FARMER TIBBALT. 93 



was in his stable, and Mr. Stilton's in his horses 

 and groom. The worthy surgeon kept an admira- 

 ble table, and every thing was the best which 

 could be procured. Many a jovial dinner have I 

 had at his house after a hard day's hunting, and 

 never did I enter it without a hearty welcome. 



Farmer Tibbalt, as we used to call him, was 

 another sporting associate, and he certainly was 

 one of the most out of the way men I ever met 

 with. Hough in his exterior, he had a polished 

 mind, which however had rusted a little in his lat- 

 ter years by his affecting to dislike the company of 

 gentlemen. He was a man of good fortune, and 

 farmed a considerable estate of his own, and few 

 persons could do it better. His great delight was 

 in coursing, and if any one beat one of his favou- 

 rite greyhounds, he was sure to be pressed to din- 

 ner. It was my luck to do so on one occasion, and 

 I received an invitation accordingly. It was the 

 first time I had entered his house, and I shall never 

 forget the scene which presented itself. After 

 depositing my horse in the stable, I had to pick 

 my way through a dirty farm-yard to a small 

 wicket gate, tumbling off its hinges. This led me 

 by the gable end of the house to a small untidy 

 garden. The house itself was a large straggling 

 building, with little casement windows, and covered 

 with honey-suckles and pyracanthus. The entrance 

 door led immediately into the dining-room, where 



