Afterwards they began again.  The very dogs grew ashamed of the noise, and went home.  That afternoon there was peace in the world of birds—­at least, on that particular shooting—­and the next morning saw the shooting-parties of England reduced by one, which had separated in different dog-carts, and various stages of high dudgeon, for the railway station.  So, please to be very, very careful.  Use the methods of compromise.  If you find your friend obstinately pinned to No. 5, when you have declared a preference for No. 6, meet him half-way, or even profess to be converted by his arguments.  Or tell him the anecdote about the Irishman, who always shot snipe with No. 4, because, “being such a little bird, bedad, you want a bigger shot to get at the beggar.”  You can then inform him how you yourself once did dreadful execution among driven grouse in a gale of wind with No. 8 shot, which you had brought out by mistake.  You may object that you never, as a matter of fact, did this execution, never having even shot at all with No. 8.  Tush! you are puling.  If you are going to let a conscientious accuracy stand in your way like this, you had better become dumb when sporting talk is flying about.  Of course you must not exaggerate too much.  Only bumptious fools do that, and they are called liars for their pains.  But a little exaggeration, just a soupcon of romance, does no one any harm, while it relieves the prosaic dullness of the ordinary anecdote.  So, swallow your scruples, and

  Join the gay throng
  That goes talking along,
    For we’ll all go romancing to-day.

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

DOE VERSUS ROE(DENT).

["The basements of the Royal Courts of Justice have lately been invaded by swarms of mice.  They have become very audacious, and have penetrated into the Courts themselves, whose walls are lined with legal volumes, the leaves of which provide them with a rich feast.”—­Daily Paper.]

  For students of the law to “eat
    Their terms” is obviously right,
  But to devour the books themselves
          Is impolite.

  Unfortunately Mr. STREET. 
    Who planned the legal edif-[=i]ce,
  Designed a splendid trap for men,
          But not for mice.

  To view the Courts at midnight now,
    The Courts all in the stilly Strand,
  With rodents squeaking out their pleas,
          That would be grand!

  No Ushers ’ush them; they consume
    The stiffest calf you ever saw,
  Developing, these curious beasts,
          A taste for Law.

  They fill—­perhaps—­the box wherein,
    Twelve bothered men have often sat,
  And try, with every proper form,
          Some absent cat.

  A fore-mouse probably they choose,
    The culprit’s advocate deride,
  And fix upon that cat the guilt
          Of mouseycide.