. He seemed quite hardened to sticks of any kind. But we had taken an hour to do a mile and a half. We must push on

we did push on. Sarah Jane pulled in front; Susan held on to the top, and I in the rear, with all the energy I could muster, performed an O-gib-away Indian's dance, accompanied with loud shouts and wild calisthenics. Success crowned our efforts-the steed ran! This was indeed joyful. Somehow Susan looked a bit on one side-they didn't look quite like that in Rotten Row. The result of our last exertions had carried her ahead of us. Whoa!-whoa!-help! What! Susan is succumbing to the force of gravitation; she is descending to the ground -she is coming off-she is falling off! To the rescue! There she lay-gracefully in a puddle, with foot still in the stirrup; the faithful steed by her side-the saddle, mudwards.

Our ideas with regard to saddling a horse were limited. For some minutes we stood dumbfounded. I don't mean to say we said nothing, but you always say you're dumbfounded when you talk most. A sad spectacle, but quite picturesque to a fertile imagination -the twisted saddle-the faithful charger, sharing a puddle with his fallen mistress.

But we had our wits about us-a fact, I assure you— and bravely set to work to replace the saddle. We were determined to do the thing properly, and in style. The charger was wonderfully quiet. Susan, on a large stone by his head, did the steam-engine performance in his ear. Sh-sh-sh-sh. Whoa, then. Sh-sh, etc., whilst, with many oy-oys, Sarah Jane and I heaved the saddle to its right place. The tightening of the girths was indeed an anxious moment. With inward terror we watched our charger's ears as we pulled with all our strength. Was it possible to squeeze him up too tightly? But his ear expressed no emotion; it was all right. Sarah Jane mounted, and we went at a brisk pace down the wrong turning, leaving my new knife to mark the disastrous spot.

Now our sagacious steed did not at all act up to the