The Hall, as usual, whenever the squire is about to make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with the thing.  Miss Templeton, who is brought up in reverence for all her guardian’s humours, has proposed to be of the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out to the scene of action and looking on.  This has gratified the old gentleman extremely; he hails it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry, and does not despair but the time will come when it will be again the pride of a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a parrot or a lapdog.

I have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he receives from that genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy.  They have had half a dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be prepared for the morning’s sport.  Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given up the point, observing in a good-humoured tone, “Well, well, have it your own way, Christy; only don’t put yourself in a passion;” a reply which always nettles the old man ten times more than ever.

[Illustration:  “Well, well, have it your own way, Christy!”]

[Illustration:  Hawking]

Hawking.

    The soaring hawk, from fist that flies,
      Her falconer doth constrain
    Sometimes to range the ground about
      To find her out again;
    And if by sight, or sound of bell,
      His falcon he may see,
    Wo ho! he cries, with cheerful voice—­
      The gladdest man is he.

    HANDEFULL of pleasant DELITES.

At an early hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, preparing for the sport of the day.  I heard Master Simon whistling and singing under my window at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk’s legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of one of his favourite old ditties: 

    “In peascod time, when hound to horn
      Gives note that buck be kill’d;
    And little boy with pipe of corn
      Is tending sheep a-field,” etc.

A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was served up in the great hall.  The whole garrison of retainers and hangers-on were in motion, reinforced by volunteer idlers from the village.  The horses were led up and down before the door; everybody had something to say and something to do, and hurried hither and thither; there was a direful yelping of dogs; some that were to accompany us being eager to set off, and others that were to stay at home being whipped back to their kennels.  In short, for once, the good squire’s mansion might have been taken as a good specimen of one of the rantipole establishments of the good old feudal times.

Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall prepared to take the field.  The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting-dress, with a light plume of feathers in her riding-hat.  As she mounted her favourite Galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that old Christy forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle.  He touched his cap as she smiled on him and thanked him; and then, looking round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and exultation at the charming appearance of his pupil.