essed of a qualification, I perceived at the conclusion
of my harangue, that I had made a very favourable impression. That
evening completed my triumph: for Lady Chester and Lady Harriett made so
good a story of my adventure with the dogs, that the matter passed
off as a famous joke, and I was soon considered by the whole knot as
a devilish amusing, good-natured, sensible fellow. So true is it
that there is no situation which a little tact cannot turn to our own
account: manage yourself well, and you may manage all the world.

As for Lord Chester, I soon won his heart by a few feats of
horsemanship, and a few extempore inventions respecting the sagacity of
dogs. Three days after my arrival we became inseparable; and I made such
good use of my time, that in two more, he spoke to me of his friendship
for Dawton, and his wish for a dukedom. These motives it was easy enough
to unite, and at last he promised me that his answer to my principal
should be as acquiescent as I could desire; the morning after this
promise commenced the great day at Newmarket.

Our whole party were of course bound to the race-ground, and with
great reluctance I was pressed into the service. We were not many miles
distant from the course, and Lord Chester mounted me on one of his
horses. Our shortest way lay through rather an intricate series of cross
roads: and as I was very little interested in the conversation of my
companions, I paid more attention to the scenery we passed, than is my
customary wont: for I study nature rather in men than fields, and find
no landscape afford such variety to the eye, and such subject to the
contemplation, as the inequalities of the human heart.

But there were to be fearful circumstances hereafter to stamp forcibly
upon my remembrance some traces of the scenery which now courted and
arrested my view. The chief characteristics of the country were broad,
dreary plains, diversified at times by dark plantations of fir and
larch; the road was rough and stony, and here and there a melancholy
rivulet, swelled by the first rains of spring, crossed our path, and
lost itself in the rank weeds of some inhospitable marsh.

About six miles from Chester Park, to the left of the road, stood an old
house with a new face; the brown, time-honoured bricks which composed
the fabric, were strongly contrasted by large Venetian windows newly
inserted in frames of the most ostentatious white. A smart, green
veranda, scarcely finished,