Warwick Woodlands | Page 2

longer, and more fair proportioned limbs
were at an awful discount.
Depositing his hat then on the floor, smoothing his hair, and hitching
up his smalls, and striving most laboriously not to grin till he should
have cause, stood Tim, like "Giafar awaiting his master's award!"
"Tim!" said Harry Archer.

"Sur!" said Tim.
"Tim! Mr. Forester and I are talking of going up to-morrow--what do
you say to it?"
"Oop yonner?" queried Tim, in the most extraordinary West-Riding
Yorkshire, indicating the direction, by pointing his right thumb over his
left shoulder--"Weel, Ay'se nought to say aboot it--not Ay!"
"Soh! the cattle are all right, and the wagon in good trim, and the dogs
in exercise, are they?"
"Ay'se warrant um!"
"Well, then, have all ready for a start at six to-morrow,--put Mr.
Forester's Manton alongside my Joe Spurling in the top tray of the case,
my single gun and my double rifle in the lower, and see the magazine
well filled--the Diamond gunpowder, you know, from Mr. Brough's.
You'll put up what Mr. Forester will want, for a week, you know--he
does not know the country yet, Tim;--and, hark you, what wine have I
at Tom Draw's?"
"No but a case of claret."
"I thought so, then away with you! down to the Baron's and get two
baskets of the Star, and stop at Fulton Market, and get the best half
hundred round of spiced beef you can find--and then go up to Starke's
at the Octagon, and get a gallon of his old Ferintosh--that's all, Tim--off
with you!--No! stop a minute!" and he filled up a beaker and handed it
to the original, who, shutting both his eyes, suffered the fragrant claret
to roll down his gullet in the most scientific fashion, and then, with
what he called a bow, turned right about, and exit.
The sun rose bright on the next morning, and half an hour before the
appointed time, Tim entered my bed-chamber, with a cup of mocha,
and the intelligence that "Measter had been oop this hour and better,
and did na like to be kept waiting!"--so up I jumped, and scarcely had
got through the business of rigging myself, before the rattle of wheels

announced the arrival of the wagon.
And a model was that shooting wagon--a long, light-bodied box, with a
low rail--a high seat and dash in front, and a low servant's seat behind,
with lots of room for four men and as many dogs, with guns and
luggage, and all appliances to boot, enough to last a month, stowed
away out of sight, and out of reach of weather. The nags, both nearly
thorough-bred, fifteen two inches high, stout, clean-limbed, active
animals--the off-side horse a gray, almost snow-white--the near, a dark
chestnut, nearly black--with square docks setting admirably off their
beautiful round quarters, high crests, small blood-like heads, and long
thin manes--spoke volumes for Tim's stable science; for though their
ribs were slightly visible, their muscles were well filled, and hard as
granite. Their coats glanced in the sunshine--the white's like statuary
marble; the chestnut's like high polished copper--in short the whole
turn-out was perfect.
The neat black harness, relieved merely by a crest, with every strap that
could be needed, in its place, and not one buckle or one thong
superfluous; the bright steel curbs, with the chains jingling as the
horses tossed and pawed impatient for a start; the tapering holly whip;
the bear-skins covering the seats; the top-coats spread above them--
every thing, in a word, without bordering on the slang, was perfectly
correct and gnostic.
Four dogs--a brace of setters of the light active breed, one of which will
out-work a brace of the large, lumpy, heavy-headed dogs,--one red, the
other white and liver, both with black noses, their legs and sterns
beautifully feathered, and their hair, glossy and smooth as silk, showing
their excellent condition--and a brace of short-legged, bony,
liver-colored spaniels--with their heads thrust one above the other, over
or through the railings, and their tails waving with impatient joy
--occupied the after portion of the wagon.
Tim, rigged in plain gray frock, with leathers and white tops, stood, in
true tiger fashion, at the horses' heads, with the forefinger of his right
hand resting upon the curb of the gray horse, as with his left he rubbed
the nose of the chestnut; while Harry, cigar in mouth, was standing at

the wheel, reviewing with a steady and experienced eye the gear, which
seemed to give him perfect satisfaction. The moment I appeared on the
steps,
"In with you, Frank--in with you," he exclaimed, disengaging the
hand-reins from the terrets into which they had been thrust, "I have
been waiting here these five minutes. Jump up, Tim!"
And, gathering the reins up firmly, he mounted by the wheel, tucked