chief in the sixth and last.

"Nothing like method in this world," said Harry, clapping his
low-crowned broad-brimmed mohair cap upon his head; "take my word for it.
Now, Tim, what have you got in the bag?"

"A bottle of champagne, sur," answered Tim, who was now employed
slinging a huge fustian game-bag, with a net-work front, over his right
shoulder, to counterbalance two full shot-belts which were already
thrown across the other--"a bottle of champagne, sur--a cold roast
chicken--t' Cheshire cheese--and t' pilot biscuits. Is your dram-bottle
filled wi' t' whiskey, please sur?"

"Aye, aye, Tim. Now let loose the dogs--carry a pair of couples and a
leash along with you; and mind you, gentlemen, Tim carries shot for all
hands; and luncheon--but each one finds his own powder, caps, &c.; and
any one who wants a dram, carries his own--the devil a-one of you gets a
sup out of my bottle, or a charge out of my flask! That's right, old
Trojan, isn't it?" with a good slap on Tom's broad shoulder.

"Shot! Shot--why Shot! don't you know me, old dog?" cried Tom, as the
two setters bounded into the room, joyful at their release--"good dog!
good Chase!" feeding them with great lumps of beef.

"Avast! there Tom--have done with that," cried Harry; "you'll have the
dogs so full that they can't run."

"Why, how'd you like to hunt all day without your breakfast--hey?"

"Here, lads! here, lads! wh-e-ew!" and followed by his setters, with his
gun under his arm, away went Harry; and catching up our pieces likewise,
we followed, nothing loth, Tim bringing up the rear with the two
spaniels fretting in their couples, and a huge black thorn cudgel, which
he had brought, as he informed me, "all t' way from bonny Cawoods."

It was as beautiful a morning as ever lighted sportsmen to their labors.
The dew, exhaled already from the long grass, still glittered here and
there upon the shrubs and trees, though a soft fresh south-western
breeze was shaking it thence momently in bright and rustling showers;
the sun, but newly risen, and as yet partially enveloped in the thin
gauze-like mists so frequent at that season, was casting shadows,
seemingly endless, from every object that intercepted his low rays, and
chequering the whole landscape with that play of light and shade, which
is the loveliest accessory to a lovely scene; and lovely was the scene,
indeed, as e'er was looked upon by painter's or by poet's eye--how then
should humble prose do j