“You remember Philiphaugh, Sir?”
“Umph!” said the Major, “the less we say about that, John, the better.”
OLD MORTALITY.
To Mr. Robert Cherry, the Orchard, Kent.
DEAR BOB,—It’s no use your making more stir about the barley. Business has no business to stand before king and country, and I couldn’t go to Ashford Market and the Review at the same time. The Earl called out the Yeomanry for a grand field day at Bumper Daggle Bottom Common, and to say nothing of its being my horse duty to attend I wouldn’t have lost my sight for the whole barley in Kent. Besides the Earl, the great Duke did us the honour to come and see the troops go through everything, and it rained all the time. Except for the crops, a more unfavouring day couldn’t have been picked out for man or beast, and many a nag has got a consequential cough.
The ground was very good, with only one leap that nobody took, but the weather was terribly against. It blew equinoxious gales, and rained like watering pots with the rose off. But as somebody said, one cannot always have their reviews cut and dry.
“POUR ON, I WILL ENDURE.”