CHAPTER XXVIIL 



NIL desperandu:m, 



NE day's hunting in nine weeks, tlie earth 

 frost-bound still, a bitter north-easter 

 blowing, and apparently no chance of a 

 change. Such was the state of things on 

 Friday evening, the last of January, and I was very 

 much in the condition of a friend of whom I once 

 made inquiries as to the state of his health : " I 

 feel," he said, " like the wretched remains of an ill- 

 spent existence, and a long course of profligacy 

 deservedly punished. I no longer take pleasure in 

 life. Beauty does not excite my admiration, wit falls 

 unheeded on my ear, and wine does not exhilarate 

 me." In other words, I was hipped — uncle derivatur, 

 by-the-bye, it cannot be from hippos, because my 

 disordered state is due to the fact of my not being 

 able to make use of a horse. An evil state of things 

 was this, beyond doubt. 



"Letters, sir," said the servant, as she handed in 

 the results of the last postal delivery. First won- 

 dering from whom they come, as people generally 

 do, I at length proceeded to open them, and immedi- 

 ately a change came o'er the spirit of my dream as I 

 read, " Come down to Otford Castle by the early 



