WARWICK WOODLANDS. 175 



ter, very gravely — "fowl, pork or crackers? Here they are, 

 all of them! I prefer whiskey and water, myself 1" quali- 

 fying, as ho spoke, a moderate cup witli some of the ice- 

 cold water which welled out in a crystal stream from a 

 small ha sin under tlie wreathed roots of the sycamore 

 which overshadowed them. 



"None of your nonsense. Forester — hand us the liquor, 

 lad— I'm dry, I tell you!" 



"I wish you'd tell me something I don't know, then, if 

 you feel communicative; for I know that you're dry — 

 now and alwnys! Weill don't bo mad, old follow, here's 

 the bottle — don't empty it — that's all!" 



"Well! now I've drinked," said Tom, after a vast po- 

 tation, "now I've drinked g-ood — we'll have a bite and rest 

 awhile, and smoke a pipe; and then we'll use them quail, 

 and we'll have time to pick up twenty cock in Hell-hole 

 afterwards, and that won't be a slow day's work. I reckon." 



THE QUAIL. 



"Ckrtaixlv this is a very lovely country," exclaimed 

 the Commodore suddenly, as he gazed with a quiet eye, 

 puffing his cigar while, over the beautiful vale, with the 

 clear expanse of Wickham's Pond in the middle fore- 

 ground, and the wild hoary mountains framing the rich 

 landscape in the distance. 



"Truly, you may say that," replied Harry; " I have 

 travelled over a large part of the world, and for its own 

 peculiar style of loveliness, I must say that I never have 

 seen any thing to match with the vale of Warwick. I 

 would give much, very much, to own a few acres, and a 

 snug cottage here, in which I might pass the rest of my 

 days, far aloof from the 



Fumum et opes strepitumque Romse." 



"Then, why the h — 1 don't you own a few acres?" put 

 in ancient Tom; "I'd be right glad to know, and gladder 

 yit to have you up here. Archer." 



"I would indeed, Tom," answered Harry; " I'm not 

 joking at all; but there are never any small places to be 



