THE LIFE OF A HUNTER 47 



At one time the idea that I might possibly 

 at the last be sent to the kennels was a 

 disagreeable one, but, in a meditative old 

 age, I have derived comfort from the thought 

 that, even if this was my ultimate fate, my 

 poor old body would enter into the young 

 blood of the hounds with whom I spent the 

 best time of my life, and that I ought to 

 consider it a privilege to be incorporated 

 with the flying pack, and so in a sense live 

 for evermore. 



Well, then, I was born in the year 1876 

 on an Irish farm, and here I spent my infant 

 years by the side of my mother when she 

 was not at work. She had been a hunter 

 herself, had been driven in an Irish car, had 

 won a farmer's race, and been a s^neral 



o 



slave to the sporting family she worked 



