57 



CHAPTER IV. 



MY FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 



"At sere September's early dawn, 

 As seasons still come round, 

 With his pointers in the stubble, 

 He was certain to be found." 



Old English Gentleman. 



Before I was twenty years of age I had 

 become my own master, through the much- 

 lamented death of my dear father ; and having, 

 as I have said, early developed most un- 

 dt!)ubted love for sport, and having had the 

 shooting over a nice little estate of about four 

 hundred acres, not very far from the town 

 where I then lived, offered to me, upon the 

 understanding that I should put a man to 

 look after it, and keep off trespassers, and, 

 in fact, preserve it, I was tempted to take 

 out my first certificate to kill game. I had 

 become a fair shot at snipe, rabbits, wood- 



