poacher makes up for it by taking poultry, or any thing else he can lay his hands on. We hear too every day, how poaching leads on to deeds of violence, and even of bloodshed, in the conflicts which it occasions with the men, whose duty it is to protect the game. In short, John, poaching is wrong in itself; it leads a man into a lawless way of life, and frequently is the beginning of all kinds of wickedness."

Young Wildgoose felt that there was much truth in what Mr. Hooker said; and though the pride, or stubbornness of his character would not allow him to acknowledge it at the time, yet when he came to reflect on it after the clergyman was gone, he pretty much determined within himself that he would give up the sinful and dangerous practice into which he had been drawn. Perhaps some private reason came in aid of his good resolution. He stuck to his work; kept away from the Fighting Cocks; and avoided the company of Will Atkins and his old associates. His mother observed the alteration in his conduct with heartfelt pleasure. From the odd temper of her son, she thought it might be prudent not to say much about it: but she was particularly kind in her manner to him, and did all that she could to make his home comfortable. Young Wildgoose felt this as he ought, and for some time every thing went on well.

Unhappily one evening in November, as John was returning from his work, he accidentally fell in with his old companion Atkins: "Why, Jack," cried he, "what have you been doing with yourself? We never see thee among us now; and many a merry night have we had. What has made thee so shy of late?" Wildgoose told him that he was going to turn over a new leaf, and had given up poaching. "Well now, I'm sorry for that; but still that's no reason why you should'nt now and then join a friend or two over a pot of beer; so come along with me to Tomkins's. He'll be quite glad to see thee again." John refused with some steadiness, but Atkins said so much, with a sort of good-humoured raillery, that at last he gave way. In one pot of ale he thought there could be no harm.

At the Fighting Cocks they found four or five of Will Atkins's particular friends sitting round the fire. They had not been drinking much, seemed sociable and friendly, and talked about any thing that came uppermost. Wildgoose soon went beyond the quantity, to which he had stinted himself; when all at once Atkins called out, "Come now, Jack, do tell us what could possess you to give up sporting. You used to take as much pleasure in it as any gentleman in the land." John was taken by surprise, and did not well know what to answer. At length he fairly acknowledged that he gave it up in consequence of what Mr. Hooker had said to him. "Well now, that is too bad," said Will, "I thought that you had been a lad of too much spirit to be talked over by a parson. I concluded that you had some real good reason, and never should have guessed that you had nothing more to say for yourself than that." John replied, that Mr. Hooker spoke very kindly to him; and that in what he said, he seemed to have both sense and Scripture on his side. "Scripture!" exclaimed Bob Fowler, "why sure enough Jack Wildgoose is turned methodist." They all laughed heartily at the joke, and went on for some time bantering Wildgoose upon his being so straight-laced. Jack never could stand being laughed at. He had not resolution enough to hold fast his integrity, when his integrity exposed him to ridicule. He did not remember the words of the prophet, Fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be afraid of their revilings: nor those of our Saviour, Whosoever shall be ashamed of me and of my words—that is, ashamed of being religious, of being a Christian—in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him shall the Son of Man be ashamed when he cometh in his glory with his holy angels. In short, Atkins and his comrades plied Jack Wildgoose so successfully with ale and bantering, that he gave up his good resolutions, and agreed to accompany them on a scheme which they had already planned for making an attack upon Sir John's preserve. They sat drinking till past twelve o'clock at night, and then repaired by different roads to the scene of action.

It so happened, that the keepers had received some information, which had carried them to the opposite side of the manor. The gang, therefore, carried on their operations for some time without interruption; and when their firing had drawn the keepers towards them, one of the party, who had been posted on the look-out, contrived to give them a signal, so that they got away without difficulty. They returned to their rendezvous loaded with pheasants, for which Tomkins paid them a good price, with some gin into the bargain. They gave Wildgoose more than his fair share of the money by way of encouragement; and agreed to meet again on the following Thursday.

On that day they determined to try their luck in the wood which covers the north side of the hill, just at the outside of Sir John's park. The party consisted of Black Will, Bob Fowler, John Wildgoose, Tom Cade, and one more. Will and Bob were provided with guns; the rest had bludgeons, in order to assist them, in case of any interruption from the keepers. Atkins and Cade entered the wood from the park, and the three others a little lower down. Atkins had just fired at a pheasant, when one of the under keepers jumped up out of the ditch, and calling out, "Holloa! what are you at there?" ran to Atkins, and collared him. Tom, who was at a small distance behind a tree, immediately came to his friend's assistance, and a well aimed blow of his bludgeon laid the assailant at their feet. At this moment the head keeper and several of Sir John's men came up, and secured Tom. The other poachers were brought by the noise to the field of battle, and attempted to rescue their comrade; but as Fowler was aiming a blow at the man who had hold of him, one of Sir John's garden men struck him on the right arm, just above the elbow, with such tremendous force, that the bone was broken. The poachers, who before had begun to find that the keepers were too many for them, immediately ran, leaving Bob wounded, and Tom a prisoner. The former, in consequence of the hurt which he had received, was allowed to return to his family; but Tom was carried off to a magistrate, and then to gaol, in order to take his trial at the ensuing Quarter Sessions. The other three, when they found themselves safe from pursuit, slackened their pace. Will first broke silence, by exclaiming, "A pretty business we have made of it to-night. Well, we can't always manage as we did last week; but I hate to go home empty-handed." They were now passing through the orchard at the back of Farmer Dobson's house, when Will spied some turkeys, which had imprudently chosen to roost in the trees, instead of going into the poultry house. The opportunity was tempting; and for want of other game, Will twitched two of them from their branch, and carried them off so quietly, that the farmer's dog did not utter a single bark. Wildgoose was a good deal shocked at this. In the pursuit of game, though illegal, he thought there was something spirited and manly; but revolted at the idea of stealing. What Mr. Hooker had said on the tendency of poaching to lead on to other crimes occurred to him. He ventured to remonstrate; but Will answered, "Why, what's the harm? The old fellow is rich enough, and can well spare a turkey or two. If I had left them, they would only have bought a little more finery for his daughters." John still persisted that stealing was dishonourable, but his comrade replied, "Come, come, let's have no more