"Mr. Dixon, as a parent and a landlord," remarked Mrs. Sykes, closing her eyes, and having a visionary Edward Dixon of the Lion before her, in a helpless, maudlin state of intoxication, " ought to have known better."

"We all ought to do that, Betsy," replied Job. At least," continued he, "all those who have had the chance of learning. There's a few who, when condemned for bad conduct, can say that they never knew what better was; and in these cases I've often thought the fault didn't enriely lie at their doors, but perhaps in a great degree with those who sat in judgment upon them, and who considered themselves their betters."

Finding that Job was getting prosy, Mrs. Sykes gave no reply, except in the doubtful and equivocal exclamations of "Ha! Well-aday! Humph!" and in silence permitted her spouse to commence his toilet.

"The sun is somewhat gaudy," said Job,

looking round, as he stretched his head out of the window, and inhaled the cool, refreshing breeze, as it fanned against his brow, laden with the fragrance of dew-lipped violets and primroses, and all the welcome blossoms of the spring. "But the wind," continued he,

" isn't half a point from due south."

"The freshest of the morning to you, father," cried a voice. "How's your head?"

Upon peering through the tendrils of the ivy and woodbine twining themselves in luxuriant thickness over and about the entrance to the cottage, Job caught a glimpse of the form of his son just emerging from the door

way.

"Ah, James, my boy!" returned the hunts"is that you?"

man,

"A tolerably good resemblance if not the genuine individual,” replied James, laughing. "But how's your head?" repeated he.

"Not quite so clear as I could wish it," returned Job; "but after a good breakfast and a

cup of ale I shall be as fresh as a trout just hooked."

"You needn't come to the kennel first," rejoined the whipper-in. "I'll see that all's right there; and so let your thoughts be turned to making yourself fresh and comfortable."

"If Purity shows any footsoreness, draft her," said the huntsman, "for it won't do to take a lame hound out with us on the last day of the season."

"A lame 'un," responded James, "couldn't live with us to-day if I'm not out of my judgment."

"You think the scent'll be tip-top, eh?" "A burning one," replied the whipper-in. "I'm rather doubtful o' that," rejoined Job; "the sun's too bright, and the wet hangs on the grass like tears on a child's face."

"But the wind's soft," added the whipper

in," and there'll be but little of the dew, ex

cept in the valleys, by the time we throw

off."

66

66

Well, well!" said Job, we shall see.

Get thee gone, lad-get thee gone."

CHAPTER III.

"Thy hounds shall make thew elkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth."

NOT one with pure English blood flowing through his veins-let him be the veriest cockney never without his land-mark of St. Paul's being in view-but must have felt a glow of pleasure as he joined the meet at Lary'shollow. It was the last fixture for the season; for the Squire would not run the risk of killing a vixen later than March; and he was one of those possessing antiquated notions relating to the preservation of foxes, as well as to their fair destruction, and considered the interest of the occupier of the soil of too much import