omes off the griddle; and of all darned nice ways of
cooking, to brile a thing, quick now, over hot hickory ashes, is the
best for me!"

"I believe you're right about eating the cock first, for they will not
be worth a farthing if they get cold. So you stick to the pig, do you--
hey, McTaggart? Well, there is no reckoning on taste--holloa, Tim, look
sharp! the champagne all 'round--I'm choking!"

And for some time no sound was heard, but the continuous clatter of
knives and forks, the occasional popping of a cork succeeded by the
gurgling of the generous wine as it flowed into the tall rummers; and
every now and then a loud and rattling eructation from Tom Draw, who, as
he said, could never half enjoy a meal if he could not stop now and then
to blow off steam.

At last, however--for supper, alas! like all other earthly pleasures,
must come to an end--"The fairest still the fleetest"--our appetites
waned gradually; and notwithstanding Harry's earnest exhortations, and
the production of a broiled ham-bone, devilled to the very utmost pitch
of English mustard, soy, oil of Aix, and cayenne pepper, by no hands, as
may be guessed, but those of that universal genius, Timothy; one by one,
we gave over our labors edacious, to betake us to potations of no small
depth or frequency.

"It is directly contrary to my rule, Frank, to drink before a good day's
shooting--and a good day I mean to have to-morrow!--but I am thirsty,
and the least thought chilly; so here goes for a debauch! Tim, look in
my box with the clothes, and you will find two flasks of Curacao; bring
them down, and a dozen lemons, and some lump sugar--look alive! and you,
Tom, out with your best brandy; I'll make a jorum that will open your
eyes tight before you've done with it. That's right, Tim; now get the
soup-tureen, the biggest one, and see that it's clean. The old villain
has got a punch-bowl--bring half a dozen of champagne, a bucket full of
ice, and then go down into the kitchen, and make two quarts of green
tea, as strong as possible; and when it's made, set it to cool in the
ice-house!"

In a few minutes all the ingredients were at hand; the rind, peeled
carefully from all the lemons, was deposited with two tumblers full of
finely powdered sugar in the bottom of the tureen; thereupon were poured
instantly three pints of pale old Cognac; and these were left to steep,
without admixture, until Tim Matlock made his entrance with the cold,
strong, green te