1 84 The Bore of the Hunt. 



eweature with the eyeglass, he has been wowwying me in 



a perfectly shocking manner, making me miss everything, 



^ight and left, and botherwing me whether I don't think 



gwouse could not be turned out in woods like pheasants. 



If he tackles me again," said the unhappy guardsman, "I 



shall do something despwate, I know I shall." Gander was 



forthwith remonstrated with by his host, and deserted the 



guardsman as requested, only, probably, to fasten on 



another victim immediately after. As everybody says, 



what is to be done with such a man ? and echo answers, 



'' What, indeed ? " 



****** 



That stout sportsman with the velvet cap and the yellow 

 silk handkerchief round his neck, whose jolly red face and 

 white whiskers and moustache remind one somewhat of 

 the pictures one sees in the illustrated papers of Father 

 Christmas, is old John Rooster. 



There is no more enthusiastic member of the Hunt 

 than old John. A cheery old bachelor with a snug 

 little independence of his own ; he lives in a pretty 

 little rose-covered cottage called Honeysuckle Lodge, 

 and devotes the whole of his energies to fox-hunting and 

 nothing else. Old Jacky, as they call him, is mad on the 

 subject, indeed. A year or so ago, the old man was taken 

 dangerously ill, but, in spite of the doctors, managed to 

 pull through. The wags of the Hunt are very fond of 

 drawing the old boy out on the subject of his recovery, 

 for the benefit of any stranger present. He, in turn, is 

 never tired of relating how he astonished the doctor by 

 a question he put to him, when supposed to be m extremis : 

 **' Doctor ! ' says I, 'is there any 'opes?' * 'Opes of 

 what ? ' says he. * Why, 'opes of 'unting^ to be sure,* 



