ii8 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



nothin' pertickler, an' there ain't none too much on 

 it, nor yet no baccer nor no beer. The old folks 

 wud ha' paid the fine, but I said ' No.' I was bad 

 enough as 'twas, without their payin' fur it, poor old 

 souls. I was sorry fur mother, fur I knowed she'd 

 fret all the time I was away ; but 'tain't no good 

 cryin' over spilt milk. I ain't done nothin' wuss 

 than a bit o' poachin' now an' agin. There's a lot 

 does that, an' a good many as you'd hardly think, 

 on'y they doesn't git cotched." 



As we saw more of each other, Ralph and I found 

 we had much in common ; he was a first-class field 

 naturalist, and knew more about wild creatures than 

 many men whose names are mentioned with rever- 

 ence in that connection. A true type he was of 

 that large class of men born with an inherent passion 

 for sport. I believe myself that ninety out of every 

 hundred born and reared in the country are sports- 

 men at heart, and it is most hard to repress that 

 instinct. Speak to any one man who comes from 

 the woods and streams on the subject. Only men- 

 tion a rod or gun, and he will wax eloquent on the 

 subject. I venture to state the passion is natural 

 to any healthy subject who has the use of his 



