While they are putting in the luggage, I may as well give you a sketch of how the young idea is sometimes taught to shoot in this country.  Time—­early morning.  Paterfamilias at the door, smoking a cigar—­a lad of ten years of age appears.

“I say, father, can I have Two-forty?[E] I want to go down to the farm, to see my cattle fed!”

Scarce had leave been obtained, before a cry was heard in another quarter.  “Hallo, Jemmy! what’s the matter now?  Wont Shelty go?”

The youth so addressed was about six, and sitting in a little low four-wheeled carriage, whacking away at a Shetland-looking pony, with a coat, every hair of which was long enough for a horse’s tail.  The difficulty was soon discovered, for it was an old trick of Shelty to lift one leg outside the shaft, and strike for wages, if he wasn’t pleased.

“Get out, Jemmy, I’ll set him right;” and accordingly, Shelty’s leg was lifted inside, and Paterfamilias commenced lunging him round and round before the door.  After a few circles he said, “Now then, Jemmy, get in again; he’s all right now.”

The infant Jehu mounts, and of course commences pitching into Shelty, alike vigorously and harmlessly; off they go at score.”

“Where are you going, Jemmy?”

“What—­say—­father?” No words are lost.

“Where are you going, Jemmy?”

“Going to get some turnips for my pigs;” and Jemmy disappeared in a bend of the road.

On inquiry, I found Jemmy used often to go miles from home in this way, and was as well known in the neighbourhood as his father.

On another occasion, I remember seeing three lads, the oldest about twelve, starting off in a four-wheeled cart, armed with an old gun.

“Where are you going, there?”

“To shoot pigeons.”

“What’s that sticking out of your pocket?”

“A loaded pistol;” and off they went at full swing.

Thinks I to myself, if those lads don’t break their necks, or blow their brains out, they will learn to take care of themselves; and I began to reflect whether this was the way they were taught to love independence.

Now for a sketch of the other sex.  Two horses come to the door side-saddled.  Out rush, and on jump, two girls under twelve.  Young Ten, upon his Two-forty, is the chaperon.  “Take care!” says an anxious parent.  “Oh, I’m not afraid, mother;” and away they go, galloping about the park as if they were Persians.  My mind turned involuntarily homewards, and I drew a picture from life.  A faithful nurse stands at the door; a young lady about twelve is mounting; a groom is on another horse, with a leading-rein strong enough to hold a line-of-battle ship in a gale of wind.  The old nurse takes as long packing the young lady as if she were about to make a tour of the globe; sundry whispers are going on all the time, the purport of which is easily guessed.  At last all excuses are exhausted, and off they go.  The lady’s