THE MASTER AT COTTONWOOL'S 19 



and muddings of the morning, all tend to make a 

 man enjoy the comforts of home and the pleasure of 

 female society in the evening : 



"Domus et placens uxor." 

 " Thy home, and in the cup of life, 

 That honey-drop, thy pleasing wife," 



as those few Latin words have been skilfully rendered 

 by some talented linguist, with the skill of our friend, 

 Bob Chalkup, the milkman, who can make a quart 

 of milk out of a pint, but to make the foregoing 

 fine jingle of words run right for the foxhunter, the 

 "placens uxor" should always have breakfast ready 

 in good time, and plenty of lambs' wool and fleecy 

 hosiery before the fire, against her swain comes home. 

 Confound it, there are very few of those sort of 

 "uxors" now-a-days. Old Mrs. Pigskin is the only 

 one we know of, but she belongs to a generation far 

 removed in the distance. She can't work pheasants 

 in floss silk ! Some old sour grapers object to fox- 

 hunters, because they sometimes take a nap after 

 dinner. Suppose they do, what then ? They most 

 likely have said their say, and surely it's far better for 

 a man to go to sleep than to talk nonsense, or say 

 the same thing over and over again. Take our 

 advice, fair ladies. If it should ever be your luck to 

 have to choose between a foxhunter and a fiddler 

 which latter comprises all people who are not fox- 

 hunters choose the foxhunter. Not one of your 

 pretty fellows, who come home clean and unspecked 

 by luncheon time, but a regular sport-loving cock, 

 who would rather lose his dinner than the end of a 

 run. Don't mind what spiteful old maids say about 

 their habits and propensities. If you wait till you 

 get a man whom all the world will praise, you'll 

 remain single to the end of the chapter. 



The young lady of forty's reply, that a bad husband 

 was a deal better than none, was a very sensible 





