THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



night, after you were gone to bed." " How was that ? " I in- 

 quired. "Brilliant was dead, sir, before they reached the 

 house ! " " Shut the door," said I liastily, " and don't come 

 near me till twelve." I had a good mind to have made a vow 

 never to have hunted again.' ^ 



At the conclusion, a dead silence was observed for a minute 

 or two ; it was first broken by Mr. Egerton, who had listened 

 with the deepest attention. ' I suppose, Mr, Somerby,' he 

 said, ' the scene you have been describing is one of unusual 

 occurrence ? ' 



' You mean the death of m^^ horse ? ' replied Mr. Somerby. 



' Not merely that,' resumed Mr. Egerton. ' It appears to 

 me strange that the word sport, which means diversion, or 

 pleasure, can be applied to the details of the day which you 

 have so minutely described. Here were upwards of a hundred 

 gentlemen assembled, at an immense expense, hoping, no doubt, 

 to enjoy the diversion of hunting a fox ; but, by your account, 

 not a tenth part were able to partake of it ; for not more than 

 that number saw a hound after the first ten minutes ; and 

 those at prodigious peril to their lives, great suffering to their 

 horses, and, in your own case, at the cost of a noble animal's 

 life, and two hundred guineas as well.' 



' You have hit my friend Juird, Mr. Egerton,' observed Sir 

 William. ' I shall listen anxiously to his defence.' 



' You know we are no fox-hunters at Amstead, Mr. 

 Somerby,' said Mr. Raby, wishing to put his visitor at his 

 ease ; ' we only blow our horses now and then with the 

 harriers ; and my reverend friend there has never even gone 

 that length.' 



' Yes, papa, but we do more than that sometimes,' exclaimed 

 Frank (Andrew had quitted the room, and gone to the ladies, 

 in the middle of the story) ; ' you know Farmer Williams's 

 mare dropped down dead, in the middle of a turnip-field, the 

 beginning of this season, in the famous run you had witli that 

 slate-pits hare.' 



' True, my dear,' replied Mr. Raby ; ' but Dick tells me she 

 had only been up from grass a fortnight, and that she died 

 from want of condition.' 



1 The reader may recollect a description, somewhat resembling this, of a 

 run over Leicestershire ; but it is lawful for an author to take a loaf out of Iiis 

 own book. 



4.5 



