THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



in the Held, it was fortunate for Frank Raby that sometliint;' 

 occurred to call his attention to his proceedings, how trivial 

 soever it might be. A small cover that lay on the road to 

 Scraptoft was tried, but it did not hold a fox. One hound, 

 however, threw his tongue once in the gorse, and no rate being 

 heard, 'a, find was considered certain. 



' Have a care, Dromo,' however, was heard from Mr. Meynell, 

 with one smack of his whip. It was no find ; and on Lord 

 Sefton approacliing Mr. Meynell, lie asked him if he knew the 

 tongue of the hoimd that spoke in the gorse ? 



' It was Dromo,' said Meynell. 



' I think not,' replied his Lordship ; ' Dromo was on the other 

 side of the cover, drawing very well.' 



' It was either Dromo or Drunnner ' (brothers, and one-year 

 hunters), resumed the veteran ; but as Raven came by with the 

 pack, the question was at once decided. 



' What hound spoke to a scent, John ? ' said Lord Sefton. 

 ' Dromo, my Lord,' replied Raven. ' I think a fox has been 

 through the gorse early in the night.' This showed the accuracy 

 of Mr. Meynell's ear, and at a period of life when such accuracy 

 is not often exhibited. 



It would not be worth while to recite the further doings of 

 this day, and this on two accounts : first, the day altered, 

 as we sportsmen say, and the pace could not be maintained ; 

 and secondly, if there had been a really good thing, our hero 

 could not have partaken of it, forasmuch as Gentleman had 

 not recovered the twister he had had in the morning. To say 

 the truth, he was -a ver}'- middling nag, and ' well known in 

 Leicestershire ' as such, or 150 guineas, or even double that 

 sum, would not have purchased him at Tattersall's, for, like 

 many other ' gentlemen,' his appearance was very impo.sing. 



On his arrival at Melton, our hero was much disappointed 

 at all he saw of the town as he rode to the ' Swan,' the head 

 inn of those days, but now a private house ; and likewise with 

 the inn itself, which was as bad as bad could be. This, however, 

 was a point of minor consequence to Frank Raby, inasmuch as 

 by the introduction of Mr. Somerby, in addition to the weight 

 his own connections gave to his name, he was seldom thrown 

 on his own resources for a dinner ; and on the veiy day of his 

 arrival was a guest at the Old Club. And there was, in the 

 proceedings of this club, what much took his fancy. There was 

 a quiet, unaffected style in tlie dinner, although dressed by a good 



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