We want to give this great metropolitan swell a benefit.

You know who I mean ?' 'The gen'leman as is com'd to the Brunswick, I 'spose,' replied Tom; 'at least as _is_ comin', for I've not heard that he's com'd yet.' 'Oh, but he _has_,' replied Mr.Waffles, 'and I make no doubt will be out to-morrow.' 'S--o--o,' observed Tom, in a long drawled note.
'Well, now! do you think you can engage to give us a run ?' asked Mr.
Waffles, seeing his huntsman did not seem inclined to help him to his point.
'I'll do my best,' replied Tom, cautiously running the many contingencies through his mind.
'Take another drop of something,' said Mr.Waffles, again raising the Fox's head.

'What'll you have ?' 'Port, if you please,' replied Tom.
'There,' said Mr.Waffles, handing him another bumper; 'drink Fox-hunting.' 'Fox-huntin',' said old Tom, quaffing off the measure, as before.

A flush of life came into his weather-beaten face, just as a glow of heat enlivens a blacksmith's hearth, after a touch of the bellows.
'You must never let this bumptious cock beat us,' observed Mr.Waffles.
'No--o--o,' replied Tom, adding, 'there's no fear of that.' 'But he swears he _will_!' exclaimed Mr.Caingey Thornton.

'He swears there isn't a man shall come within a field of him.' 'Indeed,' observed Tom, with a twinkle of his little bright eyes.
'I tell you what, Tom,' observed Mr.Waffles, 'we must sarve him out, somehow.' 'Oh! he'll sarve hissel' out, in all probability,' replied Tom; carelessly adding, 'these boastin' chaps always do.' 'Couldn't we contrive something,' asked Mr.Waffles, 'to draw him out ?' Tom was silent.