night they were to have a delightful ride. It was a felo-de-se morning; an absolute apology for suicide, though a man had gone to bed in the full vigour of a resolution to live out his natural life. Its peculiar enormity consisted in a yellow fog, as thick as a Witney blanket, through which there distilled a thin, raw, penetrating moisture, which trickled from the nap of a frieze surtout, like a thatched barn in a thaw. Moreover, the fog had a most unsavoury quality; it "did, as it were, stink abominably."

Cameron, however, groped his way through it to his friend Aston, whom he discovered in his room by the help of a blazing fire and two wax candles.

"How do you find yourself?" he exclaimed, "and what are you about?"

"Airing my night-cap. As soon as we have breakfasted, I mean to go to bed again.”

"Some accident has certainly happened to the sun," replied Cameron; "he is three good hours behind his time,' by Shrewsbury clock.""

"As to that," retorted Aston, "I dare say he was punctual enough in setting out, but has lost his way."

"As we are predestined to do, I guess." "Provided we are predestined, first of all, to find it," said Aston. "But come, sit you down. Breakfast is ready, and while we fortify our stomachs, let us rail in good set terms against nature for making us denizens of this spongy clime-this store-house of catarrhs, quinsies, and agues, instead of ordaining that we should ope our eyes beneath the sunny heaven of Italy or Greece."

"For my part," said Cameron, as he seated himself at the table, "I'll never believe merry England' (as she was wont to be called) was afflicted in this way before the calling in of the Hanover family."

They were proceeding with their meal, when suddenly the door opened. Aston inquired who was there.

"Me, if you please," answered a gruff voice with a cough.

"Who are you?" continued Aston.

"Joe, if you please.”

"Where are you?" added Cameron. "Here, your honour," replied the voice; and a tall raw-boned figure in a smock-frock, with a lantern in its hand, was seen dimly advancing towards the table. "What shall I do with the horses, your honour? They have been saddled these two hours."

"What sort of a morning is it?" said Cameron gravely.

"A wery queer 'un!" replied Joe with a knowing grin.

"Does it rain ?"

"I can't say exactly as he does, but he mizzles."

"Isn't it rather foggy out of doors?" pursued Cameron.

"Rather foggy," exclaimed Joe, with an emphasis that implied there could be no rational doubt of the fact. "You'll hardly believe it when I tell you, but hang me if I didn't go for to put the bridle over the mare's tail instead of her head,-that I did."

"Well," said Aston, addressing Cameron,

"what do we determine? to brave the weather, or be braved by it? For myself I have so much of the schoolboy in me, that I confess I like not to turn my back upon a promised holiday."

"I am of your mind," replied Cameron. "Let us forth, at all events, say I. We have a great chance of having the road to ourselves, and the less chance consequently of running against anything.”

“But a turnpike gate," thought Joe to himself.

"Be it so, then," rejoined Aston; and the horses were ordered to be brought to the door in half an hour.

CHAPTER XII.

66

OUR travellers equipped themselves suitably for the day they had chosen to defy, and mounted their steeds. Cameron, as he fixed himself in his saddle, observed that "the fog was certainly clearing off, for he could see his horse's ears." Aston was of the same opinion, because he could see himself." Joe listened to these jokes with much glee, but, as it would seem, without seeing anything; for the very first movement made by Cameron's horse upset him, a disaster of which Cameron would probably have remained ignorant, had he not heard him bawling out the next moment, "Never mind me, sir, I arn't hurt; take care of yourself."