THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



the heart ; unsdpliisticated by foreign I'opperie.s ; a man whose 

 character could face the world, and whose spirit would not fear 

 it. Again, this maxim was often in his mouth : ' Wealth,' 

 he would say, ' is not his who possesses it, but his who enjoys 

 it ' ; and he acted up to the moral of it. ' Lcatiis aliis, sapiens 

 sibi,' he loved to see his friends enjoying themselves by his 

 means ; and, as regarded himself, his object was to gather the 

 rose and leave the thorn behind. 



Mr. Rab}^ however, being the father of my hero, I must now 

 speak of him in the capacity of a sportsman; and a sportsman 

 he was, although but to a certain extent. In the first place, 

 he was not a fox-hunter, but confined himself to his harriers, 

 which were quite perfect of their kind — indeed, the crack pack 

 of all the neighbouring countries. And well might they be 

 such, for the In'eed had been preserved and improved upon, for 

 more than half a century, by his father and himself ; and, 

 from the number of walks he had for puppies amongst his own 

 tenants, and those of his neighbours, he bred as many young 

 hounds every year, to make a choice of, as some masters of 

 foxhounds. Then his hunting establishment was perfect ; and, 

 as regarded horses, at least, not far from being equal to that 

 necessary for foxhounds hunting only three days in the week. 

 He kept ten slapping hunters for himself and his two men; 

 and he never had less than forty couples of working hounds in 

 his kennel. Nor must I pass over the manner in which his 

 pack were turned out. As for themselves, they were, as I have 

 already observed, perfect. There was not an inch between any 

 one and another in height ; their form was that of the modern 

 foxhound in miniature ; their tongues light, but musical, and 

 their condition as perfect as their form. His huntsman was 

 likewise a model of his order, having been the grandson of one 

 man, and the son of another, who had filled the same situation 

 in life ; he was, therefore, well bred for his calling. He was, 

 however, what is called ' a character,' a bundle of vagaries in 

 his way. In the first place, although a horseman of the first 

 class, he was difficult to be suited with horses ; neither did he 

 fancy any that he had not himself made choice of. And even 

 here appeared the ' character.' He would take a fancy to 

 animals by no means likely to make hunters, but which, as 

 though instinct directed him in his election, seldom failed in 

 turning out such. The mention of one of these animals, in 



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