“Well, fifteen brace.” “No, twenty, I tell ye, all fine uns.” “That dog of yours, Travers, is a capital setter, and no mistake. What’s his pedigree?” “Oh, he was got by Tommy out of Fairstar.” “I should like a pup of his, by Jove!” After dinner, on the adjournment of the ladies to the drawing-room, the sporting talk commences in right earnest, the wine circulating even more briskly than before. The married ladies meanwhile stand around a roaring fire warming their satin-clad feet; they complain to each other of the delinquencies of their servants, or boast of the beauty and precocity of their children. The entrance, presently, of coffee, puts an end to general conversation, as the ladies collect into smaller groups to wait for tea and the gentlemen. The matrons and elderly maidens perhaps indulge in a little scandal as they sip the fragrant beverage. The more juvenile damsels talk of balls, past and future, and of the delightful partners who may have fallen to their lot. Some would be Grisi, “inglorious,” though not, alas! “mute,” possibly attacks the open piano with a violence that makes you almost imagine she is venting her spite upon the innocent instrument, and then in a cracked but stentorian voice, she commences to shout, “Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, long, LONG ago, long, LONG ago,” accentuating the dashed expletives by a shriller scream even than before. At about half-past ten enter the lords of the creation, with highly flushed faces, and vociferating loudly, the words, “my good fellow,” “horse,” “dog,” “my mare,” “that pointer,” still forming the burden of their song. Very slight attention falls to the share of the ladies. A young curate, perhaps, stands beside the piano, turning the leaves of the music-book for the squalling songstress. A whist table is frequently formed, but at eleven a move is made, and by half-past, the carriage of the last guest has usually rolled from the door. The cause of Captain Travers’ shaking hand was now but too apparent. The captain, I regret to say, seldom, if ever, returned home from these dinners perfectly sober, and the old squire, though rejoicing in a stronger head than his son, was but too often more than “a little elevated.” Latterly the propensity of young Edward Travers became so uncontrollable that no invitations ever came from the best houses in the neighborhood to Woodlands, a very great slight to one of the oldest families in the county.