was
vastly unfortunate, both for the lady's feelings and for the gentleman's
beauty. The two friends were surprised in a rendezvous near the house
by Lord F---- himself at the head of a party of his servants. Lord F----
then and there, in spite of the shrieks of the lady, availed himself of
his strength and skill to administer such punishment to the unfortunate
Lothario as would, in his own parting words, prevent any woman from
loving him again for the sake of his appearance. Lady F---- has left
his lordship and betaken herself to London, where, no doubt, she is now
engaged in nursing the damaged Apollo. It is confidently expected that a
duel will result from the affair, but no particulars have reached us up
to the hour of going to press.'"

The landlord laid down the paper. "You've been moving in high life, Mr.
Thomas Spring," said he.

The pugilist passed his hand over his battered face. "Well, Mr.
Cordery," said he, "low life is good enough for me."

OUT OF THE RUNNING

It was on the North Side of Butser on the long swell of the Hampshire
Downs. Beneath, some two miles away, the grey roofs and red houses of
Petersfield peeped out from amid the trees which surrounded it. From
the crest of the low hills downwards the country ran in low, sweeping
curves, as though some green primeval sea had congealed in the midst
of a ground swell and set for ever into long verdant rollers. At the
bottom, just where the slope borders upon the plain, there stood a
comfortable square brick farmhouse, with a grey plume of smoke floating
up from the chimney. Two cowhouses, a cluster of hayricks, and a broad
stretch of fields, yellow with the ripening wheat, formed a fitting
setting to the dwelling of a prosperous farmer.

The green slopes were dotted every here and there with dark clumps of
gorse bushes, all alight with the flaming yellow blossoms. To the left
lay the broad Portsmouth Road curving over the hill, with a line of
gaunt telegraph posts marking its course. Beyond a huge white chasm
opened in the grass, where the great Butser chalk quarry had been sunk.
From its depths rose the distant murmur of voices, and the clinking of
hammers. Just above it, between two curves of green hill, might be seen
a little triangle of leaden-coloured sea, flecked with a single white
sail.

Down the Portsmouth Road two women were walking, one elderly, florid and
stout, with a yellow-brown Paisley shawl and a coarse serge dress,
the o