A gamekeeper friend told us, with infinite delight, this quaint little story. If we are to believe him, he was sitting one fine September day behind the hedge of a cornfield, thinking about the coveys hidden in the corn, when he became aware that a lover and his lass were sitting on the road side of the hedge, directly behind him. They were Cockneys, and this was the first of their days of country holiday-making. Presently the lover speaks. "Emma," says he, "just look at this pretty fly wot's settled on me 'and." "Lor'!" says Emma, "ain't he a daisy?" A pause follows; the lovers are silently contemplating the beauties of the fly. Emma suggests he is out for an airing in his racing colours--yellow and black. Then the lover calls out in a voice of mingled amusement and pain. "Crikey!" he cries, "ain't 'is feet 'ot?" * * * * * Hares in Small Holdings The hare that haunts a small holding has a slender chance of dying a natural death in ripe old age. But we have a little story of how a small-holder was converted from hare-shooting. He was a man who rented a meadow on the outskirts of a large village; and it chanced that hares were much attracted to this pleasant spot. The gamekeeper of the shooting tenant was deeply troubled by the drain on his stock of hares caused by the small-holder; but there was little he could do to stop the slaughter that went on at all times and seasons, and by all manner of means. He had the good sense to keep on friendly terms with the troublesome sportsman, and at last he thought that some improvement might be brought about by arranging a laugh at his expense. He stuffed a hare, and one night set up the skin in the meadow, at a fair range from a gap in the hedge. Early next morning the news reached the small-holder that there was a hare in his field. Off he started with gun and dog; saw from the gap that the hare was sitting up, "jest about a pretty little shot," took steady aim, and fired both barrels to make sure of a kill. How his dog retrieved a hare-skin stuffed with hay was a story that soon became public property in the village and the neighbourhood, and from that day forward there has been no safer place for a hare than this man's meadow. * * * * * The Sins of the Father