Thompson. Drenched with water, Morten struggled up the opposite bank just in time to be first in at the death of Reynard, and seizing upon the tail, as the merited reward and trophy of his daring, much to the chagrin and mortification of the hard-riding and venturous Thompson, placed it gaily in his cap, at the same time winding upon his horn the loud, long "death-blast." "Bravely done, Morten!" shouted the Major, recovering from his momentary disappointment, and extending his hand to the victor; "you well deserve to wear the brush; you have won it fairly, and I will not begrudge you the victory. But come, boy, I must look at this horse of yours, for I can say of him what has never been said before, that he has beaten my gray in a fair struggle." The two horses were completely blown, the black covered with foam, and almost as white as his competitor, with whom he seemed to be making up an acquaintance after the fatigue of the fierce run. The gray gave a low whinny as his master turned towards him, seemingly rebuking his quiet surrender of the victory, and which his owner understanding, said, "Never mind, old fellow, the boys have conquered this morning, but we will live to give them another trial, and such a one as they will never wish to fight over again.” Morten, desiring to turn the Major's views into a more pleasant channel than his defeat, which he saw was still galling him, said, "Come, Major, let us see how the stragglers drop in." In quick succession the remainder of the party, one by one, now hove in sight; all of them, however, coming to a halt on the opposite side of the river, not caring, now the excitement of the chase was over, about taking the leap and dip in the water merely for the sake of a cold bath. "How, now," shouted the Major; "what has become of that wild devil Bob Allston? It is not usual for him to be the last in at the death." This exclamation was scarcely made before they were startled by a wild scream ringing up through the woods, and soon the "groaner," or Bob Allston, bursted full in view, like a pacha of one tail, with his ludicrous ornament still dangling and beating behind him. Yelling and filling the entire forest with his wild imitation of the steam-whistle, the "groaner," who was a practical wag of the very first water, and had no mercy, dashed through the astonished crowd, and into the river he went, himself, horse, Squire and all. In a moment after, his hunter, a noble thoroughbred, arose to the top of the water and struck out gallantly for the shore, and as he mounted the bank, "the groaner," now thoroughly exhausted by his shouting and exertions, dropped from the saddle, dragging along with him the fainting, wearied, and bruised fox-hunting justice of the peace. So ended the memorable "fox-hunt in the bottom," and so endeth this chapter. "WE do not wholly die at our deaths; we have mouldered away gradually before. Faculty after faculty, interest after interest, attachment after attachment disappear; we are torn from ourselves while living; year after year sees us no longer the same, and death only consigns the last fragment of what we were to the grave," is a passage from that elegant essayist, Hazlitt. "Neither do men become wholly good and virtuous, or wholly sinful and depraved at any one period of life. Like death, destroying faculty after faculty, to become good, there must be a gradual destruction of evil desires, a gradual victory, after a long contest with sin; or to become wholly corrupt, there must be a tearing away, step by step, of mercy, pity, love, education, and other influences, until all the refined and softer emotions or senses have become hardened or destroyed. But I do not believe a man can become wholly pure so as to commit no sin or have no sinful thoughts; neither do I believe he can become wholly wicked, so as to have no pity or mercy, or no moments of remorse for his depravity. There are moments in the lives of us all when we have been tempted and have not been able to resist the temptation, and so there are hours when the soul, communing with itself, has bitterly wept over past transgressions." Thus it was with Lonz Powers. We have seen how he had been tempted, and how he had fallen, and we will now follow him to mark the struggle and fierce conflict between good and evil, as he takes another step in his downward course. We parted with him on the eve of taking breakfast with Morten at Wilson's. Morten we find passing the "groaner" and his victim just before the Squire's unparalleled performance on the grape-vine, and we left him and the Major vainly attempting to get an explanation of the strange situation of the fainting couple. We will now join company with Lonz at that moment when he deserted his brother and Wilson, turning off in a blind path leading through the forest, and spurring away in an opposite direction from the hunt. After galloping along, perhaps for a mile or more, he suddenly drew in his mare, checked her onward course into a walk, threw the bridle carelessly over her neck, and in a moment afterwards was lost in deep and intense revery. musing seemed none of the most pleasant, judging from his quick, hurried ejaculations, and the frown upon his brow, along with the repeated and vehement motions of his arms. But it was not long before his thoughts were clothed in words, and he murmured aloud His "Yes, 'tis fate! I was not always so; but have gradually been getting worse and worse. I know not now what will become of me, for there seems a hellish combination to drive me to crime and restrain me from repentance. I once thought-and had a moment's peace when thus thinking-that when I freed myself from the embarrassments incurred by gambling when at college, that then I would gamble no more, and that I would reform and make it the study of my life to insure happiness to my Mary, to Ellen, and my noble father. But then," he continued, while a dark scowl fiercely lit up his countenance only a moment since saddened and refined by the soft influence of sorrow and repentance; “ay, then came that specious and cursed villain, Colonel B, and tempted me too, too ready to be lead astray-to again throw the soul-destroying card. Yes, he tempted me, even as the dark angel tempted his fallen brothers to rebel against their God-by flattery. He plied me with wine, and in a moment when mad } ness had usurped the place of reason, managed-I see through Thus we see the criminal, as is often the case, led astray by his own folly and his own dark, wicked soul-when God had - given him a mind, a conscience, and a knowledge of good and evil -a conscience and mind, too, that rebuked him at the very time, and in thunder tones warned him of the dark pit to which he was hastening, making God, the great ruler and director of the universe, under the senseless name of Fate, the originator and creator of sin. It is no unfrequent thing, that he who would tremble to directly say that God was the cause of crime, will, in this round about way, do the same thing by charging it upon Fate, as if God himself was not Fate. "Yes, it must be Fate," he again murmured, after a moment's silence, "for why, if it is not Fate, did this tempter come at that very time when I had thoughts of repentance and reform? why was it, that he had seen and coveted these mares? and why, at very that moment above all others, when flying from father's my home, a thief, with the horses in my possession, did Burton, at the dead hour of night, meet and recognise me?" The rapid, heavy tread of a galloping horse broke off his soliloquy, and Lonz, looking up, was startled by the appearance of Burton, the object of his thoughts, and with whom Fate had again brought about another unexpected meeting. "How now, Burton," he exclaimed, recovering from his surprise and returning the salutation of the horseman; “I was just on my way to see you, but Fate has been kind enough to bring us together sooner than I anticipated." "I am well, Mr. Powers," replied Burton in a cold, stern voice, checking his horse and confronting Lonz, "and, as you say you were about visiting me, am happy that God, or Fate, as you call it, has seen proper to cause this meeting. Fate has once before," he continued, gazing fixedly upon Lonz, whose face became scarlet with shame under his scrutiny, "occasioned an interview between us, and at an hour and place when but little expected." "Yes, yes,” said Lonz, "and it is of that meeting that I would now speak." "I suppose you know," continued Burton, without noticing his hurried exclamation, and speaking in the same calm, stern voice, "that Old Sisk, as he is called, is now in prison for stealing your father's horses and that I have been summoned to give in my testimony." "I know all, and it is of this sad affair that I would now speak with you. This is a secret place, and if you will oblige me, I would like much to have a moment's conversation respecting this matter." "I am at leisure," replied Burton, dismounting, "and will but secure my horse and be with you in an instant. That oak will afford us a pleasant seat." Charles Burton, the unlucky witness of Lonz's crime, was one of the noblest specimens of a perfect man and intelligent farmer. Dressed in a plain, but neat and well-fitting suit of homespun,his garb only served to exhibit by greater contrast the elegant and graceful figure of the wearer, and no one would have noticed or |