20 WARWICK WOODLANDS. 



An old-fashioned round table, covered with clean white linen 

 of domestic manufacture, displayed the noble round of beef 

 which we had brought up with us, flanked by a platter of mag- 

 nificent potatoes, pouring forth volumes of dense steam through 

 the cracks in their dusky skins ; a lordly dish of butter, that 

 might have pleased the appetite of Sisera; while eggs and 

 ham, and pies of apple, mince-meat, cranberry, and custard, oc- 

 cupied every vacant space, save where two ponderous pitchers, 

 mantling with ale and cider, and two respectable square bot- 

 tles, labelled "Old Rum" and " Brandy 181 7," relieved the 

 prospect. Before we had sat down, Timothy entered, bearing 

 a horse bucket filled to the brim with ice, from whence pro- 

 truded the long necks and split corks of three champagne 

 bottles. 



" Now, Tim," said Archer, " get your own supper, when 

 you've finished with the cattle; feed the dogs well to-night; 

 and then to bed. And hark you, call me at five in the morn- 

 ing; we shall want you to carry the game-bag and the drinka- 

 bles ; take care of yourself, Tim, and good night !" 



" No need to tell him that," cried Tom, " he 's something 

 like yourself; / tell you, Archer, if Tim ever dies of thirst, it 

 must be where there is nothing wet, but water !" 



" Now hark to the old scoundrel, Frank," said Archer, " hark 

 to him pray, and if he doesn't out-eat both of us, and out-drink 

 anything you ever saw, may I miss my first bird to-morrow 

 that's all ! Give me a slice of beef, Frank ; that old Goth 

 would cut it an inch thick, if 1 let him touch it ; out with a 

 cork, Tom ! Here's to our sport to-morrow !" 



" Uh ; that goes good !" replied Tom, with an oath, which, 

 by the apparent gusto of the speaker, seemed to betoken that 

 the wine had tickled his palate u that goes good ! that's dif- 

 ferent from the darned red trash you left up here last time." 



"And of which you have left none, I'll be bound," answered 

 Archer, laughing ; " my best Latour, Frank, which the old infi- 

 del calls trash." 



" It's all below, every bottle of it," answered Tom : " I 

 wouldn't use such rot-gut stuff, no, not for vinegar. 'Taint 

 half so good as that red sherry you had up here oncet ; that 

 was poor weak stuff, too, but it did well to make milk punch 

 of; it did well instead of milk." 



" Now, Frank," said Archer, " you won't believe me, that I 

 know ; but it's true, all the same. A year ago, this autumn, I 



