THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



eminent sportsmen, inembers of this Hunt, from whom some 

 good lessons might be derived. That he was not disappointed 

 in the result, the following letter from our young sportsman 

 to his friend Hargra\ e will pretty clearly show :— 



' Stratfoid-iipon-Avon, Dec. 9. 



' Dear Hargrave, — 



' I am delighted with all I have hitherto seen in Warwick- 

 shire. Although there are a few rough fixtures in it, it is, 

 taken altogether, a right good fox-hunting country, and as full 

 of foxes as it can hold. Indeed, they say here that the life 

 of a fox is quite as safe from the gun of the poacher or 

 farmer, as the life of a man is from the hand of the assassin. 

 And I do not marvel at this. Old Corbet, as he is called, is 

 the most proper man I have ever yet seen as a master of 

 foxhounds, and as such, of course, popular amongst all descrip- 

 tions of persons. The farmers, indeed, appear to adore him 

 (as they generally do a really well-bred gentleman, which Mr. 

 C. is), and the gentlemen love and respect him. He is also a 

 good sportsman, and a perfect enthusiast when his hounds are 

 in chase, although, strange to say, he will not ride over any- 

 thing approaching to a large fence. How he gets on as he 

 does — for he is generally pretty near at the end of the run — 

 I cannot imagine, unless it be by his intimate knowledge of 

 the country, as well as of the line foxes generally take, and 

 the speed and goodness of his horses, which are hrst-rate. 

 His huntsman. Will Burrows, is my delight. He is a sulky- 

 looking fellow, and I believe his looks do not belie him ; but 

 it is when his hounds are running that he excites my admira- 

 tion. In the hrst place, he is a beautiful horseman ; in the 

 next, his •jyipe is the clearest and most melodious you ever 

 heard. Then, to hear him cheer his hounds, — the bitches 

 especially, which are his favourites — transports one. He 

 finishes his thrilling halloo, which he ever and anon encourages 

 them with, even when going their best pace, wnth — " Have 

 at him, 'my lasses, and stick to him till he dies." But as to 

 his never being many yards from his lasses, who can wonder 

 at that, seeing the cattle he rides ? He has four slapping 

 nags, able to carry fourteen stone, whereas his weight 

 with his saddle does not exceed eleven. And a word or two 

 about his horses, not a bad hint for us who hope one day 



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