Ralph Duckworth of the Wild Farm. 145 



also sent word to his butler to send some champagne out 

 for lunch instead of the usual bottled beer. '' I don't hold 

 much," said the Squire, '' with champagne and all that 

 sort of thing, out shooting, as a rule ; but this is a special 

 occasion, and I feel that our friend P. J. (his pet term for 

 Perrier-Jouet) must flow in duty bound." So, accordingly, 

 when old Ralph and the keeper returned with the fox 

 between them, ^^ pop'' went a magnum of '74. We had 

 quite a set to, in fact. Old Ralph was fond of champagne, 

 and sucked it down like mother's milk ; and, what with 

 drinking to fox-hunting and to each of us, and himself, 

 several times over, to say nothing of a glass or two of 

 Curasao, thrown in, by the time the old man mounted 

 Rat-tail again, he was about as cheerful as they make 'em, 

 as our host dryly observed. Having lit a huge cigar, he 

 went off at a gallop as usual, amidst a volley of hunting 

 cries from all of us, and the last we saw of him was diverg- 

 ing from the ride, and taking the fence out of the wood at 

 a fly in his usual impetuous manner. " And now, you fel- 

 lows," said the master of the sports, ''if we haven't driven 

 every pheasant and rabbit out of the place with the noise 

 we've been making, we'd better make a start again, for it 

 will be dark in another hour and a-half " 



Lord Daisyfield, as we have mentioned in our sketch 

 of him, is a bad hand at blowing up an unruly field, 

 having a great aversion to the use of strong language. 

 He is in the habit, therefore, when anyone offends him in 

 the field, instead of calling the culprit over the coals him- 

 self, of setting Ralph Duckworth, who always has a fine 

 natural flow of language at his command, at him. 



Some years ago his lordship was exceedingly put out 

 at the conduct of a London horse dealer, who ought to 



