Sir Harry Mainwaring was another of these antediluvian worthies and wonders. He took the direction of the hounds after the death of Sir Peter. He was a hard rider, and loved his glass of port after the fatigues of the day. At one time his constitution was supposed to be somewhat shaken by these combined labours of love, and his medical adviser was called in. “Sir,” said the doctor, “you are overtaxing your strength in every way. You should go out with the hounds one day less each week; and you must reduce your allowance of wine. You are destroying the coats of your stomach.” “Then, hang me, doctor, if I do not fight in out in my _waistcoat_,” said the quaint, eccentric old baronet. And truly, medical science was baffled in this instance; for, instead of following the advice of the physician, he added another to his hunting days per week, and doubled his portion of wine, laughed at the doctor, and grew fat and strong. And let us add another story about Sir Harry. It speaks for his heart, and deserves to be told. He called at Hoo-green one day to return a bad five pound note which he had received from the innkeeper at his last visit. “I hope,” he said, “that it will be no loss to you, and that you know from whom you received it?” “Oh yes! Sir Harry, it’s all right; I took it from Mr. —,” he answered, naming a poor curate in the neighbourhood. They were standing by the fire, and Sir Harry had still the note in his hand. In an instant it was torn to fragments and in the flames, while he said, “Poor fellow! I can stand the loss of it better than he can; and see that you don’t make him uncomfortable by telling him anything about it. He might feel uneasy at being in any way obliged to me;” and in another moment he was on horseback and galloping down the lane. Honour to the memory of this brave old baronet! In this one act, so beautifully done, there was a combination of pure benevolence and true delicacy of feeling which could not possibly be surpassed. It could not have been done more kindly; it could not have been done more gracefully. The heart of the wild huntsman was in its right place. CHAPTER XXIV.