MR.

AND MRS.

SPRINGWHEAT 'Lord Scamperdale's foxhounds meet on Monday at Larkhall Hill,' &c.

&c .-- _County Paper_.
The Flat Hat Hunt had relapsed into its wonted quiet, and 'Larkhall Hill' saw none but the regular attendants, men without the slightest particle of curve in their hats--hats, indeed, that looked as if the owners sat upon them when they hadn't them on their heads.

There was Fyle, and Fossick, and Blossomnose, and Sparks, and Joyce, and Capon, and Dribble, and a few others, but neither Washball nor Puffington, nor any of the holiday birds.
[Illustration: HIS LORDSHIP HAS IT ALL TO HIMSELF] Precisely at ten, my lord, and his hounds, and his huntsman, and his whips, and his Jack, trotted round Farmer Springwheat's spacious back premises, and appeared in due form before the green rails in front.