With the Fitzwilliam, 1 1 



^^ the pace may be gone ^^ without hammering the 

 hack^s feet to pieces over the stones, and those who 

 know their way about and are good at opening " bridle 

 gates " make short tracks across country through their 

 knowledge of the localities, where a stranger would 

 come to grief, as he may frequently ride for two or 

 three miles without seeing a soul. If he does meet 

 one of the '^ sons of the soil/^ he won't get much 

 information from him, for ten to one his knowledge of 

 localities is strictly confined to the limits of the parish 

 he is born in. However industrious and clever he may 

 be at husbandry, he makes but an indifferent guide to 

 an inquiring stranger. Arriving, however, at our 

 destination, we find George Carter and his two whips, 

 with 20 couples of hounds, which it would be difficult 

 to match, in splendid condition, showing great quality, 

 and as blooming as a bed of roses. 



Returning after a lapse of many years to the scenes 

 of our youth, we naturally look around for the old 

 familiar faces of those who hunted with the Fitzwilliam 

 in bygone days. But few of the old sort are to be 

 seen, for a fresh generation has sprung up ; and we 

 may search in vain for many an old friend or acquaint- 

 ance. First and foremost we miss Tom Sebright, who 

 hunted the Fitzwilliam for forty years— a very king of 

 huntsmen, admitted to have been one of the finest 

 sportsmen that ever carried a horn, and one through 

 whose judgment and knowledge of the breeding of 

 hounds the Fitzwilliam attained so great an excellence. 

 Kindly and pleasant in his manners, he was a favourite 

 with all; and the esteem in which he was held was 

 proved by the presentation of a silver cup, containing 

 800 guineas, subscribed for by 293 of his friends. 



