The Life of a Great Sportsman 



must have been in the month of April, in the year 1878. It 

 happened to be a very cold, tardy spring, and Lincolnshire is 

 certainly not at its best in such weather, but the warmth of the 

 greeting that awaited us compensated in a great measure for 

 the inclemency of the season. On arrival at Brocklesby Hall, 

 after our first meeting with our hostess, we were ushered into 

 one of the fine lofty drawing-rooms, a great feature of the house, 

 and then I heard my husband exclaim : " Oh ! ' Cat,' how are 

 you ? Come and be introduced to my wife." (" Cat " being, as 

 I soon learned, a pet name for Mr. Richardson, familiar to all 

 who knew him.) Upon which, a young man, about Cyril's 

 own age, came forward and shook me genially by the hand. 

 I remarked then and there, that he had very kindly blue 

 eyes, a fresh, healthy complexion, and a pleasing personality. 

 He had also that unmistakable out-of-door stamp of face and 

 figure, inseparably connected with those who love sport and 

 athletic games. 



Later, during that same evening, Mr. Richardson told me 

 how he had known Cyril for many years, how they had always 

 been the best of friends, and also, how glad he therefore was 

 to make my acquaintance. I can remember that before dinner 

 we all trooped into the stables — which really were a wing of 

 the house — at what is called " Stabling hour." This was quite 

 a novelty for me. Mr. Richardson went from stall to stall, 

 patting the glossy coats of the hunters, expatiating upon their 

 good points and relating some of their exploits in the hunting 

 field. One of the best was reserved to carry my husband 

 on the morrow. 



Lady Yarborough (always a wonderful horsewoman) showed 

 us her own special favourite, and I believe that his name was 

 " Birthday." 



I have some recollection of driving about on the next day 



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