Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1899-11-19

to exercise all his prOverblal cunning
that he may escape the keen scent, and
long tireless lope. of his implacable
canine prosecutor.
In more sober phrase, it is morn
ing in that month when scub-hunting'
has commenced, and the cheerful wind
of the horn, with the startling tally
ho!" of the huntsman-Sounds sweet
to the ears of youthful England-are
heard by the covers side.
On this particular morn, the meet Is
to be in Beechwoods Park, on the lawn
stretching far in front of the dwelling
AS yet neither red-coats. nor spotted
molossians, shew on the green sward !;
for the hour has not yet arrived for
drawing open the doors of the kennels.
Only two hunters splendid animals,
showing best blood and breed-are led
by liviried ,grooms back and forth
along the gravelled sweep; one of them
carrying saddle with slippered stir
rup and crutch upon the pommel.
The lady who is to lay her limbs over
it is Mrs Nigel Harding; the Morse
with the fat "pigskin" being her hus-
bands The two are inside, still seated
at the breakfast table; a third individ-
ual-of course lady-doing the hon.
ours of the urn. Not Aunt Rachel, as
of yore; for the spinster has long since
disappeared from the place; having re-
tired to snuggery of her own, which
that little something promised and
left by her deceased brother, the GEN
eral. enables her without effort to
maintain.
She who now fills the place is a,differ-
emit parsonage. AS matter of course,
it is the Widow Mainwaring.
Nor is she a. mere cipher in the es-
tablishment-not she. On the contrary
to the eyes of the outside world she
might appear its mistress. So is she
in good many things-all that re-
lateS to its interior arrangements; hav-
ing the care of the keys, Harder and
cellar included. And a grand chatte-
laine she shews herself, high and
naughty as ever trod the. corridors, or
climbed the stairs, of baronial castle.
All this her daughter comedies to her,
but too glad to be let off from the petty
responsibilities of domestic life. Her
proper, or at all events chosen, sphere
IS the drawing room, or better still.
the ballroom; and 80 deeming it, she
leaves the duties of the dining room
with the cares Of the kitchen to her
mother
Dancing the beautiful Beele-for she
Is even yet beautiful-still delights in;
and does a good deal of it. Manv a.
mop has she in her own house: for
1t Is now emphatically hers, her Door
slave OF a husband having long since
surrendered all rights to it's ownership
or only exercises them in a meek. sub
missive way.
Were he to assert them often eivo,1,
or even firmly, he would as like as not
get cut from the whalebone riding
whip, or a clout from the gauntleted
glove, both of which lie upon the table
at ner elbow. For although at break
1ast-the meal little late-sbe is
dressed and caparisoned for the cub
hunt
outdoor sports she loves, equally as
wen as dancing; and hunting even bet
ter. But now she no longer n5ents
nerseH by driving to meets, and along
the roads in a pony phaeton with bow
IN buttons seated behind: but goes
boldly. into the field, and across coun-
try, on the showiest of horses. rides
handsomely up to the hounds. and can
take bullfinch with the most fearless
red-coat VINO follows them. Foxes have
on late become plentiful in the Beech
woods covers; and, of course. in an
inverse ratio, pheasants rare. For
Nigel Harding cares little for shooting
and she does not shoot at all. She
would If she dared; but society forbids
1t; for though this has of late been
rather indulgent to ladies, the gun ia
not yet CONNIE il fault.
OF all the three or four meals of the
day, there is none so pleasant-at least
to meas that matutinal. Life seems
to renew its diurnal lease, hopes are
high. happiness before, and misery cast
behind Above all is breakfast eniov-
able in country house Through your
window pours the sweet melody OF
birds; or, if in winter, you see them on
the lawn outside, stealing forth from
the eyergreens, their beautiful forms
magnified against the smooth sward
white with boar frost. And then there
Is the silver waiter-or it may be but
electroplate-at your elbow. loaded
with letters, and your favorite Metro
politan paper, just in from the post. A
motley and smouched pile it appears.
yet full of interest. prolific of news,
events, and emotions, from all of which
you anticipate pleasure-though not
sure but there may be also pain.
| Such a miscellaneous collection has
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