i'()4 THE HUNTING FIELD 



" Well, Job, you've sot back," observed his master, entering 

 the stable at four o'clock. 



" Yes," replied Job, as he knelt, hand-rubbing one of the 

 ticklish legged stud. 



" Did you see the groom ? " 



"Yes," was the answer. 



"What did he say? " 



" D d vie zvcll," replied Job. 



Change the shade again, Mr. Showman, and put us in the 

 one exhibiting Strutt coming out after dinner fuller than ever 

 of beer, brandy, baccy, and blackguardism. 



That's your sort, Mr. Showman : now we'll go on again. 



" Let's see the d d cripple out," says Mr. Strutt, 



swaggering into the yard, hallooing out, " Here, Tom ! John 1 

 James! ostler! what are you all about?" "Saddle me that 

 'orse," exclaims he, as his authoritative voice brings out the 

 whole crew with their mouths full, they having been regaling 

 in the kitchen with what had come from the " bar table." 



" Take off my straps," said he, cocking up a leg to a 

 newly caught helper. This is a proceeding, by the way, we 

 never could understand. We have always imagined that the 

 use of straps was to keep the trowsers down in riding, but we 

 see certain of the XX knowing ones always take theirs off 

 before mounting. The obedient helper quickly had Strutt 

 divested of his. 



" Bring me the honourable's riding whip," continued he, 

 " you'll find it on my dressing-table, and put them 'ere straps 

 there." 



Here let us pause for a moment to observe on one of the 

 absurdities of the day. We keep a barometer of impudence, 

 and we find that when servants begin to call their masters 

 and mistresses by their names, as Mr. Brown, or Mrs. Green, 

 instead of " my master " or " my mistress," they are generally 

 getting above themselves, and want taking down a peg or two. 



