Well now, after all that, we fancy we hear our fair friends exclaim, ‘Thank goodness, there’s an end of Lord Scamperdale and his hunting; he has had a good run, and will rest quiet for a time; we shall now hear something of Amelia and Emily, and the doings at Jawleyford Court.’ Mistaken lady! If you are lucky enough to marry an out-and-out fox-hunter, you will find that a good run is only adding fuel to the fire, only making him anxious for more. Lord Scamperdale’s sporting fire was in full blaze. His bumps and his thumps, his rolls, and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties and perfections of the thing. He cared nothing for his hat-crown, no; nor for his coat-lap either. Nay, he wouldn’t have cared if it had been made into a spencer.

‘What’s today? Monday,’ said his lordship, answering himself. ‘Monday,’ he repeated; ‘Monday -- bubble- and-squeak, I guess -- sooner it’s ready the better, for I’m half famished -- didn’t do half justice to that nice breakfast at Springy’s. That nasty brown-booted buffer completely threw me off my feed. By the way, what became of the chestnut-booted animal?’

‘Went home,’ replied Jack; ‘fittest place for him.’

‘Hope he’ll stay there,’ rejoined his lordship. ‘No fear of his being at the roads tomorrow, is there?’

‘None,’ replied Jack. ‘I told him it was quite an impossible distance from him, twenty miles at least.’

‘That’s grand!’ exclaimed his lordship; ‘that’s grand! Then we’ll have a rare, ding-dong hey-away pop. There’ll be no end of those nasty, jealous, Puffington dogs out; and if we have half such a scent as we had today, we’ll sew some of them up, we’ll show ’em what hunting is. Now,’ he added, ‘if you’ll go and get the bottle of port, I’ll clean myself, and then we’ll have dinner as quick as we can.’