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as to insure a nick to five, the main the German called six times out of seven. The robbery was manifest, but the thief was by no means so; I might as well have looked for the Baron Munchausen as the Baron of "Sthevens's." Nobody knew where he lived (if he ever had lived anywhere), nor where he went, when aware that I sought him. He never appeared again, but my bills did, in fulness of time; they were paid, and I am rusticating to enable me to start again but for Cayenne, however, the chances are that the next evening would have given me the coup de grace." As Thornton concluded, we turned ourselves towards home. The way led past a wood, on the border of which stood the cottage of an old woman, who had the charge of his poultry. This wood, as well as the various covers in the neighbourhood, was used as a preserve for foxes by Sir Thomas Stanley, who, at the time, hunted the Hundred of Worral. We were within a few paces of the hen-wife's abode, when a rustling in the thicket attracted our notice, and brought Cayenne to a halt. At the instant a fine dogfox "broke," with one of Thornton's pet bantams in his mouth. Like lightning the terrier was on the felon—and, as if stricken by the thunderbolt, he died the death. The fowl thus rescued literally from the jaws of death, though its jeopardy was perilous, had life enough left to induce us to bear it to the old dame's hut. As Thornton adjusted the torn plumage of the bird, and gazed upon his shaggy favourite, that bounded before us in the proud consciousness of the achievement he had just accomplished, his master thus soliloquized with an emphasis that was warranty for the sincerity of the speaker: "Cayenne, no wonder thou art so gamesome: my man, it is ever thy fortune to throw in " at Chicken-hazard!"

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