in THE FH \T1XG FIELD 



squeeze of the hand from Smashgate than a black and white 

 offer from Fribbleton Brown. Spite of what old mother 

 Cottonwool says, we will lay "copious odds" — as old 

 Crockey used to saj', that she would give old Caudle 

 Cottonwool a hint that things were " going on right," and 

 take all the credit to herself too. Cruel Smashgate, however, 

 has not come. 



While nibbing our pen, we have been casting about to see if 

 we could recollect any instance, among our numerous ac- 

 quaintance, of a bad foxhunter husband, and we are happy to 

 say we have drawn the cover blank. We have, to be sure, 

 fallen in with fellows in red coats, who have been anything 

 but what thej' ought, but we can conscientiously say that we 

 have never known any man worthy the name of a sportsman, 

 who was not a good fellow. Indeed, were we a young lad}-, 

 we would pick a foxhunter for preference. Their coats may 

 not be quite so glittering as the laced jacket of a soldier, nor 

 may they be quite such good hands at dancing the polka, but, 

 for the real steady comfort and enjoyment of life they beat 

 them by chalks. Besides, war's alarms are trying, soldiers 

 are very apt to shut up shop when they get married ; and, 

 if they don't, why even a child tires of looking at the same 

 dressed doll. 



A pleasant poet, whose name we forget — indeed we are not 

 quite sure that we ever had the pleasure of his personal 

 acquaintance — wrote something about something, and 



— " Unclouded ray, 



Making to-morrow pleasant as to-day." 



The compliment, we believe, was turned for the ladies, but 

 we are going to " diwide it,"' as the dentist said, when he 

 threw the bucket of dirty water over the blind fiddlers. 



We should say, that a foxhunter and his wife can not onl}' 

 make to-morrow cheerful as to-day, but they can make winter 



