phisticated in sporting matters, though they may not think it prudent to exclaim "I smell a fox," as the peculiar odour crosses their noses on the pure air of a hunting morning, yet never assign the effluvia to any other thing; while in the matter of roast goose, the veriest ignoramus has no hesitation about it.

It so happened that Mr. Scott winded the savoury bird ere he viewed the buildings at the back of Jollyrise Farm, which are shut out from view at the back approach by a row of gigantic hollies, then in the full luxuriance of the deepest green and the reddest berries.

"I smell goose!" exclaimed Scott, at the turn of the road.

"You may say that," replied Trumper, "four on 'em, I expect.

"You go the whole hog in the goose way, observed Scott.

"A goose to two's the allowance," replied Trumper; "there'll hardly be that to-day; but you needn't make yourself uneasy on that score, there'll be plenty for us all."

The out-buildings, forming an ample square at the back of Jollyrise House, were like Mr. Trumper himself-large, roomy, and substantial. The beasts in the fold-yards revelled in the cleanest straw, and if there was the slightest smell of any sort, it was entirely overpowered by that of roast goose.

What surprised Mr. Scott most was some half

dozen gigs and dog-carts, all drawn up under a shed on entering.

"What do you do with so many gigs, Mr. Trumper?" asked he. Before, however, he had time to get an answer, the trampling of the horses' feet drew out as many attendant clowns, who forthwith assisted their masters to alight. They had brought their" drinking carts," as they call them, in exchange for their hunters.

After a bucket of gruel a-piece, the latter took their departures home. Trumper, having boxed Golumpus, proceeded to cast an eye round the buildings to see that all was right.

"Come, Tom, come!" exclaimed Mrs. Trumper from the long staircase window commanding the landing and angle of the staircase, in which she now appeared full length, in a black silk gown and cherry-coloured ribbons to her cap, looking most blooming and buxom. "Come, Tom, come!" repeated she, as she saw her husband wandering from filly to foal and from heifer to cow.

They all then made for the back kitchen, where towels and basons, and boot-jacks and slippers waited their pleasure, superintended by a nice freshlooking maid, in a blue cotton gown, with crisp cork-screw ringlets dangling down the sides of her merry healthy cheeks.

The party were presently divested of their tops, and now appeared in most comfortable woollens

and slippers. After running the joint stock comb through the lightish crops of straggling hair, they waddled into the parlour, where they were greeted by the "missis."

This was a low wainscoted room, situate on the right of the front door on entering, with one window looking to the south and the other to the east, the latter commanding a view of the twisting Auborn water, and the well-wooded Greyridge Hills beyond. The walls were profusely decorated with hare hunts in every stage and variation of the sport, from the turn out from the kennels down to "Who whoop!" There were hares sitting, and hares running, and hounds finding their own hares, and people finding the hares for them, and hounds hunting, and hounds viewing, and hounds at fault, and hounds hitting her off again, and hounds running into her, and hounds catching her, and hounds baying her.

Then there were stuffed hares in cases on the mantel-piece and about the broad skirting boards of the walls, with inscriptions detailing the exploits of each, and sometimes the names of the favoured few who were out. Long before Scott had made the circuit of the room, however, the well roasted geese came hissing in hot from the spit, and each man paired off with a partner for one.

The Rev. Timothy Goodman having said grace, they all set to with the most rapacious and vigorous determination.

For people who are fond of goose (and who is not?) a greater treat could not be devised. There was no taking the edge of the appetite off with soup, or fish, or patties, or cutlets, or side dishes of any sort; but they sat down to dine off the one thing they expected. This, too, was done in the fairest, most equitable way imaginable; for instead of a favoured few getting the breast and tit-bits, leaving nothing but gristly drumsticks for late comers, each man had his own half goose, and could take whatever part he liked first, without eating in haste and fear that the next favoured cut would be gone ere he could get at it again. All, too, dining off goose, and eating most profusely of stuffing, none could reproach the other with "smelling of onions."

Silence appeared to be the order of the day both morning and evening, for with the exception of a voice occasionally hallooing out "Beer!" scarce a word passed, until the dishes presented a most beggarly account of bones. Beer they might call it, and beer it might look like, being both light and bright, but it was uncommonly strong and heady to take.

Let the French talk of their vin ordinaire or pure St. Julien claret, with considerable body, at 28s. a dozen what is it when compared with the vin ordinaire, the malt and hops wine of old England? -a quart of Trumper's beer would sew up the best Frenchman that ever was seen. We are quite sure we have tasted bottled ale that would be prized

before champagne if it was only as dear. How few people appreciate still champagne! It is the fiz, the рор, and the cream that makes sparkling champagne such a favourite, and good bottled ale has all those concomitants.

Trumper, having made a most exemplary onslaught on his half goose, and washed it down with many potations of malt liquor, at last threw himself back in his semicircular chair, and bellowed out the word "BRANDY." Mrs. Trumper immediately dived into her pocket, and beckoning to the maid, gave her the key of a cupboard formed of one corner of the room, from whence she produced a most liberal sized blue glass spirit stand with the names, "HOLLANDS," "RUM," "BRANDY," in gilt letters round the bottle necks.

"Take a thimbleful of brandy, Mr. Scott, after your goose," said Trumper, appealing to our friend; and forthwith the little maid brought him a large wine glass on a papier mâché stand with a hare painted on the bottom, and proceeded to help him. "Stop!" exclaimed Scott, when she had got it half filled.

"NAY," roared Trumper in disgust, "what's the top of the glass made for, d'ye think?—fill it up, woman "—and the woman did fill it up.

"I drink to you," said Trumper, tossing off a like quantity with the most perfect ease.

"Mild as milk," observed he, smacking his lips as he put down the glass.