BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. I 23 



town by a literary acquaintance of ours, who 

 occasionally spent a month in the winter with 

 us, and who, in the way of business, was ex- 

 tensively furnished with what are called works 

 of light reading. The novels we received ap- 

 peared to have been operated on for some 

 specific purpose, to judge by the manner in 

 which certain passages were scored up, and 

 leaves turned down ; in fact, our London friend 

 was a reviewer, and a popular performer in his 

 line. We invited him over a few days ago, 

 and the outside car has been despatched for 

 him to the railway station about six miles off. 



Mr. Staunton Fred Staunton was a quiet 

 undemonstrative specimen of his order, who, 

 considering his constant and indispensable at- 

 tachment to the ink-pot, was as passionately 

 interested in shooting or fishing as either my 

 uncle or myself. We had to meet him the 

 day he arrived Dr. Phelan, a practitioner who 

 combined a knowledge of hunting and of 

 medicine in equal proportions. The man 

 neglected no opportunity of studying his pro- 

 fession or of understanding horses and how to 

 ride to hounds. He never hesitated to give 



