m of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very
summit of Snowdon, or the brow of Penmanmawr. Ever since the squire
received this invaluable present he has been as impatient to sally forth
and make proof of it as was Don Quixote to assay his suit of armour.
There have been some demurs as to whether the bird was in proper health
and training; but these have been overruled by the vehement desire to
play with a new toy; and it has been determined, right or wrong, in
season or out of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to-morrow.

The Hall, as usual, whenever the squire is about to make some new sally
on his hobby, is all agog with the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought
up in reverence for all her guardian's humours, has proposed to be of
the party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out to the
scene of action and looking on. This has gratified the old gentleman
extremely; he hails it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry,
and does not despair but the time will come when it will be again the
pride of a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a
parrot or a lapdog.

I have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that busy spirit,
Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he receives from that
genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had half a dozen
consultations about how the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's
sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master
Simon has invariably given up the point, observing in a good-humoured
tone, "Well, well, have it your own way, Christy; only don't put
yourself in a passion;" a reply which always nettles the old man ten
times more than ever.

[Illustration: "Well, well, have it your own way, Christy!"]

[Illustration: Hawking]

HAWKING.

The soaring hawk, from fist that flies,
Her falconer doth constrain
Sometimes to range the ground about
To find her out again;
And if by sight, or sound of bell,
His falcon he may see,
Wo ho! he cries, with cheerful voice--
The gladdest man is he.

HANDEFULL OF PLEASANT DELITES.

At an early hour this morning the Hall was in a bustle, preparing for
the sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling and singing under
my window at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk's
legs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of one of his
favourite old ditties:

"In peascod time, when houn