THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



* Why, some of the right sort, sir,' replied Dick ; ' Mr. 

 Hammond was one of them that could not go to the end, and 

 Farmer Williams on the old grey mare.' 



' The old grey mare,' continued Frank, ' fed upon clover, hay, 

 and Swedish turnips in the winter, and lying with the feeding 

 oxen all the summer.' 



' Beg pardon, sir,' resumed Dick ; ' it is true the old mare 

 lies with the feeding oxen in the summer, but the old gentleman 

 gives her the best of everything in the winter, and the Squire's 

 horses do not eat better hay or corn. Then there was Lord 

 Brock on one of his Leicestershire horses ; his Lcjrdship had 

 quite enough of it at the finish ; and, what was more, I heard 

 him tell the Squire that he never saw hunting quite perfect till 

 that day. It certainly was a beautiful sight to see how the 

 hounds did their work from hrst to last ; how they turned with 

 the scent, and what a head they carried ; and how the blood 

 of old Tyrant told at the last, for every hound was in his 

 place.' 



Time had been when Frank Raby would have been entranced 

 with this short but graphic description of an eight miles' burst, 

 but the charm was now dispelled : so, turning on his heel, he 

 pursued his course with merely telling Dick ' it was all very fine 

 but he had taken his leave of thistle-whipping.' 



Our hero's next visit was to the keeper, to inquire into the 

 state of his kennel. This he found quite to his satisfaction. 

 It contained three brace of well-broken setters ; three couples 

 and a half of spaniels, all as mute as a gate-post ; two capital 

 Newfoundlanders, then just coming into fashion as retrievers 

 of wounded game ; and four brace of greyhounds of the best 

 blood in the country, some of them having proved themselves 

 such by the various prizes they had gained. But matters did 

 not end here. Two brace of fine young setters had been sent 

 off into Cheshire in the pairing season, to be broken on the 

 down-charge system, by old Potts, and were not as yet returned. 



' Your kennel, Perren, is all right,' said our hero ; ' I think 

 there will be few better teams than mine, next year, on the 

 moors. How does Jack get on in his business ? Is he improved 

 in his shooting and vermin-catching ? ' 



' There is not a better shot than Jack in the country, sir,' 

 replied Perren ; ' and as to vermin-catciiing, not a crow nor a 

 magpie can escape Jiini, much less a weasel or a stoat. I'll 



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