Warwick Woodlands | Page 9

care of yourself, Tim, and good
night!"
"No need to tell him that," cried Tom, "he's something like yourself; I
tell you, Archer, if Tim ever dies of thirst, it must be where there is
nothing wet, but water!"
"Now hark to the old scoundrel, Frank," said Archer, "hark to him pray,
and if he doesn't out-eat both of us, and out-drink anything you ever
saw, may I miss my first bird to-morrow--that's all! Give me a slice of
beef, Frank; that old Goth would cut it an inch thick, if I let him touch
it; out with a cork, Tom! Here's to our sport to-morrow!"
"Uh; that goes good!" replied Tom, with an oath, which, by the
apparent gusto of the speaker, seemed to betoken that the wine had
tickled his palate--"that goes good! that's different from the darned red
trash you left up here last time."
"And of which you have left none, I'll be bound," answered Archer,
laughing; "my best Latour, Frank, which the old infidel calls trash."
"It's all below, every bottle of it," answered Tom: "I wouldn't use such
rot-gut stuff, no, not for vinegar. 'Taint half so good as that red sherry
you had up here oncet; that was poor weak stuff, too, but it did well to
make milk punch of; it did well instead of milk."
"Now, Frank," said Archer, "you won't believe me, that I know; but it's
true, all the same. A year ago, this autumn, I brought up five gallons of
exceedingly stout, rather fiery, young brown sherry--draught wine, you
know!--and what did Tom do here, but mix it, half and half, with

brandy, nutmeg, and sugar, and drink it for milk punch!"
"I did so, by the eternal," replied Tom, bolting a huge lump of beef, in
order to enable himself to answer--"I did so, and good milk punch it
made, too, but it was too weak! Come, Mr. Forester, we harn't drinked
yet, and I'm kind o' gittin dry!"
And now the mirth waxed fast and furious--the champagne speedily
was finished, the supper things cleared off, hot water and Starke's
Ferintosh succeeded, cheroots were lighted, we drew closer in about the
fire, and, during the circulation of two tumblers--for to this did Harry
limit us, having the prospect of unsteady hands and aching heads before
him for the morrow--never did I hear more genuine and real humor,
than went round our merry trio.
Tom Draw, especially, though all his jokes were not such altogether as
I can venture to insert in my chaste paragraphs, and though at times his
oaths were too extravagantly rich to brook repetition, shone forth
resplendent. No longer did I wonder at what I had before deemed Harry
Archer's strange hallucination; Tom Draw is a decided genius--rough as
a pine knot in his native woods--but full of mirth, of shrewdness, of
keen mother wit, of hard horse sense, and last, not least, of the most
genuine milk of human kindness. He is a rough block; but, as Harry
says, there is solid timber under the uncouth bark enough to make five
hundred men, as men go now-a-days in cities!
At ten o'clock, thanks to the excellent precautions of my friend Harry,
we were all snugly berthed, before the whiskey, which had well
justified the high praise I had heard lavished on it, had made any
serious inroads on our understanding, but not before we had laid in a
quantum to ensure a good night's rest.
Bright and early was I on foot the next day, but before I had half
dressed myself I was assured, by the clatter of the breakfast things, that
Archer had again stolen a march upon me; and the next moment my
bed-room door, driven open by the thick boot of that worthy, gave me a
full view of his person--arrayed in a stout fustian jacket--with half a
dozen pockets in full view, and Heaven only knows how many more

lying perdu in the broad skirts. Knee-breeches of the same material,
with laced half-boots and leather leggins, set off his stout calf and well
turned ankle.
"Up! up! Frank," he exclaimed, "it is a morning of ten thousand; there
has been quite a heavy dew, and by the time we are afoot it will be well
evaporated; and then the scent will lie, I promise you! make haste, I tell
you, breakfast is ready!"
Stimulated by his hurrying voice, I soon completed my toilet, and
entering the parlor found Harry busily employed in stirring to and fro a
pound of powder on one heated dinner plate, while a second was
undergoing the process of preparation on the hearthstone under a
glowing pile of hickory ashes.
At the side-table, covered with guns, dog-whips, nipple-wrenches, and
the like, Tim, rigged like his master,