COLONISING CROWN LANDS. 95 



the fall of the year, when the hunter's moon 

 was riding to the full. " No," he said, *' I've 

 been fairly fed up with mangold-wurzels. I've 

 had them every night for six weeks. Golden 

 Tankards, Yellow Globes, and Long Reds, and 

 as for their weights — Good Lord ! " — a pause 

 here which gave me to understand that no 

 angler's inn could possess a greater poetical 

 licence than his, and then with relief — 

 "Thank heaven, it's been foxes to-night." 



I naturally thought that it was an Agri- 

 cultural Society meeting in the coffee-room of 

 this Lincolnshire inn. I was mistaken. It was 

 a political association which shall be nameless. 



The landlady entered the room while 

 " Dates " were still being discussed, and osten- 

 tatiously placed a spittoon on the floor, a 

 proceeding which caused some slight embarrass- 

 ment in the turgid talk. At the same time 

 she summoned me to my supper, which was 

 laid in another room. 



" Did you take me ? " she said, pointing 

 to the coffee-room. 



" Who could help it. Who's the offender ? " 

 The spittoon was evidently intended for 

 some one who could not, hke Mark Twain's 

 hero, "judge his distance to an inch." 



