Lord Camell rattled constantly across—it preying excessively upon his fancies, that Emile should so let the “saison” slip-by—naïfly expounding, “there was a time for all things”—stoutly asseverating, an occasional “scurry with the D⸺s” must eminently brace the moral tone of the understanding—and plighting himself to wholly forswear hunting, till gratified by the comradeship of his ancient brother of the chase.