63 



CHAP. V. 



" There's not an hour 

 Of dayj nor dreaming night, but I am with thee j 

 There's not a wind but whispers of thy name ; 

 And not a flower that sleeps beneath our moon, 

 But in it's hue or fragrance tells a tale of thee ! 

 Thou canst not teach me to forget." 



On retiring to my chamber for the night I put to- 

 gether one of my large double guns of the ll-gauge, 

 and looked to all my appointments ; and they were 

 these: — A hard brown hunting-hat, made by Locke 

 of St. James's-street, decorated with the black curling 

 feather of a black-cock's tail, mixed with a feather or 

 two from the hybrid pheasant, lying close along the 

 brim of the hat, so as not to be too remarkable ; my 

 frock coat (with a little breast pocket for a small 

 flat-lying powder-horn and a smaller one still for 

 caps) was of a dark grayish-brown hue, to match the 

 colour of an oak tree as much as possible, and made 

 to particular order by Court of Great Marlborough- 

 street, the collar sitting very close and low, and no 



