THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



' My ever dear Mother, — 



' I should be dead to the common feelings of a man did I 

 not sympathise acutely with the painful situation in which you 

 are at this moment'' placed, and still more so to those of a 

 son, if I did not, to the utmost of my power, endeavour to 

 mitigate the sufierings of so kind and excellent a mother. 

 I know not in what manner I can at this moment best endea- 

 vour to contribute towards this much desired end, than to 

 assure you, at once, of my earnest wish that you should 

 remain at the Abbey so long as you may desire to do so, 

 considering all that is within and without it at your entire 

 service ; and furtlier, should you find, at the year's end, the 

 provision my lamented father has made' for you not equal to 

 the expenses of keeping it ivp, the deficiency shall be made 

 good by me. Our hearts, I am sure, are at present too full 

 to discuss such subjects in person, which is the reason of my 

 thus addressing you by letter ; but let me entreat you, for the 

 sake of my sisters, myself, and your friends, to bear up with 

 all your might against the blow which has thus stricken you 

 unawares and deprived you of (I fear) all that has hitherto 

 given a relish to the pursuits and pleasures of the greater part 

 of your life. But be comforted. My reading has informed me 

 that there are three ways of bearing up against the ills and 

 misfortunes of life — indifference, philosophy, and religion. The 

 first forms no feature in your character ; the second is a manly 

 virtue, but, in the first transports of affliction, of too stern an 

 aspect to gain admittance to a woman's breast ; it is in the third 

 and last that yoii will find the healing balm, and next to that 

 in the affection and gratitude of your daughters, the esteem of 

 your friends, and in the full assurance of the strict performance, 

 not only of what is now offered to you, but of every act of love 

 and duty on the part of 



' Your truly affectionate son, 



'Francis Raby. 



'Amstead, March 10, 18—.' 



It is said by a writer whose celebrity, perhaps, does no great 

 honour to the feelings of human nature, that, let a man die 

 amidst ever so many lamentations, if he could rise again from 

 his grave, after the lapse of a short period, his reappearance 

 upon earth would not be found to be productive of un mingled 



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