rascally vulpeci' spoils sport as he do, since he's been down in our
parts again. I'll take another brimmer, Mrs. Boulby."

"To be sure you will, Stephen," said Mrs. Boulby, bending as in a curtsey
to the glass; and so soft with him that foolish fellows thought her cowed
by the accusation thrown at her favourite.

"There's two questions about they valpecies, Master Stephen," said Farmer
Wainsby, a farmer with a grievance, fixing his elbow on his knee for
serious utterance. "There's to ask, and t' ask again. Sport, I grant ye.
All in doo season. But," he performed a circle with his pipe stem, and
darted it as from the centre thereof toward Stephen's breast, with the
poser, "do we s'pport thieves at public expense for them to keep
thievin'--black, white, or brown--no matter, eh? Well, then, if the
public wunt bear it, dang me if I can see why individles shud bear it. It
ent no manner o' reason, net as I can see; let gentlemen have their
opinion, or let 'em not. Foxes be hanged!"

Much slow winking was interchanged. In a general sense, Farmer Wainsby's
remarks were held to be un-English, though he was pardoned for them as
one having peculiar interests at stake.

"Ay, ay! we know all about that," said Stephen, taking succour from the
eyes surrounding him.

"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby.

"Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son,
farmer; or t' other way."

"I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more
straw in 'em than bow'ls."

"If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it,
hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"

"Hear, hear, Steeve!" was shouted in support of the Conservative
principle enunciated by him.

"What I say is, flesh and blood afore foxes!"

Thus did Farmer Wainsby likewise attempt a rallying-cry; but Stephen's
retort, "Ain't foxes flesh and blood?" convicted him of clumsiness, and,
buoyed on the uproar of cheers, Stephen pursued, "They are; to kill 'em
in cold blood's beast-murder, so it is. What do we do? We give 'em a fair
field--a fair field and no favour! We let 'em trust to the instincts
Nature, she's given 'em; and don't the old woman know best? If they cap,
get away, they win the day. All's open, and honest, and aboveboard. Kill
your rats and kill your rabbits, but leave foxes to your betters. Foxes
are gentlemen. You don't understand? Be hanged if they ain't! I like the
old fox, and I don't like