adventures which terminated in his safety."

Our work of criticism is at an end; not so our pleasure. We shall look
at this choice volume again and again; and as we have somewhat
arrogantly, and with a conceit of our ability and right so to do, taken
the Etching Club under our especial care, regard, and patronage, we
shall think ourselves at liberty to encourage and to exhort them
whenever we see fit. We therefore do exhort them to go on, to give a
taste for painters' etchings, to improve themselves, too; and let each
make it a rule to himself never to take the trouble to touch a subject
that is not worth doing; nor to tell a story not worth telling, however
such may seem to look pretty or with effect upon copper or paper; by all
means to avoid "annual sentimentalities," and commonplace "acting
charades;" and never to forget that expression is the soul of the art.
For the present, we dismiss them with thanks--like the prudent
physician, who, as Fielding says, always stands by to see nature work,
and contents himself by clapping her on the back, by way of approbation,
when she does well.




A LOVE-CHASE--IN PROSE.

CHAPTER I.


Bandvale Hall had lain empty for a long time--old Frank Edwards, so well
known as a sportsman, had been dead for eighteen years, his horses sold,
his kennels dismantled, and his son, after so absurdly long a minority,