I doubt, after all, whether the worthy squire is not the greatest sufferer in the whole affair.  His honourable sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but the overflowing kindness of his nature makes this a grievous trial to him.

He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his justice in his truly patriarchal domain; and it wounds his benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus bounteously upon him, he should have to inflict misery upon a fellow-being.

He has been troubled and cast down the whole evening:  took leave of the family, on going to bed, with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty and affectionate tone, and will, in all probability, have a far more sleepless night than his prisoner.  Indeed this unlucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole household, as there appears to be an universal opinion that the unlucky culprit will come to the gallows.

Morning.—­The clouds of last evening are all blown over.  A load has been taken from the squire’s heart, and every face is once more in smiles.  The gamekeeper made his appearance at an early hour, completely shamefaced and crestfallen.  Starlight Tom had made his escape in the night; how he had got out of the loft no one could tell; the devil, they think, must have assisted him.  Old Christy was so mortified that he would not show his face, but had shut himself up in his stronghold at the dog-kennel, and would not be spoken with.  What has particularly relieved the squire is, that there is very little likelihood of the culprit’s being retaken, having gone off on one of the old gentleman’s best hunters.

[Illustration:  Tailpiece]

[Illustration:  A Solemn Consultation]

LOVERS’ TROUBLES.

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow;
Sing all a green willow must be my garland.

OLD SONG.

The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects of her hawking disaster, it begins to be thought high time to appoint a day for the wedding.  As every domestic event in a venerable and aristocratic family connection like this is a matter of moment, the fixing upon this important day has, of course, given rise to much conference and debate.

Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately sprung up, originating in the peculiar humours that are prevalent at the Hall.  Thus, I have overheard a very solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, the parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the marriage ought not to be postponed until the coming month.

With all the charms of the flowery month of May, there is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a marrying month.  An old proverb says, “To wed in May, is to wed poverty.”  Now, as Lady Lillycraft is very much given to believe in lucky and unlucky times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious on all points relating to the tender passion, this old proverb seems to have taken great hold upon her mind.  She recollects two or three instances in her own knowledge of matches that took place in this month, and proved very unfortunate.  Indeed, an own cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost her husband by a fall from his horse, after they had lived happily together for twenty years.