A MEERY TIME IN THE MIDLANDS. 



Man proposes, but Kings and Empresses dispose of 

 such propositions in a most ruthless and inconsiderate 

 way. Several times have I suffered from this — on 

 one occasion greatly — having been invited to attend 

 a royal stag hunt at Compiegne, in the days of 

 Napoleon III., but the untimely death of the King of 

 the Belgians put a stop to the Imperial sport, and an 

 opportunity never again offered of seeing that grand 

 spectacle. This time it was the death of the King of 

 Italy which upset my arrangements, and deprived me 

 of a view of Her Imperial Majesty the Empress of 

 Austria, who was expected to attend the " meet '* of 

 the Pytchley, at Lilbourne, but was prevented doing 

 so by this lamentable event. My disappointment was 

 great, for I had travelled expressly to Rugby for the 

 purpose of seeing this royal huntress ride to hounds ; 

 taking up my quarters at the well known and excel- 

 lent hotel called the Royal George with that intent, 

 where, by the by (and trifles, it is said, make up the 

 sum of life) they varnish one^s boots to such perfection 

 that it recalled to mind an anecdote of Horace Clagget, 

 who some forty years since was a dandy of the first 

 water, and a roue to boot, who, having played ducks 

 and drakes with his patrimony, and being over head 

 and ears in debt, ran away with the daughter of a 

 millionaire, partner in the then celebrated blacking 



