on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most accustomed to him. There
was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some
idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels for the purpose of
starting the game.

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, composed of Lady
Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parson, and a fat footman. Her
ladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while the general, mounted on
a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the most protecting
gallantry.

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, or rather
lagged behind, that I might take in the whole picture; and the parson
occasionally slackened his pace and jogged on in company with me.

The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a soft meadow
reeking with the moist verdure of spring. A little river ran through it,
bordered by willows, which had put forth their tender early foliage. The
sportsmen were in quest of herons, which were said to keep about this
stream.

There was some disputing already among the leaders of the sport. The
squire, Master Simon, and old Christy, came every now and then to a
pause, to consult together, like the field officers in an army; and I
saw, by certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive as any
old, wrong-headed German commander.

[Illustration: The Consultation in the Field]

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow every sound we made was
answered by a distinct echo from the sunny wall of an old building that
lay on the opposite margin of the stream; and I paused to listen to the
"spirit of a sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful
places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient
grange, and was supposed by the country people to be haunted by a
dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Robin-Goodfellow. They
often fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answering them, and
were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, that the squire
was very careful of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected
with it. As I considered this local habitation of an "airy nothing," I
called to mind the fine description of an echo in Webster's Duchess of
Malfy:

--"'Yond side o' th' river lies a wall,
Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
Gives the best echo that you have ever heard:
So plain in the distinction of our words
That many have supposed i