SHROPSHIRE 203 



master ever since he was breeched, beginning by riding his second 

 horse. I have said enough of him ; and nothing that I or any other 

 man can say can make him much better than he is. Jack is quite 

 above mediocrity. Indeed, I call him a very useful good whipper-in 

 — still improving, and a very good horseman. He formerly lived 

 with Sir Mark Sykes, but has been in his present place five 

 years. 



Although Sir Bellingham is so well manned in his kennel, he does 

 not trust the summer-work (so essential) of the hounds to any one 

 but himself ; so that, as soon as the London season is over, and he 

 has taken a cruise or two in his friend Mr. Maxse's yacht, he gets 

 to business again. He himself does not feed his hounds ; giving as 

 a reason, that, as his kennel is two miles and a half from his house, 

 he could not always do so, and to have their condition right they 

 ought always to be fed by one man. His system is to feed light ; 

 but his meat is as strong as it can be made. 



We have not very many instances of men really devoted to 

 fox-hunting continuing long on the turf, though they may mix the 

 pursuits a little in early life. This was the case with Sir Belling- 

 ham Graham. He had a few race-horses for three or four years, 

 and made a very good finish, by winning the St. Leger with 

 Duchess, 12 to 1 against her ; beating Dr. Syntax for the Cup at 

 Eichmond ; and selling her for two thousand guineas. 



The axiom in breeding, that " like begets like," is, as I have before 

 said, faithfully displayed in the human as well as in the brute race. 

 Though the Poet says 



" Who, from the morning's brightest ray, 

 Can promise what will be the day ? " 



yet I venture to predict, that Sir Bellingham Graham's two sons 

 will one day or other shine in the field. The eldest will doubtless 

 make a sportsman ; but the second — surnamed Godfrey, after his 

 godfather, Sir Godfrey Webster, a great ally of Sir Belhngham in 

 early days — is already nothing less than an artist, though only 

 eleven years of age. When at home for the holidays, I never saw 

 such " a ramming, jamming, cramming cove" of his tender years 

 before. No Shropshire fence will turn him now ; and, in the joy of 



