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92 to hunt. I was fast becoming an object of keen interest. My last admission was followed by a series of grunts at intervals of about half a minute, and at last with a zeal and earnestness which he had not yet exhibited, and in a louder key than heretofore, Lord Brownmead turned upon me with this query: "Then what the doose do you do to kill time, dammy? "I explained that I should have no difficulty in killing double the quantity of that article, if I could get it. "Out of the 24 hours," said I, "which is the usual allowance in a day, I sleep 7, I work 7, I spend about 2 over my meals, and that only leaves 8 for recreation." "Ay, ay, but what do you mean by recreation, sir? That's just it, dammy." "Oh, sometimes 1 go to the theatre, sometimes to some music-hall; then I go and spend the evening with friends, and all that sort of thing." "Balls, eh?" "No, I am not fond of dancing." "Ha, humph! that's better; the tenth don't dance, you know; never went to a prancing party in my life." "Then last night I went to the Agricultural Hall to hear Mr. Gladstone," I continued. "Eh? what? Mr. who? Be good enough not to mention that man's name in my presence, sir. He's an underground fellow, sir, an underground fellow." I was evidently on thin ice; so, in order to turn the conversation, I remarked: "Pretty country this, my lord." "Pretty country be damned!" was the amiable response; "it is not like the same country since that infernal bill was passed." "Indeed! What bill is that?" Lord Brownmead cast upon me a look of ineffable scorn. "What bill do you suppose, sir? Are you a foreigner? I should like to feed that fellow on hares and tabbits for the rest of his life, sir." "Has the Hares and Rabbits Act done much harm?" I inquired. "Done much harm? Has it revolutionized the country? you mean; has it ruined the agriculturist? has it set class against class? has it turned honest farmers into poachers and vermin? See that spire in the trees over there? Well, that poor devil used to live on his glebe; he has about fifteen kids, all told; he used to have rabbit-pie every Sunday. And now there isn't a blessed rabbit in the place." I presumed he was speaking of the pastor and not the steeple, so I expressed sympathy with one who was so very much a father under the melancholy circumstances. "Still," said I, "the rabbits used to eat up a good deal of the crops, I am told." "Nonsense, sir, nonsense ! don't believe it," growled his lordship; "they never ate a single blade more than they were worth; and if they did, the devils got it back out of their rents." Most of my companion's neighbors appeared to be devils of one sort or another, but I think he was referring to the farmers on this occasion. "The devils have all got votes, sir, that's what it is; they've all got votes. I remember the time when a decent tenant would as soon have shot his wife as a rabbit. The fact is, we are moving a deal too quickly; downhill too, and no brake on." I did not wish to express agreement with this sentiment, so I merely said: "I believe you are a member of the Liberty and Property Defence League?" "Very likely; very likely; if it is a good thing, got up to counteract that underground scoundrel. Yes, I think my secretary did put me down for £50 a year. He said they were going to block this Tenants' Compensation Bill, or something or other. Good society, very; ought to be supported by honest men." "Then would you not give a tenant compensation for unexhausted improvements?" I asked. "Compensation!" bawled Lord Brownmead; "compensation for what? Good God! If one of those fellows on my town property put up a conservatory, or raised his house a story, or built a new wing, do you suppose at the end of his lease he would ask for compensation? He would think himself mad to do it,—mad, sir. And why should the country be different