"Indeed!" exclaimed Job, "how very strange!" "But not less true," added his friend. "There's a commercial at this moment in No. 6, eating an overdone beefsteak ; he ordered it over-done like a hermit, and washing it down with hard beer. I told him," continued Edward Dixon, "that our malt was rather sour. 'So much the better,' said he. It matches with my blighted heart, my temper, and my witals.'" "He's miserable, I suppose, then," observed the huntsman." 66 Very," replied Edward Dixon, shaking his head. 66 Supposing you invite him in here, Ned," rejoined Job. "A Christian thought!" returned the host. "I'll go and ask him at once; we may get rid of his melancholy." In a short period the blighted commercial entered the bar parlour, and, after exchanging civilities with Job upon their introduction by Edward Dixon, threw himself with a sigh into a chair, and seemed at once to become enshrined in the gloomiest thoughts that ever preyed upon the spirits of a mortal. Tom Cross, the blacksmith, referred to in a preceding page, being one of the privileged, entered soon afterwards, and a few others of the like ilk quickly followed. "Come," observed Edward Dixon, satisfactorily measuring the various ingredients in accordance with the respective orders given; "we muster a good round party to-night." Tom Cross, who made it a rule to roar with laughter at the most trivial observation by the landlord of the Lion, became nearly convulsed at this remark, and said, "It wouldn't do for Ned to go on in that style; people's ribs weren't made of wrought-iron." "I tell ye what it is, Sirs," said Edward Dixon, making himself a glass of "hot, sweet and strong, and plenty of it," by way of a temporary check to his labours, "I've a treat in pickle for all of ye." "A new bit of fun, I'll warrant," returned Tom Cross. "I'll thank you not to be too fast," rejoined the landlord, authoritatively. "Drop the skid on your tongue, Tom Cross," continued he, " and listen to what I've got to say.' The blacksmith became at once dumb as his sledge hammer. "There are some things," resumed Edward Dixon, making a general survey of all present, "that I could listen to for ever, besides hallylooyers, and those are Job Sykes' hunting stories." "Bra-vo!" shouted Tom Cross. 66 Capital!" "Famous !" echoed the rest. "Supposing," continued the host, "I call upon my friend and connexion-" (the commercial groaned heavily)—" to give us one of his tales of field and flood?" 66 Nothing could be better," was the general reply. "I thought I considered such would be the sentiments of this company," rejoined the landlord. 66 Now, Job, lead away." "I wasn't prepared for this," returned the huntsman; "but as I hate a blank to be drawn, I'll try what can be done." With this brief introduction, he thus commenced a tale of the olden time. CHAPTER V. "Yet hath my night of life some memory, "It was in the days of old, when the sportsman tally-ho'd the fox before the lark soared from her grassy bed to shake the dew-drops from her wings-when he whipped the stream in powdered wig and velvet cap-bagged partridges with setters and net, and brought his racer to the post to run four-mile heats for a whip of the value of forty shillings—it was in these quaint old-fashioned times that Sir Godfrey Flamstead lived, as his forefathers had |