THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



' This young Raby is a promising lad ; I think he will do, 

 in time, especially if he stays with us for a season or two. I 

 saw him out once, when a school-boy, in the last country I 

 hunted, and devilish well he went. His father is a hare- 

 hunter, but the 3^oung one won't have that ; he flies at higher 

 game ; and, as he will be well breeched some day — for, inde- 

 pendent of his father, they tell me he has a rich uncle, likel}'' 

 to choke in his collar, who will leave him lots of the ready^ — 

 I should not be surprised to see him one of us, in another 

 sense. He has asked me a great many questions about hounds, 

 the breeding them, etc., to which I have generally replied, 

 " Keep mine in your eye, sir, and you will do well, should j^ou 

 have a pack of your own, which no doubt you will, when one 

 of the old ones goes to ground." He has also a great mind to 

 be a coachman, which Inkleton has given him a taste for. I 

 told him to go to Jack Bailey, of the Birmingham " Prince of 

 Wales " coach, for instruction, when he told me he was his 

 pupil when at Eton. " Then you will do," said I ; " Jack 

 himself is a pattern-card for patience and prudence, having 

 need of both ; for heavy loads and weak horses, on bad roads, 

 have made him such. In short, he is a coachman ; and I advise 

 you, if you mean to get upon your own box, to take as many 

 leaves as you can out of his book. It will be worth all the 

 Greek and Latin you brought with you from Eton." ' 



So much for the Pytchley Hunt of those days. Not only 



' Those joyous hours are j)assed away, 

 And many a heart that then was gay,' 



has long since ceased to beat, but the master of the pack, after 

 a stout struggle, has been obliged to yield to that common 

 destiny of our nature, which, sooner or later, awaits us all. 

 Peace to his ashes ; his system and himself are gone together. 



During his stay, our young sportsman had one day with the 

 well-known pack of the late justly celebrated Lord Fitzwilliam, 

 whose extensive country embraced parts of Northamptonshire, 

 and all Huntingdonshire, besides the Yorkshire woodlands for 

 cub-hunting. The fixture was Stanwick Pastures, one of great 

 note, but far from being one of the best. The scene, however, 

 was such as amused our hero much, since, from being within 

 reach of Cambridge, it reminded him of olden times. In one 

 direction were to bo seen knocked-up hacks, broken-down 



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