THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



man-cook, as well as in the way in which the evening was passed, 

 which he considered to be quite in character with sportsmen. 

 After a moderate allowance of wine, tea and coffee were announced; 

 and after an hour or two's amusement with cards, each man 

 retired to his couch, to be ready and fresh for the following day. 

 And here the forthcoming day was productive of an event 

 which could only have occurred in this 'metropolis of fox- 

 hunting,' which Leicestershire is very properly called; but it 

 was an event which our hero would never have forgotten, had 

 he lived a thousand years. Having fallen asleep after his 

 servant had called him, he found himself almost alone in 

 Melton, that is, amongst the hunting men, all of them, with 

 the exception of two — who, as luck would have it, were going 

 to the same hounds as himself, those of the Earl of Lonsdale — 

 having started on their road to cover. The names of these 

 individuals he did not know at the time ; but on seeing them 

 pass the windows of his inn, he ordered out his cover-hack, 

 followed them, at a respectful distance, along the London 

 turnpike-road, which it was highly necessary he should have 

 done, as he did not know his way to the cover, nor was there 

 any one else to direct him. He had not, however, proceeded 

 more than two miles along this road, before he saw his guides 

 turn, at a right angle, through a bridle-gate, and of course he 

 turned through it also. Three more bridle-gates were passed 

 through at the extremities of fine grass grounds, over which 

 these two crack horsemen, for such they were, went at a rate 

 which rather surprised our young sportsman, conceiving them 

 to be, like himself, riding their cover-hacks. No sooner 

 through the fourth gate, however, than a different line of 

 country presented itself. They left the bridle-road and made 

 for a sheep-pen in a corner, which they passed, and then, 

 leaping into and out of a lane, put their heads about as 

 straight as the crow flies, in the direction of a spire which 

 was in view. Our hero now began to And his mistake — nay, 

 more, that he was in a scrape ; for, although the hack he was 

 mounted on could get over certain fences, at a certain pace, 

 he began to find that, if he continued at the pace these 

 Meltonians were leading him over this fine but choking 

 country, he would soon be unable to leap at all. He had 

 nothing to do, then, but to pull up, and endeavour to follow 

 his guides, as Hercules did the oxen, by the tracks of their 

 horses' feet on the ground. 



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