was
always a dinner the day before hunting--a dinner that, somehow, was served
up in Mr. Waffles's rooms, who was allowed the privilege of paying for all
those who did not pay for themselves; rather a considerable number, we
believe.

The best of everything being good enough for the guests, and profuse
liberality the order of the day, the cloth generally disappeared before a
contented audience, whatever humour they might have set down in. As the
least people can do who dine at an inn and don't pay their own shot, is to
drink the health of the man who does pay, Mr. Waffles was always lauded and
applauded to the skies--such a master--such a sportsman--such
knowledge--such science--such a pattern-card. On this occasion the toast
was received with extra enthusiasm, for the proposer, Mr. Caingey Thornton,
who was desperately in want of a mount, after going the rounds of the old
laudatory course, alluded to the threatened vapourings of the stranger, and
expressed his firm belief that he would 'meet with his match,' a 'taking of
the bull by the horns,' that met with very considerable favour from the
wine-flushed party, the majority of whom, at that moment, made very
'small,' in their own minds, of the biggest fence that ever was seen.

There is nothing so easy as going best pace over the mahogany.

Mr. Waffles, who was received with considerable applause, and patting of
the table, responded to the toast in his usual felicitous style, assuring
the company that he lived but for the enjoyment of their charming society,
and that all the money in the world would be useless, if he hadn't Laverick
Wells to spend it in. With regard to the vapourings of a 'certain
gentleman,' he thought it would be very odd if some of them could not take
the shine out of him, observing that 'Brag' was a good dog, but 'Holdfast'
was a better, with certain other sporting similes and phrases, all
indicative of showing fight. The steam is soon got up after dinner, and as
they were all of the same mind, and all agreed that a gross insult had
been offered to the hunt in general, and themselves in particular, the only
question was, how to revenge it. At last they hit upon it. Old Slocdolager,
the late master of the hunt, had been in the habit of having Tom Towler,
the huntsman, to his lodgings the night before hunting, where, over a glass
of gin-and-water, they discussed the doings of the day, and the general
arrangements of the country.

Mr. Waffles had h