CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



cracklets for him — he takes his meals with the fam- 

 ily, sitting at the right hand of the master's eldest 

 son. He sleeps in any bed of the house he chooses; 

 and, though no Methodist, he goes every third Sun- 

 day to church. That is the education of a Scottish 

 greyhound — and the consequence is, that you may 

 pardonably mistake him for a deer dog from Bade- 

 noch or Lochaber, and no doubt in the world that 

 he would rejoice in a glimpse of the antlers on the 

 weather gleam, 



" Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode 

 To his Mils that encircle the sea.''"' 



This may be called roughing it — slovenly — coarse 

 — rude — artless — unscientific. But we say no — it is 

 your only coursing. Gods! with what a bounding 

 bosom the schoolboy salutes the dawning of the cool 

 — clear — crisp, yes, crisp October morn, (for there 

 has been a slight frost, and the almost leafless hedge- 

 rows are all glittering with rime;) and, little time 

 lost at dress or breakfast, crams the luncheon into 

 his pouch, and away to the Trysting-hill Farmhouse, 

 which he fears the gamekeeper and his grews will 

 have left ere he can run across the two long Scotch 

 miles of moor between him and his joy! With step 

 elastic, he feels flying along the sward as from a 

 spring-board; like a roe, he clears the burns and 

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