was a little piqued when we first met at Don-caster.
Very natural! Very flattering! I should have been piqued. Certainly,
I behaved decidedly ill. But how, in the name of Heaven, was I to know
that she was the brightest little being that ever breathed! Well, I am
here now! She has got her wish. And I think an evident alteration has
already taken place. But she must not melt too quickly. She will not;
she will do nothing but what is exquisitely proper. How I do love this
child! I dote upon her very image. It is the very thing that I have
always been wanting. The women call me inconstant. I have never been
constant. But they will not listen to us without we feign feelings, and
then they upbraid us for not being influenced by them. I have sighed, I
have sought, I have wept, for what I now have found. What would she give
to know what is passing in my mind! By Heavens! there is no blood in
England that has a better chance of being a Duchess!'

CHAPTER XI.

_Le Roi S'Amuse_

A CANTER is the cure for every evil, and brings the mind back to itself
sooner than all the lessons of Chrysippus and Crantor. It is the only
process that at the same time calms the feelings and elevates the
spirits, banishes blue devils and raises one to the society of 'angels
ever bright and fair.' It clears the mind; it cheers the heart. It is
the best preparation for all enterprises, for it puts a man in good
humour both with the world and himself; and, whether you are going to
make a speech or scribble a scene, whether you are about to conquer the
world or yourself, order your horse. As you bound along, your wit will
brighten and your eloquence blaze, your courage grow more adamantine,
and your generous feelings burn with a livelier flame. And when the
exercise is over the excitement does not cease, as when it grows from
music, for your blood is up, and the brilliancy of your eye is fed by
your bubbling pulses. Then, my young friend, take my advice: rush into
the world, and triumph will grow out of your quick life, like Victory
bounding from the palm of Jove!

Our Duke ordered his horses, and as he rattled along recovered from the
enervating effects of his soft reverie. On his way home he fell in with
Mr. Dacre and the two Baronets, returning on their hackneys from a hard
fought field.

'Gay sport?' asked his Grace.

'A capital run. I think the last forty minutes the most splitting thing
we have had for a long time!' answered Sir Ch