2 2 Tom Tootler. 



time with Lord Daisyfield. After serving four years 

 in that capacity, it happened that the huntsman died. 

 Tom was installed at once in his place, and there he has 

 been ever since. 



"And now, sir," says Tom, as we bring ourselves to 

 anchor in his snug parlour, and his neat servant-maid 

 appears with a brown jug and glasses, " try a glass of the 

 ale. I think you'll say that it ain't the washin' from brew- 

 ers' aprons as some of the stuff they sell nowadays, is — 

 indeed it's some Mr. Maltby, the brewer, gave me at 

 Christmas-time, Squire." 



The ale fully comes up to Tom's opinion of it, and 

 then ensues a delightful conversation about hunting, 

 nowhere to be arrived at to such perfection as in a hunts- 

 man's parlour. Now Tom relates some old story ; then 

 we recall to him some reminiscence of bygone days. 

 Tom calls to mind another, then we strike in once more, 

 and so on. 



" Eh," says Tom, after a pause, " Eh, I was glad to see 

 Squire Curzon looking so well the other day, when he 

 was staying with my lord. I didn't know he was there 

 until he come up to me at the meet at the Cross-roads last 

 Toosday, and said, in his hearty way, 'How are ye, Tom?' 

 I hadn't seen him since I hunted them stag-hounds years 

 ao-o. What a rare sort he was to be sure ! and tny I 

 didn't he ride in those days ! His brothers, too — three 

 on 'em there was ; it's hard to say which was the best 

 on 'em, but I think, p'raps, the Parson was the neatest 

 of the lot — him as rode in the Liverpool Steeplechase a 

 time or two, as you may perhaps recollect. Squire. 

 But, Lor', they was all first rate. The worst of 'em, if 

 there was a worst, was good enough to see a run out in 



