A Week at Melton. 45 



and the way in which they are hunted by Tom 

 Firr. 



Thursday being " Mercat ^' day at Melton, I deter- 

 mined to have a quiet time_, and to make myself ac- 

 quainted with the statistics of the town, the prices of 

 oxen, sheep, and pigs, and generally to go in for agri- 

 cultural information. To this end I visited the market, 

 which may be described as first-class. Here I han- 

 dled the sheep and oxen after the manner of an ex- 

 pert, glancing at the pigs, taking especial notice of 

 two bacon hogs in a highly comatose condition, oflFer- 

 ing to lay ten to one that they would cheat the 

 butcher by dying before they reached their destination 

 — a clear case of apoplexy waiting upon appetite. 



At the door of every inn were to be seen taxcarts, 

 dogcarts, gigs, and vehicles of all sorts; and the 

 town was full of visitors examining the fine displays 

 of meat, poultry, and other comestibles. 



Having gathered an ample store of knowledge in 

 respect to things bucolic, I returned to the George, 

 and, it being intimated that my presence at the market 

 table would be agreeable, I joined the party, and sat 

 down to a right good dinner. 



Being somewhat of an observant turn of mind, I 

 noticed that the whole company, to a man, went in for 

 Turkey. Whether this was simply a curious coin- 

 cidence or a covert expression of sympathy that ani- 

 mates the farmers of Leicestershire and Eutlandshire 

 at this time, I cannot say ; but I know that the old- 

 fashioned love of fair play, and the dislike of English- 

 men in general to see the weakest pushed to the 

 wall, is an inherent quality in those dwelling in the 

 shires. 



