And each vows, as the moments flit merrily by,
The world has no music like hounds in full cry.
UNCLE JOHN'S NEW HORSE.
A letter I found on my table, addressed to Edward Milford, Esq., Duke Street, St. James's, which, being my name and address, I took the liberty of opening, reminded me of the fact that I was engaged to my uncle for the Christmas holidays.
It ran as follows:
"The Grange, Slopton.
"My Boy,
"You are booked to us for Christmas, so don't fail. It is to be ten days this time, and no telegram 'on important business' to call you away, as, if I remember right, was the case on your last visit. There are many attractions here, or will be by the time you arrive. First, myself; secondly, a new horse, which you will have the pleasure of trying for me; and, thirdly, your cousin Grace. There are a few pheasants, and, besides, some of the old port. You will find a hearty welcome from your affectionate
"Uncle John."
Uncle John (whose surname was Dawson) was the sole surviving relation from whom I had any expectations. He was my mother's brother, and on the death of both my parents had been left my guardian. He had never married; but about the same time that he undertook to train me in the path in which I should go, he had adopted the orphan child of his brother, and it was almost an understood thing that his property would, at his demise, be equally divided between myself and Grace Dawson, the lady referred to in his letter as cousin Grace.