HORACE:

A NOVEL.

BY MATTHEW SETON,

Author of "Sidera," "The Love of Lennox," etc.

CHAPTER I.

THE CRADLE.

"First the babe,

Mewling and puking in its nurse's arms.”

As you Like It.

SIR HAROLD WINN sat toasting his toes before a huge fire in the library. It was Christmas Eve; the hour was about four o'clock, and as Sir Harold had not yet rung for the lamp, he sat in the twilight. The big flames, as they mounted up the chimney, created an expression on his face of high good-humour, and every now and then he would rub his hands up and down his knees with a chuckle to himself, which implied much gratification of some kind. At the same time, whenever the slightest sound outside the room attracted his attention, he turned round eagerly towards the door with a manifest look of anxiety and expectancy. Presently, his toes being sufficiently toasted, he rose from his chair and began to parade up and down the room, stopping occasionally to give himself a hearty slap on the thigh, and repeat, with a chuckle, the exclamation: "Gad! to think of it! Is it possible?" It is not for a moment to be assumed that, because of these singular demonstrations, the baronet was in the least degree of unsound mind. Sir Harold at this period was in ample possession of the mens sana in corpore sano; and, so far as was known, he had never been without that unspeakable advantage. He was a man of middle age, of middle height, and of military carriage; he was, indeed, a colonel in the British army. He had been through the Crimean campaigns, serving as aide-de-camp to Lord Raglan, and afterwards in the same capacity to that unfortunate commander's successors. He could tell of fearful battles, and of "hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach." He had seen the Alma forded, and its heights stormed; he had been present at the heroic struggle of the Guards at Inkermann, and had lost an arm in the act of delivering a message to Sir George Cathcart, just before that hero received his mortal wound. He had then been sent home to England with despatches. Sir Harold possessed a countenance of the best

military type; aquiline in form, and with every feature in pleasing proportion. Everyone was especially attracted by the sagacious and kindly grey eyes peeping from under thick and rugged brows. The hair on his face consisted merely of a short patch of crisp whisker on either cheek.

Sir Harold had again chuckled, again slapped his thigh, and once more exclaimed, "Gad! is it possible?" when the door was opened, and a venerable female domestic presented herself before him. "You may come, Sir Harold," she said, touching him on the loose sleeve of his lost arm. "It's all right, and her ladyship is doing beautiful.”

"Ha!" cried Sir Harold, cutting a caper in his glee. "You don't mean to say it's all over? But what is it, Mrs. Plumtree -what is it?"

"What is it, Sir Harold? Why, a boy, to be sure. What else did you think it could be ?"

"I thought, perhaps, it might be a girl," said the baronet humbly. "It sometimes is, is it not?"

"Never was

"Never!" said the housekeeper with emphasis. such a thing known in the Winn family as a girl for the first; any way since I've been connected with the house, and that's as you know, Sir Harold, since your grandfather's time. The first-born always ran in the male line."

"And the longer they keep that course the better," said Sir Harold, nearly capering over an arm-chair. "Ha, ha! So it's a boy? Is it possible?"

"It's the finest one I ever beheld in the whole course of my life, and that's saying a good deal, considering the many I've had in my arms," said Mrs. Plumtree. "He beats you out-and-out in point of bulk, Sir Harold. You were a mite of a thing when you came into the world. You may remember I was the first that had you in my arms.”

"No, I don't, Plumtree. I can't say that my recollection extends so far back," said Sir Harold, laughing; "but I believe every word you say, and I hope since that time I have grown on your acquaintance. Now, let us go and see the little chap."

"You must be very quiet, Sir Harold," said Mrs. Plumtree, as she preceded him along the corridor. "Step as still as a mouse; my lady or the infant may have fallen asleep; p'raps both."

Sir Harold followed in ecstasies of delight, muttering to himself, "Can it be possible? I'm the luckiest devil alive."

They entered a large bedroom, in the handsomely-curtained bed of which lay a lady of delicate loveliness, who looked about twenty. eight years of age. Her eyes were wide open, and the sweetest smile imaginable broke on her mouth as she saw her husband ap

proach. That gentleman crept up to the bedside on tip-toe, and pressed his lips to those of his wife as he whispered, "My precious Evelyn, how are you? and-and-oh! where is he?"

"Look," whispered his wife, turning her eyes on a pink-looking ball which lay cuddled up in her bosom, "Isn't he lovely?" "Is that him?" said Sir Harold, gazing intently on the little roll of humanity. "Dear me I could never have believed it.

Isn't he very small?"

"Small, Sir Harold !" cried Mrs. Plumtree. "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think you know what you are talking about. He's the finest babe of his age I ever set eyes on-in the Winn family, or any other either."

"But, Mrs. Plumtree, he isn't aged yet, you may say."

"Begging your pardon, Sir Harold, not a minute under a full hour. You should have seen yourself, Sir Harold. He's twice the size you were under a like predicament."

"I'm delighted to hear it," said the baronet; "and, of course, you know best about these things, Mrs. Plumtree. He certainly is a very fine-looking fellow," he continued, putting his glasses to his eye for a more minute inspection. "A brave-looking little fellow as it is possible to see. So admirably formed, too-eh, Evelyn ?"

"Darling, he's simply perfect," whispered his wife, throwing a beautiful white arm round her husband's neck as he bent down to speak to her.

"And you, dearest; how do you feel?"

"My darling, I couldn't feel happier. Of course I am a little weak just now, but that is to be expected."

"How do you consider Lady Winn is progressing, doctor," whispered Sir Harold to that gentleman, who was in the room. "Admirably, Sir Harold; but you musn't talk to her too much. She is doing famously.

"And the little fellow?"

"Equally well.

the world in my life.

Never brought a more creditable infant into
He's got a biceps already."

"And a pair of lungs, too, it seems," added Sir Harold, as at this moment the hope of the Winns awoke from his primal slumber with a vigorous squall.

"Dear me, what's the matter?" said his father.

"A capital sign," said the doctor. "Shows he's got plenty of lung play."

"He isn't ill?" asked Sir Harold, anxiously.

"No, Sir Harold, only desperately hungry; as well he may be," said Mrs. Plumtree shortly.

"Hungry!" exclaimed the baronet. "What! already?"

Why, to be sure, Sir Harold. Do you suppose he can live without eating, any more than yourself?"

"Bless his little stomach !'' remarked the nurse, who was assisting the new-born to get into a proper position for drawing the natural nutriment from his mother's breast.

"Ah! to be sure! I had forgotten," said Sir Harold. "His appetite seems good-eh, Mrs. Plumtree?"

"First-rate, Sir Harold. He takes his food as nimbly as a sucking calf.

"Bless his little mouth!" observed the nurse.

"Well, now, what's the matter?" said the baronet, as, the meal being accomplished, a second squall resounded through the "Is he dissatisfied or annoyed, or what?"

room.

"He only wants to be rocked a-bit; isn't that it, my sweet little beauty? Hush-sha-sha; tuc, tuc, tuc," said Mrs. Plumptree, as she lifted the young gentleman from the bed and placed him in the arms of the nurse.

"Bless his little 'eart!" remarked that person, dandling her charge backwards and forwards.

"Don't you think, Mrs. Plumtree, I might be allowed to hold him in my arms for a few seconds?" asked Sir Harold, with great deference.

"Did you ever nurse a baby before, Sir Harold?" said the housekeeper.

"I can't say I have, Mrs. Plumtree; but I will be most careful, I assure you. Recollect, it is my own offspring."

Jenks, give Sir Harold the baby," said Mrs. Plumtree, authoritatively. Jenks placed the infant carefully in the baronet's hands, who dandled it with great gravity for some moments in imitation of the nurse and Mrs. Plumtree. however, did not sem entirely to appreciate the fostering of the father, and proclaimed his uneasiness by pulling fearful faces and uttering a terrific yell.

The son,

"Good gracious, Mrs. Plumtree!" cried the baronet, hastily returning the babe to the arms of Jenks; "what is the matter with the child do you suppose? He seems to have taken a violent dislike to me. I do sincerely trust that it will not continue."

"You're not used to a babe, Sir Harold-that's it," said Mrs. Plumtree smiling. "They're a very delicate kind of furniture. There's a knack in nursing as well as in most things, but it's a knack you've yet to learn, Sir Harold."

"No doubt, Mrs. Plumtree. All I hope is he wont take a permanent antipathy to me; that, I think, would really break my heart."

"Bless his sweet little body from top to bottom," observed

Jenks, as she resumed the dandling process. "Mrs. Plumtree, do look at his precious toes; for all the world like pieces of carved wax-work."

Upon my soul, so they are," said Sir Harold, surveying the toes through his glasses. "Just like wax: most beautiful. What exquisite formation! I had no idea that an infant so young could be so complete."

"Sir Harold," said the doctor, "I must turn you out. My patient ought to have some sleep, and you talk a great deal too much; in fact, you have been here quite long enough."

"Certainly doctor, certainly. I wouldn't stay a moment longer on any account," said the baronet, bending over his wife and giving her a parting kiss. "Sleep long and well, dearest," he whispered, "and if you dream at all, dream of our sweet boy there."

"My Christmas present to you, Harold," smiled his wife. "Ah! that's his cradle, I suppose, Mrs. Plumtree?" said the baronet, pointing to an article of the kind standing near the bed.

His bassinet, Sir Harold," said the housekeeper with dignity. "It only came home last night, but I consider it a marvel of workmanship.'

"So it is, so it is," said Sir Harold. as he was leaving the room, "to think son and heir! Ha! ha!"

"Doctor," he whispered, of it! Is it possible? A

"Yes," muttered the doctor, as the door closed," and heir to something worth being heir to, which isn't always the case.

CHAPTER II.

LOVE AT SIGHT, AND A COUPLE OF TELEGRAMS

"Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love."

प्रभ

Locksley Hall.

SIR HAROLD WINN had been presented by his wife with a son and heir, and the doctor had correctly remarked that he really was heir to something. Dr. Roebuck knew very well that, if the young gentleman who had just made his appearance in this breathing world" only lived long enough, he would succeed to the paternal estate of Wintoun, the rent-roll of which was a full fifteen thousand a year. This, surely, was being born with a silver spoon in one's mouth; rather, let us say, a gold one. The Winn's were an ancient Warwickshire family; so ancient, indeed, that Sir Bernard Burke himself quite failed to get at their origin; for, after tracing them to the Roman invasion and establishing a relationship between them and Caractacus, he seemed to lose himself in the mists of antiquity, aud gave up all further research.