“Nay, Mr. Twaddleton,” observed the Major, “I am really sorry that I should have unintentionally excited your indignation. I am not aware that there is anything in the innocent pastime to which I have alluded inconsistent with your station and acquirements. As an antiquary, I need hardly remind you that the fathers of the Church were amongst the keenest sportsmen. Do you not remember the amusing portrait which Chaucer has given us of a sporting monastic in the 14th century, and which, by the by, was the model from which Sir Walter Scott drew the character of his Abbot in ‘Ivanhoe?’ Then again, need I call to your recollection the fame of Walter, Archdeacon of Canterbury, who was promoted to the see of Rochester in 1147, and who is said not only to have spent the whole of his time in hunting, but to have been as keen a sportsman at eighty as he was at twenty years of age? Then again, there was Reginald Brian, translated to the see of Worcester in 1352; and William de Clowne, whom his biographer celebrated as the most amiable ecclesiastic that ever filled the abbot’s throne of St. Mary in Leicestershire, the most knowing sportsman after a hare in the kingdom; insomuch, indeed, that Richard II. and his son allowed him annual pensions for his instructions in the art?” “Major Snapwell, antiquity can no more privilege error, than novelty can prejudice truth,” exclaimed the vicar: “but, to be serious,” continued he, “I never could discover the principle upon which the pleasure of this said diversion of Diana can depend; and yet I do assure you, sir, that I have not failed to submit the question to a logical examination. Thus, for instance:--the fox emits from his body certain odorous particles;--that is my _major_, and I say _concedo_: very well; I proceed. The structure of the olfactory organs of the canine species enables them to perceive this said odour: that is my _minor_, and I say again _concedo_. But I should much like to be informed how any logician can defend the consequence which is deduced from these premises. To speak more syllogistically, why am I pleased to put my neck in jeopardy, _because_ my dogs happen to perceive a smell?” The Major laughed heartily at the very ludicrous point of view in which the worthy vicar had thought proper to represent the subject. Their discourse now took a different turn. The Major inquired what might be the origin of the singular sign of the village inn--_The Devil and the Bag of Nails?_ “Satan,” continued the Major, “is unquestionably the patron of the public-house; but why he should be represented as holding in his hand a bag of nails, I cannot divine, unless, indeed, in reference to the old adage, that ‘_Every glass of spirit is a nail in your coffin._’”