His own books, for he had a few, were huddled together in a light closet, where he kept his guns and sporting tackle. There was a Lady Aimwell, wife to Sir George; but this lady was a piece of still life, of whom the neighbours knew nothing, and for whom her husband cared nothing. Colonel Crop was quite at home with Sir George Aimwell, and so he could be with any one who kept a good table. Shooting was not any great pleasure to the colonel, but as he could not sleep all day long, and as the dinner hour did not hurry itself to accommodate him, he was content to walk about the fields with a gun, and say alternately yes or no to the various wise remarks made by Lord Spoonbill or Sir George Aimwell. Let no one despise Colonel Crop for this most useful of all social qualities, a decided and settled acquiescence in all that his feeders may please to assert. The colonel belonged to a profession the glory of which is to obey orders. If therefore he carried this spirit into all his intercourse with those whom he considered his superiors, it is neither to be wondered at nor to be blamed. We do not wish to speak disrespectfully of the army; it is very useful in war and very ornamental in peace. The morning’s sport was not good, and therefore the worthy baronet was sulky and ill-humoured, and kicked his dogs; and he made use of such language as is very unfashionable to print. Colonel Crop re-echoed the unprintable exclamations of the great unpaid, but Lord Spoonbill did not seem to heed the sport, or more properly speaking the want of sport. It is very provoking to be in a passion with anything that thwarts our humour, and it is still more provoking to find another, who ought to be in a passion with the same object, regard the matter with total indifference and unconcern. Thus provoked was the worthy and exemplary magistrate Sir George Aimwell. His red face grew redder, and his magisterial looks became more majestic; at length, with a due degree of deference to one of noble rank, he began to utter something like reproach or expostulation to Lord Spoonbill. “Upon my word, Spoonbill, this may be very good sport for you, but it is not so for me. I never saw the birds so shy or the dogs so stupid. But you seem to be very easy about the matter.” Then turning to the colonel, he continued: “I suppose his lordship is thinking of old Greendale’s pretty niece.”--At this speech the baronet laughed, and so did the colonel. Who could help laughing at it? Lord Spoonbill smiled, and only replied in an affected drawl, “By all that is good, Sir George, you must think me a great simpleton to be caught by a pretty face. The fact is, I am not much of a sportsman, you know. I could enjoy a _battue_ very well, but this hunting about for a few stray birds is poor work.” “A _battue_, forsooth!” exclaimed the amiable baronet:--“I believe those villains the poachers have scarcely left a single bird in the Cop-wood.”