THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



all summer, and for two reasons : first, he was so vicious tliat 

 he was dangerous to the others in the park ; and secondly, his 

 body was so deep, in proportion to the lenoth of his fore legs, 

 that he could not reach the ground with his mouth without 

 great difficulty, and of course straining his limbs. You do not 

 remember Marplot, Mr. Francis, but you have often heard Dick 

 talk of him. To be sure he always looked very different to the 

 other hunters, especially before Christmas.' 



' And how was he treated in the summer ? ' inquired Mr. 

 Francis. 



' He stood in the stable with the coach-horses, and Dick rode 

 him almost every day, when exercising the hounds, in the park,' 

 was the answer. 



' His goodness in the field, and his superior condition, are 

 accounted for,' said our hero, as he walked away from the 

 steward ; and on his road to the house he met Dick going 

 towards the kennel. ' Where now, Dick ? ' said he to the man 

 whom he once thought more of, perhaps, than of any other in 

 the world — compared with whom Mr. Egerton was a dunce, and 

 even Sir John but second fiddle ; whose very words he had 

 devoured as he sat on his knee in the ' hall,' when describing 

 the run of yesterday, and anticipating that of to-morrow, which 

 he had obtained permission to witness. 



' To the kennel, to feed, sir,' replied Dick ; ' will you not come 

 and see 'em ? ' 



' Not I, indeed, Dick,' answered Frank Raby, ' I would not 

 give twopence to see the best harriers in the world ; in fact, / 

 luite anything belonging to Jtarriers. They are always bow- 

 wowing about the country, disturbing the foxes, and they do 

 more harm to farmers than two packs of foxhounds, by being 

 so long pottering in the same place.' 



' Sorry to hear you talk so, Mr. Francis,' said the old hunts- 

 man, evidently chagrined at these remarks, ' but our hounds, 

 you know, never hang long about any one place. Indeed, the 

 very last day but one, the Squire was saying he wished you had 

 been with us, on one of your best hunters ; we went from Burton 

 Clumps to Fox's Barn, good eight miles, as straight as a crow 

 ever flew; and, out of nineteen horsemen, six only were up 

 when we killed the hare.' 



' Horsemen !' i^iiid our hero contemptuously^ — 'what sort of 

 horsemen ? ' 



243 



