But promise me, too, that you will only look on, or I will never--' Argemone had not time to finish her sentence before Lancelot had promised seven times over, and meant to keep his promise, as we all do.
About ten o'clock that evening Lancelot and Tregarva were walking stealthily up a ride in one of the home-covers, at the head of some fifteen fine young fellows, keepers, grooms, and not extempore 'watchers,' whom old Harry was marshalling and tutoring, with exhortations as many and as animated as if their ambition was 'Mourir pour la patrie.' 'How does this sort of work suit you, Tregarva, for I don't like it at all! The fighting's all very well, but it's a poor cause.' 'Oh, sir, I have no mercy on these Londoners.

If it was these poor half-starved labourers, that snare the same hares that have been eating up their garden-stuff all the week, I can't touch them, sir, and that's truth; but these ruffians--And yet, sir, wouldn't it be better for the parsons to preach to them, than for the keepers to break their heads ?' 'Oh ?' said Lancelot, 'the parsons say all to them that they can.' Tregarva shook his head.
'I doubt that, sir.

But, no doubt, there's a great change for the better in the parsons.

I remember the time, sir, that there wasn't an earnest clergyman in the vale; and now every other man you meet is trying to do his best.

But those London parsons, sir, what's the matter with them?
For all their societies and their schools, the devil seems to keep ahead of them sadly.