He arose, have abhorred the thought of play-that mere speck which had slowly and gradually assumed the dimensions of a giant. Ah! she rejects the golden bribe; but she puts down a crown piece-is it her last ?-and she wins. With a forced laugh,-not the happy, ringing laugh we had just heard, she handed to her husband what she had won. approached, and having placed it in her reticule, hurried from the spot. Her eye followed his receding form, and I was so near her that I could hear a deep drawn but suppressed sigh that shook her whole frame as if it came from the inmost recesses of her soul. A small heap of shining gold lay near where she stood: her eye rested on it, there was a large prize to be thrown for in a lottery. With her last gains she bought a ticket-it was soon over-the croupier announced the happy number, it was that she held in her hands. One uplifted look, one gentle folding of the hands towards heaven, and, with a look of ecstasy I can never forget, she stretched them forth to receive the prize, and she was gone. A laugh of scorn followed her retreating steps, while a gleam of disappointed rage and malice shot across the features of the wily seducer, whose long pursued prey was thus snatched out of his very grasp. But I had no time for comment: quick as light, my little friend hurried me away, and we hastily followed the steps of the lady, to learn as far as possible the result. 66 case. "I fear," observed my companion, "that she will be too late. Fortune seldom plays such pranks with a family as with hers to-night, without some singular fatality or notable result, I have visited that hall thirty years in search of such, just as you go to see a man's head in the mouth of a lion bit off; but I never met with a more curious The fine aristocratic-looking man, plundered by the agent of the hoary seducer, an English lord, is the father of that lovely young creature. From him and in his parties she imbibed her fatal love of play; she married that noble-looking fellow, whom you saw lose his last penny, for he was drawn into the same vortex. I wonder if he has yet shot himself, gone off, or robbed some bank-I am most curious to learn-for I cannot imagine she will find both alive-there would be nothing to add to my cases and precedents-the study of a life. No, no, she cannot find them safe! But, see, there she is." We had followed her to the most lonely and shady part of the chestnut-walk-the first spot, my friend assured me, to which the ruined victims of this vice resort, to decide upon what they shall next do. There was a tall figure seen at some distance, towards which that lady was fast hurrying. He moved not a step, leaning with his head against a tree, though conscious of her approach. 66 Father!" she cried, trying to arouse him, for it was the proud portly figure we had seen early in the evening; "do not despair! God has helped us this time, and, oh! never let us tempt our fate again-no, never; for I played with my last crown, and see what it has brought-without this we must have wanted even food for to-morrow. God has helped, but were I to live a hundred thousand years, I never would again risk the possibility of suffering the soul-distracting anguish which I have endured to-night." "You are right," replied the once proud man, completely overcome; "my dear child, I have already a load of guilt enough upon my soul— I am the author of all those sufferings-we must try." 66 Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, “try to forget the past. But where is my Frederick? it was his good genius surely that protected me; nothing but my love, my reverence, my deep devotedness, amid all my cruel faults and errors, could ever have supported me through such a terrific scene. Oh, take me to him!" Scarcely had she uttered these words when a sudden flash, followed by a quick report, threw a momentary light through the trees at a dis tance. 'Did you hear?" cried my friend; "was I not right? it could not end without something dreadful. When did it? and especially in any chronic affair like this: one or two single isolated faults, or even crimes, may boast impunity and escape; but when did any connected series of vices or errors fail to meet with a most tremendous visitation at last?" All the time he uttered these philosophic ejaculations, we were hastening towards the spot; ere we reached it, a wild, piercing shriek seemed to confirm my friend's worst predictions. There, stretched upon the turf in the arms of death, from which no love nor remorse could snatch him, lay the lifeless form of him for whose sake she had been impelled to make one last heroic effort, and then to renounce the soul-destructive vice for ever. "Oh, my love! oh, father!" she murmured, "one moment earlier, and he was safe. Ah! why did you not tell me-but Heaven is an gry, I see! I feel its retributive justice-I see it all now-too latetoo late!" And again she gave way to those heart-piercing shrieks, as she fell on his dead body. MY ANCESTORS. My ancestors were glorious In many a field victorious They proved themselves of old. On many a castellated tower And many a serf in danger's hour But now their might has vanished quite O'er many a mile of hill and plain Did they extend their sway, O'er many a hall and fair domain, But now their wealth has fled by stealth, THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF NIMROD. No. I. FEW men made more noise while living, and have descended more silently to the grave, than the distinguished gentleman whose nom de chasse we have placed at the head of this paper. Two pages, we believe, will comprise all that has been written about the writer of more than twenty volumes. Charles James Apperley, for such was the real name of our author, was born at or near Wrexham, in the county of Denbigh, in, we believe, the year 1778. He was the second son of a gentleman of ancient family, a stout old church and king Tory, living on his own property on the Welsh side of the county of Hereford. The family consisted of eight children, two sons and six daughters. Nimrod's father lived to the advanced age of eighty-six; at eighty-two being equal to all the enjoyments of life. His mother, who was a Miss Wynn, attained the age of seventy-three. Of her family, all that we glean from Nimrod's writings is, that three out of four "own brothers to his mother," as he sportingly terms them, drank themselves to death before forty, while the fourth was a man of great stature and personal prowess, and called "Leg Wynn," from the symmetry of his formation. This gentleman could carry a table about in his teeth, and thrash the best man in Oxford, whether gownsman or raff. He was what is called an awkward customer, as the following anecdote shows. The county of Merioneth having been very severely contested, it was necessary to place a guard at the gate of the castle-yard at Harlech, the county town in which the voters on one side were assembled. Leg Wynn was on the opposite side, and on his being seen approaching, a voice exclaimed, "Double the guard at the gate, there is Bob Wynn coming, three parts drunk." Old Nimrod, if we may so designate a gentleman who we believe did not hunt, was a scholar-at least so says his son. "My father," writes Nimrod, in the Old Sporting Magazine, "was a literary man-corresponded with Dr. Johnson-read Greek before breakfast-and being himself a scholar, he fondly hoped he should have made one of me; but in the weakness of his affections, being unable to say 'no,' his hopes were blasted. He suffered me to follow fox hounds in a red coat and сар, like puss in boots, before I was twelve years old; so instead of a scholar, he made me a fox-hunter, which in my humble opinion was a much better thing." The old gentleman was more successful with the elder brother, who we believe was induced to become a clergyman, but he too had a passion for hunting, and according to Nimrod was a capital performer across country. Nimrod, in his early career as a writer, we remember was mistaken for his brother, and at one time it was currently reported that the author of "Nimrod's Letters" was a clergyman. The brother, it seems, had some other propensities, besides hunting, at least if we may judge from the concluding portion of the following lamentation on the sale of the paternal estate, written some five-and-twenty years ago. Speaking of a good anecdote, which he would reserve as he was "not in the humour" for telling it then, Nimrod says, "This is a day of bad import. On this sad day comes to the public hammer the last and only remaining birthright of my family. When I read the description of the property, 'The ancient monastery surrounded by its own grounds, gardens, lawns, and woods,' when I think of the ages in which it has answered to the name of its owner, and when I picture to myself the classic elegance of the house-now perhaps to be occupied by some half-bred Englishman, some Dutch Jewbroker, my heart bleeds within me. But it is gone! the name of * * * * * is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more. Had this fine estate been spent in fox-hunting, some consolation would have been left to me; but the greater part of it has been frittered away in the pomps, the vanities, and the nothingnesses of this empty world." Nimrod, thus early in the day, exhibited his dislike to trade and mercantile pursuits-a feeling that is traceable throughout the generality of his writings. Our author was educated at Rugby, and seems to idea of the nature of scent even in those early days. to have been rather an ill-conducted school, if we what he wrote of it in Fraser's Magazine, under the rabilia Bacchanalia." have had some Rugby appears may judge from title of "Memo Talking of drinking in early life, he says, It too often commenced at a public school, as mine did at that of Rugby. How often have I been hoisted over a wall at night, and rehoisted by the same means with a bottle of wine under my great coat from Master Lamley,' as we used to call him of the Spread Eagle, or old Brummage,' of the Black Bear. The price of the bottle was half-a-crown, and what it was composed of mattered not; it was black and strong, and called Port. The old master, a dear lover of a drop himself,'" says Nimrod, "used to try to get to the windward of the boys whom he suspected of drinking, and so to deaden the scent they used to have recourse to bits of orange and lemon-peel." Nimrod says there were boys at Rugby in his time who became habitual drunkards. On leaving school our hero entered the army-a dragoon regiment -though which we do not remember. It was chiefly in Ireland, we believe, during the time Nimrod was in it, at all events it was there during the rebellion. How long he remained in it we do not know, but he appears to have left it by the beginning of the present century. He hunted in it one season, as we learn by his writings, though in what part or with what stud does not appear. He found out, however, that the way the Irish horses became such good drain-leapers, was to be attributed solely to their education; it being the custom to put a fellow more than three parts drunk on the horse's back, with a pair of sharp spurs and a cutting whip, who would take no refusal at any thing he put him at. Quitting Ireland, and we presume the army too, Nimrod made his appearance in Leicestershire in 1802, just at the close of the great Mr. Meynell's hunting career. "Casting over my boyish days," says he, in his "Hunting Reminiscences," written in 1843, "I will proceed to the first year of my visiting Leicestershire, which was in 1802, I believe; at all events it was the first year of Lord Sefton taking the Quorn hounds from Mr. Meynell, and I cannot do better than commence with Mr. Meynell himself." He then goes on to describe a run, during which he rode alongside this pattern for fox-hunters, and had his figure before him in his mind's eye. "He rode a strong black horse, possessing twice the speed he appeared to have, and of course a perfect fencer; indeed, I saw his rider charge a very fair brook just before the finish, scarcely appearing to look at it, his attention being riveted to the hounds, which he was frequently heard to cheer. Although forty-one years ago, I have a good recollection of his face, and still better of his person; his gray locks more than peeping from under his black cap, and his keen, ay, piercing eye; I remember also that he sat rather on one side on his saddle, as if he had one stirrup shorter than another, and was without spurs, but kept kicking his horse's sides with his heels, not at all afraid of going the pace over all kinds of ground. His appearance was extremely sportsmanlike." Nimrod then took Bilton Hall, near Rugby, in Warwickshire, formerly the residence of Addison, where he cultivated the chase very assiduously; Bilton being within reach of five packs of fox-hounds. Here he remained, we believe, the greater part of twenty years, when he removed to Beaupaire, Hampshire, close to the Vine, the residence of the late Mr. Chute, thirty years member for the county, and owner of a capital pack of hounds. Nimrod's first acquaintance with this gentleman and removal into Hampshire is so quaintly told by him, that we may as well continue his memoir in his own words. "My first acquaintance with Mr. Chute," writes Nimrod, "was by accident, for although I had heard of him and his hounds, I never crossed him in my path till I went from London, in the spring of 1822, to look at the house I afterwards lived in in Hampshire; and in returning from an inspection of it to a post-chaise that was waiting for me in a lane, I saw a person tit-up-ing along on a little brown hackney, in rather a shabby surtout, with saddle, bridle, hat and boots, all a dead match. Now to tell the real truth, when he approached me, I took him for the parish-doctor; but the sight of his pig-tail, in addition to a slight bow that he honoured me with en passant, convinced me of the fact. Seeing him then open the gate that led to Beaupaire House, I ventured to holloa him back, when he instantly pulled up his horse. 6 "Pray, sir,' said I, can you give me any account of this house, for there is no one here but a drunken keeper who can tell me any thing about it?' "What, sir!' said he, have you a mind to take it?' “I told him such was my wish. "Are you a sportsman?' said he, looking at my boots and breeches, in which I chanced to be clad. "A bit of one,' was my reply. “Then take it, sir,' said he, emphatically, you will be within half a mile of the best pack of fox-hounds in England.' 666 "My God!' said I, is it Mr. Chute whom I have the honour of addressing, and with whom I have taken this liberty.' "WILLIAM CHUTE IS THE MAN,' replied he. I am going to see two puppies that are at walk, but I will overtake you directly, and you must call and see my hounds.' * * * * "In three weeks from this time," continues Nimrod, "I became a |