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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

4)

THE LIFE OF

A SPORTSMAN

BY

NIMROD

AUTHOR OF "THF, LIFE OF JOHN MYTTON, ESQ."

with thirty-six coloured illustrations
By henry ALKEN

LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO. LTD.

BROADWAY HOUSE, 68-74 CARTER LANE, E.G.
I914

PEEFACE

My design and object in writing this work was not merely to depict
the life of a SporUman, in the general — perhaps with some persons,
unfavourable — acceptation of that term, but, taking higher ground, to
portray the character of an English gentleman attached to the sports
and pastimes of his country ; and, likewise, to give a sketch of a
country gentleman's family, in as close imitation as possible of those
of the best description, with which it has been my good fortune to
become acquainted. In fact, in many instances, the imitation or
resemblance is so close, as not to be doubtful to many as to who are
the original parties ; and they themselves cannot be displeased with
my selection, when they are intended to be displayed as exemplars
worthy of being followed by others.

The plan, or outline, of this half-true, half-fictitious story, is soon
told. It is, as has already been observed, descriptive of a country
gentleman, of large fortune and highly connected, having two sons
and two daughters. He himself is a sportsman, but only to a certain
extent ; that is to say, he does not aspire to fox-hunting, but keeps a
first-rate pack of harriers, and is also a good shot. His eldest son
has nothing sporting in his constitution, but has all the good qualities
that adorn and exalt our nature, and for which, of course, full credit
is given him. The hero of my tale is the younger son, who, differing
in tastes from his brother, enters into the sports of the field at a very
early age, and becomes a thorough sportsman, in the legitimate sense
of that, often wrongly applied, term. How far I have succeeded in
portraying him as such, my readers must be my judges ; I can only
say, I have made him follow, as nearly as I was able, in the footsteps
of those who, within my time and knowledge, have become the most
eminent sportsmen of their day, both by ' flood and field.'

It would be unfaithful to nature, and, therefore, unworthy of my
pen, were I to represent my young hero as totally guiltless of those
common failings to which inexperienced youth is, for the most part,
liable ; but I have taken especial care to keep him clear of all vicious
propensities which disgrace the gentleman and the Christian. In
furtherance of this purpose, then, I occasionally place him in a
dangerous position, the result of overweening confidence in others, so
natural to ingenuous youth ; but rescue him, in due time, partly by

V

PREFACE

his own proper principles, and also by the timely assistance of a faith-
ful and generous friend. These little aberrations are the result of his
q^uitting the noble and health-giving sports of the field for the
dangerous seductions of the race-course, which involve him in con-
siderable difliculties, by the expenses attendant on keeping race-horses
in the first instance, and by the treacherous conduct of his trainer,
in the second.

The situation in which I place my hero Avith his uncle is drawn
from real life, and with but few exaggerations or additions. No doubt
there are many such uncles, and many such nephews ; and the moral
to be drawn from the relative situations in which I place the two
in question, may be neither uninstructive nor useless. Indeed, it has
been my design, throughout the entire of the work, to impart to it a
moral tone, so that should those who may read it not rise the better
from the perusal, it will be their own fault, and not mine. At all
events, there is nothing in the sentiments expressed, or the examples
put forth, to make them anywise the worse.

In his character of a sportsman, I make my hero commence with
the lowest branches of the art, of which ratcatching is, I believe, the
type. He thence proceeds to the rabbit and the badger, progressing,
gradually, to the higher sports of the field, and finishes as a Leicester-
shire fox-hunter, and a horseman of the first class. I have also made
him a coachman — that is to say, an ardent amateur of the coach-box,
characteristic of the era in which I place him, which is, as nearly as
may be, my own. In truth, here I am myself, in some respects, his
exemplar. He commences with his pony in harness, as I myself did.
He then becomes a pupil of a celebrated coachman on his road, as was
my own case ; and, at length, he is not only considered safe — that is,
fit to be trusted with the ribbons — but possesses as much execution
on the coach-box as falls to the lot of most aspirants to the very
difficult art ; and, at length, I place him in a very trying position. By
the death of his elder brother, his uncle, and his father, he becomes
possessed of great wealth, and he does not abuse the boon. On the
contrary, he endeavours to follow his father's example in fulfilling the
duties of his station, and I leave him in the possession of the esteem
of his neighbours and friends, without which the riches of a Crcesus
aff"ord little real satisfaction to the possessor of them.

Then I had another object in my view. The most careless observer
of the course of worldly afi"airs must be aware that — as has been the
case in all ages — in proportion as a country has arrived at the highest
pitch of wealth and refinement, the taste for the humble, but nearly
unalloyed pleasures of a country life, has more or less declined.

A tendency to this decline has been, to a certain extent, observable

vi

PREFACE

in our own land, and fears have been expressed, lest the noblest of all
our country sports — fox-hunting — may yield to this chilling, if not
demoralising influence. For my own part, I do not think it will.
I entertain that opinion of the force of the almost natural passion for
hunting, and other manly diversions which has ever distinguished
Englishmen from all other nations under the sun, that induces me to
believe that it will continue to uphold fox-hunting as the pride and
boast of all our national pastimes. We, however, do occasionally hear
unpleasant forebodings to the contrary. ' Railroads,' says one
croaker on the subject, 'spoil all hunting countries through which
they pass, and one is about to traverse the cream of the Leicestershire
hunts.' 'In a few years,' cries another, 'Paris and Brussels will be
accessible in a few hours, as our fashionable watering-places already
are.' ' Melton Mowbray falls oft",' exclaims a third, ' no new settlers
in the town, and the old ones will soon be giving up.' ' Young men
leave off hunting after about their third season,' says a fourth.
' When many of the present masters of foxhounds shall be taken from
us, none will be found masters in their stead, beyond a third or fourth
season,' cries a fifth. ' Game preserves, and the accursed system of
steeple-racing, is destructive of the sportsmanlike manner of riding to
hounds, to the great discomfort of their owners,' says a sixth.

I am aware there is truth in some of these remarks, consequently
cause for alarm ; and it is on this account that I have, in these pages,
striven to the utmost to give a high colour to a country life, and to
represent the real modern sportsman, such as I find him to be — a
character not excelled in ingenuous feelings, in liberal conduct, in
extreme hospitality, in sincerity of friendship and all other social
virtues, by any class in which it has been my lot to move. Where,
indeed, was there a fairer or better specimen to be found than in the
late Mr. Warde, fifty-seven years a master of foxhounds, and, there-
fore, called — 'The Father of the Field'? Who ever heard him utter
an ill-natured word respecting any one, either living or dead ? Where
was there a kinder friend, or a better neighbour ? and, above all things,
where was his equal as a companion ? Neither can I stop here in my
panegyric on this fine specimen of the old English country gentleman
and sportsman. Rough as was his exterior, Mr. Warde was accom-
plished and well informed, and capable of adapting his conversation to
any society into which he might be thrown. In short, it is a matter
of doubt whether there has existed a man, whose name has not been
long before the public, either in the capacity of a senator, a soldier, a
sailor, or an author, so universally known as Mr. Warde of Squerries,
in Kent, Avas to Englishmen, in all quarters of the globe. Let me,
however, not be understood to exhibit him as a pattern, in all respects,

vii

PREFACE

for young men of the present day to imitate. Although, doubtless,
the somewhat rough exterior which he adopted, was, in great part,
adopted for the sake of effect to the tout ensemble of his character, still
a more polished one than his was, may now be required, in conformity
to the increased refinement of the age.

In the following pages, there may be something to amuse if not to
instruct the female mind. At all events, there is a little love-making,
and its results ; and there is one instance of a narrow escape by my
young hero, of the almost inevitable consequences of an unlawful
attachment. Upon the whole, however, the bright side of human
nature is displayed, and the cultivation of cheerfulness and good-
humour earnestly recommended as the sovereign antidote to those
mental disorders — peevishness and discontent — which distract the
mind, and increase the evils of life, without even the chance of either
removing or lightening them. Cheerfulness and good-humour are the
harbingers of virtue, and produce that serenity which disposes the
mind to friendship, love, gratitude, and every other social affection.
They make us contented with ourselves, our friends, and our situation,
and expand the heart to all the interests of humanity. It is in this
spirit, then, that I have written, as others more worthy of the task
have done before me — in that of Lucretius, indeed, when he penned
the following lines :

' Sed veluti pueris absintliia tetra iiiedentes
Ciim dare conantur, priiis oras pocula circum
Contingunt mellis dulci flavoque liquore.'

NiMROD.
June 24th, 1842.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGK

I.— Introductory— The hero presented— Items of his birth, parentage,
and education; together with traits of his idiosyncrasy, Avhereby
'comingeventscast their shadows before' 1

II.— The lirst great step in the Life of our ' Sportsman ' : he is entered
at hare.— The chapter concludes with many choice aphorisms
concerning the noble science, and sundry anecdotes, Avorthy of
being recorded in letters of gold 22

III. —Devoted to rural scenes and characters, and combining matter of
amusement and instruction, with maxims of sound theory, and
examples well worthy of imitation 54

IV.— The hero enters upon the stage of life, and also on another stage,
which, with various incidents narrated in this chapter, will be
found corroborative of the adage, that— 'as the twig is bent,
the tree's inclined ' 65

v.— Christmas at the seat of 'a line old English gentleman,' with its
appropriate accompaniments— good company, good cheer, and
good sport ........... 79

VI.— College life, with some sketches of men and manners at Oxford,
in the latter part of the eighteenth century— Bibury ]\leeting
in its palmy days

89

VII.— A trip to Ascot Races, succeeded by an inquiry into the systems
and methods of travelling, from the earliest ages to the golden
age of the road in England 110

VIII.— Rural life in hall and field; a ball and a wound (consequences

alike common in love and war) 139

IX. — Two events occur, of great influence upon the career of the hero :
he takes his degree at Oxford, and loses his brother, whereby
he becomes heir to the goodly domains of Amstead . . . 154

X. Our sportsman has now entered in earnest upon his life. He

refuses a seat in Parliament, and studies his craft with
enthusiasm, opening his lirst regular hunting campaign with
the Warwickshire, under the celebrated Mr. Corbet, and the

Pytchley, under the great John Warde 168

ix

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

XI.— Tlie debut in Leicestershire— Frank Raby hunts with the Quorn
under Lord Sefton, with Lord Lonsdale's, and with the Duke
of Rutland's hounds 185

XII.— A sample of a young sportsman's life in London.— A near thing
for the Oaks at Epsom, and a close shave for the Oaks at
Amstead 203

XIII.— A season with Sir Thomas Mostyn, in the Bicester country, with
anecdotes of some of the leading sportsmen in the provinces at
that day, and a glance at ' home, sweet home ' . . . 223

XIV.— A few words on summering hunters. Mr. Corbet's country and

men, and the finish of the season with the Atherstone . . 249

XV.— The death of Mr. Beaumont Raby, and the installation of the
hero into a regular sporting establishment, the details of which
are given at some length 268

XVI.— The B.D.C. and B.C.M. Our sportsman makes a tour, in whicli
he visits many of the most celebrated fox-hunting establish-
ments in England 315

XVII.— Frank Raby becomes a regular Meltonian ; loses liis father, and
finally settles down as a Master of foxliounds, tlie point of
honour in the Life of a Sportsman 361

LIST OF ILLUSTRATrOI^rS

1. Ainstead Abbey ......

2. Emblematic Title — ' The Life of a Sportsman

3. ' Yoick.s ! Tally-ho ! Look out for the pastry '

4. ' Never mind 'em — they won't hurt ! '

5. ' He'll leather two such chaps as that '

6. Bagging the badger .....

7. ' You are worth double what I gave for you ! '

8. ' He's heart of oak ! ' .

9. Portrait of Dick Knight, after B. INLarshall
10. ' His reverence swims like a cork ! ' .
IL ' Who-whoop ! I've done it'

12. Hunting the marten cat ....

13. The otter hunt

14. ' AVhat's the price of the young nag, miller ?'

15. The shalloAvs below the mill

16. The Prince of Wales — Birmingham coach

17. ' H. for Windsor ; go along, Bob ! ' .

18. Bibury meeting in its palmy days

19. ' All Captain A skham's, sir '

20. ' He is among the dead ' . . . .

21. Flapper-shooting on the great lake in the Park

22. ' Mr. Ridgeways' good health — noiv' .

23. 'Soho!'

24. ' Follow my leader ' .....

25. A meet with His Grace the Duke of Rutland

26. A night scene with Sir Thomas Mostyn

27. ' Not Handel's sweet music more pleases the ear,

Than that of tlie hounds in full cry '

28. ' The check ' — ' For a moment a sheep-foil now baffles the scent'

29. The four-in-hand ....

30. The three teams .....

31. The race for the Welter Stakes .

32. ' Fox-hunting for ever ! ' .

33. The tandem

34. Mr. jNIusters hunted by his hounds

35. Our hero's first run with his own hounds

36. ' The Master of the Raby Hunt — one cheer

Frontispiece

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XX

THE

LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

CHAPTER I

Introductory — The hero presented — Items of his birth, parentage, and educa-
tion, together with traits of his idiosyncrasy, whereby 'coming events
cast their shadows before.'

In the latter part of the last century, in one of the finest of
the midland counties of England, lived Andrew Raby, a
commoner, of large possessions, and of very old English
blood. When, however, I use the term ' large possessions,' I
do not desire to convey the idea of his having an income
sufficient to keep up a degree of pomp and dignity equal to
that of his titled superiors, but such as enabled him fully to
support the respectable and honourable station of an English
country gentleman, and to indulge in all those pursuits which
Avere congenial to his own taste, and, likewise, to exercise
almost unbounded hospitality towards his friends. In fact, his
rental was a little above ten thousand pounds per annum ;
which, when the usual drawbacks of agencies, repairs, and
other heavy outgoings attendant on landed property, in
addition to an annuity he paid to a sister, were deducted, left
him — for he had no interest of money to pay to morto-ao-ees
(indeed it was his boast, that no lawyer held as much parch-
ment security of his as would cover a crown piece) — a clear
annual income of seven thousand pounds ; at least he reckoned
not on more, on a fair average of years. With tliis compara-
tively limited income, he inhabited a house suitable for a man
of twice his means. It covered three sides of a quadrangular
court; displaying a sumptuous character in its architectural

A

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

ornaments without, and containing elegant and spacious apart-
ments within. Planned after the fashion of the Elizabethan
age, Amstead Abbey stood on an island, formed by a deep moat,
and within the palings of an extensive and finely timbered
park, containing a herd of deer sufficiently ample for the use
of a private gentleman ; the gardens, too, were large, no less
than three hundred yards of ' glass ' — as forcing-houses are
technically denominated — being visible in them, exclusive of
hot walls. A farm of three hundred acres of the best staple
land of the county was in occupation, under the eye of a Scotch
bailiff'; and, having been conducted on improved principles,
it greatly outstripped its neighbours in its produce, and turned
to a very profitable account : the surrounding country was also
of the richest and most valuable description.

Mr. Raby's establishment consisted, indoors, of a butler
and two footmen, with all the requisite females, and was only
deficient in one respect — it wanted the onnn cook to aid the
English kitchen-maid ; but against this there was a prejudice
which time has since removed. At the period to which I
allude, there was an objection against these cliefs of the kitchen,
on the score of wasteful extravagance in their operations ;
experience, how^ever, has since shown that their art is practised
to advantage in all large establishments. By the almost
magical power of the rechaufoir, the remains of yesterday's
dinner instead of being looked lightly upon, if not in great
part cast to the dogs, are sent smoking and savoury into the
servants' hall, and so disguised as to leave the inmates of it
in doubt wdiether the dishes are rechaujfes or not. His woman
cook, however, was as good as high wages could procure, and
his guests had no cause for complaint. But the style of living-
was truly English, and, as such, the assistance of Monsieur
was less necessary ; the consumption of animals was prodigious
from the numbers of comers and goers, in addition to the family
itself; and did a sirloin of beef make its appearance on a
Sunday, and a round on the Monday, they might be looked for
in vain on the Tuesday.

There was one species of luxury — refinement, indeed, it
may be termed, in reference to tliose times — in which Mr.
Raby indulged ; and this was the selection of his footmen and
postillions. The first were London-bred ; he declared that he
never saw a country-bred footman who could bring a message

2

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

into a room, or an under-butler of the same genus, who could
clean a service of plate ; and no man's table in the country
was better set out than Mr. Raby's. Of his coach-horses he
was justly proud, and he liked to see them ridden and driven
to his mind. His postillions — for in those days gentlemen's
carriages in the country were not driven from the box — were
always Hounslow-bred ones ; that is to say, sons of Hounslow
post-boys, having had their education on the road. His turn-
out, in this respect, was perfect.

The out-of-doors establishment was still more numerous.
Tliere was a pack of harriers in the kennel, six able coach-
horses in one stable, ten hunters in another, besides a hack
or two to go to post, or to carry ' how do ye do's ' about the
country — no sinecure in those days : a capital team of spaniels
for cock-shooting, pointers and setting dogs for partridges and
hares, under the care of an experienced gamekeeper, and a
small kennel of greyhounds to contend for prizes at the
neighbouring coursing meetings. One appendage to the
present establishment of an English gentleman, however, was
wanting ; I mean a band of night- watchers to protect the game
from poachers, an operation beyond the power of any single
keeper. And yet it is not to be supposed that there were no
poachers of game in those days, as, in that case, Fielding's
Black George would have been an anachronism ; but the
battue system was unknown. Still, of pheasants, there was a
sprinkling in the woods of this estate ; and the delight which
the Squire and his friends experienced when they saw Juno on
the foot of a pheasant, and the bird shot dead to her point,
more than equalled that afforded by a battue of three hundred
head in one day, the game being put up by stable-boys, without
the use of dogs, the Newfoundland retriever excepted.

But the reader may well ask how all this was done on an
income of seven thousand pounds. — By management, in the
first place ; and, in the next, by only occasionally visiting
London for the season, Mr. Raby having little inclination for
the bustle and hurry of a town life ; and Lady Charlotte (he
had married an Earl's daughter) had likewise the good sense
to be satisfied with what she had seen of it, in its best form,
during her residence with her father in Grosvenor Square,
But the ' management ! ' that calls forth some remarks.

As procrastination is the thief of time, payment delayed is a

3

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

thief of another description. It is not, per se, a robber, but it
opens the door to robbery of every description ; and gentlemen
who require long credit, pay twenty per cent, at least for it.
Mr. Raby, however, went on quite another tack in the conduct
of his expenditure. In lieu of paying a bonus, that is, what
is called the ' put-on-price ' for long credit, he received a
discount by paying ready money for everything purchased in
London, or other distant places ; and, in his own immediate
neighbourhood, on the first Monday in every month, all his
small bills were discharged. He had a list of them on his
dressing-table, when he came down from his chamber in the
morning, and, having examined the items, and found them
correct, wrote a cheque on his banker for the amount. He
reckoned that by tliis arrangement he saved five hundred
pounds per annum, which about paid his wine-merchant's bill.
It is scarcely necessary to add that, exclusive of any other
consideration, this punctuality in the disbursement of a large
income rendered Mr. Eaby very popular in his neighbourhood ;
and know^ing, from experience of the world, that

When the means are gone that buy this praise,
The l)reath is gone whereof this praise is made,

he never deviated from the practice to the last year of his life.
In fact, so much esteemed was he, as a gentleman and a land-
lord, that he might have represented his county in Parliament,
had he been disposed so to have done ; but either from a
disinclination to take the onus of such a responsible situation
upon himself, or, it might have been, from a mistrust of his
ability to do justice to it, it devolved upon a neiglibouring
baronet. Still, let it not be supposed that Mr. Raby was a
man of mere animal life, given to decry the value of literary
attainments, averse to the fashionable refinements of that
polished age, much less insensible to the common feelings of
our nature. Far from it, no man indulged more in those
sympathies which unite landlord and tenant, master and
servant, in a bond of reciprocal kindness and good offices,
nor more strictly performed the higher duties of his station.
But his chief purpose was this : — he wished to be considered,
as nearly as his nature would admit, a perfect specimen of the
English country gentleman, whose head modern philosophy
had not yet enliglitened, at the expense of the best feelings of

4

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the heart ; unsdpliisticated by foreign I'opperie.s ; a man whose
character could face the world, and whose spirit would not fear
it. Again, this maxim was often in his mouth : ' Wealth,'
he would say, ' is not his who possesses it, but his who enjoys
it ' ; and he acted up to the moral of it. ' Lcatiis aliis, sapiens
sibi,' he loved to see his friends enjoying themselves by his
means ; and, as regarded himself, his object was to gather the
rose and leave the thorn behind.

Mr. Rab}^ however, being the father of my hero, I must now
speak of him in the capacity of a sportsman; and a sportsman
he was, although but to a certain extent. In the first place,
he was not a fox-hunter, but confined himself to his harriers,
which were quite perfect of their kind — indeed, the crack pack
of all the neighbouring countries. And well might they be
such, for the In'eed had been preserved and improved upon, for
more than half a century, by his father and himself ; and,
from the number of walks he had for puppies amongst his own
tenants, and those of his neighbours, he bred as many young
hounds every year, to make a choice of, as some masters of
foxhounds. Then his hunting establishment was perfect ; and,
as regarded horses, at least, not far from being equal to that
necessary for foxhounds hunting only three days in the week.
He kept ten slapping hunters for himself and his two men;
and he never had less than forty couples of working hounds in
his kennel. Nor must I pass over the manner in which his
pack were turned out. As for themselves, they were, as I have
already observed, perfect. There was not an inch between any
one and another in height ; their form was that of the modern
foxhound in miniature ; their tongues light, but musical, and
their condition as perfect as their form. His huntsman was
likewise a model of his order, having been the grandson of one
man, and the son of another, who had filled the same situation
in life ; he was, therefore, well bred for his calling. He was,
however, what is called ' a character,' a bundle of vagaries in
his way. In the first place, although a horseman of the first
class, he was difficult to be suited with horses ; neither did he
fancy any that he had not himself made choice of. And even
here appeared the ' character.' He would take a fancy to
animals by no means likely to make hunters, but which, as
though instinct directed him in his election, seldom failed in
turning out such. The mention of one of these animals, in

5

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fact, is now in the mouths of some old men in the parish, when
speaking of Dick, the Squire's huntsman, and his lop-eared
horse, which he purchased out of a neighbouring gentleman's
coach-stable. Mounted on this horse, however, Dick was in
his element ; beautifully did he ride him to the music of his
crack pack, and, did he espy among his field any gentleman
whom he knew to have hunted in Leicestershire (he designated
all such ' your silver -liandled sjjortsmen '), awful must have
been the fence that turned him ten yards from his line, when
his hounds were on a good scent.

Nor was Dick less notable on the field. He ' did the trick '
in a style differing from his brother huntsmen of the scut, and,
to manifest his superiority by quitting the beaten track, hunted
his pack as if they had been foxhounds. He tallyhoed his hares
when they were in view ; hallooed his hounds forward, cap in
hand, to a point ; and, by forcing his game to fly beyond their
knowledge of the country in which they were bred, had runs of
extraordinary duration. In fact, such was the speed of these
harriers, from the head they carried in chase, the result of the
care taken in the breeding of them, that many first-rate hunters
— ay, and hunters of fame too — have been blown to a dead
stand-still, in the attempt to lie by the side of them in a burst,
when the ground has been tender under their feet, and the
scent good ; and yet no man had more patience than Dick,
when his hounds were brought down to their noses by the stain
from cattle or sheep, or by a passing cloud or storm. Here he
was the hare-hunter ; and often has been the time when success
has rewarded his patience, after that of his field had been
exhausted. What did you do with your last hare ? would be
the question put to him many times during the season, by
Mr. Raby, on his return home, he himself having left in a
moment of despair. ' I 2:)ersevered, sir, and killed her,' was
the general reply.

Mr. Raby pursued one practice connected with his hunting,
which might, with advantage, be more generally observed. He
provided his huntsman with a book, in which were inserted
the names of all the occupiers of land over which he sported,
and he ordered that a hare should be given to each in his turn,
and oftentimes twice, during the season.

But Mr. Raby was not a fox-hunter ; for, in the first place,
although an elegant horseman, and an excellent judge of the

6

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

animal, he was not a strong-nerved man over a country. He
was shy of timber and wide brooks, and, therefore, judiciously
avoided entering into a pursuit in which he was aware he could
not shine. Next, he was bred up a hare-hunter, and considered
that the act of confining his attention to one sort of hunting
would be the surest means of perpetuating the fame of his
father's kennel, if not of increasing it. Thirdly, he had numer-
ous duties to perform as a magistrate, and otherwise, exclusive
of those of his own domestic station, which were less inter-
rupted by the gentler pursuit of the hare ; but when the fox-
hounds appeared in his neighbourhood, he would often see
them find their fox, and they were nearly certain to do so in
any of his own covers. Had a keeper of his levelled his gun at
a fox, or designedly caught him in a trap, he would have been
discharged on the morrow, as having committed a flagrant dis-
obedience of orders.

Neither was Mr. Raby a racing man. To speak the truth,
although quiet, even to diffidence, in his deportment, there was
in his nature an ambition to excel in what he attempted. His
estate was the best conditioned in his county ; his harriers
were, perhaps, the best of that day in England ; his pointers
and setting dogs — for he used the latter to the net — were per-
fect of their kind ; and his breed of spaniels was sought after
by every sportsman who had heard of it. But he was aware
that, had he sought for it, excellence on the lurf was out of his
reach. Even the legitimate means of ensuring success, as the
experience of many of his friends had convinced him, were
doubtful ; the illegitimate ones he would not have availed
himself of, if presented to him.

There is one part of Mr. Raby's conduct as a sportsman of
which notice should not, on any account, be omitted, inasmuch
as it affords an example highly worthy of imitation by all
whose means give them the power. I allude to the generous
care he took of his worn-out hunters and coach-horses, in lieu
of the too common practice of selling them for trifiing sums,
and exposing them to severe labour when least able to endure
it. He had, after the manner of a master of foxhounds of the
present day,^ a range of pastures sacred to the repose of these
pensioners on his bounty, in which they enjoyed themselves in
perfect freedom from labour, and in full supply of all that old
' The Viscount Kelbunie.

7

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

age requires. Each of the fields had a comfortable shed, to
which they could resort, to protect themselves from cold in
winter, as well as from the gad-fly in the summer, and in
which, in the first-named season, was the well-furnished hay-
crib, and, occasionally, still more nourishing food. Mr. Raby
took a pleasure in exhibiting these ipensioners to his friends.
' These animals have been all valuable servants to me,' he
would say, on such occasions, ' and have strong claims upon
my protection. That roan gelding, which has now scarcely a
leg to support his body upon, carried me, with my hounds,
thirteen seasons, and only, to my recollection, gave me five
falls, two of which were not to be laid to his account. He was
once as proud and prancing as he is now humble and decrepid,
and, I fear, I shall soon be obliged to have an end put to his
days, as a lesser evil of two. Yon milk-white horse — once a
dark iron-grey, dragging his slow length along — was, in the
days of his youth, for I bred him, such a roving, riotous
fellow, that no hedge or gate could keep him within bounds,
and it was a day's work to catch him. Then, when caught, he
was no horse for me ; but as I happened at that time to have
a sort of dare-devil lad, as whipper-in, who valued him for his
skittishness and impetuosity, he made him an excellent hunter.
Now such was precisely the character of this lad himself, who,
after rather a wild, but not vicious career, sobered down, like
his colt, into an excellent servant, and lived with me, as a
whipper-in, till his death, which was occasioned by a bad fall,
but not from that horse. In fact, the horse and his rider
appeared to reform themselves together. But the most extra-
ordinary animal here is that strawberrj^-coloured mare, which
you see reposing in the shade. She was purchased out of a
hack-chaise, for the sum of twenty-five guineas, by my hunts-
man, who took a fancy to her ; and, although, as you will per-
ceive, showing no signs of high breeding, nor yet of much
speed, she proved the best hunter, for the weight she had to
carry, I have ever yet seen. It is evident that neither her sire
nor her dam could have been of pure racing blood ; but report
says that the latter was brought into this county by some
gipsies from the New Forest, in Hampshire, and hence her
excellence is accounted for. She was, I am inclined to think,
the produce of the celebrated Marske, the sire of Eclipse, who
covered mares — New Forest ponies amongst them, of course —

8

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

at the low price o£ one guinea. In her best da^'.s, it was
difficult to blow this mare in a burst ; no fence that could be
jumped by a horse could pound her; nor did I ever know her
to come home to the stable tired, after the longest day's work.
She is now, however, as you will perceive by her languid eye,
her distended carcass, low back, and fallen crest, in extreme
old age, the evils of which I have taken some pains to alleviate,
in consideration of her fourteen years' services, and I rejoice in
the reflection that a large offer did not induce me to part with
her when in her prime.'

Having sketched the character of Mr. Raby, that of his lady
shall follow, and a few words will suffice. It has already been
said that Lady Charlotte Raby was an Earl's daughter. By
uniting herself in marriage to a commoner, she had descended
a step in society, according to the opinion of the world,
although, in her own eyes her husband was ennobled beyond
the power of a coronet to dignify him, by his conduct as a man
and a husband. Neither did she look back with regret towards
the theatre of her early life, in which her charms and accom-
plishments had met with universal admiration. She had
enjoyed nearly seven years of what is called the fashionable
London World, and that in all its glory; and she had had
enough of it. She had become the wife of a country gentle-
man, and was the mother of four children ; and she learnt,
from the experience of the first seven years of so very different
a life, this great moral truth : — that, although pleasure,
amusement, and oblivion of self are to be found at the ball-
room or at the opera, and although they occasionally hover
around the stranger's hearth, still of all the sources of human
happiness, domestic life is the richest and most productive ;
and had Lady Charlotte Raby read Horace, she would have
exclaimed, with him, whilst reviewing her situation at Amstead
Abbey, in the bosom of her owai family, and surrounded by
friends in whose esteem she lived, ' Quod peiis hie est.' In
other words, she might have added this postscript to her
answers to the letters of her London correspondents, who trans-
mitted to her the doings of the gay world : — What you look for
elsewhere, I find liere.

There was, however, one feature in the amiable lady's
character which I am unwilling not to exhibit to my readers.
It too often happens that highly-bred women, who emerge from

9

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the vortex of the fashionable world to reside in the country
with the husbands of their choice, look slightingly on the wives
and daughters of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood who may
not have had the entree into similar walks of life (from which,
indeed, their situation and circumstances excluded them), or
are unable to exhibit so many quarterings in their escutcheons.
Tliis was ■ not Lady Charlotte's failing. On the contrary, like
a woman of good sense, she conformed to the situation which
she had selected for herself in every respect; and although,
within the circle of her visiting, there were several ladies hold-
ing rank nearly equal to her own, still there were no young
ladies of her acquaintance oftener to be seen at the Abbey than
the daughters of the rector of the parish.

The rector of Amstead was an old-fashioned country clergy-
man of whom John Bull was once wont to be so proud, and to
whom obedience and tithes were paid without a murmur. En-
abled, by the value of his preferment, the prudent management
of his income, and a limited family — two daughters and one
son — to make a most respectable appearance in society, and to
add to the valuable instruction given by him to liis congrega-
tion in the church, assistance to such as stood in need of it at
their homes, he was extremely beloved in his parish. In fact,
he was to the poor a 'Man of Ross'; and to his flock so
much a pastor to their mind that dissent was unknown in his
parish. And yet the rector was a sportsman — at least to a
certain extent. He was an excellent shot, in cover especially,
the woodcock being his favourite quarry. And here his turn-
out was somewhat remarkable, for he was always accompanied
by his clerk, who was not only an excellent beater of a wood,
but, having been the son of an Amstead gamekeeper, well knew
the haunts of a cock, in all the covers of his neighbourhood.
The clerk, however, like his rector, was much respected in his
own village, where he was considered a man of no mean accom-
plishments, inasmuch as, exclusively of his sacred avocation, he
was both a shoemaker and a schoolmaster, which induced a
wag to indite this couplet over his door : —

John Wells' trades are three —
Cobbler, cleric, and domine !

The mention of one more person is essential to the develop-
ment of my tale — Mr. Beaumont Eaby, brother to the Squire

10

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of Anistcad, but of very different habits and pursuits. In the
first place he was not a sportsman ; and this for reasons inde-
pendent of a natural disinclination for all sports of the field.
His immense size would have been an obstacle to it, for he
might have played Falstafi' without stuffino-. Again, his health
was not good. He had incurred some of the penalties attend-
ant on idleness and high feeding ; but he equalled his brother
in kindheartedness and good feeling, and exceeded him in
accomplishments, the result of the life he had led. His
history is this : — Having had an ample fortune left him when
a child, by a person to whom he was but distantly related, he
entered, with his brother, as a gentleman commoner of Christ
Church, Oxford, where he took a very high degree. He then
became a member of the Inner Temple, not with the view of
making a profession of the law, but to qualify himself for a
member of the senate, which it was his ambition to become.
Nor was he disappointed. He sat in two short Parliaments,
during which he made three speeches, each affording the
promise of brighter days to come. They were not only occa-
sionally adorned by classic flowers, culled from the poets
and historians of the Augustan age, but they were also remark-
able for clear views of their subjects, and a business-like
manner of debating them. The natural indolence of his
disposition, however, obtained the mastery over his inclinations ;
his seat in the house was not sought for a third time ; he
became a mere votary of ease and pleasure — in fact, what is
called a regular London man ; thinking with Sir Fopling
Flutter, in the play, that ' all beyond Hyde Park Corner is a
desert.' At all events, the simple and humble pleasures which
a country life affords would have been to him something more
than insipid. Nevertheless, the two brothers were greatly
attached to each other ; were inseparable when in London
together ; corresponded regularly when at a distance ; and,
perhaps once in three years, the ci-devant Templar and ex-
member of the senate would quit the gay scenes of London and
Bath to pass a few weeks at the Abbey.

It has already been stated that the family of Mr. Raby
consisted of four — two sons and two daughters — all of whom
lived to attain their majority : Francis, the second son, however,
is the hero of this story, and here his history begins : —

He was born in the year 1776, and being the issue of sound

11

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and healthy parents, and a perfect and well-shapen infant, soon
struggled into what may be called life ; that is to say, the
' mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ' was, in due time,
succeeded by a strong desire to get upon his legs and amuse
himself. In fact, althouo-h to declare the end from the bec«;in-
ning is not within the scope of human power, there was some-
thing about this boy, at the end of his third year, wdiich
indicated that, one day or another, in one pursuit or other, he
was likely to overtop the crowd. It is true the human mind
is made for action ; but this child was as active and restless
as the hy^na, and showed a desire to pry into everything
within his reach ; and the predominance of his taste was not
long in displaying itself. If he found a stick, he w^anted a
string to tie to the end of it; and if he found a string, he
wanted a stick to tie the string to. In fact, a whip was his
delight, but the sight of a horse transported him ; and from
morninp; to nio-ht did his little toncrue rino- the chano-es of horse
and whip, whip and horse, varied only by an occasional notice
of a favourite dog, that was allowed to make its domicile in the
nursery. In short, as the dawn of morning generally show^s
the day, it was evident that Francis Raby was to be a sports-
man.

As may be imagined from their situation in life, Francis
Raby and his brother (who was named after his father) had
every care taken of them in their infancy ; and, before they
were eight years of age, their characters were pretty clearly
developed. But as ' one star diftereth from another in glory,'
so did the characters of these brothers vary in a very unusual
degree. Andrew w^as always in the house, and with his mother
wdien he could be ; Francis out of doors, and about the stables
as soon as he could break loose and steal away. Andrew
delighted in a book ; Francis ajDpeared to have an antipathy
to one. Andrew was pale and sickly, and subject to infantine
diseases ; Francis was a miniature waggoner in frame and
constitution. In one respect, however, they assimilated. Both
showed indications of talent, and, in their exercises with their
tutor, who prepared them for Eton, 'the promise of a goodly
day to-morrow.'

There is nothing more certain than that all things must have
a beginning; and what may be called the sporting career of
Francis Raby commenced about his tenth year, when he became

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

possessed of a couple of terriers, of a good game breed, sore
enemies not only to the rats about the buildings, but to all the
cats of the house, which were hunted by them about once a
week. On one occasion, however, Master Francis had almost
driven the jest too far ; for, having chased one of them into
the kitchen, with his terriers close at her tail, she leapt on the
table and upset a tureen of turtle soup, that was on the point of
being served up to a dinner-party. Frank, however — for such
he was always called, as most Francises are — got well out of
the scrape by his great popularity among the servants, who
either took the mishap upon themselves, or laid it to that
scapegoat in all families — the cat. Frank and his terriers,
however, were much dreaded in the neighbourhood by all wdio
had favourite tabbies, as a gripe from either Pincher or Vixen
was very apt to prove fatal. But, did Mr. Raby know of this
cat-killing propensity ? and, if so, did he encourage it ? The
general character of that gentleman leads to the conclusion
that he would not have encouraged, in his children, cruelty to
animals, a vice the very reverse of the characteristic of the
thorough English sportsman. Nevertheless he w^as well aware
of this truism — that to restrain the pleasures and pursuits of
youth with too tight a hand, is as preposterous as to be angry
with the spring of the year because it produces nothing but
blossoms, or to expect from that early season the fruits of
autumn in their perfection ; and it must be admitted that,
when he saw his favourite son, Frank — for most fathers have
favourites — with a couple of terriers at his heels, and his ferret
bag in his hand, he was delighted beyond measure. ' That
boy,' he would say, ' will be a sportsman, and one day or
another will see him at the top of the tree, if he lives.' And he
had a right so to predict of him. No matter whether pleasure
or business be the object, whoever pursues either to any purpose,
must do so con artiore, which was truly Frank's case. No
sooner did his tutor dismiss him, than he was at war with one
description of vermin or another ; and he was wonderfully
expert in his calling.

As similarity of taste inspirc^s regard, Fraidv, as he progressed
in years, formed a strong alliance with one of the head keeper's
sons, who, as his father had initiated him into the entrapping
art, was of no small service in his pursuits ; and such was
their success in ferreting rabbits, that they furnished the supply

13

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

for the house, of which they were not a little proud, as there
was no great abundance of them on the estate — Mr. Raby being
averse to their increase, on account of the injury done by them
to young trees. To a certain extent, however, he wished to
preserve them, as the means of ensuring litters of foxes in his
covers. Still, as it may be supposed, this intimate alliance
with Jem Perren, the young keeper, was not without its effect
on the aspiring mind of his young master. From the superi-
ority of Jem's knowledge in these matters, as w^ell as having the
advantage in years, Frank looked up to him as his chief pre-
ceptor— his reverence the tutor only being second. Then,
again, Jem was an accomplished youth of his kind. In the
first place. Nature had not been unkind to him ; he inherited a
great share of his father's acuteness, and, for his years, more
than his share of his Herculean frame and strength. In fact,
he was quite the ' cock of the walk ' among all the lads of the
villao"e in which he had received his learnin(j, and had often
amused his young master with accounts of the various battles
he had been engaged in, at least those which had ended in
victory.

As may be supposed, all this was not lost on our hero, who
listened to such tales with delight ; neither can we marvel at
his having done so. He was now in his thirteenth year, and
had been reading history with his tutor, as well as listening
to his brother when reading it, in portions considered beyond
his own reach at the time ; and had paid particular attention
to the accounts given of those heroes of antiquity who had
sio-nalised themselves in gymnastic exercises, boxers and
wrestlers especially. He found that the first kings of the
world obtained their dominion by being superior to all others
in strength and courage— in fact, that, even in Homer's time,
the argumentwm haculinum was essential to the existence of
all little governments. Leaving out of the question those
apocryphal heroes, Hercules, Theseus, Pollux, and others, who
were feigned to have been the original inventors of games and
combats (considered so admirably calculated for rendering the
bodies of youth robust and vigorous, and capable of supporting
the severe fatigue of a soldier's life, that they were wisely
made to form a part of their religious worship), he had read
that the most celebrated characters of their day excelled in
the boxing and wrestling arts. Epaminondas, for example,

14

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

one of the greatest generals and most perfect characters that
Greece ever produced, was a patron of, as well as conspicuous
in, all such exercises ; and it is gravely stated in history that
a knowledge of the art of wrestling gave to the Thebans
under his command the battle of Leuctra, and decided the
fate of Sparta. Having read of all this, his wonder ceased at
finding that master of the wrestling art, Hippomachus, declare
that he could discover his scholars at a distance, though they
were only carrying meat from the shambles ; or tliat crowns
of olive should have been bestowed by the Eleans on boys of
his own age, who had excelled in gymnastic exploits. Nor
was the art of boxing exhibited to his young, but aspiring
mind, in less glowing colours. He found not only that Milo,
one of the athletse of his day, could knock down a bull by
a blow of his arm, but, by the example of Dares, that the
science of self-defence, as the modern term is, was not beneath
the notice of a prince. So far from it, indeed, that, among
the Greek and Roman nobility and gentry, scarcely a day, he
found, passed without their practising bodily exercises in the
gymnasium — the use of the csestus among the number; and,
to his surprise, he learned that even the love of gladiatorial
shows amongst the Romans increased as they progressed in
civilisation, and their manners became more refined ; and
that such exhibitions flourished during the reigns of two of
their most humane emperors, Trajan and Titus. Then, again,
he had listened to his father while discussing the subject with
his friends, in reference to the doings of those da3"s when
Broughton, Slack, Humphries, Mendoza, Big Ben, and others,
all famous men in the ring, were in their zenith. Mr. Raby,
however, was no patron of pugilism. His duties as a magis-
trate forbade it ; still, as conducted in those days, he was
rather favourably inclined towards it than otherwise. At all
events, he would occasionally deliver his sentiments on the
subject somewhat after this manner : — 'I am doubtful,' he
would say, 'as to the effect of conflicts between animals, on
the courage of the people; at the same time I question
whether the extraordinary courage of the game-cock was not
intended as an example to us. One of the greatest orators of
our day thinks it was ; and in defence of the hypothesis,
instances the pluck and bottom of Englishmen, who chiefly
encourage these combats, and conduct them after the most

15

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

scientific manner. Our boxing matches, or prize-figlits, as
they are now called, are contests of the same kind as the
fights of the gladiators, only upon a lower scale ; with this
difference, that no man — unless he chooses — is opposed to
unequal force ; and if we could divest the mind of the fact
that the contest is not so much for glory as for money, such
has been the display of manly intrepidity, firmness, gallantry,
activity, presence of mind, and strength, which some of our
late prize-fights have called forth, that no man need be
ashamed of having viewed them with interest. At all events,
suppress boxing wholly, and there will be an end to that
sense of honour, spirit, and gallantry which distinguishes the
common people of this country from those of all others, and
they will resort to practices, and the use of weapons in their
quarrels, which they now scarcely think of; and which are
cowardly and disgraceful, because they are commonly resorted
to in the dark, or when the object of vengeance is off his
o-uard. They would decide their quarrels with knives instead
of fists, and the life of no man, in the lower ranks of society,
who had given much cause of offence, could be said to be safe.
In fact, a great lawyer has pronounced the laws of boxing to
be the laws of peace, " teaching that no unfair advantage shall
be taken by either of the combatants, and putting a stop to a
malio-nant mode of procuring satisfaction. They inculcate a
love of fair play, and fbster the natural courage of our country-
men, whilst they create a disgust in their minds for the
treacherous use of the stiletto or knife."

'Still,' Mr. Raby would sa}^ 'it is not impossible that
the system of prize-fighting, which Broughton calls " a truly
British art," may become the reproach, rather than the
characteristic of our countrymen. The persons who take up
the profession of public prize-fighters are of nearly the lowest
grade in society, and are too often unable to resist a bribe to
induce them to do wrong — that is, to sell their battles for
jnoney — although there are, and have been, many honourable
exceptions. They partake, indeed,' he would say, ' of some of
the oblo([uy that attached to the Roman gladiators, humorously
set forth in a Greek epigram on a bad tenant, from the pen of
Palladius, which has been thus translated : —

' " I let my house, the otlier day.
To one who dealt in corn and hay :

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Next mornini; T fouiul, ah 1 woe is me,

A dreadful pugilist is he.

When will you pay my rent? quoth I ;

He lifts his fist and cocks his eye.

I then to Pollux made my vow,

Although on peace my thoughts were now,

That I, before next quarter day,

Might learn to box, or run away.' "

It was not to be expected that much science in the art of
self-defence Avas to be found in a o-aniekeeper's lad ; still many
' turns-up ' with those who were bigger and older tlian himself
had imparted to Jem Perren a tolerable notion of taking-
some care of himself; and lie boasted of no less than three
favourite stops, and likewise of one very telling blow. These
were, of course, imparted to our hero, who would often be
seen taking lessons from his green-jacketed preceptor ; and
truly he was soon a proficient. He could not only hit very
hard, in whicli his weig^ht told to his advantage, but he could
stop, and get away, in a manner surprising for his age. Hence
arose one of the disadvantages of a slight knowledge of the
pugilistic art, combined with the power and inclination to put
it into practice. It created in Frank Raby a domineering
spirit, which, notwithstanding his good sense, and many
excellent qualities, adhered to him, in some measure, through
life. Althciugh his brother w^as his senior by nearly two years
he treated liim as his junior, and, by the weight of his fist,
established his claim of precedence. No boA^s in the neigh-
bouring villages dared to cross his patli in his pursuits,
provided they were near his own age, for his name was up.
On one occasion, however, he signalised himself beyond the
expectation of liis admiring friends ; and, from his extreme
good-nature, and kind disposition towards the necessitous
poor, he had many such in the neighbourhood in which he
was known. Passing through a village, in one of his roving
walks, he espied one of those half-baked, half -nursed raga-
muffins, a specimen of whom about one parish in every six
affords, unmercifully beating a defenceless orplian not much
more than half his own size. The chivalrous spirit of our
hero would not brook this ; so, throwing down liis hat, he
gave him 'a chattering facer,' the terui, as liis preceptor
Jem informed him, for a heavy tlunnp on the mouth, and
instant!}' put himself ' into attitude.' Raganmffin did the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

same, when a smart round ensued, rather in his favour ; but
the young one was nowise daunted. The old blood of the
Rabys warmed in liis young veins at every blow, and he said
to liimself , ' I'll lick this snob, or die.' Presently the whole
village became alarmed for the safety of Master Francis. Out
ran the apothecary from his house, and the mother of one of
the Amstead housemaids from hers, both insisting on some of
the lookers-on interfering, and putting an end to the fight. It
happened, liowever, that the coachman had walked down to
the village with his young master, and he stoutly asserted that
Master Francis was 'all right. He'll leather two such chaps
as that,' said coachey, ' and I'll go and see fair play.' The
result was thus : — In the fifth round, the young one hit his
opponent such a smasher in his teeth, that he turned cur and
ran ofi", amidst the hootings of all present ; thus verifying the
maxim, that 'thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.'
Even the njagpie in the cage chattered, as if exulting to see
justice so summarily obtained for a poor orphan lad.

' Come into my house, Master Francis,' said the doctor,
' that I may see what injury you have sustained. Here is a
blow over the left eye to begin with, and it will be black in
a few hours ; what will your mamma say ? ' ' Oh ' ' said the
coachman, ' he can tell my lady that Rodney (the pony)
threw up his head, and struck him on the face ; she won't
know no better.' ' But your thumb. Master Francis, you have
cut it rather deep, by a blow against one of the young rascal's
teeth,' resumed the doctor. ' Oh ! ' observed coachey, ' that
will be soon settled ; he can tell my lady he took a shot at
a rook out of Jem Perren's gun, and that it was too high
loaded, and hit him a hard blow on his hand. Besides,
from what I know of my lady, dash me if I don't think
she'd like to know how young master served out that
cowardly scoundrel, for she once stopped the carriage on
purpose to give the poor orphan he had been beating a
shilling, and she has twice had him clothed. You know,
doctor, his father worked in her flower-garden.' ' But the
tutor. Master Francis ? ' continued Esculapius. ' Oh, bother
the tutor ! ' replied the coachman ; ' tliey tells me he is
a great scholard, but he's as soft as a pat of butter;
Master Francis can soon gammon him, as he has often
done before. And as to master, I know what he will

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

say : " Never let a liorse hit yon in your face with his head,
Frank; it is a symptom of bad horsemanship. When a
horse pluno-es, or rears, always keep your liead and person a
little inclined to the left side of him, and tiien, should he lose
his balance, and fall backward, you slip off before he comes to
the ground." I heard him say those very words to Master
Raby the otlier day.' Here the coachman and his young-
master took their departure homeward, the former repeating
his lesson, and assuring Frank, at the same time, that if he
would come into the servants' hall before he went to bed, he
would clap a raw beef-steak to his face, as the fighting-men do,
w^hich would take out all the blackness by the morrow.

The hour of dessert having arrived, in walked Master Francis
with his brother and two sisters, looking as demure as a saint.
' What have you done to your face, my dear ? ' inquired Lady
Charlotte ; ' it is much swollen above your left eye.' ' Rodney
threw up his head with me this morning, mamma, and struck
me in the face,' was his reply.' ' Oh, Frank ! ' said Mr.
Raby, ' how could you let him do that ? A good horseman
never suffers from such an accident. Should his horse begin
to play tricks, he always keeps his own head inclined towards
the left, and then he cannot be struck as you have been. I
have known instances of persons having nearly every tooth
knocked out by blows from horses' heads.' Frank said nothing,
but refused to eat an orange, until twice asked to do so. As
he was peeling it, the wound on his hand appeared. ' Why,
Frank,' exclaimed Lady Charlotte, ' you have been in perils
to-day ; did Rodney throw you ? ' ' No, mamma,' he replied,
' I was takino- a shot at a rook out of Jem's gun, and it was
loaded so high that it struck me on my hand. But it will
soon be well, and coachman says if I come to him before I go
to bed to-night, he will do for me what the boxers do — clap a
raw beef-steak under my night-cap, and I shall have no black
eye to-morrow.' ' Nasty fellow ! ' exclaimed Lady Charlotte ;
' I insist upon it, he does no such thing. What could put it
into the man's head to doctor my children ? ' Frank was again
silent, when he was at length addressed hy the tutor, in rather
a grave tone. ' If you had remained at home this morning,
Frank, and done what I wished you — translated tliat chapter
in Aurelius, De viris illustrihuH, and finished your exercise on
the battle of Pharsaliii, you would not luive met witli tliese

19

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

disasters, but would have been able to have taken the field
with the harriers to-morrow, whereas you will now be obliged
to remain at home, as I fear not even the raw beef-steak would
have prevented your having a black eye, in which case you
could not, of course, appear abroad.' At the mention of
the word battle, the blood rushed to Frank's face, conceiving
tliat the ' murder was out ' ; but such was not the case. Con-
trary to expectation, the doctor did not hlah, and the event of
the fight never reached beyond the walls of the servants' hall
of the Abbey, although it was widely spread among the
surrounding villagers, who were loud ii] their praises of the
young Dares.

Mr. Egerton, the tutor, was one of those old-fashioned
clergymen of the Church of England, once so highly looked up
to by the people, but now supplanted, in too many instances,
by a new-fashioned sort, who, by preaching for an hour or
more on subjects which their hearers do not understand, and
too often creating doubts which they cannot themselves remove,
drive thousands from their churches to seek for instruction
elsewhere.

He was old-fashioned enough to consider the true philosophy
of life, as well as the duty of his profession, to consist in
endeavouring to assuage the evils of human nature by any
means, provided they war not against the soul. Fanaticism,
with its long train of gloomy terrors, he left to those who
practised it, and was inclined even to think, with Lord vShaftes-
bury, that gravity is too often but another word for imposture.
He considered that we are entitled to enjoy the good things of
this life when honestly procured, and that it were the height of
ingratitude not to taste with satisfaction the liberal bounty of
Providence. All he insisted upon was — that when our wishes
are gratified, and the cup of fortune full, we should not drink
it to the dregs.

Having said this, it is almost needless to add, that Mr.
Egerton entered fully into the pleasures and amusements of
Amstead Abbey, to the society of which, by his many agreeable
accomplishments, he was no small acquisition. There was,
however, one species of amusement in which he did not often
participate ; he rarely hunted, not tliat he thought it unbe-
coming his clerical situation, but because lie was so bad a
horseman that he feared he might break his neck. Neither

20

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

was lie ever seen with a gun in his hand, the reason for which
was a ludicrous one. On being asked by a visitor to Mr. Raby,
why he did not join the shooting party of that morning, he
accounted for it in the following words : — * I was once,' said
he, 'inclined to the sport of the gun, but a circumstance that
had nearly been attended with consequences which would have
rendered me miserable for life, determined me to abandon it.
My sight is imperfect ; that is to say, I am, what is called,
near-sighted ; and being once in a wood with my gun, I espied
what I took to be a fine full-grown black rabbit, under a furze-
bush. I fired at, and, thank God, missed it, for it proved to
be the head of the most intimate friend of my youth, who had
laid himself at full length on the ground, to enable him to get
a shot at a hare. The shock to my nerves was so great, that,
to this day, the report of a gun brings instantly to my mind
the head of my friend under the furze-bush.'

Although no sportsman, as far as horses and guns were
concerned, Mr. Egerton had other ways of amusing himself
abroad. He was an excellent fisherman, considering the dis-
ciple of the angle, probably, as pursuing an apostolical recrea-
tion, which, I believe, Izaak Walton did before him. He was,
also, a musician, playing beautifully on the violoncello and the
flute. But the swmmum bonum, in the way of indoor amuse-
ment, was a rubber at whist, at which he was truly a trii7np.
In fact, whoever got the parson for a partner, considered him
worth one point in the game, and half a crown would now and
then be ventured on the rubber, on the strength of his fine play.
But notwithstanding these recreations, in which Mr. Egerton
freely indulged himself, at proper times and seasons, no man
could have performed his two-fold duties more sedulously than
he discharged his. In the preparation of his two pupils for
Eton, he succeeded eminently, and in his calling, as curate of
the parish, he gave universal satisfaction both in and out of
church.

21

CHAPTER II

The first great step in the life of our ' Sportsman ' : he is entered to hare — The
Chapter concludes with many choice Aphorisms concerning the Noble
Science, and sundry anecdotes, M'orthy being recorded in letters of gold.

' What is to be done to-morrow,' said Mr. Egerton to his
pupils in the evening, ' as Lady Charlotte has asked for a
holiday ? ' ' / shall hunt' exclaimed our hero, his eyes
brightening with delight ; and he was out of the room, to give
orders for Rodney to have no water in the morning, before his
brother had returned an answer to the question. ' / shall
walk to the rectory,' said Andrew ; ' I promised the Miss
Chapmans I would bring them the books my uncle sent me
last week from London, and they are very anxious to read
them.' ' There is no disputing about tastes,' observed the tutor,
addressing our young sportsman, on his return to the drawing-
room, and hinting that he should not let Rodney give him
another black eye, as nothing had so ungentlemanlike an
appearance. ' Besides,' continued he, ' it savours of awkward
horsemanship, in which, as you seem bent on being a fox-
hunter, some day or another, you ought to endeavour to
excel. Indeed, all gentlemen should ride well; and you will
remember my telling you that, in the letters of Lord Chester-
field to his son, and of Lord Chatham to his nephew, it is
insisted upon, as part of their education, to enable them to
make a good appearance in the world, as Horace had insisted
before them, in his advice to youth. You also remember my
drawing your notice to several passages in history, in which
the accomplishment of riding well is either pointed out, or
boasted of, by still greater men. Hannibal, for example, is
said to have differed in nothing in his appearance from the
ordinary men of his day, unless in the peculiar neatness and
elegance of his horses and their furniture, and likewise his seat
in the saddle ; and it was only yesterday that your brother
was readhig of Cicero, wlio, addressing his son Marcus, told
him that, as the eyes of the world would be upon him, on
account of his father's fame, he was delighted to hear that he

22

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

had received tlic praise of all the army for his excellence in
riding.'

'I hunt with you to-morrow, papa,' said Frank to his
father, as soon as he had made his escape from what he called
' Egerton's botheration about Hannibal and Cicero.' 'I hope
we shall find as good a buck hare as that which Mr. Gibbon's
shepherd soho'd for us the last time we met at the same place.'
'Frank,' said Mr. Raby, 'I must now be your tutor, and, in
this instance, can do more for you than Mr. Egerton. You
liave made use of two terms not used in hare-hunting, and it
becomes every person to adapt their language to their subject.
A male hare, in hunting, is called a jack hare ; and the word
tan-ta-ra, not soJlo, denotes one espied in its form. The terms
you have applied are peculiar to coursing.'

About a mile from the place of meeting Frank overtakes the
hounds, and the following interesting colloquy occurs : —

Huntsman (touching his cap). — ' Good morning. Master
Francis; glad to see you out, sir. Rodney looks in high
feather ; you'll beat us all to-day.'

Frank — ' No, Dick ; there is no beating you on old Clod-
hopper, with his ugly lop ears. How you set them all the last
time, over the Barnsly brook ! '

Dick (smiling).—' Well, sir ; but you saw a good deal of
the run ; now can you give us any account of it ? for I sadly
want to make yoiiy a sportsman. As for Master Raby, it's no
use thinking of him : he's so terribly fond of books, flowers,
pictures, and such like trumpery that he takes no delight in
field sports. Then, again, that tutor does him no good, making
him believe that he is to be a great scholard and a parliament
man at last. For my part, I don't like those parliament
gentlemen. I lived with one once ; and just as the best part
of the hunting began — about a month after Christmas, when we
had such large fields that I sometimes got a hat full of half-
crowns after a good run — away he went to parliament, and away
went half my field as well.'

Frank. — ' I had rather be a master of foxhounds, than
member for the county, Dick — would not you ? And, Dick,
why does not papa keep foxhounds instead of the harriers ?
They tell me that six more horses, and a few more couples of
hounds than he now has, would do; and I am sure you could
hunt fox as well as you do hare.'

23

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Dick. — ' Your papa will never keep foxhounds, sir. He is
the best master of harriers this day in England, but 'don't take
delight in fox-hunting. Then, again, sir, you are wrong about
thinking I could hunt fox as well as I do hare. When you
turns fox-hunter, which no doubt you will do when you gets
to the University, you'll see there is a great difference in the
systems pursued with foxhounds and harriers ; and that which is
good in 02ie, is bad in another, although not to the extent that
some peoj)le thinks. I happened to overhear one of our gentle-
men telling how Dick Knight lost his fox the other day with the
Pytchley hounds — " at least," said he, " so thought Mr. Alcock."
" Mr. Alcock," said one of them, " what does that old thistle-
whipper know about hunting ? " Now that is going too far ;
for, in my opinion, an old thistle- whipper must know a great
deal more of hunting than a young fox-hunter is likely to do.
But, Master Francis, can you give me any account of the last
run you saw, in which there was a good deal to notice ':' '

Frank. — ' Why, you know, Dick, I was behind a bit at
starting, because I could not go fast enougli the first ten
minutes ; but I said to myself, I shouldn't wonder if tliey come
to a check at that large flock of sheep on the turnips, which
they did, and I then got up to you. But I think I should have
been with you all the way had it not been for that nasty oak
stile, which my father would not let me ride at, and took me
out of the line to a gate. I am certain Rodney would have
cleared it, for I rode him over a higher than that, one day,
after you, on Carpenter, when papa was not out — but I was
deuced nearly off, Dick.'

Dick.—' Don't ride at timber, Master Francis — you are too
young for that yet ; and, if you get a squeezer at it, it may
daunt you. I have had some terrible falls over timber, and was
twice picked up for dead.'

Frank. — ' But about the run ! I saw how you hit off your
hare, when the hounds were checked by the sheep. You stood
stock-still whilst the hounds made their cast ; but finding that
neither Bellman, Bounty, nor Tyrant give tongue, and that some
of the others had their noses ofl* the ground, 3^ou gave a blast
with your horn, made something like a circle in a trot, when old
Bounty hit off the scent, and we went on.'

Dick. — ' It was Bellman, Master Francis ; but the brother
and sister are so alike, that I scarcely know one from t'other

24

THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

myself. That is not a bad hit of yours, however, sir. You'll do
in time!

Frank. — ' But, Dick, what a head they carried over Groseby
field. As the leaps were not too much for Rodney, I was pretty
near you — was I not, Will ? (addressing himself to the whipper-
in). And I saw that young bitch. Melody, that papa is so fond
of, guiding the scent for at least half a mile. He declares he
would not take ten pounds for her.'

Dick. — ' I would not take half that sum for her myself, sir.
She is by the old Duke of Grafton's Tyrant, out of our old
Melody, and has all the good qualities of a foxhound with
those of the harrier. But, Master Francis, who told you about
a hound " guiding the scent " ? It's a monstrous good notion,
but we always say " guiding the pick." '

Frank. — ' It is what Mr. Egerton calls a " figure of speech,"
Dick.'

Dick. — ' Ah ! sir, see what it is not to have a larning ! I
shall never talk again about a hound guiding the pack, as I am
all for a bit of novelty in my trade when I can get it. And I
see no reason why hare-hunting should remain where my
grandfather left it, when, as Squire Talbot says, the hares
never went out of their own parishes.'

Frank. — 'Mr. Egerton says there has been a great deal
written about hunting hares, which I shall know when I come
to read Greek. One Xenophon, he says, wrote about it more
than two thousand years ago ; and another Greek writer, called
Homer, compared hounds running a hare through thick woods,
to two great warriors pursuing an enemy by night.'

Dick. — ' I don't doubt it, sir. That Mr. Egerton is a clever
gentleman ; I wish he would come a-hunting, as, perhaps, he
might write something about it, for I don't know of any one
having done so since the gentlemen you have just mentioned,
and it is but a few that could read what they have said.'

Our hero was on the point of joining with the huntsman in
the wish that his tutor would take the field, when Mr. Raby
and the rest of the party came up, and orders were given to
draw for a hare, in a fallow adjoining the road, which having
been long ploughed, was considered likely to produce one. It
did so ; a brilliant burst was the result ; and, at the end of
thirty-two minutes, Dick had her in his hand, as stiff" as if she
had been six years in a museum. Another run followed, iii

25

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

which some fine hunting was displayed ; and Mr. Raby and his
friends returned to the Abbey, well satisfied with their sport,
and with a good appetite for their dinner.

During the interval between the two runs, which was not a
very short one — for hares were not abundant in those days —
Frank was seen in earnest conversation with a well-mounted
gentleman, a stranger to Mr. Raby and his friends, who attracted
every one's notice by the masterly manner in which he rode,
and the attention he paid to the hunting of this celebrated
pack of harriers. ' I have hunted in all our best counties,'
said he to his friend, and this in the hearing of our young
sportsman, ' and chiefly in the crack county of all — in Leicester-
shire ; but I never saw more beautiful hunting than these
hounds have this day shown. I have not only admired them
when in difficulties, in which I must say they were ably assisted
by their huntsman, but the head they carried in chase surprised
me; surely Mr. Raby must breed a great number of hounds,
to be able to top and tail them to their present perfection ; for
there does not appear to be half an inch of difference in their
height, nor more than a yard or two in speed. Then what
beautifully formed animals they are, and how light yet musical
are their tongues : in fact, how unlike the heavy, throaty, long-
eared, bow-wowing brutes that I have seen in other countries.
I really think that if I lived near them, — devoted as I have
been all my life to foxhounds, and prone to despise harriers, —
I should hunt with them at least once a week.'

These were honeyed words to the ears of Frank Raby, who
repeated them with much delight to his father on their road
home ; and it was also in his power to inform him where this
lion, in his eyes, was domiciled, which happened to be at the
mansion of an intimate, but non-hunting friend. 'Ah!' said
Mr. Raby on the last-named circumstance being made known
to him, 'then we shall see him at the Abbey on Saturday,
if he remains so long on his visit to Sir William, as the
baronet and his party dine with us on that day.' ' Oh ! papa,'
observed Frank, ' how glad I am to know that ! we shall hear
all about Leicestershire hunting, which is the best in all the
world, I believe ; bvit will you promise not to begin upon it
with him until we come in to dessert?' Mr. Raby smiled, and
said nothing ; but doubtless his heart responded to the call of
his favourite son,

26

I

32'

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

One of the leading characteristics of a yonng sportsman is
the pursuit of all animals which come under the denomina-
tion of vermin ; and, indeed, for the preservation of game,
poultry, and many other things, the destruction of them, as of
many of the feathered race, is necessary. There is, however,
one animal included in this list, which, as far as the evils of
his ways are taken into account, is entitled to an exemption,
for they are few, if any. This animal is the badger, neither a
depredator nor a thief ; but subsisting chiefly on pig nuts,
beech mast, and roots ; in fact, on anything that pigs eat in
the woods; and, moreover, of service to the sportsman, by
drawing earths for foxes, although he sometimes, by making
them too strong, increases the expense of stopping. The
badger, however, possesses two very extraordinary properties
— the prodigious strength of his nose in burrowing, and the
ferocity with which he defends himself when attacked by dogs.
Drawing badgers from their burrows is one test of courage, or
pluck, in terriers, and dogs of that description, for which pur-
pose many are kept, to the discredit of those who keep them.

' What have you been doing to-day, Francis ? ' inquired
Mr. Egerton, on the morrow after the hare-hunt. ' I saw
you coming to the house with Jem Perren, who was carrying
something in a bag.' ' We had been drawing a badger, sir,
in the big wood, and you would have been pleased to
see how well Pickle and Vixen behaved.' ' Indeed,' replied
Mr. Egerton, ' I should not. It would have afforded me no
pleasure to have seen animals tormenting each other for
your pleasure, and merely that you might get possession of a
worthless, though harmless creature.' ' Not worthless, sir,'
resumed Frank ; ' we mean to have a burrow made for him
to enter the young terriers at him, for Jem Perren thinks
those out of Trinket are not thorough-bred by the father's
side.' ' Indeed, Francis,' exclaimed the tutor, ' you shall do no
such thing ; at least with my knowledge. You have signalised
yourself, in your own estimation, by having drawn a wild
badger from his burrow, which, no doubt, you think much of ;
but let once doing so suflice. I shall walk with you to-morrow
to the big wood, and see you replace the pooi- animal in his
burrow.'

In the hilarity of youthful spirits, this interference iiad no
further effect on our young sportsman than to damp his ardour,

27

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

for the moment, in a pursuit in which he had just commenced
with such success, and he walked away with a somewhat sullen
step, to communicate the sad tidings to Jem Perren. ' Bless
me,' said Jem ; ' I wish that parson was in the place he talks
so much about in church ; he'll be the ruin of you, Master
Francis. I heard my father say, the other day, that he scolded
him for shooting jays, although the gardener says they play
the deuce with the raspberries and cherries, and you know my
father wants the feathers for fly-fishing.' ' Ay,' resumed Frank ;
' but never mind, Jem ; we go to Eton after midsummer, and
then we can get rid of his botheration, and shall be our own
masters in the holidays.'

Saturday arrived : and the family at the Grange came to
the Abbey to dinner, and, with them, the ' lion ' out of
Leicestershire, whose name was Somerby, from whose con-
versation with his father Frank Raby anticipated a great
treat. Neither was it short of a treat to the father himself,
to contribute to the delight of his favourite son, and, according
to promise, he waited his coming to dessert before the subject
of hunting in Leicestershire commenced. We will give it in
detail,

Mr. Raby. — ' Were I a fox-hunter, Mr. Somerby, I should
envy you who make Leicestershire your domicile.'

Mr. Somerby. — ' It is, without doubt, the county of all others
in which a man may get the most hunting.'

Mr. Raby. — ' And the best.'

Mr. Somerby. — ' That depends on circumstances. It is a
mistaken notion that a good country alone can make good
hounds, or that Leicestershire has that peculiar privilege.'

Mr. Raby. — ' I always thought that Leicestershire was a
county in which hounds had less difficulty to encounter than
in any other ; and that with a good scent, you are almost sure
to have sport, even if you do not kill your fox. By the term
" Leicestershire," I mean the whole extent of country within
reach of Melton Mowbray.'

Mr. Som^erby. — ' You have been misinformed on these subjects,
Mr. Raby. It is true there are extensive tracts in the counties
of Leicester, Rutland, and Northampton, extremely favourable
to hounds, from the great prevalence of land which has been
under grass beyond the memory of man ; as, likewise, from the
prevalence of large enclosures, which often contain forty acres,

28

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and occasionally double tliat number ; but here exists one diffi-
culty. Headlands and hedgerows are friends to huntsmen
when their hounds are off the scent : indeed, they may be said
then to act as guide-posts ; but let hounds throw up in the
middle of a tif ty-acre piece, and require their huntsmen to direct
them, their guide-post is not so readily at his hand as in
counties where the enclosures are much smaller. Should he
fail to find the chase on one side of his ground, having, of
course, ascertained that it is not on ahead, he has a long way
to travel for it to the other, whilst his fox is taking advantage
of the delay, and making the best of his road to his point.
Then, again, another circumstance operates against hounds
in these champaign counties, which is peculiar to them. From
the luxuriance of the herbage in summer, enouo-h remains in
winter to maintain store stock ; and herds of cattle and Hocks
of sheep abound in them. Scarcely a run is seen in which
hounds are not brought to check, from encountering one or
other of those obstacles; and, although not generally so con-
sidered, the stain from cattle is worse than that from sheep.
Cattle are also more perplexing on another account ; sheep
will stand still and confront hounds ; but cattle will keep going
on, to the great disturbance of hounds in their work, and often
on the very line of scent. Then, again, there is much variety
of stajile in the land of the counties of which we are now speak-
ing. It is frequently our lot to commence a run in a fine
champaign grazing country, extremely favourable to hounds —
and to finish it over cold ploughed land, incapable of holdino-
a scent beyond a passing moment — this, too, at a time when
every advantage is required. We have likewise, occasionally,
a great many horsemen in the field, some of whom think more
of riding than of hunting, and press on hounds at the most
difficult points of the chase.'

Mr. Rahy. — ' But Sir William informs me you have had a
capital season's sport up to this period.'

Mr. Somerby. — ' Why, Mr. Raby, notwithstanding these diffi-
culties, no country under the sun shows sucli fine runs as
that called Leicestershire does ; nor such exquisite enjoyment
of them, for the peculiar nature and disposition of it. Indeed,
a friend of mine says that the very act of riding to cover over
Leicestershire, on a hunter, is nearly equal to following hounds
in a run over a great many of the provincial countries. But

20

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that I should liave had a good season's sport up to this period
and especially as the weather has been so favourable to it,
is not in the least to be wondered at, when I say that I have
generally hunted with the hounds of the first sportsman that
England has Ivitlierto seen.'

Mr. Baby. — ' Of course you mean Mr. Meynell, who hunts
what is called the Quorndon, or Quorn country, whom I have
heard so much of, but never had the pleasure of seeing. Per-
haps you will favour me with a description of his person and
character, which, as I understand you have long enjoyed his
friendship and confidence, you must be well qualihed to do ;
but, in the meantime, if you. please, we will drink "Success to
fox-hunting," in a bumper. Although no fox-hunter myself, I
heartily wish it success. It is a manly, fine exercise, afford-
ing health to the body, and much matter for a contemplative
mind. In few situations of life, indeed, are the faculties of
man more prominently displayed. Fortitude, good sense, and
collectiveness of mind, have in it a wide field of action, and
a sensible sportsman would be a respectable character in any
grade of life.'

Mr. Somerhij. — ' You have not over-rated the good properties
of fox-hunting, and allow me to add to your panegyric upon it.
In the first place, where will you find better society than by a
cover-side in Leicestershire, and numerous other counties ? In
the next, it links all classes together, from the peer to the
peasant. Then, again, it is the EiKjlishmans peculiar privilege.
It is not to be found in any other part of the globe, but in
England's true land of liberty — and may it flourish to the end
of time ! " Success to fox-hunting" I say, with all my heart,
and will now comply with your request : —

' Mr. Meynell is of the middle height, of a compact and well-
proportioned form ; with a highly expressive countenance, and
a very intellectual eye. His manners and general deportment
are those of a man of the highest fashion, and he combines
zeal with talent, which would render him distinguished in any
pursuit that might be congenial to his inclination and taste.
Fortunately for fox-hunting, he made that his election, and
altliougli I hope he has not yet seen half his days, he has
done more for the improvement of the science of the chase
than any other man. In fact, his opinions have alread}^ become
maxims, amongst which are the following : —

30

THE TJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' " Hounds," he says, " should couibine strength with beauty,
and steadiness with high mettle.

'" Perfection of shape consists in short I )acks, open bosoms,
straight legs, and compact feet.

' " The first qualities of hounds are tine noses, docile tempers,
steadiness to their game, and stoutness in chase.

' " If flagrant propensities discover themselves in a young
hound, hang him at once.

' " Walk your hounds amongst riot (i.e. hares and deer) in the
summer, and liunt the woodlands, in which foxes are plenty, at
least two months before the regular season begins.

' " Perfection in hounds in chase lies in their hard running
with a good scent, and patient hunting with a bad one, together
with invincible stoutness, when called for.

' " The greatest faults are skirting, over-running the scent, and
babbling. Never breed from a hound that quits the line in
chase, however good in all other respects. The fault will surely
descend to his or her produce.

' " Do not lift 3^our hounds when they are at fault, until you
are satisfied that they require it ; but encourage them to take
pains ; and keep your field aloof, so that the steam from the
horses may not destroy the scent. Let them be cast in two
lots — the head whipper-in taking hold of one, and the hunts-
man of the other.

' " When a fox breaks cover, avoid too much hallooing ; it
makes hounds wild, and often mars sport.

' " The more quietly whippers-in turn hoinids, the better ; if
they are too free with their rating and their whips, hounds will
not turn as short as they should do, from fear of the lash.

' " When the hounds are going to cry, let them be encouraged,
not driven to do so, if it can be avoided. If a hound will not
go readily to cry, he had better be drafted at once. It is essen-
tial to sport that hounds should get quickly to cry, or a good
head cannot be carried by them in the burst, which renders
it imperfect, notwithstanding the pace may be good.

' "If a fox hangs long in cover, leave him, rather than mob
him to death. He may have a reason for doing so, which
he will sooner die for, than forego ; and he may show good
sport at another time.

' " Do not think too much about killing foxes, or of ' blood,'
as the term is. The wildest pack of hounds have been known

31

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

to kill most foxes, by skirting and meeting them in covers ;
whilst they have seldom killed a really good fox in a straight-
forward run. Murdering foxes in covers is an absurd prac-
tice. Seasoned foxes are as essential to sport as seasoned
hounds.

' " When once you have established a pack of foxhounds, —
which it requires ten years to do, — be cautious of admitting
strangers from other packs amongst them during the season.
Hounds should be well acquainted with each other, for they
look to each other in difficulties, beyond what may generally be
imagined. Hounds are jealous to a degree ; and many, naturally
steady, will be induced to run riot by one bad example,
especially if exhibited by a stranger. In short, one faulty
hound, as one injudicious rider, may defeat the most promising
prospect of sport."

' Mr. Meynell,' continued Mr. Somerby, ' is eminently qualified
to be at the head of such a country as the Quorn, by the
command he has acquired over his field, owing to the respect
paid to his character as a sportsman. He is often heard to
address them thus : —

' " Nothing gives me more pleasure, gentlemen, than seeing my
hounds afibrd you good sport ; and nothing more pain, than
your marring it by over-riding them. That, generally, proceeds
from jealousy, which true sportsmen should be superior to ;
for if you are near enough to see hounds do their work, you
ought to be satisfied with your place, and care not who goes
first. Again, you should keep your eye on the body of the
hounds, instead of depending on two or three which are lead-
ing ; and you should always anticipate a check, which sheep,
cattle, teams at plough, arable land, or a road, are all likely
to produce. Remember that every check gives your fox an
advantage over hounds, and that scent is of a fleeting nature,
soon lost — never again to be recovered."

' Mr. Meynell is a bold and superior horseman. In fact, no
practicable fence will stop him, when his hounds are running;
but he takes no unnecessary liberties with his horses. His
language to his hounds is at once emphatic and distinct, as
well as cheerful and musical in the extreme. His scream, or
view-halloo, is, indeed, wonderful, thrilling through the heart
and nerves of all who are within hearing of it. He is as great
a favourite with the farmers, as he is popular among his

32

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

equals ; and lie has secured the esteem of the former by tlie
followino- praiseworthy conduct: — Although he is very punctual
to his time of throwing off, and would not wait more than ten
miiuites for a duke, he will wait twenty for some graziers, whoso
horses he sees at the cover-side, when he knows there is a
cattle-fair in the neiglibourhood, at which their presence is
required. He here shows that acuteness and I'ight judgment
which are conspicuous throughout his entire character, and
have led to the eminence he has attained, as the master of a
pack of foxhounds in the finest country in England.'

Mr. Rahy. — ' I am delighted with your description of this
fine sportsman ; will you favour me with some account of his
establishment ? ' — a question suggested by Frank, who whispered
in his father's ear that he should like to know the name of
Mr. Meynell's huntsman.

Mr. Somerby. — ' With the greatest pleasure. I shall not
feel weary of recapitulating scenes and circumstances which
have been, and I hope will continue to be, the source of the
chief pleasure of my life. Mr. Meynell has two packs of
hounds ; one called the young, and the other the old pack ; the
latter consisting of hounds of three years old and upwards,
none of two years old being admitted into it, unless a very high
opinion be entertained of their steadiness and abilities. The
young pack are hunted twice a week, in woodlands as much as
possible, and in the least popular covers, having a few steady
old hounds to assist them ; and it is to the old pack that the
best parts of the county are assigned, in which they meet four
days in the week, when the weather permits.

' The name of Mr. Meynell's huntsman is John Raven, a
man of good parts, and of peculiarly sportsmanlike appearance.
He has the eye of a hawk, the voice of a stentor, is a good
sportsman, and not to be excelled in horsemanship. (At these
words Frank's eye glistened, and he was heard to heave a sigh
— as much as to say. How I should like to see that man !) His
two whippers-in are equally efi'ective with himself ; but, strange
to say, one of them (Jones) has but one leg, having suffered
amputation for a white swelling, and the loss is supplied by
cork.'

Mr. Rahy. — ' What a game man must Jones be ! I have
often wondered, Mr, Somerby, that Mr. Meynell should reside
at Quorndon Hall, as I see, by the map, that it is situated

33 c

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

quite at the outside of the most open and best part of the
county. I conclude, however, that it is, as a residence for a
master of foxhounds, in every respect complete.'

Mr. Somerhy. — ' Quorndon Hall, as a house, although plea-
santly situated, on the bank of the river Soar, which runs
partially through the grounds, has no pretension beyond the
rank of country gentlemen's houses in general ; neither is it
upon a large scale. Its situation, also, is not central ; but it
has one advantage, which Mr. Meynell thinks much of. It is
within easy reach of the forest of Charnwood, which affords
excellent opportunities for making young liounds, as well as of
cub-hunting, in the autumn, with the old ones. That forest
abounds with foxes — is good scenting ground; and we hunt
there long after the good country is shut up ; — in fact, until
May-day, at which period of the year it is desirable, for more
reasons than one, that hounds should not have far to travel to
cover. Mr. Meynell is, therefore, partial to Quorndon as a
residence ; and he has a temporary kennel in the Market
Harborough country, in which liis hounds lie, when the fixture
is in that quarter.'

Mr. Raby. — ' You are, I conclude, domiciled at Melton
Mowbray. All I know of that town is, from having onee
passed through it, on my road to the north of England ; but
I did not get out of my carriage. It appeared to be but an
insignificant place.'

Mr. Somerhy. — ' And it is so ; it possesses but one inn, and
that a very bad one ; no bank, and very few good houses. But
it is well situated for a sportsman, during his residence in the
county ; as almost every good cover in Mr. Meynell's, as well
as in the other hunts, is to be got at from it ; and, weather
permitting, no man need remain idle in Melton from want of
being able to reach hounds.'

Mr. Raby. — ' Do you hunt every day ? '
Mr. Somerhy. — ' I do.'

Mr. Rahy. — ' Is not the fatigue of hunting six days in the
week more than the generality of constitutions will bear without
injury?'

Mr. Somerhy. — ' I think not. On the contrar}^, it is my
opinion, tliat any man, under the age of fifty-five, whose frame
is naturally sound, who lives temperately as to wine, and who
will allow himself eight hours' bed, will Ije better in health for

34

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

such severe exercise. It will render him superior to fatigue,
and, barring accidents and epidemics, superior also to disease.'

Mr. liahy. — ' But, Mr. Sonierby, I am at a loss to know
how you get over such fences as I saw in the country between
Harborough and Melton ; many of them appeared impracticable,
or " stoppers," as I am told they are called in the fox-hunting
world.'

Mr. Somerhy. — ' Wh}^ in the language of one of the oldest
sportsmen, and hardest riders, in the Belvoir Hunt, we send
our hearts over first and then folloto them in the best way
we can.'

Mr. Raby. — ' You must get many falls, every year.'

Mr. Somerby. — ' Of course we do ; but we think nothing of
falls. Show me the man who says he never gets them, and I
will tell him he seldom sees hounds — at least few good runs ;
and this in any country. But, to quote another of our best
men (singulivs in arte, I was going to say), " Falls go for nothing,
provided you don't let go your horse ; but a man looks very
small, running across a field, in a red coat, booted and spurred,
crying out, ;S7ojj my horse ! — pray, sir, stop my horse ! " The
answer generally is, " It would be a pit}^ to stop him, sir — he
is going so beautifully." '

Mr. Raby. — ' I am really ashamed of catechising you thus,
but the fact is, exclusive of the pleasure I myself derive from
your description, this second boy of mine, whom you saw the
other day with my harriers, has a great wish to become a fox-
hunter. Let us fill our glasses, drink a bumper to Mr. Meynell
and " the Noble Science," and then, perhaps, you will have the
kindness to give us a short account of a run with his hounds.'

Mr. Somerby. — ' I will with pleasure comply with your
request ; more especially as it is joined in by my young friend
there, whose attention to the hunting of your excellent harriers
very forcibly struck me. But he must not think lightly of
hare-hunting ; Mr. Meynell enters all his young hounds to hare,
altlwugh he expects them to be steady to fox afterwards ; which
will, no doubt, be the case with your promising son. I know
not, then, that I can do better than relate the particulars of
the very last run I saw with Mr. Meynell's hounds, rendered
more than commonly interesting, perhaps, by the part I myself
performed in it : —

' It was a beautiful morning for scent — at least, so it

35

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

appeared, and, for once, it kept its promise ; but I thought it
would be a scenting day, for I observed the clouds were
stationary above, and all was clear below, with no sun ; the
barometer was also rising. We had a large field, it being a
favourite fixture ; and as I had the luck to tally-ho the fox
away, I, of course, got a good start. It happened, however,
that I this day rode a five-year-old horse, the only one in my
stable ; for that tender age agrees not with our shire. I had
never had a taste of him before ; but my groom had, and
assured me he would make a trump. " He is as quick as light-
ning," said he, " and he will face anything ; but his temper, as
you know, sir, is none of the best. I would advise you, when
you can, to take a line of your own."

' Our first fence was a flight of rails, with a yawning ditch

on the further side, which I thought it was my luck to have

the first fly at ; but, looking earnestl}^ at the hounds, — as every

man should do, whether on a young one or an old one, — I

never saw parson Thompson, who came right across me at the

fence, and got a nasty sort of a fall. (By the bye, he told me,

afterwards, he " could not stop the old mare, she was so d— d

fresh " : if so, all well ; if not, served his reverence right.) I

tried to stop the young thorough-bred one ; but he threw up his

head, and it was "no go"; so, thinking my own the most

precious life of the two, — I mean, of more value to me than

parson Thompson's, — I let him go ; and all I saw, when up in

the air, was the old mare's belly and his reverence's head, the

rest of his body being under his mare. However, I never

touched him, I am happy to say ; and two others, besides

myself, did as I did ; but the third was not quite so fortunate.

He jumped, as he thought, on the parson's head ; but, as luck

would have it, it was only his hat, as his head had just that

moment slipped out of it. You are aware, Mr. Raby, these

things will happen in our very fast country, and are thought

little of ; although it is no joke to get a fall at the first fence,

with such a crowd behind you, each man trying to be in front,

and all as jealous as newly-married women at a ball. However,

I kept ray line ; and, if I remember right, the next fence was

nothing — only a gate, a stiff" one, to be sure ; but young ones

are always good at timber — that is to say, if they will but

look at it.

' Now the pace soon began to fell ; for the country" rode

36

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

infernally deep, and there was no getting a nick by a turn, as
the fox went straiglit on end. There were not more than eight
or ten of the field very near to the hounds, and no one exactly
on their line. In fact, I saw plainly how things were going.
Puggy was facing the cream of the country, and I said to
myself, " We are in for a tickler."

' I began to be sorry, however, that I was riding my five-
year-old ; indeed, I meant to have had him as my second
horse, and I must say my groom advised me to do so. How-
ever, there was nothing to be done, now, but to let him go ;
and as I only gave two hundred for him, at Newmarket, I
thought I might try what he was made of at once. You know,
Mr. Raby, it's no use keeping horses at Melton merely to look
at; consequently, if they are good for nothing, we send them
at once to the hammer. We let them try their luck in the
'provincials, when they cannot live over the grass.

' The next fence was a bullfinch, as black as ' — (Here Mr.
Somerby was interrupted by Frank asking his father what
was meant by a ' bullfinch fence ' ; but his father was unable
to answer the question) — ' The next fence,' resumed Mr.
Somerby, ' was a bullfinch fence, as black and as dark as the
shades below : you could not, indeed, have seen through it
with a lantern. Then as to what there might be on the other
side. Heaven knew, but I did not. I only guessed there was
a yawning ditch, and very likely a stiff rail to boot. But
what was to be done ? The hounds were going the top of
the pace — no time to turn to the right or to the left ; two
fellows nearer to them than I was (didn't like that, you know,
Francis, eh ?) and Cecil Forester, close behind me, roaring out,
" Go along, sir, for God's sake ! " — so at it I went. It was a
rasper (" a rasper ! " exclaimed Frank, but only in hearing of
his father), surely, and I cannot say I was sorry when I found
myself well landed in the next field. Our party was now
becoming select. There were only five of us right well with
the hounds ; and although many were near, some were already
beaten, and some nowhere. But, to be sure, the pace was
awful. " Sharper than common, this morning," cried George
Germaine to me, and he seldom sings out, as you know, on
that score ; " how does the young one like it ? " Indeed, he
has been heard to say, during the Bibury meeting, that a race-
horse never yet went fast enough to please him ; and that,

37

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

if it would not hurt him, he would like to be shot out of a
cannon's mouth. Albeit, there was no cause for complaint
now ; still my horse appeared to be going at his ease ; in
short, he delighted me. I said to myself, " You are worth
double what I gave for you." He jumped an ox-fence (Frank
here again looked surprised), the next but one after the bullfinch,
and then a stile, with an awkward foot-bridge. A widish brook
he, of course, took in his stride — for all young ones will leap
brooks, if the riders will only let them go their own pace
at them ; so I did not think much of that ; but I could not
help saying to myself, — for there was no one very near to have
heard me, — " / Jiave got a trump, I believe ; the blood of Herod
will tell." Still he kept shaking his head in an extraordinary
manner ; I had never seen him do so before. If I had had my
whip in my hand, I should have given him a " nohher " ; for,
you know, it's awkward work going very fast at high and
strong timber — post and rail, or what not — with a blind ditch
on the rising side, and your horse shaking his head like a
terrier killing a rat. I could not do this, however ; for I liad
lost my whip, and part of my breeches as well, at that infernal
bullfinch. I know not how it happened, but that day I was
not in leathers ; for John Hawkes and myself alwaj^s ride
in leathers, though people say " it looks sloiv." I suppose
Pritchard thinks corduroys less trouble ; for he often says,
when he wakes me, " Likely to be wet, sir ; better not wear
leathers to-day." (The washerwoman polishes the corduroys,
and he cleans the leathers.) To proceed with my story. When
we checked for a minute or two under Carlton Clumps, I found
what it was that made the young one shake his head. He
had got a thorn in one cheek, out of that infernal bullfinch,
and the blood was streaming down the other, from a rip from
one of the growers in it. I got the thorn out the best way I
could ; but my horse was evidently in much pain. What was
to be done ? I could have cried ; for I love horses better than
most things, and abhor cruelty in any shape. I condemned
myself ; I wished I was anywhere but where I was, and said
to myself, " What could have possessed me to ride Brilliant
to-day, when I have nine seasoned liunters, all sound, in my
stable, and every one fit to go ; and Griffiths, my groom, told
me I had better not ? " " I'll go home," I said ; but, confound
it, at that very moment. Champion and Statesman hit off" the

38

3
O

(0

I

a
o

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a
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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

scent ; Meynell took off his cap, and gave a scream ;- and
what could I do ? What would you have done ? The young
thorough-bred one had recovered his wind ; and, as he shook
his head less, and played cheerfully with his bit, I hoped he
was in less pain. He was carrying nie magnificently — not
more than a dozen of us with the hounds ; a splendid country
before us — I took the lead again.' (Here Frank heaved
another sigh, and became restless.)

' I shall never forget,' continued Mr. Somerby, ' the third
fence we now came to, which was out of the next field but one
to Shankton Holt cover. It was not a double but a treble. It
was of this description ; — tliank Heaven ! there are not more
than three or four of such in most runs ; — first, a ditch ; then
a rail ; then another ditch ; and then another rail. You see
there is no landing for a horse, if he takes fences of this sort
at twice, except on the first rail, or in the second ditch ; but
the old ones ivill double them, when very well handled by their
riders.

' Now the Avind was well in Brilliant, and I had found he
would face anything ; but I doubted his being up to this queer
double, or " treble," as I have called it. I sent liim at it, then,
at the rate of twenty miles an hour, thinking to take it all at
a fly ; but far as the clever young horse flung himself, he
could not clear the whole. He alighted with one fore-leg over,
and the other under, the outermost rail, and gave me a
thundering fall. " It's unfortunate," said I to myself, glancing
my eye at the fence, as I rose from the ground ; " if I liad
known that that middle rail had been so weak, we would have
gone " in and out clever," as Cholmondeley says ; "at least, we
should have got over with a scramble. I am out of luck
to-day," added I; " but here goes again," and soon jumped into
my saddle.

' The hounds having turned towards me a little, I was very
soon in my place again. " What now ? " said one. " Disasters
come thickly this morning," cried another. " All right again,"
replied I ; " take care of yourselves, for we are in for business
to-day ; and I perceive one or two of you have been paying
your respects to Mother Earth. Don't lialloo ti*ll you are out of
the wood, my boys."

' The scent appeared to get better and better ; — indeed, the
pace had been awful since the check in the windmill piece,

39

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

I looked back twice, and could only see four of the field in our
rear, and there were but five besides myself well with the
hounds. " This is beautiful," I said : " Divine ! " shouted John
Hawkes. " Indeed it is, sir," said Wing, the grazier, going in
his usual place. I thought so too. I could not help giving
them a cheer, which I don't often do, and got a rebuke for my
pains. " Leave 'em alone, sir," exclaimed Meynell ; " they
cannot be doing it better; I'll bet a thousand on my hounds,
if you will not over-ride them." Ten minutes more, however,
began to tell tales. One of the best nags out of Melton was
about to look queer, — and so did his owner too, for he had
been just saying he could go for another hour. It is true he
had rammed him along at a devil of a rate, and he rides with
rather too slack a rein. " Never loose their heads, my boy,
whatever you do," said my old uncle to me, soon after I was
breeched : and no man's advice was better than his. He was
one of the best of his day ; but still I think he would be
called " sloiu " now.

' But to continue our run. We crossed the brook under
Norton-by-Galby, and went as straight as a line for Rolleston-
wood, Forester and Lambton being the first over it, and my
young one following in the very foot-holes of their horses.
" Ha ! ha ! " said I to myself, as we rose the hill in Galby -field,
which, by the bye, being deep and stiff', took rather tight hold
of the nags — " another ox-fence, and most likely another fall."
— " I'll not have this ox-fence," said I ; " they are turning to
the right, and I'll make for yonder sheep-pen in the corner."
But there was no such luck for me, or my horse. " It is as
fast as a jail-door," said Loraine Smith, who was trying to open
the gate ; " and there is not room to jump into and out of it."
What was to be done ? The hounds were going with a burning
scent, and appeared to be bearing away to the left. " Here
goes, then," said I ; " there is nothing else for it " ; so catching-
fast hold of the young one's head, I sent him manfully at the
ox-fence ; but it had like to have been a case. Tlie ditch was
broad and deep (Frank was here observed to listen most
attentively, with the hope, no doubt, of being better acquainted
with the nature and character of this ox-fence), the hedge
thick and plashed, and the rail beyond them strong. Neither
was this all. There was a considerable fall, or drop, into the
next field, which would have been bad enough had my horse

40

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

landed himself on the ridge ; but, unfortunately for us both,
lie alighted in the furrow, which was deep and stickj^ The
drop must have been six feet, at the least, and he liad a hard
struggle to keep his legs, for he must have cleared more than
seven yards in lengtli, or lie would not have got over it at all.
It told ujwn liim ; but I soon got him upon a headland, and,
standing up in my stirrups, took a good pull at his head,
which recovered him wonderfully, before he got to the end of
the ground, which was sixty acres or more ; but you know,
Mr. Raby, the thorough-bred ones will do this. In short, he
cleared a high gate into the Uppingham and Leicester road, a
little to the ricjlit of Billesden, and a large, straggling, black-
thorn hedge, and a ditch out of it, with apparent ease to
himself, and greatly to my delight. " This cannot last long,"
I said. " I wish the fox would die, or that I had any horse
in my stable save this ; but Pug must go to ground in the
Coplow, or, at least, we may come to a check in it." The devil
a bit ; he never went into the Coplow at all, but straight away,
as if for Lozeby plantations. I shall kill the young one,
thought I ; but what could I do ? We went right over Tilton
field — the worst ground in the country for a tired one — and out
of it I got another fall ; but I believe it was my own fault.
The fence was of this description, — it was plashed, newly
plashed, with growers in it as thick as a man's leg; but
(confound all Leicestershire hedgers and ditchers !) the brush-
wood leaned, uncut, towards me, over at least two yards of
ground, and there was a wide ditch on the landing side.
Brilliant was going gallantly at it, when, perhaps thinking I
was upon Harkaway '

Mr. Rahy. — ' Pardon me for interrupting you, Mr. Somerby,
in your highly interesting and well-told description of this fine
run ; but allow me to ask why those who have such large
studs of hunters at Melton do not always have two horses out
each day, which would afibrd a chance to change in the course
of the runs ; at all events in many of them ? '

Mr. Somrrhy. — ' Your remark is an obvious one. A few
of our hardest riders are inclined to do so, and I hope to live
to see the plan generally adopted. Tli(> difhculty appears to
exist in procuring fellows with brains in their heads to ride
the second horses properly, so as to bring them up fresh.
However, to proceed. Perhaps, thinking I was on Harkaway,

41

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

who is rather slack at his fences, or, more likely, fearing we
might drop short, I rammed my spurs into the young one's
sides, and he jumped further than he need have done. He kept
his legs on landing, but the third step he took afterwards, his
toe struck the top of one of those ant-hills with which that
part of Leicestershire abounds, and down he went on his head.
He rolled completely over me, and we lay on the ground
together. He was up first, however — for I could neither stir
hand nor foot ; but it was only from the wind being knocked
out of me, and in a very few minutes I caught him. Indeed,
he was walking quietly away, with his back turned upon the
hounds, having very little puff left in him ; in other words, he
appeared regularly pumped out. Nor did I like his appearance
at all ; it was anything but pleasing. His tail was shaking —
his flanks worked violently — his nostrils were much distended :
there was that glare of the eye, also, which horses exhibit when
they are much overworked : and he staggered as I leaned my
weight on the stirrup. I stood still for a moment, but could
hear nothing. " It's all over," said I ; " they have run away
from me ; I must go home " ; and I patted the young one on
the neck, saying, " Well, you have gone a good one," and
walked him along a headland to a gate which led to a hard
road. Here he struck into a trot, without being urged to it by
me, which plainly showed he was recovering himself ; and the
bleeding from his cheek had ceased. " Hark ! " said I ; " surely
I hear the hounds " ; but Brilliant had heard them before me.
From a trot he struck into a gallop, and I saw them about a
mile ahead of me. " The fox will not long face this wind,"
said I ; " I have a chance of dropping in with them yet. By
Jove, they are coming round to me ; he has turned short for
Quenby. I shall catch ' them at Newton village. What a
tickler the nags must have had over the Newton hills ! "

' As I predicted, I fell in with them in a road a little beyond
the village. There were eleven men with the hounds, and I
made the twelfth ; all the rest, as 0 'Kelly said, after one of
Eclipse's races — " nowhere." " Where have you been ? " said
one. " Where I deserved to have been," was my reply. " Are
you hurt ? " " No." But my horse ! what state was he in ?
Wliy, 1 will tell you. The hard road had greatly recovered him
and he leaped a widish place out of the lane, when the hounds
crossed under his nose, as well as he could have leaped it in

42

5

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the morning. " He's heart of oak," said I ; and I sent him at
a flight of rails nearly as high as his back, which he cleared
with apparent ease. In short, he appeared to be the freshest
horse in the field ; but he had had his puff', whilst the others
were going over the Newton hills (remember, he was only a five-
year-old). Distress was apparent in all ; even Bernado began
to refuse, which he never does till he is beat (Forester swears
he never %vas but twice) ; and Meynell's grey looked very much
like compounding. Germaine got fast in a sheep pen ; for
{j,lthough Melon jumped into it, he would not jump out ; in
short, the jump had left him, and we never saw him again.
" Where's the best place ? " cried Cholmondeley, who could
not face some timber, and was looking for a creep through a
bullfinch ; he found it not, and we saw no more of him. " How
shall we get over the brook ? " holloaed Lockley, who would
have jumped one twice as wide this morning, and thought
nothing about it. " Go quick at it," said I ; and Brilliant went
a yard beyond it. " Well done the five-j^ear-old ! " holloaed
Martin Hawke, who was the next moment over head and ears
in the water ; his horse never rose at it at all.

' There were now only five of us with the hounds, and it
began to be labour and sorrow with us all. As for Brilliant,
it was all over with him. The flash in the pan had exploded
— perhaps had been extinguished by the brook. Nevertheless,
I am ashamed to say, I persevered with him, but I could
scarcely lift him along ; — he dragged his hind legs through tlie
fences, and I could not make him rise. He was, in fact, twice
down on his head in the space of a mile and a half, though
we did not part company. In addition to this, with the flnest
mouth in the world, he leaned half his weight on my hand,
and the hounds were leaving me apace. " I'll try him once
more," said I to myself ; so got him on a smooth headland (for
ridge and furrow were destroying him), and sent him at a stile
at the end of it. For the first time in his life he refused ; I
put him at it again, and I thought he was going to take it ; but
he had not the power to rise, and, swerving a little to the left,
he ran his head into the hedge, and floundered on his knees on
the bank. I jumped off' him immediately, and thanked him
for not giving me a fall. Now what a situation was I in ! I
could still see the hounds, and the five men going by their
side. But I could only see them ; I could no longer be with

43

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

them. Like King- Richard, at Boswortli, what would I not have
given for a horse !

' The sequel is now to come. The fox was killed about
three miles farther on, after one of the finest and severest
chases recorded, even in Leicestershire. But in what con-
dition were myself and my horse ? As for me, I was bruised
and sore, and had dislocated my right thumb ; I had also left
my whip and a slice of my breeches in the bullfinch ; but these
were only trifles. I trembled for the fate of the five-year-old,
and could not bear the sight of his wound. I looked for a
village and could see none ; but I saw the house of a Leicester-
shire grazier, and that was enough for me at the moment.
I led Brilliant to his stable, and his hack conveyed me to
Melton.

' " Richards," said I to my groom — and no man has a better
— " send a helper oflf with this hack directly, and put yourself
in the gig, without loss of time, with everything necessary for a
tired and maimed horse, and leave him not till he is recovered ;
that is to say (for I had my fears), if he does recover. It was
contrary to your advice that I rode Brilliant to-day ; and,
unfortunately for him, it has been the hardest run we have
had the last three years."

' " It is a pity you rode him, sir," replied Richards, " whilst
you had so many other horses quite fit to go. I think he will
make the best hunter in your stable in another year or two.
But where shall I find him, sir ?- " " At Mr. King's, near
Hungerton," was my reply. " He has turned one of his own
horses out of his best loose-box on purpose to make Brilliant
comfortable." " And where is Jte cut, sir ? " asked the anxious
groom ; " is it a bad over-reach, or have you staked him ? "
" I have done neither," I said ; " get to him as quickly as you
can, and you will see."

' I dined that evening at the old club in Melton, where
there was a very pleasant party ; and went afterwards to
another house, where all sorts of fun was going on ; but I
could have no enjoyment ; I thought only of my poor young
horse. It is, however, time to finish my story. The follow-
ing day was Sunday, and I told Pritcliard not to call me till
ten. However, I grew fidgety ; so rang my bell at nine, and
asked if there were any tidings from Hungerton ? " Yes, sir,"
said Pritcliard, " Richards and the helper returned home last

44

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

night, after you were gone to bed." " How was that ? " I in-
quired. "Brilliant was dead, sir, before they reached the
house ! " " Shut the door," said I liastily, " and don't come
near me till twelve." I had a good mind to have made a vow
never to have hunted again.' ^

At the conclusion, a dead silence was observed for a minute
or two ; it was first broken by Mr. Egerton, who had listened
with the deepest attention. ' I suppose, Mr, Somerby,' he
said, ' the scene you have been describing is one of unusual
occurrence ? '

' You mean the death of m^^ horse ? ' replied Mr. Somerby.

' Not merely that,' resumed Mr. Egerton. ' It appears to
me strange that the word sport, which means diversion, or
pleasure, can be applied to the details of the day which you
have so minutely described. Here were upwards of a hundred
gentlemen assembled, at an immense expense, hoping, no doubt,
to enjoy the diversion of hunting a fox ; but, by your account,
not a tenth part were able to partake of it ; for not more than
that number saw a hound after the first ten minutes ; and
those at prodigious peril to their lives, great suffering to their
horses, and, in your own case, at the cost of a noble animal's
life, and two hundred guineas as well.'

' You have hit my friend Juird, Mr. Egerton,' observed Sir
William. ' I shall listen anxiously to his defence.'

' You know we are no fox-hunters at Amstead, Mr.
Somerby,' said Mr. Raby, wishing to put his visitor at his
ease ; ' we only blow our horses now and then with the
harriers ; and my reverend friend there has never even gone
that length.'

' Yes, papa, but we do more than that sometimes,' exclaimed
Frank (Andrew had quitted the room, and gone to the ladies,
in the middle of the story) ; ' you know Farmer Williams's
mare dropped down dead, in the middle of a turnip-field, the
beginning of this season, in the famous run you had witli that
slate-pits hare.'

' True, my dear,' replied Mr. Raby ; ' but Dick tells me she
had only been up from grass a fortnight, and that she died
from want of condition.'

1 The reader may recollect a description, somewhat resembling this, of a
run over Leicestershire ; but it is lawful for an author to take a loaf out of Iiis
own book.

4.5

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Thank ye, Francis,' exclaimed Mr. Somerby ; ' I'll drink
a bumper to your health. You have given me a capital lift in
the defence I am called upon to make to a somewhat serious
charge, and to a reflection upon fox-hunters and fox-hunting.
You have helped me to the very loop-hole at which I can
escape. You shall now hear what I have to say ; and, as I
am sure you will, one day or another, be a fox-hunter, I
advise you to bear in mind my observations. The facts are
these : — Mr. Meynell, and some other masters of foxhounds,
have brought them to the very highest pitch of perfection of
which their nature, I believe, is capable, both as to high breed-
ing and condition ; whilst the state of the horses that follow
them is left very nearly where it was. Strange to say, Cecil
Forester, the very best rider we have amongst us, and sup-
posed to be the best judge of a hunter, declares he never saw
half a dozen first-rate thorough-bred hunters in his life ; the
consequence is, that the half-bred horse is still, for the most
part, required to do what the thorough-bred cannot more than
do ; which is, to go a, racing 'pace over a country ; and he must
go a racing pace to keep up to Meynell's hounds. Then,
again, the hunter remains in the back-ground in another
respect. Hounds are preserved in condition all the year
round ; that is to say, they are kept to a certain point of
strength in their food during the summer, and are exercised
regularly till hunting again commences. But how is the
hunter served ? Why, by the absurd prejudice of our grooms,
to which we inconsiderately give way, he is stripped of his
fine condition at the end of the season, — which, by the way,
it has taken half a year to acquire, — and allowed to run three
months abroad, accumulating a load of bad, flabby flesh,
amidst the persecution of flies by day, and subject to all the
vicissitudes of our climate by night. Now what follows ? He
is taken up in August, and by the end of October — at all
events, by the first week in November — is expected to be equal
to more than the exertions of the race-horse who has never
been entirely thrown out of condition since he was first
saddled. These are the causes of such distress and apparent
cruelty to the horse that follows foxhounds, and account for
the few that, by means of great accidental superiority in the
animal, are alone able to see a fast and long 'run througJtout.
Thus, also, the following paragraph, which I saw the other

4G

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

day in print, is accounted i'or : — " Mr. Meyncll's hounds have
had great sport this season. Two extraordinary runs happened,
o£ a very rare nature. One was an hour and twenty minutes,
witliout a check, in which they killed their fox. The other,
two hours and fifty minutes, without a cast, and killed.
The hounds, in the first run, kept well together, and only
tivo horses performed it ; the rest of • the field were unequal
to its fleetness. The other run alluded to was performed
by the whole of the pack ; and though all the hounds were
up at the death, two or three slackened in their pace just
at the last. Only one horse went the wJiole of it." ^ But we
shall live to see these evils remedied. Some person or
another, who has witnessed their extent, and reflected upon
the causes, will, one of these days, expose them. We shall
then hear less of tired horses, and very little of those killed
with hounds,' and of runs in which only one gets to the end,
as in the extract I have just quoted. Common sense, indeed,
oniLst at once direct us, if we but give it a chance to do so. If
hounds are every year better bred, and go faster, the breed of
our hunters mu«t also be higher and more pure. As the con-
dition of the former improves, so must that of the latter ; and
I have one consolation left me from the unfortunate occurrence
which has called forth these remarks. I have made up my
mind, in future, to give my horses every chance in their
favour that it is in my power to afibrd them. I have deter-
mined never to purcliase a horse not quite, or nearly,
thorough-bred, so long as I hunt in Leicestershire ; nor will I
ever throw a hunter quite out of condition again. " Let them
down a little in the summer," are my orders to my groom ;
" but lose not what has caused yoic so much trouble, and me
such expense, to obtain. Lose not that which, in fact, makes
a middling horse a good one ; for I fully agree with what I
heard that fine sportsman, John Warde, say, the other day, at
the cover-side of the Pytchley country, "half the goodness of
Jiorses goes in at their mouths!' '

' Will you favour us,' said Mr. Raby to his guest, •' with the

^ See The Mcyncllian Systcui, by tlie late .John Hawkes, Es(i., p. 21. It
is more tlian iirobaljle that one of tlie three horses thns distinguished was ridden
by Mr. Hawkes himself, one of the finest horsemen of his (hiy, lioth over a
country and over a course. Many of my readers will remember The Printer,
and Featherlegs ; and that Mr. II. alvnajs rode horses of pure blood.

47

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

names of some others of the conspicuous sportsmen who have
been hunting in Leicestershire with Mr. Meynell in your time ? '

' With the greatest pleasure,' answered Mr. Somerby. ' You
will excuse my giving them as they present themselves to
my recollection at the moment. There have been amongst
them — The Duke of Orleans; Lords Maynard, Spencer, Sef-
ton, Winchelsea, Harborough, Stair, Craven, Robert Spencer,
Charles Manners, Robert Manners, Paget, Villiers, Egmont,
Chatham, and Somerville ; Sirs Carnaby Haggerstone, John
Shelley, William Gordon, Harry Featherstonehaugh ; General
Tarleton, Colonel Carter ; Messrs. Loraine Smith, Prince
Boothby, Charles Wyndham, Lambton, Ralph Lambton,
Forester, Cholmondeley, George Germaine, Martin Hawke,
Jacob Wardell, Lemon, Cradock, Thomas and Robert Gros-
venor, Goodhere, Norman, Arthur Paget, Conyers, Morant,
Assheton Smith, Pole, Saville, Musters, the two Heyricks,
John Hawkes, Lockley, Charles Meynell, Hugo Meynell, junior,
Orljy Hunter, Rose Price, Peach, Boates, Robert Montgomery,
Berkeley Craven, Puleston, John Madocks, Vanneck, Bennet,
Graham, Harnes (of Glen), Nedham, etc. etc. There are also
some excellent sportsmen amongst the graziers of this part
of Leicestershire, and none better than Deverell and George
Henton. Neither must I omit Ted Hodges of Leicester, a very
conspicuous sportsman, in every acceptation of the word ; as a
judge of cocking, a nonpareil.

' Then, again, there is a new set just coming among us —
Lords Plymouth and Foley ; Sirs Henry Peyton, Stephen
Glynne, and Wheeler Cutf; Messrs. Rawlinson, the Lindows
(twin brothers, and capital hands), Rolleston, and Frank
Forester ; the two Bruens from Ireland (with as many horses
as would do for a country fair), Lloyd, the dand}' Welchman,
Apperley, and Thomas Assheton Smith, better known as " the
Tom Smith." '

Here the conversation w^as interrupted (Mr. Egerton was
about to speak) by Frank exclaiming to his father, ' Oh, papa,
and has Mr. Somerby hunted in the Pytchley country ? Would
you ask him to tell us something about Dick Knight, whose
picture, representing him topping the park -pales on Contract,
our huntsman has got in his parlour ? '

' You unreasonable rogue,' said Mr. Raby ; ' I wonder what
you will ask next ? '

48

"Dick Knight."

From a picture by B. Marsltall.

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Mr. Somerby, however, liaving overheard the question, orood-
naturedly replied to it : —

' Why, Francis, I am scarcely old enough to have seen Dick
Knight in his very best day ; but the prints which you speak
of give an excellent idea of the man ; and, from the knowledge
the amateur artist, to whose pencil we are indebted for them,
had of him, as a huntsman and sportsman, we must give them
full credit for accuracy of design and character. Has he not
exhibited him displaying all the good properties which his call-
ing, as a huntsman to foxhounds, requires ? In the first place,
what a horseman does he appear ! How firm and beautiful is
his seat in the tremendous leap he is taking, obliged as he is,
at the same time, to stoop forward on his horse to avoid the
bough of a tree ! Then, what zeal he evinces ! and what
coolness, while changing his horse during the run, the oppor-
tunity being offered by his passing his own stable door. Instead
of being in a hurry to mount, he casts his eyes towards his
hounds and the country, before he puts his foot into the stirrup.
Then, see him with his hounds at fault, and observe his anxiety
for their safety, whilst the colt is gambolling in the midst of
them ; and, lastly, mark him at the finish, with the dead fox
in his hand. " Who-whoop ! was never so carried," cries he, on
dismounting from the fore-horse of the team, whose state of
exhaustion is so admirably depicted by the artist, that we could
swear that, in one more field, the nag must have died, if the
fox had not. In fact, I have always told my friend, Loraine
Smith, for he claims the honour of having been the designer,
that no hunting prints have ever yet appeared anything like
so good as those of which we have been speaking ; neither do I
believe there have been many better huntsmen than the cele-
brated Dick Knight.

' Perhaps you will like an anecdote or two, Frank,' resumed
Mr. Somerby, ' of this noted man. His master is Earl Spencer,
and a fine sportsman his lordship is. On his return from
London, last year, at the end of the gay season, almost the
first thing Dick said to him, was, that he " feared the country
was about to be ruined." Lord Spencer being then high in
the administration of it, naturally associated the idea with the
general ruin of Great Britain, whereas Dick was only alluding
to Northamptonshire as a hunting country. " What now,
then, Dick ? " said his lordship. " Why, my lord," he replied,

49 D

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

"they are going to cut a d — d canal through the best part
of our country " ; a thing of all others, by the way, most wanted
by the inhabitants of it, and which would benefit, instead of
injuring it as a hunting country.'

' How so, Somerby ? ' said Sir William.

' Why, in consequence of the present great scarcity of coals,
from want of water carriage,' continued Mr. Somerby, ' you
will find, in many parts of Northamptonshire, three high and
strong blackthorn hedges, where one only would be required.
The object in planting three, is, that one may be fit to cut
down for fuel at a certain period, and the others follow in
succession. I have often been stopped by these fences,
which, as you may imagine, nothing without wings can get
over.

' But the other anecdote,' resumed Mr. Somerby ; ' I must
not forget that, as I see my little friend is on the listen for
it. There was a parson in the Pytchley country, sadly given
to press upon hounds, a fault never forgiven by huntsmen.
It happened that, one day, the parson dropped short in a
deep brook, and as he was floundering about in the middle of
it, Dick rode clean over him, with these words in his mouth :
" His reverence swims like a cork ; hut never mind him ; this is
only Friday, and he wont he wanted till Sunday." At a subse-
quent time there was another of these inconsiderate riders
with his hounds, who, although well known in the sporting
world, happened to be a stranger to Dick Knight. Moreover,
he was clad in a blue coat, which added nothing to his appear-
ance and character, in Dick's eyes. At length the gentleman
got an awful fall, his horse rolling over him, and he lay as
if he were dead. " There," exclaimed Dick ; " thank God, we

have done with you ! " In a few minutes, however, Mr. G ■

was in his place again, when Knight, observing him, coolly said
to himself, " A resurrection before the time, to a certainty. I
liad hoiked never to have seen you again in this world. I ivonder
what you'll do next ?" '

' What a funny fellow that Dick Knight must have been,
papa,' said Frank.

'Oh,' said Sir William, *we have not done with him yet,
Frank. I was out with the Pytchley, once, when we thought
we were in for a blank day. In fact, it was three o'clock, and
not a tongue to a fox had been heard. At last a hound, called

50

(0

Si

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Abelard, spoke : " Hark ! " said Dick, holding up his cap, that,
he mio-ht hear the better; "that's Ahelard. A reprieve, by the
Lord ! " I need hardly add that he was right, for Abelard was
the best hound in the pack, and his blood is in most of the
best kennels in England ; the blood of the Pytchley Abelard,
indeed, is a passport to any hound.'

' But we have omitted the best anecdote of Dick Knight,'
said Mr. Somerby, ' and my young friend here must have that.
Dick was a great favourite with his noble master, and, like all
favourites, now and then presumed upon it. Having taken a
tremendous leap, one day, on Contract, Lord Spencer, who
was next to him, pulled up at it, and paused. " Come along,
my lord," roared Dick ; " the longer you look, the less you will
like it."

' The incident that led to the masterly execution of these
prints was a spirit of jealousy between Mr. Assheton Smith
and Dick Knight, when they met together, on one particular
occasion, in the field, the former riding a celebrated hunter
called Egmont, and the latter the equally celebrated Contract.
In fact, it was Quorn versus Pytchley. The prints were first
published by Jukes, a great printseller in London, who is
said to have realised fifteen hundred pounds by the copy-
right, which was made a present to him by Mr. Loraine
Smith.

' Loraine Smith, on another occasion, sketched himself in
the act of fording a river after hounds, with his coat-skirts
tucked up to his shoulders, and thereby getting a considerable
start of the rest of the field, with the exception of Lord
Maynard, who chanced to follow him ; and the lines written
underneath the print : —

' " By following Smith, a cute chap at a pinch,

Who knows all the depths of the brooks to an inch ;
Lord Maynard, too, followed, and both did embark.
Only wetting their tails just below water-mark."'

' I conclude,' said Mr. Raby, ' that Mr, Loraine Smith is a
good man across a country.'

' Few better, for his weight,' replied Mr. Somerby ; ' his
great excellences, as a rider to hounds, are, his judgment, and
fine eye to direct him in taking his line. On the 12th De-
cember 1792, he went to the end of, perhaps, the finest run
that Leicestershire had afforded up to that period, called the

51

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Whetstone day, the fox having been found in Whetstone Gorse,
between Lutterworth and Melton. It lasted upwards of two
hours, with only one check, and all over grass. Still, the
person who most distinguished himself was Jacob Wardle, who,
although he (with many others) went away with part of the
pack, which could not be stopped, and only got up to the
main body of hounds just as they recovered the scent, at a
check at the end of a very severe burst, took the lead and kept it
until the hounds ran into their fox, at the expiration of the
time mentioned. The horse he rode — a thorough-bred grey,
afterwards called Whetstone — had never been ridden as a
hunter before in his life, and was purchased by Forester, for
250 guineas, in the field. Lord Maynard, however, seeing
the distress this horse exhibited, pronounced that he would
never be himself again ; neither was he. Lord Paget, who
rode a horse called Slender ; Pole, on True Blue ; and Forester,
on Sweeper, also distinguished themselves on this memorable
day.

' Mr. Loraine Smith, on this day, rode a horse he had not
long before purchased of Mr. Berridge ; but, not having had a
trial of his merits, he had not then given him a name. It
was, however, by plunging with him into the river Wellin,
near Langton, which he did at no small risk with a horse
somewhat beaten, that he was indebted for a sight of the con-
clusion of this splendid run. He had the good luck to meet
the hounds, evidently running into their fox, pointing for
Market Harborough, having no one in company with them but
Mr. Wardle. Mr. Smith's horse soon afterwards declined ;
and Mr. Wardle, on this young and raw horse, would have
been a good two miles ahead of any other man in the field,
had the fox not been headed nearly at the finish, which enabled
several of his brother-sportsmen to witness it ; and a glorious
finish it was, too, in the middle of a large grass field. But,
as regards Wardle and his raw horse, the most extraordinary
part of the story is yet to come. The country about Langton
was then just newly enclosed, yet he jumped all the strong post
and rail fences without getting one fall. Neither was his
crossing the river Wellin undeserving of notice. He pushed
his horse before him, into deep water, leaped upon his back
whilst he was in the act of swimming, and thus was carried
to the opposite bank !

52

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' I remember hearing of another desperate run, in which Mr.
Loraine Smith distinguished himself greatly by his fine judg-
ment in riding to hounds. On a day, with the same pack
(Meynell's), called "the Alsops-house day," he appeared at
cover on a five-year-old horse, of his own breeding, called
Shopleton; and one, by his own admission, not of high form
as a hunter. He likewise got a bad start, and never could
get near the hounds till he met them on Leak Hills, on their
return from Gotham Wood. Notwithstanding this disadvantage,
towards the end of the run, which embraced an immense sweep
of country, himself and a gentleman named Deverill were the
only two that continued to keep with the hounds till they came
to Kinnoulton cover, when his (Smith's) horse slackened pace.
Deverill went on, and was the only man whose horse could
raise a canter when the fox was dying. He rode a mare,
called Gay lass, got by Lord Grosvenor's famous Mambrino,
whose fine picture by Stubbs has been so much admired ; and,
in consequence of her performance this day, she was sold to
Sir John Shelly, and by him to Sir Harry Featherstone, in
both instances at large prices, remaining a first-class hunter,
in Leicestershire, for several successive years. It was computed,
at the time, that, by his knowledge of the country, and the
points the fox was making, Smith saved three miles of ground
in the course of this run, which is the principal cause of my
having detailed the particulars of it to you.'

' Now, Frank,' said Mr. Raby, ' you have had a great treat ; so
take yourself ofi" to the ladies. I dare say you will dream of
Leicestershire and Dick Knight.'

' We shall see him in Leicestershire, some day or another,'
observed Mr. Somerby.

. * No,' replied Mr. Raby; ' at least, I hope not. Melton Mowbray
is no place for younger brothers : and I fear it has often proved
too much for elder ones.'

53

CHAPTER III

Devoted to rural scenes and characters, and combining matter of amusement
and instruction, with maxims of sound theory, and examples well worthy
of imitation.

The next day being Sunday, Frank had matters of a graver
kind to attend to — all very necessary, however, to guide him
in the ' race ' he had to run ; and the plain, comprehensible
sermons he heard in Amstead Church were admirably adapted
to that purpose. But, on the Monday, a pursuit was proposed
to him, by Jem Perren, the keeper's son, quite as much to his
taste, at that early age. This was a game, once in much
vogue in England, and especially in counties bordering on the
sea-coast, known by the name of ' a crow's-nest race ' ; — that
is to say, either a carrion-crow's nest, or a particular one in a
rookery, was to be climbed for, by three boys, and he who first
put his hand into it was the winner. Now this was not at all
to Andrew's taste ; so that Frank had to look abroad for his
competitors ; but he had no difficulty in procuring them. One
was the son of the rector, a fine and spirited lad, and of the
same year with himself ; and the other, a son of a neighbouring
gentleman, much of a like kidney.

' That shall be the nest,' said Frank, pointing to one in the
highest tree in the rookery. ' Surely not,' said young Chapman ;
' the boughs are very slender ; indeed they look as if they would
break with our weight.' Jem Perren was likewise of this
opinion, and began to lament having proposed the day's amuse-
ment. ' Nonsense,' said Frank, ' the tree is alive and good at
the head, and I'll be bound it will bear us.' In fact, ' possunt,
quia posse videntur,' was his motto ; and he thus addressed his
competitors : — ' Now, my boys, off" with your jackets ! when Jem
gives the word, let us start.'

The race is not always to the swift, but it is sometimes
to the bold ; and this was the case here. It was well enough
contested, until the party arrived within a few yards of the
summit, when the apparent slightness of the boughs, together
with the frightful abyss below, caused young Chapman and the

54

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T3

O
I

o

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

other boy to pause. But Frank was not to be daunted. With
the branches trembUng under him, onward he went to his
point, and putting his hand into tlie nest, cried out, ' Who-
whoop /—I've done it ! Here are two eggs in the nest,' which
he instantly put into his mouth, to secure them from being
broken in the descent.

' Glad to see you safe down, sir,' said Jem Perren ; ' I was
mortally frightened for you; and, if you had tumbled, what
would my lady have said to me ? '

'Oh,' said Frank, 'if I was, like Andrew, to do nothing
but what mamma likes, I shouldn't have much fun. But, Jem,
I am sorry to see the rooks have begun to lay, for it shows
that it will soon be over with hunting for this year. How
curiously these eggs are speckled ! but they are not all speckled
alike.'

At this moment Mr. Egerton made his appearance, and asked
who had been taking rooks' eggs, as it was Mr. Baby's orders
they should not be touched. Frank at once confessed him-
self the culprit, having suffered enough, on a former occasion,
from concealing the truth,— in plainer English, telling a
direct lie.

' Do you see what misery you have inflicted on those poor
birds, which are hovering round their empty nest ? ' continued
Mr. Egerton. ' For my own part, I have always been a great
admirer of birds— their notes, their nests, their eggs, and all
the economy of their lives ; — nor have we, throughout the order
of creation, any beings that so continually engage our attention
as these our feathered companions. It is my opinion, that
whosoever can exercise cruelty towards a sparrow or a wren,
the most insignificant of birds, would, when circumstances
enabled him, be cruel to his fellow-creatures.'

' But, sir,' observed Jem Perren, ' father says, " take every
nest you see, Jem ; they are nothing but varmint " : so I knows
not what to do ; and you knows, sir, our farmers gives sixpence
a dozen for young sparrows; and in the last year's church-
warden's account, I see'd, with my own eyes, seventeen shillings
paid for seventeen dozen tomtit's heads, three and fourpence of
which came to my share.'

This was something of a damper for fine sentiment; and
Mr Eo-erton, taking out his watch, observed that it wanted but
half an hour of dinner-time.

55

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' What's to be done to-day ? ' said Mr. Egerton to his pupils,
after school, on the morrow following the crow's-nest race.
' I am going in the phaeton, with mamma, to call at the
Grange,' answered Andrew; whilst Frank admitted that he
was informed, by Dick Perren, of a marten-cat, that he had
seen in the big wood ; and he believed he could show him the
tree in which it makes its bed. ' I suppose, sir, there is no
harm in killing liim, if we can; as Dick says he not only
destroys the game, but the huntsman to the foxhounds will be
very glad to have him put out of the way; for his hounds
have run him twice, without being able to catch him, and he
scratched some of them sadly.'

' The marten-cat,' said Mr. Egerton, * is a very predatory
animal, and, as such, there can be no harm in destroying him ;
and if you take him alive, which I conclude you will do, I wish
to see him previously to your putting him to death, for he
is a very beautiful animal. Then, again, of all those called
vermin, we have none more admirably fitted for a predatory
life than the marten-cat. He is endowed with great strength
of body, for his size ; is remarkably quick and active in all
his motions ; has an eye so clear and so perceptive, that
nothing can stir without his observation ; and, to complete his
accomplishments, he has a perfect sense of smelling. Again,
his feet are peculiarly adapted to his habits ; not treading
upright on the balls alone, but with the joint bending, the
fleshy parts being embedded in a very soft hair ; so that the
tread of the animal, even on decayed leaves, in a wood, is
scarcely audible by its prey, which it, consequently, very seldom
misses getting into its clutches. In fact, everything combines
to make him a very destructive animal ; and, as he is neither
protected by laws nor privileges, I have often wondered that
he has so long been suffered to exist in so populous a country
as this. I find he was an object of chase in former days, being
mentioned, among the beasts of venery, in the Book of St.
Albans, by Dame Juliana Berners.'

In about a fortnight from this time, Mr. Raby's harriers
ceased hunting for the season, and the foxhounds went to finish
theirs in a distant part of the country, in which they had a
kennel. This was, then, the commencement of what are called
the 'dead months.' An active mind like that of our hero,
however, could not remain without some stirring pursuit ; so

56

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

he devoted much of his leisure hours to watching the operations
of Perren, the head keeper, in breeding and feeding pheasants,
of which tliere were, at that time, but few on Mr. Raby's estates,
or, indeed, on any other in the county. Now, Perren was clever
in this branch of his calling ; and a few of his maxims were so
well worthy of imitation, that his young master cherished them
throuo;h life. Among-st them were the following : —

' In a young breeding-stock, never leave more than one cock
to seven hens, or as near to that proportion as you can.

' When the hen pheasant is laying, or sitting, hang a bit of
red cloth, or a few links of iron chain, near her nest, and no fox
will molest her.

' Have a few patches of buck- wheat sown on the borders of
covers intended as pheasant preserves. They operate like the
salt-box in the dovecot, in attaching the birds to the spot.

' When you feed in the winter, beans are the most economical
food, because the small birds cannot eat them, as they do the
lesser grain. The small tick-bean is the best.

' The most dangerous time for pheasants, from the attacks of
vermin, such as foxes, etc., is after a wet night in the moulting
season. They are then naturally weak, and their wings being
heavy from rain, they do not rise so quickly as at other times.
They should now be watched.

' When rearing pheasants by hand, observe the following
rules : During the first month, feed with hard egg and ants'
eggs, but give nothing to drink. Feed early, but don't let the
young birds go abroad until the dew has quite disappeared.
Keep them very clean, and shut up at sunset,

' Second month : — Feed on wheat, barley, and ants' eggs.
Being now subject to vermin, let them be supplied with sand
to roll in ; and if the pip seizes them, rub their bills with garlic,
finely bruised, in tar.

'Third month: — When the new tail-feathers appear, danger
is always at hand. Give them plenty of ants' eggs, and put
them out, by day, on a white clover field, but not exposed to sun.
You may give them white clover-seed, mixed with other grain.'

Our hero being observed, on one of the subsequent evenings,
by Mr. Egerton, in earnest conversation with his father, in the
drawing-room, was thus addressed by him : — -' What is in the
wind, now, Francis ? I perceive you have been coaxing your
father for somethinr/.' ' Why, sir,' replied Frank, ' Jem Perren

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

tells me that Mr. Wright's otter-hounds meet at Cranby Mills
to-morrow morning, at five o'clock ; and he has consented to
my going out with them, provided the huntsman accompanies
me, to see that I do not get into danger ; but there is no fear of
that, as I am only to take my leaping-pole.'

' What ! ' exclaimed Andrew. ' Does Mr. Wright keep
hounds ? I always thought he was so poor that he could
scarcely keep himself and family, much less hounds.'

' Why, I fear, Andrew, what you say is too true ; and, as
Wright is a good, worthy fellow, I wish he was better off: but
it shows how innate, in man, is the passion for the chase, when
he will forego, as poor Wright must, many of the comforts, and
even conveniences of life, to indulge it.'

On the following morning, at the early hour of five, Frank
Raby and the huntsman were at the Mill, where Mr. Wright
was in readiness for the sport, which he had little doubt would
ensue, as he had seen some very fresh spraints (excrements) on
the banks the evening before, although he had failed in mark-
ing an otter to, or lodging him in, his couch. He had but three
couples of hounds, and one three parts bull-terrier ; but all the
party were provided with spears, which likewise served them
for leaping-poles.

The brook intended to be tried, having been ' let ofi",' as
the term is, by shutting down the sluices at the mill above,
the banks and shallows were in a good state for the purpose ;
and in less than half a mile, the seal (or foot-ball) of a full-
grown otter was discerned, and the scent soon got warm. The
ear of these animals being very acute, they seldom wait to be
surprised in their couch, and such was the case here. A view-
halloo was given by Mr. Wright, on seeing the object of his
pursuit dart into the stream, from the hollow of an old willow-
tree, about four feet from the ground ; and now the chase
began. It was for some time doubtful, from the superiority of
the animal over the dogs in swimming against the stream, and
no opportunity having occurred, during his vents (i.e. when
rising to the top of the water to respire), to strike him with a
spear, as to what tlie issue would be, whether blood would be
the result, or not. In one of his vents, however, whilst out of
reach of the spearsman, an opportunity did present itself to the
bull-terrier, who leaped from the bank on his prey, and a terrible
conflict commenced. The otter instantly dived below the sur-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

face, carrying the dog with him ; and, had not the severity of his
bite obHged the otter to let go his hold, Lion would have been
very shortly drowned. But the animal had received a wound
from the strong jaws of Lion, which so crippled his powers, that
in less than half an hour from the time he was first found, Mr.
Wright exhibited him on his spear-head, to the great joy of the
party, and particularly of Frank Raby, who, to use the words
of Taplin, one of the sporting authorities of that day, was
' ecstatic with delight.' Unable to find another, the sports-
men returned to their homes, Frank and the huntsman having
been previously refreshed by the honest-hearted master of this
small pack.

' Well, Frank,' said Mr. Raby to him, on his return, ' how do
you like otter-hunting ? ' ' Oh, very good fun,' he replied ; ' but
not so good as hunting with our own hounds, because it is so
soon over, for one reason ; and again, I don't much like hunting
on foot. But, papa, I could have told all about it from those
lines Mr. Egerton read to us last night, in the library, from
Somerville's Chase. It lis quite curious how well he described
everything I saw with Mr. Wright's hounds. What a sportsman
Mr. Somerville must have been, eh, papa ! '

' Why,' replied Mr. Raby, ' I am unable to speak decidedly
on that point ; but he was an amiable man, and a good country
gentleman ; although, by his liberality exceeding his means,
he greatly injured his estate, but not his family, for he had
none. Doctor Johnson, however, who lately wrote his life,
as a poet (the Doctor, I presume, could say nothing of him as
a sportsman), allows him one merit — that of setting a good
example to men of his own class, by devoting part of his
time to elegant knowledge; and showing, by the subjects which
his poetry has adorned, that it is practicable to be at once a
skilful sportsman and a man of letters — a hint which I trust,
Frank, you will take to yourself. But the Doctor could not
let him off" without a slap. He says — *' He writes very well for
a gentleman." '

' Well,' resumed Frank, ' I shouldn't wonder but Wilkins,
who drives the Balloon coach, had been reading what Dr.
Johnson said of Mr. Somerville ; for, on my asking him, the
other day, if Sir John Inkleton was not a very good coachman ?
he answered, " Why, Master Francis, Sir John drives very well
for a gentleman." '

59

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

As the summer season approached, Frank was sometimes
put to a nonplus for his pastime ; for, although he was making-
great proficiency in angling, and had commenced trying his
hand at the gun, change was now and then sought for by him ;
and he addressed his father, on the eve of Whit Monday, with
— ' To-morrow is our Whitsun fair, papa ; I wash you would let
Andrew and myself go to it. I hear there is much fun there
after the business of the day is over.'

' I am glad to hear it,' replied the father ; ' all nations,
ancient and modern, have allow^ed and encouraged sports and
festivities amongst the lower orders of the people, as the best
means of preventing greater and more serious evils ; and he
who would check them, when kept within reasonable bounds,
commits a great mistake. For my own part, I myself, as a
magistrate, rather encourage them, than otherwise ; being
convinced that, whatever tends to make people happy, tends
to make them good ; and you know we have very little crime
in these parts. Now, I have no objection to your brother
and yourself riding over to the Whitsun fair, in the cool of
the evening, taking your words for not getting into any
mischief.'

Andrew and his brother having partaken of an early dinner,
afterwards proceeded, on horseback, to the village revels. And
here they met with an incident, which it may not be amiss to
relate, as a caution to all fair-goers who are not ' wide aw^ake.'
A person approached them at full speed, on rather a shabby-
looking pony, whom they found to be the son of the miller at
the Abbey, and one who had an excellent opinion of himself,
the result, perhaps, of his old father's almost every-day boast,
that ' our John is a very 'cute young chap, and not to be done
by any on 'em.' ' Oh, young gentlemen,' exclaimed the
miller, pulling up the pony with a jerk, ' I hope the Squire
is at home.' ' He is,' replied Andrew ; ' but what's the matter,
John ? ' ' Oh, sir,' resumed ' our John,' ' I have been sarved
such a trick — and I could have sworn the man warn't born
that could have done it. You know, gentlemen, our four-year-
old colt father bred out of the blind mare, a real soldier^ all
over, and honestly worth soldier's price, or a little more !
Well, gentlemen, arter riding him only twice up and down the

^ In a time of war it is customary for dealers to say of a horse that lie would
make a good soldier — meaning a troop-horse.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fair, as I was turning him round to go again, at the corner of
New Street, up conies two as respectable-looking gentlemen as
a man should see in a score, dressed in top-boots and leather
breeches, and says to me, " What's the price of the young nag,
miller ? " " Thirty guineas," says I : you know I left a little
for bating.^ " Sound ? " says one. " Quiet ? " says t' other.
"Lord love you, gentlemen," says I, "why, father bred him.
There isn't a sounder nor a gentler creature on the face of
earth, as his mother, indeed, was afore him : and he's all over
a soldier, if not an officer, which father says he is." Now,
Master Raby, how do you think they sarved me ? " Any
objection, miller ? " says one of these chaps — devils, God for-
give me. Master Raby — (here Frank could scarcely refrain from
laughing) — " for me to throw my leg o'er the young one, for a
hundred yards or so, and you can hold my pony the while ? "
" None in the least, sir," says I ; " ride him, by all means ;
you'll say you never was on the back of a nicer nag in all your
life, and by the time he has been one month in the stable of
a gentleman like you, nobody wouldn't know him again." Well,
Master Raby, away goes this chap on father's nag, and away
rattles t' other all sorts of stuff to me, such as — how was wheat
selling in this country ? was father a freeholder, or some big
gentleman's tenant ? did we grind by wind or water ? and all
such questions as those. Howsomever, I soon found out that
father was ground out of his horse, clean enough ; for thinking
it a long time before the chap who was riding him came back,
I says to t' other chap — " Where can the gentleman be ? " " I'll
run up this street," said he, "and see"; and so he did, but I
see'd no more of our horse from that time to this, and all I've
got to show for him is this here pony (which they tells me is
glandered), that the second chap left with me to hold, when he
run up the street after t' other. Now, young gentlemen, if it
warn't for father and mother, nobody should have seen me in
the parish of Amstead again : I would have gone for a soldier,
along with father's colt ; for they tells me he will be at Bristol
by to-morrow night, and away to the army, in a ship, before
we could get there arter him.'

Here this part of the scene closed ; and that which occurred
on the meeting between ' 'cute John ' and his father may be
imagined by all who have read that between the Vicar of Wake-
1 Twenty-five was the ultimvim price of troop-lior.ses.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

field and his son Moses, on the return of the latter from a
very similar expedition ; neither can much be said of the
appeal to the Squire of Amstead, as a magistrate. As for
granting warrants for two 'respectable-looking persons in
leather breeches and top-boots,' that was quite out of the
question: forasmuch as, in those days, half the buyers and
sellers of horses in the fair were thus accoutred; moreover,
in the case of these two rogues, it would have been doubly
useless, as no doubt but the said leathers and top-boots were
hidden from sight, by smock-frocks, or overalls, as soon as the
wearers of them were once clear of the town ; and at least
three inches taken off the colt's tail, if he were not further
disfigured. All that Mr. Raby could do, was to throw back
ten pounds of his rent to the old miller at the next audit-day,
to console him for his loss, and to caution him, in future,
from making ' our John ' believe there were not sharper fellows
in a horse-fair than the son of a country miller.

It was the wish of Mr. Raby that his sons should learn the
art of fishing, in its higher branches, if such a term may be
allowed me ; but he discouraged the practice of angling with
live worms for small fish, as being both cruel and unprofitable.
' The art of angling,' he would say, ' opens a wide field for
the naturalist ; and is a rational and contemplative amuse-
ment— cheap, and instructive withal.' Mr. Egerton, himself
a fisherman, also encouraged this sport in his pupils, remind-
ing them not only of its antiquity, but that it was not
considered infra dig. by Homer, Virgil, and other celebrated
poets, when distinguishing their heroes by their professions,
business, or pursuit, to mention the ' skilful angler.'

Andrew entered heartily into this sport, and, by the instruc-
tions of the keeper, Perren, became rather a dexterous fly-
fisher ; he could also take good pike with his trolling-rod,
generally making his bait an artificial minnow, or frog, by the
advice of his amiable tutor. ' Why torment fishes or insects,'
he would say, ' by impaling them alive on hooks, when
inanimate objects will be equally attractive as baits ? Besides,
independently of the reflection cast upon angling, from the
unnecessary pain inflicted, the principal art of the fisherman
lies in his choice of flies. For example : do you not
remember, last summer, when you accompanied me to the
Grange, that Mr. Holmes, the rector, killed nearly as many

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

trout as the rest of the party altogether ; and when grayKng
fishing, in October, he actually filled his basket, whilst the
rest of us could scarcely take a fish ? Then, again, I believe
you heard the story of Mr. Musters, in tlie preserved waters
of his friend, near Uxbridge. There was a trout of six pounds
in a hole, which the keepers of the owner of the domain had
long tried to take, but they had always failed in their attempts.
Mr. Musters came down from London for the purpose, choosing
a favourable day, — took the fish at the third throw, and gave
the keepers a guinea.

' Pray, sir,' inquired Frank, ' which do you consider to be the
best rivers for grayling ? '

'The Dove and the Trent,' replied Mr. Egerton, 'are, I
believe, about the best ; and the Teme, which runs through
Herefordshire and Shropshire. In this river, near Ludlow,
was caught the largest grayling ever seen in England ; it
measured half a yard in length, and weighed four pounds six
ounces, which is considered a prodigious size and weight for
this species of fish. By the bye, I can tell you an anecdote
relating to this river, which is highly complimentary to the
pursuit of fishing, associated as it is with a love of rural
scenery (in which that country abounds), and the enjoyment of
the beauties of nature. The autumnal months are best suited
to this stream ; and it happened that General Tarleton, after
having revelled in the pleasures and luxuries of a London
season, retired to the village of Leintwardine, about nine miles
from Ludlow, for the purpose of fishing for grayling in the
Teme. He had excellent sport; and when he left the small
inn at which he had sojourned for a month, he wrote the
following postscript to the landlord's bill : " I voluntarily add
the sum of twenty pounds to the amount of this bill ; being
not only an acknowledgment of its very moderate charges, but
in testimony of the fact that the month which I have passed
in the village of Leintwardine has been the happiest that I have
hitherto passed." '

There is one practice of the fisherman in which Frank
Raby was desirous to excel, and this was the dexterous throw-
ing of the casting-net, at whicli Perren, tlie head keeper, was
a proficient. Dressed in liis smock-frock, then, would Frank
be seen at the shallows, below the mill, in which gudgeons and
perch were plenty ; and he was now and then rewarded Avith a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

pike, in the deeper parts of the river, which were clear from
reeds or weeds. But the casting-net is not a certain engine of
destruction, as relates to large fish ; its chief use is for catch-
ing what is called ' small fry,' either to stock waters with, or
for baits, where live baits are used ; and out of the multitude
of fish which it takes, when thrown by a good hand, there
is much choice to be made. But the exercise of this net is
an act of much grace, when cast as it should be cast; for,
although it resembles a bell in shape, whilst remaining in a
quiescent state, when spread to its utmost extent it forms a
complete circle. Long, then, before Frank arrived at maturity,
there was not a person in the neighbourhood who could handle
this net better than he could, his fustian-jacketed preceptor
excepted. He was, likewise, a fair hand at a trout, and the
knowledge of the flies best adapted to taking him, at various
times and seasons ; at the same time there was, in his estima-
tion, somewhat of a tameness throughout the entire proceedings
of the fisherman, which gave him some difficulty in determin-
ing whether he really liked it as a sport, or merely endured it
as the means of beguiling a few vacant hours.

There was one reason for a difference of taste in the pastimes
and pursuits which these brothers exhibited, and this was in
the nature of the physical constitution of each, which seldom
fails to have its effect on the intellectual one. Andrew had
been a weakly child from his birth, and he was, consequently,
unequal to enter into the rough and arduous pursuits which
alone seemed to fascinate our hero. But the time was now
arrived when both were to make their start in the world, and
repair to a public school, as their father had done before them,
and for which they were well prepared by Mr. Egerton. Yet
here arose a difficulty, which it will be in my power to account
for, as likewise to show how it was obviated.

64

CHAPTER IV

The hero enters upon the stafje of life, ami also on another stage, which, with
various incidents narrated in thiscliaptei.', will be found corroborative of the
adage, that— 'as tlie twig- is bent, the tree's inclined.'

I HAVE already presented to the reader the character and
situation of the brother of Mr. Raby, uncle to the two boys ;
but it may be necessary further to observe that, havino- made
up his mind to remain a bachelor, as more congenial to his
unconquerable love of ease and quiet, as well as to his gene-
rally epicurean habits, he liad settled in his own mind that
Frank Raby should succeed to his fortune, which, as I have
already stated, was considerable, and likel}' to increase rather
than diminish in liis hands. This being the case, it is but
reasonable to suppose that he interested himself in every-
thing relating to the formation of the character of his intended
heir, wlio, although he rather encouraged than checked his
desire to become a sportsman, he was very anxious sliould
become a scholar, to fit him for that place in society it was his
intention to have occupied himself, but which constitutional
indolence put a bar to. With this view, then, he paid a visit to
the Abbey, to talk over matters with his brother, respecting the
future education of his nephew ; it liaving been communicated
to him, that, after the midsummer holidays, both Frank and his
brother Andrew were to be sent to a public school. The result
of this visit, as regarded the point in question, will be seen in
the following dialogue : —

' Well, brother,' said Mr. Beaumont Raby, ' I find the boys
make their debut in the world after midsunnner ; have you
determined on Eton ? '

' Why, as we were Etonians ourselves,' replied Mr. Rabj^
' and have had no cause to repent of having been so, I see no
objection to Eton ; but have you yourself any ? '

' None whatever, to the school. Dr. George Heath, who is at
the head of it, and Dr. Goodall, the second master, are both
scholars ; although the first, in spite of his witty translation of
the celebrated line —

' " iUe dolet vcre, ([ui sine teste dolet,"

G5 E

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

is as bare of humour as a hurdle is of flesh ; and if Goodall
had a little more of the stoic about him — at all events, a little
more firmness — Eton would be none the worse as a school.
But, as you kindly ask me the question, I candidly tell you
I had rather that the two boys should not both go to the same
school, and I will give you my reason. Frank, though not
wanting in parts, is disposed to do as little as he can possibly
help with Mr. Egerton, and I am much afraid that if he were
at Eton with his brother, he would coax him into making his
exercises for him, which his naturally affectionate disposition
would, I am sure, induce him to do. You are aware, brother
of my intentions towards Frank. I not only mean to leave him
what I am possessed of, but it is my earnest wish that he
should sit in Parliament, and make a figure in the world, in
some other way than as a mere sportsman, which, it is evident,
he is resolved to be.'

The door of the library opening at this moment, the conver-
sation between the brothers was momentarily interrupted by
the appearance of a neighbour, who was on terms of the greatest
intimacy with them both. This was Mr. Freemantle, a rich
London banker, who had purchased a fine property in the
county, where he was beloved and respected by all for the
kindness and hospitality which he displayed, as well as for
the first-rate talents of his cook.

' Raby,' said the banker, ' how are you ? What, Beaumont, are
you here ? Delighted to see you both ; but didn't know
you were come down, Beaumont. What news from town, eh ?
How could you find it in your heart to leave town at this gay
time ? '

' Why, you may suppose that is something extraordinary.
The fact is, we are discussing the point whether Eton or West-
minster school is best suited for Frank. Now, what say you ? '

' Why, as to what boys may bring away in their heads
from either, I don't think there is the toss-up of a guinea
between the two ; but, as to what they may bring away in
their pockets, there is a wide difierence between them. A
terribly aristocratic place is that Eton school, and I'll give you
a proof or two. When my nephews were there, I gave them
a five-pound note on the Friday, as I passed through to visit a
friend at Taplow ; and on my return to town on the Monday,
chanced to see one of them at Salt Hill. " Well, William," said I,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

" how much of the tive-pound note is left ? " " Tlie five-pound
note ! " he replied, " why not a rap : it all went the same day ;
part to pay off a score for filberts and sherry ; and the rest to
Jem Stevens, for hack-horses and tandems." Then, how much
do you think one of these chaps owed for gloves ? Why, three
pounds sixteen shillino-s ! But, now I think of it, and I never
mention Salt Hill that I don't tliink of it, I can tell you a better
stor}'- than either of these, to show how little your Eton blades
think of money. I had these same hopeful nephews of mine
(by the way, you know they have turned out very well, both
perfect gentlemen) to dine with me, on a whole holiday, at
Salt Hill, and was soft enough to tell them to bring half a dozen
of their friends with them. Well, of course, tliey did so ; and a
fine lot of youths they were ; very highly bred, I believe, all, and
the son of a duke amongst them. I gave them a good dinner,
but was diverted by an incident in the middle of it. " Hand

round the cliampagne," said I to the waiter ; but Lord S

put his hand on the top of his glass, and said, " No champagne
for me ; / am a n/ierry man." Pretty well, thought I, for a
lad of fourteen. However, they all delighted me by their be-
haviour, which was correct in every respect ; but when about
to rise from the table to return to Eton, I found that I had not
done with them yet. " You must pouch tliese fellows, uncle,"
whispered William. " Pouch them," said I, " what do you mean
by pouching them ? " " Tipping them," was his reply. " They
will consider themselves insulted if you do not." "All," re-
sumed I, " now I comprehend you : and what must I give
them ? " " Oh ! " replied James, my younger nephew, " a guinea
apiece will do." Here, then, was a good day's work ; for what
with the bill at the inn, and the poucldng, I had not much left
out of a twenty-pound note.'

' A true bill, no doubt, Freemantle,' said Mr. Raby ; ' Eton,
I find, is about the same as it was in my time ; and
your mention of Stevens, whose miserable hacks we used to
ride, often at the expense of a flogging, reminds me of an
anecdote of his hopeful son, Jem. When Wentworth left
Eton, he was so enamoured of this aspiring blade, that he
hired him as his personal servant ; but he returned to his old
quarters, at the expiration of three months ; when lie thus
accounted for Jdmself, as we magistrates say on the liencli.
" Mr. Vorth," said he, " was veil enough ; indeed he vislied to

()7

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

hedicate me, and bought vigs for me, that I might learn to cut
hair, and did many kind things besides ; but his walet and I
couldn't agree at all. At last, however, ve had a reg'lar blow
up ; and finding that Mr. Vorth backed the walet against me,
I vopped him and the walet, and here I am, once more." '

' Well,' observed Mr. Beaumont Raby, ' these are extremely
amusing stories, and very characteristic of Eton; but let us
return to our discussion on the question of choice between the
two schools, and also hear what our friend Freemantle has to
say on the subject.'

' Why, if you wish for my opinion,' replied Mr. Free-
mantle, 'you shall have it; but, mind ye, it will be one,
perhaps, that you Eton and Oxford men — and you, in par-
ticular, Beaumont, who brought honours with you from Oxford
— may not exactly admire. Scholarsliip, or, if you will,
learning, has been rung in my ears as the summum honum
— the one thing necessary for man. In fact, to say of a
person that he is a scholar, seems to imply every kind of
superiority ; and to say that he is no scholar, the reverse.
Now, I confess that, after much reflection and much inquiry,
I am at a loss to comprehend tlie mighty benehts of what
is called fine scholarship. Some advantages it certainly has ;
but, perhaps, its disadvantages are greater than we think,
and for these reasons: — It too often prevents the excursions
of a vigorous understanding, by keeping it in a beaten track,
the invariable practice of all great schools ; it perpetuates
error, by imposing received opinions upon those who, if they
had thought for themselves, would have discovered truth ; it
divides the attention, and often fixes it on subjects which
are not suited to that particular genius and turn of mind,
which nature would have exerted upon some other, the object
of her own choice, and with much more advantage. Neither
is this all. By loading the memory, it restrains the imagina-
tion ; and, by multiplying precepts, it anticipates the judg-
ment. Give me the man whose knowledge is derived from
the copious sources of his own reason ; whose mind is filled
with ideas that spring not from books, but from thought ;
whose principles are co-existent, because deduced in a regular
ratiocination, and not from scraps of different systems gleaned
from the works of others and huddled together without ex-
amination. Where is the scholar whose opinion can be said to

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

be entirely his own? Or where is the genius that we wish
to have trammelled by the impressions of others? Are we
sure Shakespeare would have been what he was, had he been a
deeply-read scholar? At all events, our public seminaries of
learning do not exactly correspond with the precept delivered
by the Spartan king, — " that the child should be instructed in
the arts which will be useful to the man " ; and if my father
had had nothing to boast of but a first-class degree at one of
your Universities, I should have never had the honour of being
a banker's son. Nevertheless, although it is possible that a
finished scholar may emerge from our schools and colleges,
in total ignorance of the business and conversation of English
gentlemen in the latter end of the eighteenth century, I am
still ready to admit the advantages to be derived from the
study of the Latin and Greek languages. They deposit, in
the hands of a disciple, the keys of two valuable chests:
and it is his own fault if they are afterwards lost, or laid
aside.'

The morning of setting forward for school having arrived,
it produced various sensations at Amstead Abbey. As for the
two boys, the novelty of the thing, the thoughts of the journey,
and the pocket-money, made their hearts light; but there
were other hearts very differently affected, and one overpowered
Avitli its weight. This, as may be supposed, was that of the
good and affectionate Lady Charlotte, wdio, as she could not
command her tears, declined taking leave of her sons. Nor
w^as Mr. Raby very fit to appear in their presence, although he
strove to conceal what he felt. But there were tw^o belonging
to the establishment of the Abbey, whose feelings could not be
controlled, and these were Dick Perren and the cook : the one
absolutely bellowed from the effect of his grief at the loss of
Master Francis, his young master ; and the other, who, notwith-
standing what she occasionally suffered from his tricks, loved
him as the apple of her eye, betrayed the amiable weakness
of woman, but by no means to her discredit. Her method
of exhibiting it, however, was a singular one : she had taken
her station at the ffrst gate in the park, at which she knew the
carriage must stop while the footman opened it, and approaching,
with her face nearly enclosed in her apron, she chucked
into the carriage two half-guineas, wrapped in a bit of white
paper, with these words inscribed — ' God bless yon both.' And

69

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

what return did she get for this silent, though not less elocjuent
ottering to her grief ? Why, Frank put his head out of the
window of the carriage as it passed on, and, schoolboy-like,
roared out, ' You stupid old fool ! '

The party arrived at the countj^ town just in the nick of
time. The horses were being put to the ' Balloon,' and Wilkins
was coming out of the office, with his whip in one hand,
his way-bill in the other, and a ' Benjamin ' thrown over his
left arm — all evident signs of being quite ready to start.
Having walked once round his horses, and examined their
coupling reins and curb chains, after the manner of those
times, he addressed his young passengers, as they alighted from
their father's carriage, with —

' Glad to see you, young gentlemen ; proud of the honour
of having you about the coach. Two insides and one out —
box-seat — all right ! A beautiful morning. Now, Mr. James
(to the footman), be alive with the luggage, if you please ; we
are all ready for a start ; and you know we are weny particular
at tJiis end, if we can't always be so at t' other!

' I say, Wilkins,' said Frank, ' I shall not ride inside after
we get out of the town ; I shall come alongside you on the box,
and put James inside with my brother.'

' Very good, sir,' replied Wilkins, ' proud to have you on the
box : you'll be one of us, some day or another, Master Francis,
I am (juite sure ; but, will your papa ? '

' Pooh ! ' exclaimed Frank, ' how w^ill papa know about it ? '

' Not from me, Master Francis,' resumed Wilkins, ' I never
tells no tales ; but you had better not come out till we get
through Cliftbrd, for the parson there is almost always at the
window when the coach passes by, and he is a tattling old
devil ; ten to one he don't slip it out next time he dines at the
Abbey. We shall stop to water at the " Black Dog," Master
Francis, and then you can come on to the box.'

The coach having arrived at the ' Black Dog,' and the
exchange between Francis and the footman having been com-
pleted, the following edifying conversation ensued between the
master and his pupil : —

' Do you feel yourself comfortable, Master Francis ? ' began
Mr. Wilkins — ' never on a coach before, eh ( Here, put a bit
of my box-coat over your knees, 'twill keep off the dust from
your clothes.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPOllTSMAX

' I like being on the box very niiieli,' replied Frank, ' but how
it shakes ! '

' Ay, master,' said the old coachman, ' it does that, sure enough, .
'specially with one who ain't used to it ; they do say, they are
going to put the boxes of all stage-coaches on springs, but
Heaven knows when that will be — not in my time, I fear. Our
people say it won't do, that we shall go to sleep upon them ; but
there's no danger of a man doing that now, even if he should
be a bit overtaken with drink. But, Master Francis, there is
a great deal of hart in sitting on a coach-box, as well as in
driving four horses. Your body must go with the swing of the
box, and let your lines (loins) be as lissom as you can. It would
kill a man, in a week, to drive as far as I do, over such a road
as this, if he did not do as I say.'

' You have got good horses in the coach, Wilkins,' observed
Frank.

' Good creatures in natur', sir,' was that worthy's reply, ' l^ut
they haven't no chance. This here sixteen miles of ground and
only one rest-horse, kills them. To be sure, master grubs them
well, or they'd been dead years ago/

* Years ago ! why, how old are they ? '

' Why, I was going to say, you must ask my father that
question. Howsomever, I have drove three of the four, nine
years, and t' other came to this coach from the " Express," the
first year I drove it : I think he must be quite twenty.'

' But how fat he is ! '

' Always the case with groggy ones,' observed Mr. Wilkins ;
' as soon as they have filled their bellies, they are down on their
bed, because they are in pain when they stand up. A foundered
coach-horse, like a gouty alderman, is always fat. But this
near wheeler is my favourite (giving him, at the moment, three
tremendous stripes, with his double thong, over his back, and
two over his ears, followed by a sort of rolling noise in his
throat, resembling that made by gargling for a sore one) ; you'll
see how he'll hug his collar going up Brampton-hill, at the end
of this stage. He's half a team himself, but still he's an awk-
ward chap to drive. There's some difference, sir, I can assure
you, between driving well-bitted friisli horses, like your papa's,
and such dead-alive bow-kickers as these are, all as sliifty as a
lawyer : in fact, this off-wheeler is a lawyer all over, for he'll
not work at all, if he is not devilish well paid for it ; and I keep

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

a short Tommy in tlie boot, on purpose to pay him ofi'. How-
somever, Master Francis, you shall try what you can do with
them if you like, so sliif't over to my side, and I'll put the reins
right in your hand.' [Here it may be observed, that the short
wheel-reins being generally in use at that time, the placing
the reins of four horses in the hand of a tyro was not a com-
plex affair. The wheel-reins merely rested across the left hand,
after passing between the fore and middle finger, and those
of the leaders passing between the thumb and fore finger, and
the fore and middle finger, were very readily distinguished from
the others.]

' Now, Master Francis,' resumed old Wilkins, ' mind what you
are about. Keep your wheel-horses to their collars, and your
leaders will get out of their way of themselves. Now, let mc
see you point your leaders to the left without moving your
wheel-horses. Well done, master ! that will do. Now shoot
out your wheelers to the right without disturbing your leaders.
Ah ! that's not so easily done ; but it will come all in time. A
man wants three hands to stir these bow-kickers, 'specially if
he ain't used to them. But let me see you hit this near wheeler.
Well, not much amiss. Master Francis, though something like
thrasliing. I fear the old horse thinks you are playing with
him, for he minds you no more than a bolster does a flea-bite.
Now touch up the grey mare. Ah ! master, that won't do.
Always hit a leader below the bar, or you will be for ever having
a bite, but catch no fish. But now, sir, if you please, I'll take
'em in hand again down the hill, for it's a long fall, and, as I
told you before, this near wheel-liorse is rather given to say his
prayers, if he steps on a loose stone.'

At the bottom of the hill (they were now close upon a village),
Wilkins pulled up his coach, and, in an undertone, said to an
outside passenger, ' Now, sir, if you please, will you get down,
and walk through the town ? ' On his afterwards resuming his
seat, at the other end of it, the dialogue thus proceeded : —

' Wliat is the meaning of this, Wilkins ? ' asked Frank ; ' why
not let that passenger ride through the town ? — you are not
heavily loaded.' ' Why, sir,' replied Wilkins, ' between you and
me, I means to swallow that gentleman to-night.'

' Swallow liim ! — what the deuce do you mean ?'

* Why, Master Francis, I don't mind telling you, because all
the servants at the Abl)ey says that you are not one of the wide-

72

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

in-the-mouth sort, no tale-teller. We poor coachmen, you know,
sir, must live ; that is to say, we must make tongue and buckle
meet at the end of the year, or we gets into trouble. Now, this
can't be done for only ten shillings a week on such a dull road
as this, besides wliat we kicks the passengers for, without a bit
of shouldering. This gentleman is what we call a shoulder-stick,
and, instead of his fare going to the proprietors of the coach, it
finds its way into my short pocket.'

' And do you never get found out ? '

' Sometimes. I lost one good sarvice, owing to shouldering a
sodger. Made a vow. Master Francis, never to shoulder another
sodger, for a proprietor can see him a mile oflT. No more cocked-
hats and feathers, said I, for me, except they are on the bill, and
then they ain't worth having.'

Just at this moment the ' Balloon ' coach, doivn, appeared
in sight ; and, on both coaches being pulled up alongside each
other, the following somewhat symbolical sentences were inter-
changed.

' How do, Joe ? '

' How do, William ? '

' Any thiinj said? '

'No; but I thinks the young one's/,?/.'

' Good day, Joe ; there's three in and two out, booked for
you to-morrow.'

But we must here close this portion of our history. Let it
suffice to say, that Frank got another lesson from Wilkins,
with some hints which he never forgot: but on the approach
of night, resumed his inside place, and, in due time, found
himself safe in London, under the roof of his uncle, who was
delighted at the thought of his nepliew making such a promis-
ing start in the world, with the assurance tluit, in after-life, he
would have the means of supporting both the rank and character
of a gentleman.

It was three years since the J^oung Rabys had been in London,
a period at that early age well-nigh long enough to obliterate
all recollection of what it had appeared to be. Three days,
however, having been allowed them to see what was best worth
seeing in their eyes, they made the most of their time, nearly
exhausting the energies of their uncle, who made no small
sacrifice in exerting them. And tliere was one place which
he had believed nothing could luwe ever induced him to

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

visit again, being so very little to his taste, and that was
Tattersall's.

' Do let us go to Tattersall's,' said Frank to his uncle, on
the Monday ; ' I should so like to see all the fine horses he
sells ; besides which, I dare say, we shall meet with some of
papa's friends.'

To Tattersall's then they went, and witnessed a curious
scene. The impatience of a schoolboy is proverbial ; and
that of Frank Raby for the scene of action having got the
better of the tardy motions of his uncle, the party found
tliemselves at ' the Corner ' at least an hour and a half sooner
than they need have been, a period of the day when the
auctioneer is employed in offering for sale a few low-priced
hacks, as a sort of prelude to the more important scene
which is to follow, when the aristocratic part of the audience
assembles. This, however, passed unnoticed by the uncle, who
was no horse man, but not so by Frank Raby. ' What !
uncle,' says he, ' is this the famous Tattersall's that I have
heard Sir John Inkleton and my father talk so much of ? —
where Sir John sold eight grey coach horses, not warranted
sound, for £800 ! Why, I did not see a worse set of rips at
our Whitsun fair ! '

' Rips to be sure they are,' said an old friend of his father
and uncle, who stepped out of the crowd at the moment,
just in time to hear the remark, ' yet I have bid seventeen
pounds for one of them, a very useful-looking pony. But
let me shake you all by the hand. Raby, glad to see you.
Lads, who would have thought of seeing you in London ?
— on your road to Eton, I suppose ; and how did you leave
them all at the Abbey ? — not coming to town this season, I
fear.'

' But, Mr. Verner,' said Frank, interrupting him, ' why don't
you buy the " useful-looking pony " ? he must be cheap at
that money, and I hear Tattersall now crying out — " Going
at eighteen pounds." ' ' Well, Frank,' replied Mr. Verner,
' to oblige you, I'll go another pound ; you would like to have
to say, when you write home, that you saw me buy a horse
at Tattersall's ' : so catcliing the auctioneer's eye, and tipping
him a wink, down went the lianniier, with — 'For you,
Mr. Verner, I believe ' ; followed by a nod of assent from his
customer.

74

■s o

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5-

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Now, were it not for the well-known rapidity with whicli
the Messrs. Tattersall dispose of the commencement of their
sales, to make way for more business-like proceedings, it might
be difficult to reconcile or account for the following fact, though
fact it surely be.

' Pray, sir,' said a countrified-looking man to Mr. Verner,
in about ten minutes after the purchase had been made, and
as all the party were on the road to the large stable, to which
the}'- supposed the ' useful-looking pony ' was returned till
claimed — ' have ye got a mon here to take away the coiv, or
nuist she 'bide where she is to-night ? ' ' The cow ! ' exclaimed
Mr. Verner, ' what cow ? '

' Why,' resumed the countryman, ' the nice black Alderney,
Mr. Tattersall knocked down to ye for eighteen pounds ; a
better creature for milk never had a pail put under her.'

The case was exactly this : ' the useful-looking pony ' had
been disposed of, during the salutation between Mr. Verner
and his friends, and the Alderney cow had been the next lot
brought up. She was going for seventeen pounds, but for the
exchange of the wink and the nod just in the nick of time,
which consigned her to the possession of Mr. Verner.

The evening preceding the day on which the young Rabys
were to repair to Eton, his uncle was addressed by Francis
with — ' By what coach do we go to Eton, to-morrow,
uncle ? '

' By the Windsor and Eton " True Blue," of course ; it will
put you down at your dame's door. But what makes you ask
the question ? '

' Why,' resumed Frank, ' Sir John Inkleton particularly
wished us to go by the Birmingham " Prince of Wales " coach,
which would put us down at Slough, where it changes horses,
and we should only have a mile to walk.'

' But your luggage,' observed Mr. Raby, ' what is to become
of that ? '

' Oh ! ' continued Frank, ' Sir John said that old Baldwin,
who keeps the " Crown," at Slough, on our mentioning his name
to him, would send our luggage to Eton in a cart.'

There nmst be some motive for all this, thought the uncle ;
something more than meets the ear. 'Come, tell me at once,
Francis, what is the reason for your wishing to go by that
Birmingham coach ? '

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Wliy, to tell you the truth, uncle,' answered Francis, ' Sir
John told me I should see the famous Jack Bailey, who drives it,
and who taught him to drive four horses, when he was at Eton.'

' Well, Frank,' continued the uncle, ' I see no great harm
in this request of yours ; but, as Sir John was an Etonian
himself, did he recommend nothing to your notice that
might be more serviceable to you than a Birmingham coach-
man ? '

' He didn't say much about anything else,' replied Frank,
' except that, when I got old enough, and wanted a good
horse or a tandem, on a whole holiday, he would write a line
to recommend me to Stevens, who used to let him have some
good ones.'

' Black Monday ' having at length arrived, Frank and his
brother were placed on the front roof seat of the ' Prince of
Wales' coach, tlie footman having been despatched by the
Windsor and Eton ' True Blue ' with the luggage.

On descending from the coach at Slough, Frank having
slipped half a crown into Jack Bailey's hands, over and above
what his brother had given him when he paid the fare, shortly
arrived at his ' agreeable seat in Bucks,' as he used afterwards
to call Eton school, where their tutor having soon found that
his elder pupil had looked into Ovid and Virgil, and had not
looked into them in vain, recommended his being placed in
the middle remove of the fourth form, and then proceeded
to examine the pretensions of our hero. Finding him all but
innocent of the Greek tongue, his location was soon determined
upon. On his informing his tutor, however, that he had begun
making nonsense verses, a page of ' Caesar's Commentaries '
was put before him, when he set to work much in the same
manner that the young aspirant in anatomy does, when he
anticipates phlebotomising, by opening the veins of full-grown
cabbages.

There is not, perhaps, in the whole course of man's life, a
more remarkable change than the removal of the child, from
the luxury and freedom of a wealthy home, to the frugal diet
and strict subordination of a public school : from the tenderness
of parents, and the obsequiousness of servants, to the rude
and boisterous familiarity of equals, the tyranny of seniors,
and, too often, the rod of a cruel and capricious pedagogue.
These hardships, however, are beneficial : if they do not

76

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

absolutely steel the mind and body against the assaults of
fortune, they turn to a good account. They produce an equi-
librium in a large body of youths, of vai'ious pedigrees, dis-
tinctions, and expectations, and prevent the assumption of those
imaginary perfections which swell the hearts of men, and still
more of boys, to the great annoyance of their associates.
Nevertlieless, the best nature does not yield to chastening and
buffeting without some degree of impatience ; and it is to be
feared that the sufferings of the generality of boys, at very
large schools, in the lower classes of it especially, are greater
than commonly imagined. At all events, the first week at
Eton is a serious trial to the nerves of a shy or home-sick boy ;
a thousand questions are asked, some of them rather difficult
to be answered ; answered they must be, or a slap in the face
is the consequence. The Eabys, however, made their way
among the crowd, and partly for these reasons : — Their name
was known as aristocratic, and they were called ' devilish good-
looking fellows ' ; — Francis, especially, who had a certain
' knowing look ' about him, according to the language of those
days, which soon made an impression : as did also the
knowledge of his father being a master of hounds, and of his
having brought letters of introduction to Stevens and Jack
Bailey, from the well-known Sir John Inkleton, who was
considered an ornament to Eton school. Still, all this did not
serve him as an indemnity from some of the tricks commonl}^
played off on new-comers, in these licentious days.

It was the saying of a Spartan king that — ' Boys should be
introduced to the arts which will be useful to them when they
become men.' Independently of the business of the school,
this maxim has always been acted upon at Eton, in the various
popular pastimes. Amongst the foremost of these, is the
management of the boat, which soon became a favourite one
of our hero, whose sculling was excelled by none at the ex-
piration of his third year. He was likewise good at cricket,
quoits, backsword playing, and other manly games ; and above
all at foot])all, inasmuch as few could beat him at kickino-
shins. Andrew was also a good cricketer; and by his mild,
unassuming manners, together with the reputation he ac(|uired
as a scholar, he soon became as popular as his brother in tlie
society in which he moved.

It is not my intention to follow the llabys through all tlu'

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THE T.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

grades of the school: it is sufficient to say that they both
reached the fifth form with credit to themselves, as well as to
those who instructed them, and proceeded, in due time, to
Christchurch College, Oxford, although with somewhat different
views ; a first-class degree being the grand object with Andrew ;
a forward place with the foxhounds, the principal desideratum
of Francis — the honour of being considered a good fellow in
the college, and over the mahogany, standing next on his list
of what he considered accomplishments.

78

CHAPTER V

Christmas iit the seat of 'aline ohl English t;ent]einan,' wiLli its ai)propriate
accompaniments— good company, good ciieer, and good sport.

The month of December, despite of frost and snow, is a
cheerful month in tlie house of a country gentleman whose
means are large, and consequently Christmas and its festivities
were well kept up at the Abbey. Even customs of monkish
introduction were observed, and the interior of the mansion
was decorated with Iiolly branches, from the fine mirrors in
the saloons, to the stewpans and crockery in the kitchen.
Neither was the mistletoe forgotten, under the magic shade of
which not a female in the establishment, from the governess
to the kitchen-maid, escaped the usual and generally repeated
salutation of Frank Raby in this season of licence and con-
viviality, his brother Andrew taking a part in the scene, but
selecting a chosen few.

Ale had been brewed for the occasion, and there was little
limit to the drawing of it, short of actual abuse ; it being the
wish of Mr. Raby that the hearts of his dependants should be
gladdened, in proportion to his means of gladdening them, at
this festive season.

It is now a commonplace observation, ' How little remains
that poverty and innocence can partake of ' ; and we have
legislators who, if they could, would make that little less ; but,
happily for the people, such was not the case in the times to
whicli I allude. The dance round the maypole, on May-day,
or on the village green, at Whitsuntide,— the harvest-home
supper, the bonfires of November, and the good cheer of
Christmas, were looked for and enjoyed as surely as the seasons
arrived, and the contributions to these indulgences, from all
the family at the Abbey, were at all times liberal.

The sirloins of beef, the mince-pies, and plum-puddings, the
wine and ale, eaten and drunk under its roof, were in perfect

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

keeping with its baronial exterior ; and the clothing and fuel,
furnished to the neighbouring j)Oor under the management of
Lady Charlotte Raby, were still more abundant.

The meeting between Frank Raby and his father's huntsman
was truly cliaracteristic of both. It is not my intention here,
however, to give a second edition of Frank's appearance with
his father's harriers in the field ; although he was compli-
mented, by the huntsman, on the improvement in his hand
and nerve, and the judicious remarks he made on some of the
leading hounds ; but we will proceed at once to his debut with
the foxhounds.

Tlie morning was cloudy and still, looking like a hunting
morning, and the family had all assembled in the breakfast-
room, when Sir John made his appearance, the Abbey being
only a mile or two out of the road that led to the appointed
cover. ' Well, Inkleton,' said Mr. Raby, after the usual salu-
tations had passed, and pointing to his son Francis, wdio w^as
clad in a green hunting-coat, and a pair of leather breeches
made expressly for the purpose, ' here is the happiest fellow,
this day, in our own country, and, very probably, in the next
to it. Andrew says, he has not closed his eyes since three
o'clock tins morning, praying heartily for daylight. I am sorry
I cannot accompany you to the field, as I must attend the
bench to-day, but I have ordered Dick, the huntsman, to do so,
and take the young fox-hunter under his care.'

' There is no necessity for that,' replied Sir John ; ' one of
my hunters having been amiss, is mucli in want of work, and
I have ordered Preston to be at the cover, and he will do all
that is required, in piloting Frank ; and you know old Preston
is to be depended on.'

' Wlten the hounds find ? ' exclaimed Lady Charlotte, with
some expression of doubt on her countenance.

' As steady as old Time, I assure you. Lady Charlotte,' replied
Sir John ; ' besides, he is a perfect old woman across a country,
and has too great a regard for his own neck, to run any risks of
breaking Frank's.'

Breakfast concluded, Frank having fed no better than he
slept. Sir John's cover-hack was announced as being at the
door, and he and his happy companion set forward on their
road to Bransford-wood ; and tlius they discoursed on their
way : — , , .

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Well, Frank,' said Sir Jolin, ' how did you oet on at
Eton ? I heard of your performances on the " Balloon " coach.
Mitchell also wrote me word tliat Jack Bailey speaks well of
you.'

' Oh, Eton's well enough out of school hours, Sir John,'
replied Frank ; ' lots of fun going on then. I liked Stevens
very much indeed ; he never refused me a tandem, and he
ticked me for a terrier at once, the best you ever saw ; he has
drawn three badgers, and killed three cats, since I have had
him. I only gave two guineas for him, and I have brought
him down to have a breed between Myrtle and him. But
everybody seems to like Jack Bailey ; I have had several
lessons of him.'

' That's right,' said Sir John ; ' there's nothing like being well
" nitiated " in road- work ; and pray what was your favourite
road, when you w^ent out in Stevens's tandem ? '

' Oh,' replied Frank, ' sometimes one, sometimes another ;
but I'll tell you a good story about what happened a fortnight
back. Two fifth-form fellows went in a tandem to Egham,
and dined at the " Running Horse." They drank too nuich
wine, and, by taking a wi'ong turn, lost themselves in Windsor
Great Park. Seeing a finger-post, however, the one that Avas
not driving got out of the gig to read it, when, after a pause
— for I suppose he could not see very clearly — he called out,
" H for Windsor ; all right, go along, Bob ! " They came too
late for absence, and got a devil of a flogging the next day ; but
" H for Windsor ; go along, Boh ! " has been a kind of w^atch-
word at Eton ever since.'

' Capital ! ' exclaimed Sir John. ' I remember a joke, when
I was there, which wall never be forgotten. The fellows had
all red coats made purposely for the Montem ; and w^hen they
had to pass in procession before old George III., a lad named
Ripston appeared in one big enough for a full-grown man,
wath skirts down to his heels, and great silver buttons, witli a
fox running engraved upon them. Old Heath was outrageous,
and called him up to him, which being observed by " Old
Nobbs," as we called the king, he asked the Doctor who the
boy w^as ? On hearing the name, his Majesty good-humouredly
exclaimed, " Oh, Doctor, leave him alone ; / know his breed."
The fact was, he was the son of a sporting baronet, a master
of foxhounds, and he had had the coat made large enouoh

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

to fit an old hiiiitsman of liis father's, then past work. But
here are the hounds ; we are just in time ; and, by the
number of horses at the cover-side, it appears as if we should
have a large field. You and old Preston must take care
you are not ridden over at the start. And there is the master
of the pack, God bless him ! a better sportsman never cheered
hound ; and when you come to know what foxhounds are, you
will say he knows how to breed them. In fact, taking them
for size and shape, there is not such a pack, this day, in
England ; and if we live long enough, we shall hear of their
blood in every kennel in the land. But, Frank, let me have
a word or two with you before we get to the cover. We are
sure to find a fox, and, there is reason to believe, a good one ;
I shall, therefore, tell Preston what to do with you. If he
goes down wind when first he breaks, his point will be Black-
thorns. In this case, I shall tell Preston that, if he takes
you down the turnpike-road about 200 yards, and then turns
short to the left, he will find a line of gates, that will lead
you straight to the wood, where, probably, he may hang a
little. Should he go wp wind, Roystone will be his point, a
very stiff" country to begin with, and the Stark brook, to a
certainty. Preston will here make for either the mill, to the
left, or the bridge at Elwel, to the right ; for yoii must not
have the Stark, if you mean to return alive to the Abbey : it
is wide and deep, and the banks are very soft. However, you
will bo in good company, for not more than one in ten of the
field will have the Stark at all.'

The greeting between Sir John and the master of the pack
was, as usual, kind and cheering. ' Glad to see you, Sir John,'
said the master, ' you always bring us luck.'

' Glad to hear you say so,' i-eplied the baronet ; ' we certainly
have had a succession of fine runs lately, thanks to your excel-
lent hounds, and the way in which they are hunted. But I
have brought you something more to-day ; I have brought you
a young sportsman, of no small promise, who has the good taste,
even at his early age, to prefer foxhounds to harriers. I hope
we shall enter him well to-day to a good run, and blood him at
the end of it.'

' Glad to see you, sir,' said Mr. Wardc (for of him and his
hounds have I been speaking, and who was then in the zenith
of his glory, and hunting one of the many countries which he

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

hunted in his time) ; ' although your father is no fox-hunter, I
have a great regard for him as a conspicuous sportsman in his
line, and a stanch preserver of foxes; and it was only last
night that we drank his health in that honourable capacit3^
You have a clever little mare under you, and I hope we shall
find out, before night, whether your father's old oats are as
good as his new were. / was entered to hounds before I was
your age, and I mean to stick to them as long as I can sit in
my saddle. Now, Bob,' ^ to the huntsman, ' throw your darlings
into cover ; and,' addressing himself to Frank Rab3^ ' mind this,
young gentleman — if you hear a hound speak in the cover, you
may bet all the money you like that it is to a fox. Every
tongue is a fox with my hounds, as I suppose every tongue is
a hare with Mr. Raby's harriers.'

Scarcely had the pack spread themselves, right and left, in
the wood, than Samson was observed lashing his sides with
his stern, and Champion rushed through the strong brushwood
to join noses, as much as to say, has the villain been this road
in tlie night ? ' Have at him, Samson,' said Mr. Warde ; ' look
about you, Bob, we shall find him in five minutes.' ' And
Champion also says so,' returned the huntsman, ' and he never
told a lie in his life.'

But the ' villain ' did not wait to be found. The drag grew
warmer and warmer as the hounds drew onward, and the
deep tones of such of them as were eqiial to owning a scent
at least eight hours old, being audible down wind, even in the
deep recesses of the cover, away went as fine a dog-fox as ever
wore a brush, and then the scene became glorious. The
crash, when the body of the pack got together ; the shouting
of the foot people in the rides ; the blasts of the horns ; and
the hallooing of the horsemen — some eager to assist in getting
the hounds to their game, others m.ad to get a start ; — all this
had a thrilling effect on our young sportsman ; but there was
no time for looking about ; the hounds were on good terms
with their fox — their heads up, and their sterns down — and a
fine grass country before them.

The fence out of the wood was an awkward one ; it was a

low, but stiff, gate, which, of itself, would have been nothing ;

but an open drain, under repair, was in front of it, on the

rising side, which made the rider and his horse look about

^ Robert Forfeit, who then hunted Mr, Wai'de's hounds.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

tlieiii. Sir Joliii led tlie way, followed by three more, when
Frank cleared it, with a good yard to spare, sticking to his
horse as tightly as if he had been strapped to his saddle ; and
this was, without doubt, the happiest moment of his existence.
He had taken a dangerous leap, which several of the field
declined ; he saw a fine country before him, with his friend in
the same field with the hounds, and only one field in advance
of himself :— ' I'll go till I fall,' said he to himself, and
strictly did he keep his word. Fence after fence was cleared
by him, in the company of a chosen few ; but, as yet, he had
not been observed by Sir John Inkleton. An accidental
occurrence discovered him. The fence exactly in Sir John's
line being impracticable from its height and strength, he was
obliged to diverge to his right, to one corner of the field,
where the generality of fences are practicable ; when, sailing
away on the headland, he espied Frank Raby approaching.
There was no time for words, the chase being forward at the
moment, and some lost time to be made up ; so putting
Petronius at some rails, he was landed in the next field, with
the hounds in the one beyond it. When in the act of clearing
these rails, however, he saw under him a ditch, of enormous
depth and breadth, and, fearing that Frank's mare might not
be equal to it, he waved his hand to him, as a signal not to
attempt it. The signal w^as made in vain ; Frank rode at it,
and cleared it, with only the momentary loss of a stirrup.
Sir John began to feel alarm. ' What will Mr. Raby — what
will Lady Charlotte say to me,' muttered he to himself, ' if
this boy meets with an accident ? Still, what is to be done ?
I cannot lose my place with the hounds ; and I doubt whether
anything I may say to him will stop him.'

Onward they went, over a very deep vale, with a breast-
high scent, taking fences high and stift', and many of the field
shaken ofi'. At length they approached the Stark, according
to Sir John's prediction; and it was apparent to those who
knew the country for some time before they came close to it,
by the large willow-trees on its banks, whose flourishing con-
dition showed that they were luxuriating in the soil which
best suits them — a black bog.

' Now what is to be done here ? ' said Sir John, once more,
to himself ; and he had the lead of the field at the time. ' /
will have it just where yonder blackthorn-bush is growing on

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the bank, and that is suro to be the soundest part, in my view;
but Frank will not be up to that trick. I'll wave my hand to
him, not to attempt it. Don't come, don't come!' roared
the baronet; 'you'll be in it' you do'; and Frank was not
out of hearinp; at the time ; l)ut he might as well have made
such a request to the waves at the flood of a sprino-tide, and
at it he gallantly went. The trick of the blackthorn-bush,
however, was beyond Frank's experience in the art of ridino- to
hounds ; so puttincy his mare to the left of it, where the f^round
was rotten and tender, she fell on her head, on alighting —
although she cleared the water — and gave him an easy fall.

' Bravo, b}^ the heavens ! ' exclaimed Sir John ; ' he is up
again, and no harm done ; what a rider will that lad make ! '

In the next field but three, the hounds came to a check,
when an eclalrci^^semevi took place.

' Why, Frank,' said the baronet, ' you are a very pretty fellow ;
what have you done with old Preston, on Skylark ? '

' Oh,' replied Frank, ' I have not seen him since the hounds
left the wood. I saw you turn down the left-hand riding, and,
as I thought I heard the hounds turn that way too, I followed
you.'

' But, Frank,' incjuired Sir John earnestly, ' are you sure you
are not hurt, for you got a devil of a roll at the Stark ? '

' Not a bit,' answered Frank : ' it was not the mare's fault, for
she cleared the water well.'

' Yes, Frank,' continued Sir John, ' she fell from the want of
a little moi'e support than you could give her when she landed
in that soft ground, almost a bog. But, upon my word, you
must not ride yet at such places as you have in this run, or
you will break your neck some day. And the new leathers,
what a pickle they are in, and how they will tell tales when

you get home ! Lady Charlotte will ' ' Oh ! ' exclaimed

Frank, ' they will know nothing about it ; they shall not see me
till I am dressed for dinner.'

At this moment the hounds hit off their fox, and went on,
but not at best pace. In fact, they were brought to slow
hunting, at which Mr. Warde's hounds ever have been so con-
spicuous ; and the attention of Frank was riveted to them.

At the end of an hour and thirty-five minutes, the scent
mending towards the finish, and the hounds running from
scent to view, the fox was in Bob Forfeit's hand, and his brush

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

given to Frank Ylahy by Mr. Warde himself, who was delighted
at the sight of so promising a young sportsman in his country ;
indeed, he honoured him with peculiar notice.

Sir John being engaged to dine that day at the Abbey,
Frank and himself proceeded homeward together, but not a
word could be heard of 'old Preston,' nor, indeed, of a good
many more of the field, who had been stopped by the Stark
brook.

In the course of the evening, the health of Mr. Warde
being drunk, himself and his hounds became the topics of
conversation, and thus did Sir John Inkleton speak of
them : —

' It may be presumptuous, perhaps, in me,' said this sporting
and gentlemanlike young baronet, ' to give a decided opinion of
a pack of foxhounds, it being evident that my experience has
been chiefly confined to those I hunted with when at Oxford,
and very good they were. Still, there is something in the
character of Warde's hounds which strikes the eye, and fixes
the attention of even a common and inexperienced observer,
previously to seeing them at work, as being animals superior
of their kind, as respects shape and power. Their style of
hunting is equal to their high form ; and as you masters of
harriers,' addressing himself here to Mr. Raby, 'pride your-
selves on overcoming difficulties in chase, and liunting your
game to deatJi, under the most unfavourable circumstances, I
wish you had been with us to-day. There were many obstacles
in our way : — First, the scent was excellent in the burst,
because the fox ran straight, and he had not too much the
start of us. Secondly, the country was excellent, until after
we crossed the Stark, when a change of soil occurred, which
is much against hounds in chase. Thirdly, we were twice
brought to check by sheep, which, having a good fox on foot,
threw us again behind. Then, to crown all, we had rather
an unusual occurrence in that country — four fallows to cross
in succession, which required the most patient hunting to
enable us to hold on.

' The finish, however, was a glorious one. Bothered by
the thirty-five minutes' burst, and a good hour's close hunting
afterwards, the fox tried the earths at Hamden Wood, and
finding them shut, laid himself down in the cover, and broke
before the pack in view, liaving been beautifully hunted to his

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSIMAN

point. In the space of thirteen .ninntes, as fast as foot could
fall, we turned him up in the open, as your son luank can

'''tere Mr. Raby looked at his son, evidently with feelings of
satisfaction, but deemed it prudent not to hazard a word ; and
Sir John proceeded with his remarks.

< Then look at Mr. Warde himself. Puttn.o- the sportsman
out of the question, what a true specimen he is of the old
En^dish o-entleu.an. How amusing is his conversation low
playful Ins wit; how manly his exterior; and yet, 1-w 1-^^^-^
are his manners when in contact with polished society! How
^fortunate it is that he is so heavy, for horses can scaixe^
be found to carry him well up to his hounds, over this veiy

"^""^^WarH^nry Warde out to-day ? ' inquired Mr. Raby.

' He was ' replied Sir John ; ' he rode his famous horse. Star,
for which, although a roarer, he has refused the immense price
of GOO guineas. It is the only instance, I believe on record,
of a horse, with that defect, being esteemed so valuable as a

"conclude,' continued Mr. Raby, ' that you often visit the

head-quarters of Mr. Warde's hunt ? ' • . f . • hni

^ Why ' answered Sir John, ' they lie rather wide of me but

I am occasionally induced to do so ^/^'/^rfs "w is
xneet with. Then, again, wherever John Warde ^^^ there i
sure to be mirth and fun, and the living is ^^T good at the
club Indeed, he told me this morning, in his usual_ droll style,
that " everything there was very good but the reelcoinng

'Ahi ah!' observed Mr. Raby, 'that is John Warde to
a T- there is a gaiety of heart and lightness of spirit about
him' which I have never found to the same extent m any
other man; and it adds much to his popularity that he has
a joke ready at hand for every one. But it is no the reckon^
iii at a hunting-club that can hurt either Warde or you. I
do°not know a better manager than he is ; and as for yourseli,
Inkleton if you steer clear of that accursed vice, gambling
you hav^ enough for your enjoyment of all the fun this wor d
can aftbrd you. Neither your hunting, nor your coaching noi
your housekeephig, good as it is, can hurt you. You will, 1
am sure, pardon this remark from a man much oldei than
yourself and one who entertains for you a sincere regard, not
^ 87

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

only on your own account, but as the son of a valued
friend.'

' No fear,' replied Sir John ; ' I never lost £100 at any
o-ame in my life ; and as I know not one of my friends or
acquaintance that is a gainer, but many who are losers by
gambling, I mean to steer clear of it. In fact, I detest your
professed gamesters ; their hearts are as hard as stones, and
as cold too ; and they would rob their own brothers if they
could.'

On the following morning Sir John took his departure from
the Abbey, but not without having obtained a promise from
Frank, to visit him before he w^ent to Oxford.

88

CHAPTER VI

College life, with some sketches of men and manners at Oxford, in the latter
part of the last century — Bibury Meeting in its palmy days.

Having assumed the manly gown, we now find tlie young
Rabys at the University of Oxford — celebrated for making
gentlemen as well as scholars ; one of the two great luminaries
of the intellectual world ; and, despite of the cavils against it,
one of the brightest jewels in the British crown. We find
them occupying handsome rooms in Peckwater, gentlemen-
commoners on the books, and with an allowance of £600 per
annum to each for their expenses, it being the wish of their
father, and also of their uncle, who contributed towards it,
that they should not only make a respectable figure in the
University, but that they should have no cause for having
demands upon them when they left it. Their establishments
were suitable to their means. Andrew contented himself
with two saddle-horses, passing under the denomination of
hacks, and consigned to the care of Seckham, the livery-stable
keeper, reserving the entire use of his servant for his own
personal wants ; whereas Frank had his two hunters and his
hack in a private stable of his own, and looked after by an
experienced man, who had been brought up, under Spencer, in
the hunting stables at the Abbey.

And now let me introduce to the reader my hero's college
friend, Hargrave. He was the son of a London merchant,
educated at Rugby, and therefore totally unknown to Frank
Raby previously to their meeting at Christchurch. But they
were kindred spirits, and, according with the vulgar phrase,
' soon took to each other.' And there was some similarity
in their personal appearance, at least in their personal
character. So far fi-om there being anything of the
Andrygones about them — the term dandy was unknown
in those days, and it would be well that it had never been
called into use : they were plain and rather peculiar in their
dress, somewluit approaching to the contrary extreme, Avitli

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the exception of not losing sight of cleanhness, and what is
called neatness in their dress and appointments. In fact,
their appearance was gentlemanlike and sportsmanlike at the
same time — not an every-day combination at that period ; and
before the end of the second term they were pointed at, when
together in the streets, as the two best horsemen in the
University. Hargrave's stud consisted but of two thoroughly
accomplished hunters ; and, like Frank Raby, he had them,
under his own lock and key, in one of the quietest lanes in
the town. Moreover, his judgment was considered so good in
everything relating to hunting, as well as in the management
of his horses, that he was generally appealed to as an
authority on all disputed points amongst the Nimrods of the
University — at all events, amongst those with whom he was
in any way associated.

And how happened it that Hargrave, the son of a London
merchant, should have become so accomplished in field sports
— for he was an excellent shot, as well as initiated to the
noble science of the chase ? The question is easily replied to.
His father, who was himself a sportsman, had a seat and
estate in Essex, and had entered him when young to hounds,
and to those of one of the best and most zealous sportsmen
of his own or any other days — the renowned Mr. Charles
Newman. Again, the country hunted by him was one likely
to make a man both a sportsman and a horseman, being full,
of large covers, very strongly fenced, and noted for the stout-
ness of its foxes. At an early age, however, few went better
over it than young Hargrave did, on a small thorough-bred
horse, which went by the name of The Plienomenon; and he
was looked upon in the neighbourhood as likely to shine, at
some future period, in a better country than Essex, although
famous for the stoutness of its foxes.

From what has been said of Hargrave, it is scarcely neces-
sary to state that he was acquainted with all the sporting
characters, noble and ignoble, Oxford then could boast of, and
that, by virtue of his seniority in the Universit}^ he had the
honour of introducing them to Frank Raby. Amongst these
was a very celebrated character whose name was Will Stuart^
and of wliom a short notice must be taken. He was, in the
first place, one of the handsomest fellows in the country ; of
robust form withal ; and declared l)y himself, and very gene-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

rally believed, to be descended somehow £rom the royal house
of Stuart. But his occupations could scarcely be called
roval-at all events, not in the modern acceptation ot that
word He was a deer-stealer, a dog-stealer, a pond-robber,
and a poacher in all ways, from a pheasant to a jack-snipe;
in fact, he would accommodate his employers m any way,
provided they paid him well. But Stuart's forte lay m the
difficult art of persuasion, of which the followmo- is one rathei
remarkable example :— .,, ^

' Won't you buy this capital dog of me ? said he to a young
man who told him he considered him too dear by at least two

guineas.

' Not at that price,' replied the young man.

'Then' resumed Billy, ' you consider two guineas an object
when the ^^ maximum of excellence" is to be obtained, as you
o-entlemen calls it. Now, when you comes to take your
deo-ree, I'll tell you what they'll say to you: theyU tell you
that a little more studying would have put you m the tirst
class; but for want of that lUtle, you'll be nowhere. And so

it turned out. , .

Amono-st the ignoble sciences patronised by Stuart, and m
which he much desired to have initiated Frank Raby was the
very ignoble one of dog-fighting. Ignoble as it is, however,
our hero wished to witness it, and was conducted to the pit by
Stuart, the owner of one of the dogs, who had been the victor
in several battles, and had only been beaten once. His com-
petitor was also a formidable one, weighing thirty-six pounds,
which was two pounds less than Stuart's, and, as such, interior
to him in one respect. His game, however, was notorious, and
it was only shillings for choice-in other words, guineas to
pounds— between the two.

I shall not disgust my readers with a description ot the
contest between two noble animals, whose services were in-
tended for far better purposes. Let it suffice to say that as it
was the first, so it was the last exhibition of this sort that
Frank Raby witnessed, and still he did not regret having
witnessed it. Exclusive of the courage displayed by the
do-s during a contest of upwards of half an hour, the means
taken by their handlers to increase that courage excited his
astonishment, if it did not produce pleasure. There is no
necessity for recapitulating them ; but it appeared that one

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

index to the probable result of the tight was the position of the
animal's tail. If erect, he was still undaunted ; if inclined to
droop, his pluck was doubted, and the betting immediately
turned against him. The position of the tail, however, is the
general barometer of the dog's mettle. Witness Shakespeare
at a bear-tight : —

' Oft have I seen a hot, o'erweening cur.
Run back and bite, because he was withhekl ;
Who, having suffered with the bear's fell paw,
Hath clapt his tail between his legs, and cried.'

There was another species of sporting, and one very much
in fashion in those days, in which Frank Raby was initiated
by Will Stuart — tlie aristocratic one of cock-fighting ; and
aristocratic it may certainly be called, confirming the truth
of the assertion that, although the vulgar borrow vices from
the great, the great occasionally condescend to borrow them,
in their turn, from the vulgar. It must, however, be admitted
that, in point of respectability — if such a term can be allowed
in this case — there is scarcely a comparison between the opera-
tions of the cock- and the dog-pit, the former having been
long the resort of many of our accomplished noblemen and
country gentlemen, still standing its ground to a certain
extent, whilst the latter is nearly abandoned. Whether it
may last another century is a matter of some speculation,
from the alternations which occur in the taste for all national
sport ; but that it has stood the test of ages is a fact too well
established to admit of a doubt, as well as that a moral has
been drawn from it. Themistocles' famous address to the
Athenian soldiers affords one, and a signal one, too. On their
march to battle he halted them, and directed their attention
to two cocks that were fighting, descanting on their deter-
mination to conquer or die ; and oi'dered cock-fighting to be
afterwards annually exhibited in the camp. The Romans
likewise admired the martial spirit of the gamecock ; and it is
even asserted that Csesar's troops introduced cock-fighting in
England, during their temporary invasion of the country, and
that they even made quails to fight. Still, Columella calls it
a Grecian diversion, and speaks of it in terms of ignominy, as
an expensive amusement (which it is), unbecoming the frugal
liousekeeper, and often attended with the ruin of the parties
who follow it. The most offensive part of this practice,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

however, is now fortunately done away witli — I mean the
' Welsh main,' as it is called, which consisted in causing thirty-
one of thirty-two cocks to be slaughtered, before the surviving
one was to be proclaimed the victor !

Although Frank Rab}' had seen some few exhibitions of
tighting-cocks in his father's neighbourhood, and at Eton, he
had never seen what is called ' a main ' fought : but having a
wish to see one, he accompanied his friend Hargrave to the
Oxford cockpit, and was introduced by him to the celebrated
Bob Dolly, who was at that time the proprietor of it. The
particulars of this main need not be given ; but, at the expira-
tion of it, the following conversation took place between the
two }'0ung sportsmen : —

' Well, Frank,' said Hargrave (for Frank was he always called
by his intimates), ' what do you think of cock-fighting, now that
you have seen it nearly in its best form ? '

' Why,' replied Frank, ' I have scarcely made up my mind
suiBciently on the subject, to give you a decided answer. I
am, however, prepared to say that, although I cannot go the
length that j^ou do, when j^ou say, you look ujDon two cocks,
in the arena of a pit, in the light of two champions of olden
times, who rush to the charge for glory only, and imagine
that, in the shrill and animating note of their crowing, you
hear the herald's clarion, still, I consider the first " setting-to,"
as it is called, of two highly-bred gamecocks, one of the most
interesting sights that animated nature can exhibit. Their
determined courage throughout the battle, and their invincible
spirit, to conquer or to die, are something more than natural,
and seem to justify the absurd notions entertained by the
ancients of these birds, not only in calling them sacred to the
sun, but making them to participate of a certain solar divinity,
and to be thus feared — at all events, reverenced — even by the
lion. But look at the cock in his natural state — a state of
freedom. What a beautiful animal he is ! What a pattern
of a warrior, a husband, and a fine gentleman ! See him clap
his wings and crow ; how proud of his courage does he appear ;
how gallant he is to his females ; how jealous of a rival ; and
how he is formed for contending with him, for he is all muscle
and bone ! Then observe what language he has at his com-
mand • If he finds food, he calls a favourite female to partake
of it ; if a danger appears, he bids his family beware ; and he

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

has his amorous phrases as well as his terms of defiance and
of battle. But his crowing — why, he may be said to invoke
the sun; indeed, Sliakespeare calls him "the trumpet to the
morn"; and many other poets have borrowed their images
from him —

"The crested cock whose clarion souiuls the silent hours";

amongst the most beautiful of them, as "the 'larum of the
country labourer." '

'Well said, Frank Raby,' exclaimed Hargrave ; 'upon my
soul you would make a good Methodist preacher, but I much
doubt your ever becoming a cocker.'

' I don't know what to say on that point yet,' replied
Frank. ' There is much to admire in a battle, and still more
in the system throughout; but I feel that there is something
both disgusting and cruel in a long-protracted battle, however
indicative it may be of the invincible courage of the animal,
and however productive of a moral, as Mr. Wyndham and
others have considered it to be. But as you are such an
advocate for cock-fighting, let me hear what you have to say
in defence of it.'

' Why, to tell you the truth,' returned Hargrave, ' I think
that, next to finding a fox, the excitement produced at the onset
of a battle between cocks exceeds any that I have hitherto
experienced. I, therefore, must say I am very partial to cock-
fighting as a sport or pastime. But I cannot help looking at
it in another light. It appears to me that, from the very
extraordinary circumstances and facts developed in pursuance
of the whole system — from the breeding the birds, to bringing
them to the pit to fight, as well as their conduct in the fight

it must have been intended to excite the curiosity, and

promote the researches, of man in the wonderful operations of
nature; if not, in this individual instance, to serve as an
example to be imitated in certain situations in life. For
instance, consider the form of what we so properly call the
gamecock: he is not only, as you have described him, com-
posed of little else but muscle and bone; but, looking at his
ruddy complexion, his full breast, his lofty neck, the strength
of the beam of his leg, and length of his thigh, his large quick
eye, and strong beak — crooked and big at its setting on —
and his murderous spurs, it is evident that he was intended to

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

figlit. But why so ? — wliy should he be armed with such
murderous weapons, and endowed with such formidable strength
and courage, merely to protect himself, or his own race, from
others of his own race ? There can be no reason at all for this
in an animal which it is evident was designed to be domesti-
cated. The fact is, lie is born a fighter, and absolutely begins
to spur at an adversary soon after he leaves the egg; at all
events, before his spurs are grown. Putting him to fight, then,
is not having recourse to a force against nature, but an evident
indulgence of his natural propensity, for there can be no offence
given to him by the bird pitted against him, which he has
never seen till taken out of his bag. This is also proved by
the well-known facts, that cocks at their walks, and at full
liberty, will seek each other for battle as far as they can hear
each other's crowing. In fact, there appears to be in them an
insatiable thirst to destroy each other, which does not appear in
other parts of the creation. We hear of carnivorous animals
depopulating the places they fre(pient of every inhabitant, but
there is no instance, except in the cock, of a desire to exter-
minate their own species.'

' Then you really believe it was intended that the courage of
these birds should be displayed to man as an example ? '

' I do.'

' And in the method pursued in Bob Dolly's cockpit ? '

' Ah, there you press me too hard now. I can only say that,
if they do fight at all, the arming them with artificial weapons
is the very reverse of cruelty, for the contest is sooner ended,
and their sufferings trifling in comparison to what they would
have been, had they fought with their own natural weapons,
by lacerating and bruising each other in every tender part.
And hence may be formed a comparison between the duellist
and the pugilist. The duellist meets his adversary like the
gamecock, voluntarily, and with artificial weapons also ; whereas
the pugilist is urged to fight merely by a prospect of gain,
and to fight with natural weapons, receiving blows and bruises,
frequently to the very point of death, to amuse a crowd of
spectators. I am inclined, then, to think that, after all, cock-
fighting is one of the least cruel of all our sports in which
the lives of animals are put to the risk. But it is not so much
the mere act of fighting, and the display of courage in the
gamecock, that excite my admiration : it is, as I said before,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the entire system throughout, and the wonderful phenomena
that occur in breeding and training these birds. We will
commence with the breeding, and the importance of similarity
of feather. Where is the philosopher who can discover this
necessity ? — but so it is. Several attempts were made some
years back to cross the Cheshire piles with piles from other
countries, and those of great note; but, from a trifling dis-
similarity of feather, the breed was very inferior to the original
one. But even in the Cheshire piles, the necessity arises of
not mixing the dark and light-coloured ones together. Then
ao-ain, the fidelity with which uniformity of colour is pre-
served is no less astounding. A celebrated breeder of cocks
thus writes on this subject : — " Fifteen years or more I had
enjoyed an invariable production of the most complete black-
reds bred by an amateur, without a single instance of devia-
tion during that period ; but, on the sixteenth year, I had
several light piles in one hatch. No change of eggs could
possibly have taken place, nor was there a shadow of doubt
of interference with any other cock. A well-regulated account
of my cocks, however, enabled me to ascertain that there had
been a pile in the cross five years previous to my having
them from Shropshire ; so that tJtey held highly regular for
twenty-one years, not only in plumage, but in every desired
requisite."

'It appears/ continued Hargrave, 'that, had this breeder
gone on in a deviation from the original colour, he would have
had spangles, as party-coloured fowls are called ; but, by per-
severing afterwards in selecting the darkest-coloured fowls,
those in fact most resembling his original attachment, or sort,
he preserved not only their feather, but their constitution,
which is a great consideration with cockers. Now here we
have an analogy between the florist and the cocker. A run
flower is one which has the inherent vice of changing colour,
with little chance of regaining its primitive and valuable
brilliancy ; consequently it is discarded by the florist, as
spangled pullets would be by the cocker.

' There are, also, independent of feather, some strange cir-
cumstances ai-ising from the selection of the parentage of game
fowls, and these of the very same breed, one, in fact, which has
been proved to be good in blood, feather, and heel. For ex-
ample : cocks bred from a father and daughter have run away,

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

whereas those from a mother and son have stood to be killed
by inches.

' Perhaps the best proof* of the difficulties of trainin^^ cocks
to tight is to be found in the very few persons who have
excelled in this branch of their art. Who would believe it
possible that, although a feeder should be able to get a pen of
cocks fit to fight for two successive days, he should not be able
to have them tit to fight on the third, and yet his competitor
on the sod shall be able to do so ? This, however, is a very
common case. In fact, the whole system of feeding cocks to
fight, reducing or increasing their vigour, is one of con.sammatc
art, and one with which that of training the race-horse can
bear no comparison as to the difficulty of it. Then, again,
what a true picture of life is a cockpit ! Depend upon it,
Frank Raby, you will never have seen human nature fully and
faithfully displayed in the rough, until you shall have seen it
in a cockpit, at such places as Chester, Manchester — in short,
anywhere bordering on the north. Amongst noblemen and
gentlemen of the highest character and respectability, and who
have made cocking their pursuit through life, you will see men
of the coarsest exterior, and the meanest garb, outwitting them
by odds in their judgment in selecting the winners before the
battles commence, and exhibiting indescribable acuteness in
discovering injuries afterwards, which, of course, they turn to
account before many of their superiors are aware of them.
This extreme quickness of sight, by which what is called a
"cut throat" is discovered previously to its effects hecoiniiuj
visible, is scarcely to be expected from a heavy and dull-lookino-
mechanic — perhaps a blacksmith, or a collier, who may have
walked fifty miles to the pit — but such is often the case, and,
of course, he reaps his reward by iminediately backing the
other cock.'

' What do you mean by a " cut throat " ? I never saw a cock's
throat cut in fighting.'

' Nor I neither. It is a body blow, but, having wounded a
vital part, is so called from the fact of the blood soon findinf>'
its way into the throat, and thence ejected by the mouth, con-
sequently impeding respiration. Cocks in very It iyh condition
will occasionally " throw it off," as the term is, and go on ; but
it generally betokens a speedy termination of the battle. The
setting or handling of the cocks is also a veiy difficult art : in

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fact, I have no liesitation in saying, that not only does a cock-
pit include more natural talent, in the rough, than any other
place in which men of all descriptions are given to congregate
but that, unless a man be a man of talent, he has no business
to enter one.'

Frank listened attentively to this somewhat philosophical
description of cocking and the cockpit, and whether or not
he became a cocker will hereafter be shown. He, however,
reminded Hargrave that the late Mr. Wyndham — then in the
zenith of his reputation, as one of our distinguished senators,
and distinguished also for his liunianity — had given it as his
opinion that the conflict between inferior animals incited the
courage of a nation ; and, in support of his hypothesis, availed
himself of the character of the English people, who, he said,
have ever been as remarkable for courage, or what is vulgarly
called ' pluck,' as for their predilection for such conflicts, cock-
fighting especially.

The first public exhibition of our hero, during his residence
at Christchurch, was on Burford race-course, in Oxfordshire, on
which was held what was called the Bibury meeting, continued
(though in very diminished form) to the present time. But
these were Bibury 's very best days. In addition to the en-
couragement given to it by the patronage and presence of
George iv., then Prince of Wales, who was received by the Earl
of Sherborne, for the week, at his seat in the neighbourhood,
and who every day made his appearance on the course as a
private gentleman, on his favourite cropped roan hack, of
which he was as fond as the impetuous Hotspur of his ' crop-
ear roan,' which, in an equestrian transport, he called his
' throne,' with merely a groom in attendance, and in familiar
conversation with all who had the privilege of addressing him,
there was a galaxy of gentlemen jockeys, who alone rode at
this meeting, which has never since been equalled. Amongst
them were the present Duke of Dorset, who always rode for the
Prince ; His Grace's brother, the late Hon. George Germain ;
the late Mr. Delme Radclifle— who had the management of
His Royal Highness's racing stud, until his decease as George
IV. ; — the late Lords Charles Somerset and Milsington, and
Lord Delamere, then Mr. Cholmondele}' ; Sir Tatton Sykes,
then Mr. Sykes ; Messrs. Hawkes, Bullock, Worral, George
Pigot Lindow, Lowtli, Musters, Probyn, etc., all first-raters,

98

to

is

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"so

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be

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and some of thoiu in as constant practice as any of the regular
jockeys. And a curious fact may here be mentioned, and of
which Frank Raby was a witness. The Prince of Wales had
a horse called Ploughater, by Trumpeter, out of an Everoreen
mare, and bred by Lord Clermont, which was extremely diffi-
cult to ride, from his hard pulling, and awkward position of
his head in his gallop. The Duke of Dorset, however, rode
him in several successful races, but at length broke a blood-
vessel by the exertion. Having lost a great quantity of blood,
His Grace did not appear on the course the next day, but on
the following one, to the surprise of all persons who saw him,
he not only appeared, but insisted upon mounting Ploughater
again, who had to walk over the course for a Stakes.

There was something especially jockey-like in the appearance
of the Duke of Dorset, his brother Germain, and Delme Rad-
cliffe, not only when mounted on race-horses, but when seen
riding on the course, on their hacks, often with their saddles
buckled to their sides, after the manner of the professional
men. Indeed, it is much to be doubted whether there was so
much as two pounds in weight difference between the perform-
ance of that trio, as well as of Mr. Hawkes, and the best of the
jockeys in those days. Hawkes's forte was as much making
play in running, as in what is called a waiting race, by his
excellent judgment of pace. In fact, he was a perfect horse-
man, either over a course or a countiy. George Pigot was
likewise very good in his saddle, but had not the head of
Hawkes in a near race. Sir Tatton Sykes was a second
Hawkes, cool, and with a beautiful hand. Of his coolness,
perhaps, nothing can beat what I am now about to relate.
When riding a match, at York, his horse bolted, and, falling-
over some rails, he, of course, fell to the ground. His anta-
gonist, having observed the accident, was cantering gently
along towards the winning-post, supposing the race to be his
own ; when, within a few yards of home, he was passed by a
horseman, in a coat and hat, who wished him a pleasant ride.
This was Sir Tatton, who had borrowed the coat and hat from
a bystander, wlicn he fell, and thus deceived his competitor,
who mistook him for one of the crowd. So fond was Sir Tatton
of riding races, that lie has been known to ride a hundred
miles for that sole purpose, and return to Yorkshire on his
hack immediately on the event being decided. Of Mr. Bullock

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

— commonly called Nando Bullock, his name having- been
Orlando — some amusing anecdotes are recorded, in reference to
his passion for race-riding. The following is a description of
a j-ace he once rode and won : —

' I turned the last post,' said ho, ' snuf/ as murder ; now,
said I to myself, the pantomime is going to begin, and I think
I shall beat Mr, Merryraan.' (There was a horse called
Merryman in the race, and heavily backed to win.) Again,
when he broke his leg and thigh in a race, by his horse run-
ning against a post, he absolutely spurred the persons who
were carrying him upstairs to bed, with his other leg, so little
daunted was he by the n)isliap. He met his death by an
accident, at last, and was much regretted by his friends, for his
gfreat g:ood humour.

Lords Charles Somerset, Milsington, and Delamere, rode
much at Bibury, and well — Lord Charles Somerset especially
— although they were all above the jockey height, as also was
Mr. Musters ; but Mr. Worral, one of the best of them, was cast
in the jockey mould.

But to return to our young sportsman at Oxford. Having
enoaoed a tandem for the purpose, with four of the best gig-
horses that the Oxford stables could produce, Frank Raby and
his friend Hargrave thus arranged their plans for the approach-
ing Bibury Meeting. They sent two of the horses to Witney,
and by thus relieving those that brought them from Oxford,
they were enabled to go to, and return from, the course, and
be in their college at night — driving alternate stages, for the
furtherance of their mutual improvement in this hazardous
occupation, as well as for their mutual pleasure ; and all went
well for the first three days. Having a capital leader over the
last ground, who wanted nothing but holding, and keeping his
head straight, these aspiring youths dashed through the crowd,
threading the carriages and horses on the road, with such skill
and dexterity as to attract nnich notice — and, at length, that
of the Prince, who had l)een watching their manoeuvres on the
race-course.

' Wlio are they ? ' inquired His Royal Higluiess of Mr. Lake.

' I do not know their names, sir,' replied Mv. Lake, ' but I
understand they are Christchurch men.'

' Ask their names,' resumed the Prince ; ' they will do, in
time, that is to say — if they don't break their necks'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSAFAN

I woll reiuoTuber the scenes at Bui-rortl, iiiid all the neighbour-
ing towns, alter the races oi* the day were over. That at Burford
beggars description, for, independently of the bustle occasioned
by the acconnnodations necessary for the Club who were
domiciled in the town, the concourse of persons, of all sorts
and degrees, and all in want of something, was immense.
Our young Oxonians, however, had taken care to provide for
themselves in this respect; and with a few more collegians,
and kindred spirits too, had formed a select party of themselves,
and, by pa3ang the piper well, had no reason to complain.
But now for the hnale to this ' larl\ I might say, iDut that
word was not used in those days, in this sense, at least. On
the last day of the meeting, all having hitherto gone smoothly,
an awkward mishap occurred, but which will, in a great
measure, be accounted for by the scene that took place when
the tandem came to the door with Frank Raby on the hench.

' Come along, Hargrave,' said Frank, ' I am sure you have
had wine enough ; and, as for myself, I can scarcely tell the
leader from the wheeler. Besides, you know this mare won't
stand nuicli longer ere she begins kicking, and we have only an
hour and forty minutes to do the twenty-one miles in.'

' Kick away,' said Hargrave, as he came staggering towards
the tandem ; ' you know I had rather be upset than not ; who
cares for a kicker, with a kicking strap over her l)ack, and a
good coachman behind her ? '

'Many a true word is spoken in jest,' says the proverb;
the mare did not kick ; but in descending one of those sharp
' pitches,' as they are called by coachmen, between Burford
and Witney — which, in those days, were often covered with
half -broken stone — and at by far too quick a rate, she stepped
on one of them, and fell, and was dragged some distance by
the leader. But now for the fate of her driver ; he escaped
with only some slight bruises, by falling on the mare whilst
she was being dragged, and rolling thence to the ground ; but
Hargrave was not so fortunate. A dislocation of his left
shoulder was the result, which, he being a very muscular young
man, it required the united strength of four men to reduce —
putting him to extreme torture for the time ; neither did he
speedily recover its eftects.

But' there is another proverb which applies well here. ' Good
comes out of evil ' ; as it did in this case. Both these young

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

gentlemen made a solemn vow, on the morrow, tliat tliey would
never again mount either a tandem or a coach box, at least,
not with reins in their hands, when they had drunk too mucli
wine ; and, though they became very celebrated as coachmen,
and were occasionally put to rather a severe test, they most
religiously adhered to their vow.

It was reserved to Hogarth to write a scene of furniture.
The rake's levee-room ; the nobleman's dining-room ; the apart-
ments of the husband and wife, in Marriage A la mode ; the alder-
man's parlour ; the poet's bed-chamber ; and many others, are
a history of the manners of the age. Nevertheless, as the
furniture and other accompaniments of apartments do, in a great
measure, describe the characters of the persons who inhabit
them, I will attempt a brief sketch of the rooms occupied by the
two Rabys, at Christchurch, as also those of Hargrave.

The apartments of Andrew require only a short notice. A
bust of Shakespeare was on one table, and one of Sir Isaac
Newton on another ; prints of Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox, and also
of Adam Smith, author of the Theory of Moixd Sentiinents,
adorned the walls ; and a handsome pair of globes were on a
side-table, together with a large portfolio of maps and drawings
of flowers from nature. On his book-shelves were the best
editions of the classics — both in English and in the dead
languages — as well as the chief historical works of sundry
nations and times. Neither were the rooms in which Frank
Raby was domiciled by any means wanting in books, which his
uncle had taken care to provide for him, nor were tliey alto-
gether uselessly bestowed upon him. In fact, he read hard by
starts, but wanted the steady application of his brother, which
was essential to cutting a figure in the schools, even in those days
when examinations were not over-strict. But the ornaments
of these rooms were of a very different character to those of his
brother ; and as the taste and inclinations of men are displayed
by such trifles, it will not be amiss to make mention of them.

On his mantel-shelf was a beautiful figure of a race-horse,
cast in alabaster, and over it hung the good old-fashioned
print of Partner, the race-horse, taking a sweat at Newmarket.
That of Hambletonian and Diamond had just then been pub-
lished, and, of course, was to be found here, as well as in many
other rooms in this aristocratic College. The celebrated
carriage match of Lord March (afterwards Duke of Queensbury),

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

over Newiiuivket Heath, Imno^ vis a vis to the niatcli between
Meynell's Riclimond and Smith Barry's Bluecap, two celebrated
foxhounds, over the Beacon course of the same place. The
famous prints, ' in caricature,' of Dick Knic^lit and the Pytch-
ley Hunt, were also to be seen, as well as an excellent piint
of Robert Forfeit, so many yeai-s huntsman to the oi-eat John
Warde. Tom Oldacre, on Brush, just then ])ublished, was like-
wise in the collection ; as was Sir Thomas Mostyn's favourite
foKhound bitch. Lady, with her whelps, a print that is to this
da}^ to be seen in half the public-houses in Oxfoixlshire. There
were likewise paintings of Bonnybell and Tyrant, two favourite
harriers in his father's pack ; but the deficiency of globes and
maps was made up by a plentiful assortment of four-horse and
hunting wdiips, boxing gloves and fishing rods, and sundiy
other paraphernalia of the sportsman.

Hargrave's rooms were very similarly adorned. Arthur
Wentworth, the earth-stopper, was suspended over his fire-
place. A Cheshire pile gamecock was above that ; and in other
parts of his sitting-room were the following well-known prints :
— A bitch fox and her cubs, by Sartorius ; Humphreys and
Mendoza in attitude; the Phenomena trotting mare; a por-
trait of Eclipse, with John Oakley (the only man who could
ride him) on his back; the great Malay cock match; the
York ' Highflyer ' coach, immortalised by Hogarth ; the London
and Shrewsbury Mail ; Jem Howell, the celebi'ated coach-
man of Costar's ' Oxford and Brummagem Day,' as it was
then called ; portraits of Bill Stuart, and Bob Doll3% with
his famous dog Nelson, ' the cock of the Oxford walk ' ; like-
wise an excellent picture of Squires Draper and Newby, two
celebrated Yorkshire sportsmen, representing them in the grey
of the morning, opening the door of the kennel. Among the
books were some odd numbers of the ' Racing Calendar ' ;
the first volume of the ' Stud Book,' the only one then
published ; ' Isaak Walton, on Angling ' ; ' Peacham's Complete
Gentleman ' ; and some numbers of the ' Sporting Magazine,'
a periodical not of much note in those days.

In his bedroom was a good show of whips, both for hunting
and for the road, all made by Mr. Crowther of Swallow-street,
the crack man of that day, and who sold them for a crack
price.

' But were there not always crack men ? ' was the answer

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Hargravc made to some one wlio asko(l liim \vh3^ he gave a
guinea for his four-horse wliips, wlien good ones were to be had
for half the sum ? ' You may get tliem clieapcr, doubtless, but
where will you get them so good ? Are there more than two
men in England, who can make a really good hunting saddle ? '
And what else was to be seen in this liaehelor's bedroom ?
why, not nuich beyond what was commonly found in a gentle-
man commoner's bed-chamber at this time, wdiose only object
was to find repose from the fatigues of tlie day, or to shake
oft" the fumes of bad wane. There was, however, a print of
a sleeping Venus, suspended against the wall, with some lines
of his own written under it, merely expressive of his high
admiration of the human form ; and, pinned to the curtain of
his bed, so as to be visible by him w^hen awake, the words
diluculo exsurgam legibly written on a slip of white paper.
But there was something more than met the eye of a common
observer in these words. It was not the mere act of eayiy
rising, which these w-ords imply, that stood so high in Mr.
Hargrave's estimation ; the fact w^as, he found, by experience,
that by being what is called ' a good man at morning chapel,'
he obtained the credit of being a regular man in his college,
whereas, in truth, he was anything but that. Although per-
fectly free from all vicious propensities, and one of the most
popular men at Oxford, at the time, he was wdiat would now
be termed ' an out-and-out larker,' and as often broke through
the rules and trannnels of the University as any other young
gentleman of liis day on its books.

Carthage is said only to have produced one Hannibal ; and
great men, in their way, are scarce in all modern communities.
At the time I am alluding to, very good horsemen over a
country w^ere much more rare than they now are ; and there
were not more than a dozen in the University of Oxford who
were entitled to be called such. The very best among tliem,
how^ever, was Hargrave, who united all the good properties
essential to riding well after hounds. He possessed great
strength, unaccomj)anied by great w^eight, not exceeding
twelve stone (fourteen pounds to the stone), with his saddle,
which is considered the best of all weights for crossing a strong
country, and for this reason : the twelve-stone man, independ-
ently of his power to assist his horse, to pull open gates, and
knock about obstacles of any sort, is almost sure to be mounted

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

on a horse worthy to be called a 1 muter, tliat is, a horse oi'
power; whereas, your nine or ten-stone sportsman is too often
mounted on what is called ' a nice little horse,' to carry liis
Aveight ; in other words, a cat-lego-ed weed, not wortliy tlie
name oi" hunter, and which gets knocked backwards, or tvirned
lieels upward, by a strong grower in a hedge, whicli the liorse
of a twelve-stone man would drive before him, or break. Then,
to use a vulgar expression, Hargrave liad the nerves of a bull-
dog, in the field, and would turn from no fence that he con-
sidered there was a chance to get over when in chase ; but
was free from the folly of taking unnecessary leaps, merely
to display his horsemanship. And, perhaps, one proof of liis
good horsemanship may be gatliered from this fact, — his
horses had both been purchased, at his request, when young
and 7'aiv, as the term is, that he mio-ht have the task of making
them liunters by his own hand ; and capital hunters did he
make them, althougli ditiering nuich from each other. Rupert,
a large-bodied, sleepy-looking bay gelding, about fifteen hands
two inches high, with long shoulders and quarters, and short
back, standing over a great deal of ground, upon short and
large legs; wanting nothing in his mouth except a plain
snaffle bit, but requiring spurs in his sides over almost every
yard that he went ; would leap timber, either flying or standing,
according to his rider's pleasure ; was one of the best creepers
in the world, consequently, seldom got into scrapes ; and
wanted nothing but a turn more speed to make him one of the
best hunters in the world. He was, however, as stout as steel
and — no small recommendation to an Oxford man's horse —
he could ' come again,' as the grooms say, very quickly, after
a hard run, and was good, on the average of sport, for four
days in a fortnight ; at all events, for three.

Toptlwrn, his other horse, was an animal of a different
description. In the first place, he was better bred ; and, in
the next, in a form altogether diflferent from Rupert. He was
what is called an ' up-standing horse,' nearly sixteen lumds
liigh ; not large-bodied, although an excellent feeder, and with
very good legs. As a fencer, he was quite out of the common
way, both at height and width, although there was one imper-
fection in his fencing, from which he derived his name ; and
here he was the very reverse of Rupert. He was not only not
a creeper — much less a standing leaper — but so far from

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

leaping into a feticc, as every Imnter ouglit occasionally to do,
when required, he could scarcely be made to go near enough to
his fences before he rose at them, so great was his dislike to
feel a thorn or brier about his legs. His pace was also far
better than Rupert's — good enough, indeed, for any country
and any hounds ; he was capital at both timber and water,
and, barring the imperfection which gave him his name, one
of the most accomplished hunters of his day. This, indeed,
may be inferred from the following rather uncommon fact : —
A nobleman, residing in Oxfordshire, but then hunting in
Leicestershire, offered him 400 guineas for Topthorn. His
answer was laconic, but creditable to him, and m-Aj be said to
have ' given token of a goodly day to-morrow.'

' I shall not take 400 guineas for my horse,' said this
promising young sportsman. ' I am not in debt ; and I see
no reason why I should not ride a good horse with hounds, as
well as his lordship.'

As may naturally be supposed, Hargrave was not only
looked to as a pilot in the tield, by all the novitiates in the
' noble science ' at that time in the Universit}' ; but Frank
Raby, who had been well entered to hounds, previously to his
matriculation at Christchurch, looked to him for instruction
and improvement. And he need not have gone much farther
for instruction : his seat was firm, and altogether good, with
his body pliably erect ; his feet well out in front ; the knee
nearly straight, and not bent at an angle by short stirrup-
leathers, as it was too often seen in those days ; on the con-
trary, he sat well down upon his fork, with his head up, and,
as he said of himself, he rode with a light hand and an easy bit.
As for the bay horse, that is to say, Rupert, a child might have
almost ridden him to hounds ; but it required a horseman to
handle Topthorn ; and it was from seeing Hargrave's per-
formance on him, that Frank Raby acquired lessons which he
never forgot, and which afterwards perfected him in the horse-
man's art.

In proportion to the number of young men of family and
fortune rising up in the world, will be the proportion of the
various occupations and pursuits which their several inclina-
tions lead them to engage in. That fox-hunting has ever been,
and, it is to be hoped, ever will be one, it is scarcely necessary
to add ; although, at the time I am alluding to, there were

106

THE T.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fewer followciis oL' the chase in the Universities than are to be
found in them at the present day. In fact, I ]ui\e already said
there were only about a dozen really good workmen, at this
period, at Oxford, wlio kept hnnter-s during term, and who nmy
be said to have done the thing in a truly workmanlike style
throughout. Amongst them was a connnoner of Oriel, who
accompanied Hargrave and Frank Raby, on a line morning in
the first week in December, to Oddington Ashes, a favourite
cover in the Beaufort Hunt ; their horses having been sent to
Chipping Norton on the preceding evening, the distance from
Oxford being upwards of twenty miles.

In those days there were not the crowds of horsemen with
hounds, composing what is termed ' the held,' that are now
to be seen ; but, on the day of which I am speaking, about
fifty well-mounted gentlemen and half a dozen farmers were
assembled — all having some pretensions to be called sports-
men ; in other words, they were met together for very different
purposes than riding at, or over, each other, after the manner
of our steeple-chase jockeys of these times; and driving hounds
over the scent, as if that instinctive agent, called nose, was by
no means necessary to their pursuing it, to the final accom-
plishment of their object — the death of a stout fox.

It is unnecessary to relate all the particulars of this day's
hunting; sufiice it to say, that a fox was soon found, and,
after having taken two deep rings in this justly celebrated cover,
broke under the most favourable circumstances ; namely, with
the body of the hounds on the scent, and the horsemen where
they should be ; not too near, to drive them over the scent, or
so far distant from them as to be unable to enjoy them in their
work. Still there was one thing unusual in the break. The
general run of foxes from Oddington Ashes is, what is called in
that country, ' up hill ' ; that is to say, not down the vale, but
either for the woods of Heythrop, or Ditchley, or, as oftentimes,
for the forest of Witchwood. Upon this day, however, the fox
took a very different course, going straight down the vale for
Pain's Furze, near to the town of Moreton-in-Marsh, and thence
to Bourton Wood — beyond Bourton-on-the-Hill — now hunted
by Lord Segrave. Nor was this regretted by the young-
Oxonians, although it took them in a contrary direction to their
homes. It gave to Frank Raby, and to the connnoner of Oriel
— whose name, by the bye, was Goodall — an opportunity of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

witnessing' the tine liorseniansliip and good judgment of Har-
grave, whom they selected as their pilot in as severe a country
as hounds often run oven-. In the hrst place, they had the
Kinghani brook to leap, and the Kingham tield to cross, which
none but good horses can do, and live with hounds when they
are going their best pace, as they did in the run I am alluding
to. And it told on the horses that crossed it on this day. It
reduced the number that started with the hounds to, at most,
one third ; and the field soon became, what in these days
is termed, ' most desirably select.' But the trial of trials was
yet to come. Tliere runs through this rich vale a brook called
the Evenload — connnonly called the Emload — which not more
than one man in twenty would ride at, in those dajs, nor wall
more than one man in ten get well over it in these. In fact,
it is, in many places, all but a stopper ; in all, a very serious
atiair for horses a little pumped out by the pace, the banks being
far from good, and the water both wide and deep. Now it so
happened that, by a lucky turn, Goodall, and a hard-riding parson
of that time, arrived first at the brook, and the parson took it
in his stroke. Neither did Goodall intend doing otherwise.
Taking a good pull at Pineapple (for such was his horse called,
in consequence of the deep scoring of his legs, b}" some merci-
less operator, with the tiring-irons) at about a hundred yards
from its banks, he sent him manfully at it, but by not extend-
ing himself far enough, he dropped short, and fell backwards,
with his rider under him, into the stream !

' He is in, by heavens,' exclaimed Hargrave, who saw the
mishap, ' and the parson has it all to himself.'

' He'll be smothered,' said Frank Raby ; ' what's to be
done ? '

' Not he,' resumed Hargrave, ' lies dear of Ins Jtorse ; do you
go quick at the brook to the right, and I'll go to the left.'

No sooner said than done ; both charged it and got over,
and six more of the field did the same thing; but it was a trial
of nerve to a young one to ride at a place of this description,
in which his friend and his horse were floundering, and within
twenty yards of him at the time.

No one headed the parson, who kept the lead to the end, the
fox having sunk before the pack within a field of Bourton
Wood, the earths of which, being open, might perchance have
saved his life.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Well done, viy old college^ exclaimed the parson, as he saw
tlio two Christchurch men amongst the eleven that were in at
the death, and no more appeared until the fox was broken up
by the pack, and then only the few who had passed the brook
by a bridge.

' But what is become of Mr. Goodall ? ' was the anxious
inquiry of many.

' I saw him safe on the bank,' replied a whipper-in ; ' and
I told a farmer to send some men to assist his horse, which
he promised he would immediately do.' And he was as good
as his word. Pineapple was pulled out by a team of horses,
not much the worse for his disaster ; and when his brother
collegians returned to Chipping Norton, where their hacks
awaited their arrival, they found the one comfortably dressed
in his stall, and the other in the act of finishing a good-sized
bowl of bishop, which he had swallowed after his luncheon, by
way of keeping out the cold, as has ever been the good practice,
as well of ancient as of modern times.

109

CHAPTER VII

A trip to Ascot Races, succeeded l)y an inquiry into the systems and methods of
travelling, from the earliest ages to tlie golden age of the road in England.

On the morning; following his arrival in town, Frank Raby
received the following letter from hi-s friend, Sir John
Inkleton : —

' Stevens's Hotel, Bond Street, June.

' Dear Frank, —

' I arrived in town last night, and hope to see you here to
dinner to-morrow at six o'clock. It is of no use asking the old
one ; he is no company for you and me, for he once told me
he could not live with men " whose talk was of bullocks." I
twigged what he meant. However, he is not a bad sort of
fellow at bottom ; and all the harm I wish him is, that he were
safely landed in heaven, and you had his money. I think you
would make a better use of it than he does, with his antics, as
old Dick says. I shall ask Jack Webber to meet you, and we
will have some coachino; talk. The nag-s are all in town — two
rare teams, and two rest horses — ten in all ; they will be quite
ready for Ascot on Tuesday, when you shall have a seat on
the box.

' Believe me, yours ever,

' John Inkleton.

' P.S. — I saw Jack Bailey to-day, who spoke of you. By
the bye, they were all well at the Abbey when I left home,
Andrew making the agreeable to old and young, especially to
the Chapmans, but I think Egerton has nailed the youngest,
and the eldest won't do at any price. Andrew is an out-and-out
slow one, except at Latin, Greek, and the Fathers ; and there,
Egerton says, he is not easy to beat.'

The hour of six being arrived — there were no eight or nine
o'clock dinners in those days — Sir John, his friend Jack
Webber, a great amateur coachman, Frank Raby, and Hargrave,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

met at Stevens's Hotel, as appointed, and sat down to a dinner
of the best of everything, in one of the private rooms. The
following, was a part of their talk : — •

Sir Jolin. — ' Well, Jack, glad to meet you once more ; what
news in town ? '

Webber. — ' Why, the devil to pay at the " Bull and Mouth."
They have got the distemper in the yard, and they have taken
Will Brydges of!" the Shrewsbury " Union," the best coach out
of London for a coachman, and put him on the Bristol " Blue."
Besides, they talk of docking them all of the short shillings the
first stage, in and out, which is not fair, because we all know
that London coachmen are at heavier expenses for lodging and
food than those who work down in the country.',

Sir Jo/tn. — ' And the " Swan with Two Necks," how go they
on there ? ' .

Webber. — ' Oh, all right, as regards the nags — never better ;
but the devil's own work between the " Telegraph " and the
" Defiance," on the Manchester road. I saw Bob ^ go out with
his coach to-day, and Jack ^ yesterday, both very flash indeed ;
in short, dressed more like gentlemen than coachmen.'

Sir Joltn. — ' And Jack Hale, how is he ? '

Webber. — ' Never better ; and his stock looks as well as he
does. He has just accepted the office of secretary to the
Benevolent Whip Club, to which several of our friends have
subscribed handsomely.'

Sir JoJin. — ' An excellent institution that. No class of
persons stand more in need of something of the sort, to enable
them to fall back upon, in case of illness or accident, to which
they are so much exposed, as coachmen and guards do. I
shall see Jack when he comes in, to-morrow, and tell him to
put down my name for ten guineas a 3'ear. I have had no less
than three coachmen and two guards invalided at my house in
the country, during the last two years, who might not have
required my assistance had they been members of the " Benevo-
lent Club." '

Webber. — 'I suppose you have seen Jack Bailey, as his
coach came in about two hours ago ? '

Sir John. — ' Of course I did, and showed him, //;/ h i,s oiun
watch — at least, by the one which once was his — how, to a

1 Bob Snow, formerly on the Brighton road, and Jack Marchant, wlio died
landlord of the '(Treyhound Inn,' at Newmarket.

Ill

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

minute, he had kept his time. " It's a wonder I did, Sir John,"
said Jack, " for the roads be in a queerisli state, after that 'ere
thunder-storm yesterday ; and there is at least half a ton of
Birmino-ham shillino;s in the front boot." All the better for the
way-bill, said I ; and as for tlie bad shillings, as Jack observed,
that's nothing to nobody ; all trades must live, and we are all
honest men till we are found out.'

At this moment the door opened, and in walked Frank
Raby.

Sir John. — ' Frank ! my boy, how are you ?— glad to see
you once more ; let me introduce you to Mr. Webber, an old
Etonian and Christchurch man ; like ourselves, devilish fond
of the road, a right good coachman, but not much of a fox-
hunter.'

Wehher. — ' Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Raby.
Inkleton tells me you are one of us ; fond of the ribbons, eh ?
Bailey says you were one of his best pupils when at Eton, and
Jack Hale says there are few better out of Oxford— gownsmen,
of course.'

Frank. — ' I am very fond of driving four horses, but do not
pretend to call myself a coachman. If I make one in jive
years from this time, I shall think myself very fortunate.'

Webber. — ' It cost me ten, and as many hundreds of pounds
as well. My bill, with old Mother Jones, at Oxford, for box-
coats for guards and coachmen, was never under a hundred per
annum, for many years; and I am afraid to say what it has
cost me in four-horse whips, also given away. Then my score
at public-houses, on different roads, was something approach-
in o- fifty pounds a year for what coachmen and guards call
their " allowance." For example, that at the " Magpies," on
Hounslow Heath, for rum-and-milk to the mail coaches, up
and down, was no joke — generally exceeding twenty pounds.
No house on the road makes such capital rum-and-milk as the
" Magpies " does ; the coachmen call it " milking the bull." But
I don't regret the money I spent in this way, for many reasons.
It gave me an insiglit into all sorts of life ; it made me a
coachman, which nothing but road-work will do; it gave me
an opportunity of doing many a Ivind act towards persons who
were not so fortunately cast in life as myself ; and last, tliough
not least — for I never encouraged what I considered a worthless
fellow, or a blackguard — I have reason to believe I have con-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

tributed, with others, equally fond of the ribbons as myself,
towards the connnencement of a new era amongst coachmen
and o-uards. From the notice taken of them by gentlemen,
they appear to be endeavouring to make themselves worthy of
their regard and protection ; and if such should prove the case,
I shall never regret the many hundred guineas they have
received from me. Neither is the obligation all on one side. I
have been indebted to them for much amusement, which I
could not have enjoyed but with their permission ; and it must
be remembered that they gave me that permission at the risk
of losing their places. But you are very fond of hunting, as
well as dri\ing, Mr. Raby. I know all about you from Har-
grave, who is the son of a friend of my father's, and a really
good fellow too."

Frank. — ' I am very fond of both ; but am afraid I shall not
be able to enjoy them, or even one of them, in perfection.'

Webber. — ' And why not ? '

Frank — ' I shall not be able to aiford the expenses. I fear
I shall not be content with the common run of countries, after
what I have heard of Leicestershire and Northamptonshire;
and, fond as I am of road-work, I should like to have a team
of my own.'

Webber. — ' Oh ! no fear. By what I have heard, from
Hargrave and others, you have a rich old uncle, at whose death
you will succeed to a very large property, chiefly in mono}',
and that the worthy gentleman is not likely to be long-lived.
That being the case, you will not want for money in this town
of London, for there are plenty of money-lending rascals
who will advance you what sum you may recpiire on your
expectations. Besides, no doubt, your father will leave you
a good '

Sir John. — 'Hold hard, there, Webber; I don't like the
post-obit system at all. Remember what liappened to New-
land, who was at Oxford with me. Besides, although I think
it very probable that Raby's father will leave oin- young friend
the Hopewell estate, which is not entailed, you must be
aware that his expectations from his uncle are merely expec-
tations. It is still possible he may maiT3% and have children,
whicli, of course, il/o.s-e.s' would take into the calculation ; in
^vhich case, the raising money by post-obit would be most
ruinous.'

113 H

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Webber. — ' What liappened to Newland ? he was after my
time at CoUeoje, and I never heard anything about him in the
money way ; but I know he was very fond of racing, and used
to say that, from his great talent for calculation, he expected
to make a fortune by the turf.'

Sir John. — ' He lost £100,000, at least, by talking of post-
obiting his aunt. He called out, publicly, in the ring at
Newmarket, " Wliat odds will any one bet line, tliat I don't win
t/te Derby, in four years after my old aunt dies?" This was
mentioned, in his own neighbourhood, as a mere joke ; but
on its being conveyed to the ears of the old lady, by the
parson of the parish in which she lived, and, of course,
commented upon for its enormity, he was left £100 to
purchase a mourning suit and a ring. Now, for what I
know of Mr. Beaumont Raby, he would be very likely indeed
to pursue the same plan by a nephew who might post-obit
him.'

Webber.—' And did the parson get the £100,000 ? '

Sir John. — ' No, thank God ! it was left chiefly to hospitals
and Sunday-schools ; but poor Newland has never held up his
head in the world since. It is a good lesson to all young
gentlemen who attempt to post-obit their relations. If, how-
ever, my young friend here wants the means of keeping an
extra hunter or two, during his uncle's lifetime — for I am
quite sure he will not need assistance afterwards — I will take
care he shall be supplied with them, without having recourse
to a usurious money-lender. But, Frank, my good fellow,
don't get much into debt, if you can help it. Some of my
accjuaintance have never recovered the effects of debt contracted
early.'

Webber. — ' True ; but I think the fault there often lies with
the old ones. Every father ought to ask his son, when he
quits the University, what debts he has left unpaid ? when, by
a speedy arrangement of them, future expenses and extortion,
and, in no few cases, ruin to the contractor of them, would be
avoided. They hang like an incubus upon a man, who is not
able to discharge them at the time, and often cause him to be
reckless in his future proceedings. By the bye, I can tell you
a good anecdote on this subject, and it relates to an intimate
friend of mine, a fellow commoner, of Trinity College, Cam-
bridge. Two years after he quitted the Uni\'ersity, he

114

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

accompanied his father to one of the Newmarket Meetings —
all of which he attended — and was thus addressed by him at
its close : — " I have lately seen, in my letter-bag, a considerable
number of letters, addressed to you, bearing the Cambridge
post mark, which leads me to believe you have some scores
left unpaid in that town, in spite of the handsome allowance
you received from me. However, as you spent your money in
good society, and left a fair name behind you in the College,
I shall freely forgive you, if my suspicions prove to be just.
To-morrow morning, then, we will breakfast at Cambridge, on
our return to town ; and if, in two hours after our arrival there,
you will give me a list of the entire of your debts, they shall all
be embodied in one cheque, at sight." My friend was placed
in rather a trying position. The entire of his debts — and his
father laid strong emphasis on the epithet — amounted to
above £800, a sum greatly exceeding, as he thought, his liberal
father's expectations ! Then what was to be done ? To have
given in a mutilated list would have been deceiving himself, by
deceiving his father ; so he took courage, and boldly gave in the
aggregate amount. His generous parent took his cheque-book
from his pocket, and having drawn on his banker for the
required amount, never afterwards mentioned the subject in the
presence of his son ! '

Sir John, — ' And what efiect had all this on your friend ? '

Webber. — 'The best possible effect; he has been a prudent
man ever since. But, speaking of old college friends, let me ask
you, Raby, how you like my friend Hargrave.'

Frank. — ' Very much, indeed ; he is my most particular
ally. He is supposed to be the best horseman and sportsman,
combined, in the University ; and, in every respect, a good
fellow.'

Webber. — ' And don't you like Topthorn and Rupert ? '

Frank. — ' The best horses in Oxford,'

Sir John. — ' Barring Achilles and the General, Frank ; but I
suppose your modesty induces you to place those of your friend
first ? '

Frank. — ' They are generally first in the field. Sir John.'

Sir John. — ' That may be ; Hargrave is an older hand than
you are over a country ; but, with equal men upon them, I
should be inclined to back Achilles against Topthorn in a severe
run.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Frank. — ' He lias not got the speed of hiin, Sir John ; neither
do I think Achilles can cover so large a fence.'

Sir John. — ' Well, Frank, I commend your candour — I may
say, your sincerity ; for, as I purchased the horses for you,
you might have compromised truth for politeness' sake. As
I detest a boaster, I sincerely commend you for what you
have said ; and now, if you please, we will sit down to our
soup.'

Ill the course of the evening, the arrangements for attending
Ascot Races were thus stated by Sir John : —

' I shall send one team to Staines, where it will remain during
the meeting ; so that we shall go and return on each day,
which will add nnich to our amusement ; and I think our party
will be a pleasant one : at all events, I will do my best towards
making it such, and have given orders that a good dinner, for
eight, shall await us every day, at tlie " Bush " ; so that we shall
have the road clear for us on our return to town, and travel
in the cool of the evening, when the crowd of cockneys will be
dispersed.'

It is not worth while to enter into the detail of an Ascot
Meeting, so long passed by as this is ; but, as may easily be
imagined, the splendour of the scene, unrivalled in the world,
made a deep impression upon our hero. Neither was it the
scene alone, in which the enthusiastic reception of the Royal
Family formed a principal and pleasing feature, that im-
pressed his mind. He saw racing to perfection. He saw the
performance of the best horses and the best jockeys of the
day ; amongst the latter, the famous Samuel Chifney, and
Jolni Arnull, both riding for the Prince of Wales ; Tom Goodi-
son, and others of equal Newmarket celebrity; as also Billy
Pierce, as he was called, the noted Yorkshire jockey, then
riding for His Grace of Cleveland, at that time Lord Darling-
ton. But we must not forget Dennis Fitzpatrick, imported
from Ireland by Lord Clermont, who was at that period in the
height of practice, but whose life was cut short by catching
cold in wasting. Frank Raby's admiration of these men, as
also of the horses on which they distinguished themselves, the
best, perhaps, of their day, at all events very sujDerior to any
he had ever seen before, was almost boundless ; and he would,
now and then, ask himself the question : — ' Shall / ever
make a figure on this course ? ' The answer to which, he

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

must be aware, depended upon various circumstances, quite
beyond his control, although within the range of speculation.

On the th-st morning of the meeting— a beautiful one in
June— and at the hour of ten o'clock, Sir John's team was at
the door of Stevens's Hotel, and nothing could be more correct
in its appointments. Tlie coach was a bright yellow, neatly
picked out with black, and a plain crest on the upper door-
pannel. The mountings Avere, of course, of brass, to suit the
furniture of the harness; there were roof-irons to the front
roof, which held three persons, and a comfortable dickey
behind, to carry the two servants. The box was likewise on
the true coaching principle, made to sail forwards towards the
wheel-horses, with a good roomy footboard, and well-cushioned
seat, allowing plenty of elbow-room for two. The horses were
dappled greys, which did credit to all parties; first, to their
owner, for the selection of them; next, to the men who had
the care of them ; for the white hairs on their bodies were as
white as the driven snow, and their harness equally w^ell
polished. But Sir John's order for soap was unlimited, one
severe tax on the use of grey coach-horses ; and it is said he
never grumbled if the year's bill for that purifying article did
not exceed £100 !

The party assembled on this occasion, and the arrangement
of them about the coach, were as follows: — Frank Raby,
according to promise, on the box (the word 'bench' was not
in use in those days), by the side of his friend ; on the roof.
Lord Edmonston, Captain Askliam, and Hargrave, whom our
hero had introduced to his friend, who kindly offered hini a
seat: inside were two friends of the Baronet's, non-coaching
men, and an old and warm relation, who promised to pay for
the champagne, both on the course and at dinner, for the four
days of the meeting, on condition that he was not upset, either
in going or returning.

Now, of the majority of this party it is not necessary to
say much. Lord Edmonston, Hargrave, our hero, and his
friend, have already been before the public; and the insides,
on this occasion, were good and worthy gentlemen in then-
line, but of no pretensions in ours. There was, however, one
conspicuous character on the way-bill, which must not be
passed over, inasnmch as his career in life, up to a certain
period of it, is, we may presume, without a parallel in the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

line in which he figured. This is Captain Askham, holding
his commission in one of our heavy dragoon regiments, whose
history is nearly this : —

At the age of twenty-one, he succeeded to an estate, the
clear rental of which was £8000 a year, and a considerable
sum of ready money as well, he having been for several years
a minor. His passion was, tlie road ; he had never less than
three, often four, teams at work at the same time ; and at one
period, when quartered at the distance of nearly 100 miles
from London, had the ground absolutely ' covered,' as the
term is, among coach proprietors, with his own horses, and
amused himself and his friends by driving his coach between
London and the town in which he was quartered, whenever his
inclination prompted him. The pace, as may be imagined,
was an awful one ; I allude not to the rate at which the drag
travelled, but to that at which the cash found its exit out of
the Captain's pocket ; for champagne, at sixteen shillings a
bottle, was the ordinary ' allowance ' on the road, to say nothing
for the et ceterca^ in London. But, nil violentum est perpetuum,
there was soon a stop to those proceedings ; and here is the
best part of the story, which cannot fail to create a smile. The
Captain, like our hero, had a rich uncle, own brother to his
father ; and having made his fortune in trade, was the more
readily alarmed at the accounts he heard of his coaching
nephew's proceedings, especially so on finding that his bills
,and bonds were in the market, with a rumour, now and then,
that even expectations from himself, at his decease, were
anticipated in his dealings with the money-lending crew.

' Now something must be done,' said the uncle to himself, ' to
save this nephew of mine from perdition ; perhaps the best step
I can take will be to surprise him in his folly, and at once con-
vince him of its consequences.' Acting upon this suggestion, he
put himself into the mail ; and hearing, on his arrival in London,
where his nephew was then domiciled for the week, namely,
at a celebrated and most expensive inn, not fifty miles from
London, the following dclaircisseme^if took place on his entering
the stable-yard of the same : —

' Whose coach is that ? ' said he to a man having the
appearance of a helper in a stable. ' Captain Askham's,
sir,' was the reply. ' And tJtat ? ' continued the uncle.
'Captain Askham's, sir,' answered the helper. 'And that

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break ? ' ' The Captain's, sir.' ' And that travelling chariot ? '
' The Captain's, sir.'

Tlien turnino- into a stable in which there were six hne
coach-horses— ' Whose horses are these?' was the question
put to another helper. 'Captain Askham's, sir.' 'And ihese^
resumed the old gentleman, on finding six more in another
stable ' Captain Askham's, sir.' ' And tJie^^e ? '—ditto repeated
-ill a third. 'Captain Askham's, sir.' 'And pray whose
hear is that?' inquired the uncle of another man, whose
path he crossed in the yard. 'Captain Askham's, sir.' 'And
the monkeuV 'The Captain's, sir.' 'My God!' exclaimed
the uncle ; ' and pray where is the Captain himself ? ' A-bed,
in the house,' answered his informant. 'Let me see him,
then,' resumed the old one; 'show me the way to his

room.

The sequel to this story is short. The uncle addressed
his nephew with—' I am just come in time to save you from
a jail. In six months more you will be in one. I will advance
what is requisite to discharge your debts, on your assigning to
me the rental of your estate, until they are all liquidated ; and,
in the meantime, I will allow you two thousand pounds a
year.' The Captain consented to this proposal. He retired
to his seat in a distant country, ' to darve; as he expressed
himself 'on two thousand a year'; but by good management,
the general result of dearly-bought experience, he contrived
to live very much like a gentleman, and to indulge himself
in his favourite passion for the road, but only to the extent
of one coach, and one team of tolerably good greys. In a few
years his encumbrances were paid off; he once more became
the receiver of his own rents, and no man made a better use
than he did of eight thousand a year, cutting his coat according
to his cloth, and having nothing more to do with either monkeys

or bear-s. . i i i.

It is scarcely necessary to observe, that this party had not
long passed through Hyde Park turnpike, before the subject of
hunting formed a part of their discourse. It was commenced
by Sir John himself, with some questions put to Lord Ednion-
ston, whom he had not seen, until that morning, smci' the
hunting season had concluded.

' Well, Edmonston,' said Sir John, ' what have you been
doin^r this season in Leicestershire ? I mean since Christmas,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

because Somcrby, who has been visiting his friends in our part
of the world, told me what you had done previously to that
time. I dare say you have had good sport, as the season has
been open, and there have been no complaints of want of
scent.'

' We have done very well indeed,' replied his lordship, ' and
old Meynell has been in high force, having killed forty-one
brace of foxes, about his usual amount, and had capital runs
with many of them.'

' Perhaps you will give us the history of one of them,' resumed
Sir John. ' It will be highly amusing to our two young friends
here, giving them an insight into what they hope, one day or
another, to partake of.'

' I will do so with pleasure,' was the answer ; ' and I think
the Shoby Scoales run, on New Year's Day, will answer your
purpose well.

' Shoby Scoales is situated in the finest part of Leicester-
shire ; and, being a sure find, the announcement of the fixture
always brings out a large field. There was, on this day, a
splendid field of horsemen ; and, what added to the animating
scene, a brilliant display of ladies in carriages and on horse-
back, the morning being unusually mild for that season of the
year.

' At a quarter past ten o'clock, the hounds were thrown
into the cover, in which they had not long been before
Champion, a favourite old hound, and noted for finding his
fox, challenged on a scent, and was instantly cheered by Mr.
Meynell. " Have at him. Champion, old boy ! " he holloaed ;
" you never told me a lie ! Get round to the lower side of the
cover, Jack," said he to Jack Jones, the cork-legged whip, " and
stop his breaking there, for I want to have a tickler to-day."
No sooner said than done. The fox broke up wind, and faced
our best coun+ry, viewed by the whole field. Of course we
were all ready for a start, l^ut were kept in check by Meynell
taking ofi" his cap and holloaing — " Hold hard, gentlemen ;
pray let my hounds get fairly out of cover, and settle well to
the scent, and fhni ride over them if you can." We were,
however, a very short time kept in suspense; for the gallant
pack were not only too well bred, but too well taught, to hang
in cover after their game had left it. They were soon out in
the open, \\ith the scent so good, that, dropping their sterns

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and raisini^ tlieir heads, away they went, at such an awful pace,
that we might have safely taken Meynell at his word, and
ridden over them, if we could have done so. In fact, the
first quarter of an hour was so fast, that ten minutes more
would have brought us all to a standstill. At Ragdale, how-
ever, we came to a check, the hounds having a little overrun
the scent, from the fox turning short to the left, which gave
our horses some relief. A judicious cast soon put us to rights
again, and away we went, at our former speed, to Hoby Town ;
and straight from thence to Frisby Gorse, where, fortunately,
we once again came to a check ; for the pace and the country
were both awfully severe. Many of the horses, indeed, had
already declined, and two received their eternal quietus, from
meeting with accidents at fences.

' Our fox hung just long enough in Frisby Gorse to give
the horses that were up, second wind, and away we went again,
up to Haines's Gorse, near Great Dalby, at a slashing pace ;
thence, over a splendid country, to Gadsby, when John Raven
caught view of him, in a large grass field, with almost every
hound close at his brush. He contrived, however, to reach
the fence ; and, slipping short down wind, got amongst some
old farm buildinjrs in a villao-e, and once more brought the
pack to check. The scent was again recovered, by some
masterly casts of the "old one," who never appeared to
greater advantage as a superior judge of fox-hunting, than
he did on that day. After forty minutes' cold hunting, we
found ourselves close to Queenborough village, with very
little apparent chance of again getting near to this most
gallant fox, when one of the most singular circumstances
occurred that was ever recorded in the annals of English fox-
liunting.

' Every one who knows Meynell is aware of his invincible
perseverance in doing everything that can be done towards
killing his fox : and in this case he was determined not to give
the smallest chance away. It occurred to him, that our fox
had either got into a drain, or entered some out-building, in
the village of Queenborough, which determined him on once
more trying to recover him. He, therefore, walked his hounds
quietly among the houses, and, as he passed the church, two
or three couples of his hounds entered the yard. Amongst
these was our friend Champion, who almost instantly threw

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

his tongue on a scent. " He is among the dead ! " exclaimed
Meynell ; and, puttino- his horse to the wall, he rode over it in
his usual cool and beautiful style. The fox had actually taken
possession of a newly made grave, from out of which he jumped
apparently as fresh as when first found ; afforded us another
burst, exceeded by pace and severity of country only by that
from Frisby Gorse to Haines's, in the morning, and quite fast
enough to satisfy any one. In fact, he went from Queen-
borough nearly to Syston ; when, crossing tlie Leicester road,
and charging the river Soar in liis course, we ran into him
close to the windmill on the hill, within a few hundred yards
of Mount Sorrel Town ; and thus ended one of the finest
runs ever seen in that or any other country, it having con-
sisted of every description of hunting, and of every description
of difficulties, wliich could put the goodness and condition
of hounds, the science of their huntsman, the bottom of the
horses, and the nerves and judgment of their riders, to the
test.

' Were I to relate all the disasters and casualties that
occurred on this memorable day,' resumed Lord Edmonston,
' I should make my story too long ; and I wish I could con-
clude it without stating that several horses died in consequence
of it. I must, however, mention one circumstance relating to
the far-famed master of the |)ack. After we had been going
for at least three-quarters of an hour, and at the best pace, with
our horses not a little the worse for it, all of us who were up
with the hounds at that moment made for the corner of a large
grass-field, near Dalby, which was surrounded by an immense
ox-fence, and particularly strong in that one particular part.
We were assured, however, that the gate in the corner would
open, and this by that good old sportsman, Henton of Hoby,
who said he had passed through it that morning ; but we
found, to our cost, there was no longer a gate there. It had
been broken to pieces by some bullocks, and replaced with a
flight of rails so high and so strong as to bring all the leading-
men to a standstill. In fact, we were turning away from it
in despair, looking for a practicable place in the ox-fence, when
Meynell, mounted on his famous old grey horse, came up ;
and, without breaking his stride, leaped it in the most beauti-
ful style imaginable, leaving us all in the lurch, for a time,
not one having the nerve to follow him, althouoh the hounds

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

were a field or two a-head, runnini*' with a brcast-hi*;!! scent at
the time.' ^

With the exception of the Captain, who eared nothing about
liounds, and wliose attention was chiefly attracted to the move-
ments of the four greys, and the masterly style in which they
were handled by their driver, this interesting description of a
run with Mr. Meynell's hounds, together with the extraordi-
nary incidents which occurred in it, was listened to with much
delight ; more especially by the two young ones, who glanced
a signiticant look at each other, towards the conclusion of it,
as much as to say, ' TJud is the counti^y, and those are tlie
Jiounds for us.' Sir John, indeed, began to reflect whether he
were not pursuing a losing game by keeping six hunters in his
own country instead of twice six in Leicestershire, and enjoy-
ing fox-hunting in ijerfection. But there were reasons which
more than counterbalanced this very strong inducement on his
part. Independently of a wish to reside on his own property,
in compliance with the death-bed request of his father, his pas-
sion for the road quite equalled that for the chase, and for this
purpose he could nowhere be so well situated as at home, for
reasons that have already been detailed.

But to return to the journey down the road. The first stop
was at Hounslow, where, according to the usage of those days
— slow compared with the present — the bearing reins were
let down, and the noses of the horses plunged into a bucket of
cold water, with a swallow or two each, and most refreshing
must it have been to them, after toiling through ten miles of
dust, for there were no watered roads in those days. A glass
of sherry and a biscuit were also partaken of by the party, and
onward they proceeded towards the course. At the point at
which the roads branch off— just outside of the town of Houn-
slow— the Baronet exclaimed, pointing to the Oxford flnger-
post : —

' That is my old road. There are my old associations ' ;
and, turning himself round towards Hargrave, and afterwards
towards his yovmg friend on the box, he added, ' there, no
doubt, are yours also. There stands the " Magpies " on the heath,
where I first milked the bull, and there is to be seen Jack
Bailey, my faithful friend and preceptor, coming up with his
coach ; and an out-and-out coachman he is. And next, old

^ This is a fact.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Baldwin of Slough, whose books were always as open to me as
his house, whose tick was as good as his wine was bad. Then,
passing by Eton — for I was sick of that place, and all its host
of learned tyrants — what can beat old Shrubb,^ at Benson, and
a good dinner in No. 8 ? But I am not going to stop there.
Can I forget Christchurch, and the happy days I passed within
its walls ? They never have been surpassed by any others, and
I more than doubt whether they ever will be. I am now, how-
ever, travelling in a new direction, and shall meet with none
but new faces on the road. But so it is : and there are the nags
all ready for us in tlie street, and we will change quickly, that
we may get a good place on the course.'

Not ten minutes had elapsed before they were off again,
having ordered a dinner at the ' Bush ' to be ready for them
on their return, some particular dishes having been bespoke
by the in-sides. ' What a splendid team you have got here,
Inkleton,' said the Captain, as they threw themselves into their
collars, in ascending the hill out of Egham, appearing to
regard the weight of the carriage and its contents as nothing
more than was just necessary to the full development of their
great powers and form. In fact, on the flat between the two
towns, it was as much as Sir John could do to restrain their
ardour, so redundant did they feel themselves of high keep and
mettle.

' They ought to be good,' replied the Baronet ; ' those
leaders cost me two hundred guineas apiece, and the wheelers
more than two-tliirds of that sum. There will be nothing on
the road to-day that can touch them, if they would settle down
to the trot, but, from the eflect of the excitement of a race-
course, so new to them, there is little chance of their doing so.
All I can hope for, is, that they will not break away with me,
on our return from the ground ; but I have little fear of it, as
my tackle is good.'

On entering Windsor great park — one of the grandest the
world can show — the conversation was resumed about Eton,
whose ' anti(|ue towers ' were now visible to the party ; and
to those who had been educated there some old associations
presented themselves.

' Yonder is the old shop,' said the Baronet to Hargrave.

* The landlord'.s name, at the head inn,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Yes,' replied Havgrave, ' and I never wish to be nearer to it
than I now am.'

' Nor I neither,' observed Frank Raby.

' I have ' no great fancy for the place myself,' added the
Baronet, ' but I should like to see old Stevens and Jack Hall
once more.'

' By the bye,' resumed Hargravc, ' did you hear of the good
bit of luck Jack Hall dropped into the other day ? '

On the Baronet replying in the negative, Hargrav^e thus
related the stor}'- : —

' When Hobart left school, at Christmas, the Doctor and his
tutor, from a knowledge of the large possessions that awaited
him on his majority, of course expected a very handsome iiouclt ;
and it is not improbable that the amount had been duly com-
municated to, and approved of by, the latter. Whether the
Doctor was popular with Hobart is extremely problematical ;
but that a certain person, named Jack Hall, was higldy so,
there was no roon) to doubt. The money for the poitcA, then,
arrived in a letter to Hobart himself, the distribution of which
involved him in no small difficulty. The result, however, was
this : — On the one hand, the chief educational assistance he
had received from the Doctor consisted of manifold unmerciful
floggings, and without being much the better for them ; whereas,
on the other, through the affectionate assiduities of Jack Hall,
he had been rendered a match for any man on the Thames,
in the use of a casting-net, or the management of a boat or a
punt ; and could heel and handle a cock with all the dexterity
of a professor. In point of fact, it was a simple ease of flogging
versu.^ cock-fightino- net-casting, and boating-. Takino- into
consideration, then, the ' value received ' from either party,
and, after the most mature deliberation, Hobart decided that
the money ought to be divided in equal portions l)etween the
three — the Doctor, the private tutor, and the professor of arts
and sciences, which Jack Hall must be allowed to be. And
now for the finale. This upright division of the money would
never have been known to the family had they not chanced to
have been made ac({uainted with it through an unlooked-for
channel, when all was put straight between the parties. The
deficiency to the pedagogues was rectified, as it ought to hav(i
been ; but Jack retained his share, on the well-known principle
of his profession — that all was fish which came into his net.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

The former — the pedagogues — returned suitable acknowledg-
ments for all favours. The Doctor presented Hobart with a
splendidly bound edition of the moral Lucretius ; and Jack
Hall invited him, with his friends, to a flash dinner "up
town." '

' Capital ! ' exclaimed the Captain ; ' we had none of that
work at Harrow ; but I think, from my experience of them,
most schoolmasters would get monkey's allowance if left to the
generosity of their pupils alone to reward them, although I do
not see why they should ; as, after all, they only do their duty
towards them, although many of them arc, like young coachmen,
too fond of the whip. As for myself, I had rather be a horse-
keeper to the Holyliead mail than a schoolmaster ; and does
not somebody say, " Qunn Jupiter odit pedagogum facit " ? But,
Inkleton, when speaking of Oxford, and the fun you had there
in our time, you appear to have forgotten Jem Howell, and the
" Birmingham Day," one of the best of his order, out of the
University, and Costar's favourite servant.'

' Forget Jem How^ell ! ' exclaimed the Baronet ; ' you might
as well suppose I sliould forget to eat my dinner to-day at the
" Bush." I consider Jem quite a pattern-card of a stage-coach-
man, both in figure and dress ; and he appears as if he were made
on purpose to meet a north-east wind, with the thermometer at
zero, over those Oxfordshire hills. Then, what a voice he has !
— what an eye ! — in fact, what an expressive countenance
throughout, under that broad-brimmed hat ! '

' That was not much amiss of Jem, the other day,' said
Hargrave, ' respecting the new Bishop of Oxford. " I wish
they'd gin (given) it Oolly," said Jem (the gentleman's name
was Wo(jlley); "he'd have made a rare bishop, for he's not only
a scholard, but a gemman, and that's more than can be said of
all on 'em. They tells me scholardship opens men's minds ; it
may be so, but it shuts their purses devilish close — at least I
find it so on this road. I never remember getting more than
one shilling from a passenger in black, in a shovel hat, but
once since I have drove this coach." But it is Jem's very dry
manner of expressing himself,' resumed Hargrave, ' that gives
a zest to these trifling stories ; in fact, they would not be worth
repeating without it. I saw an old woman go up to him, the
other morning, in Oxford, and say to him, " Be you a-going to
Iji-nnmiagem to-day, Master Howell?" "No, ma'am," replied

12G

THE TJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Jem ; " but I sliall o-o liali'-way there, and my fellow-serv^ant will
take you the other half if you want to go there ; but mind ye,
ma'am (looking upwards towards the sky), if it don't rain."
" And will it rain. Master Howell ? " asked the silly old woman.
" There is onlj^ one person in the world, ma'am, that can answer
that question," replied Jem, " and I ar'n't he." ' ^

' He booked his passenger, I conclude,' observed Frank Raby.

' Of course he did,' resumed Hargrave ; ' for Jem never
throws a chance away ; and I saw a good scene with him, in that
respect, last term. It being a very wet morning, a passenger
put his head out of one of the windows of the " Angel Inn," and
said, " Where is the coachman of the Birmingham Day ? "

' " I be here, at your sarvice, sir," answered Jem, who was
buckling his reins, at the moment, just ready to mount his box
and be off.

' " Put some straw on the foot-board, on my side of the box,"
resumed the gentleman.

' " Beg pardon, sir," continued Jem ; " but I never allows no
straw on my foot-board."

' " You are an insolent scoundrel ! " exclaimed the gentle-
man.

' " This, sir, is not the first time I have been told so," re-
sumed Jem ; " but the fact is, I have a mare at wheel, in this
here coach, that, if one single straw touched her tail, would
kick you off the box in about two seconds ; and here is my
master, who will vouch for the truth of what I have been
saying." '

^ This anecdote can only be appreciated by those who are aware of the
troul)lesome, stupid questions put l»y the travelling public to road-coachmen.
This woman knew Howell drove the Oxford and Birmingham day coach six
days in the week, as well as he himself did ; so that the question was put merely
for the sake of asking it, as many others are. Howell's questions, on the other
hand, were always to the point ; and that i)ut to his master, Mr. Costar, relat-
ing to the coach he had so long l)een driving, is a fair sample : — 'Do you think,
xir, my coach would be missed on the road if it did not start to-day ? ' Mr. Costar
agreed with Jem in thinking it wonld not ; and it stopped. The fact was, the
coaches running throughout, from London to Birmingham, in a day, took most
of its passengers. It is much to be lamented that there is no portrait of this
excellent servant and true specimeu of the old road coachman, an order of men
soon only to be known to have existed. He died Avortli £10,000, and as one
proof of the estimation in which his character as a confidential and honest
servant was held, Mr. Ansley, of Bletchington Park, kept .a liorse in Oxford
for his use in the summer ; and a knife and fork were always at his service in
the steward's room at Bletchington, on Sundays, the year round.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

To attempt to detail the events of a race meeting, so far back
as the one to which I am now alluding, would be considered a
trespass on the reader ; suffice it to say, that all went oft' with
eclat, as far as the sport on the course was concerned ; and as
the champagne of the week was paid for by the warm old
gentleman inside, all went on well with the drag. The party
arrived each night at Stevens's Hotel as the clock struck eleven,
so exactly did the Baronet keep his time ; and both men and
horses appeared the better for their four days of inhaling clear
country air.

But what impression did the events of the week make
upon the youngsters of this party — Frank Raby and Har-
o-rave ? Upon the latter, not much. His heart and soul were
wrapped up in fox-hunting, and 'closely stopped,' as fox-
hunters say, against the intrusion of meaner pursuits, amongst
which he reckoned racing. Not so, however, with our hero.
He appeared to enter into the spirit of each individual race
with an interest that attracted notice ; and, on the third day,
was seen taking some bets in the ring, although only to a
trifling amount; and most of these, as might be expected, he
lost. But his speculations did not end with the turf. The
introduction of the thimble-rig tables had just then commenced,
and Hargrave and himself were amongst the earliest victims to
their unfairness.

' What ! ' said one to the other, ' can that simple-looking
country bumpkin, in a smock-frock, find out the pea, and
neither you nor I be able to do the same ? Why, he has won
seven guineas already from the rascals, and how I should like
to break them, for they look very much like thieves.'

' There will be no difficulty in it,' observed the other ; ' I see
the pea every time, and I am quite sure I can always tell the
thimble it is under. We will risk five guineas apiece, and I'll
warrant it we'll soon double our stakes."

But they were interrupted in their course by a by-stander,
who overheard them, and who, apparently in compassion to
their simplicity, thus ventured to address them : —

' Excuse me, young gentlemen,' said he, ' but you have
formed a wrong judgment as to the proceedings you have just
been witness of. That simple-looking country bumpkin, in the
smock-frock, is one of the partners in tlie table, as well as one
of the greatest thieves in London. He is acting the part of a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

decoy, and you will Ijc sui-c to i'all into his net, it" you risk your
money on the tables.'

The youngsters thanked their unknown friend, and kept
their money in their pockets. He iilso cautioned them a<;-;iinst
playino- at the various llouo^e et Noir and E. 0. tables on the
course, assurino- them they were all unfair, and that they would
not have a chance to win at them. It was discovered, after-
wards, that it was one of the police-officers of Bow-street who
had acted this friendly part, havino- seen the youno- gentlemen
come on to the course with Sir John Inkleton, to whom he
owed a debt of gratitude, for a kind act done by him, in getting
him put on the establishment, through the intercession of one
of ids relations.

During the four days of the meeting, Frank Raby and his
host never chanced to meet. When the one came home at
night, the other had not returned from his club — for he was a
member of both Brooks's and White's — and when the nephew
started for Ascot in the morning, the uncle was asleep in his
bed. The first time, however, that they met, which was on the
fifth morning, at the breakfast-table, the following conversation
occurred : —

' Well, Frank,' said Mr. Raby, ' I hope you have enjoyed
yourself at Ascot.'

' Very much indeed,' was the repl3^ ' Sir John did the thing
capitally.'

' Sir John did the thing ! ' repeated the uncle. ' What do
you mean by that? I thought your object was to see the
entire proceedings of an Ascot race meeting, which, I have
reason to believe, is the pleasantest and most aristocratic in the
world. But you seem to bestow all the credit on Inkleton, who
certainly is a very '

' I only meant to say,' interrupted Frank, ' tliat Sir John
did the thing in the most coachmanlike style, and his turnout
was uncommonly admired on the road. The fine coachman-
ship, also, which he exhibited, in twisting his horses right and
left, and threading the carriages as he did, at the rate of eight
or ten miles in the hour, and never touching one of them !
And then the coachmanlike manner in which everything was
done; the changing of the horses, and the scientific way in
which they were put to the coach.'

' Scientific ! ' smiled the uncle ; ' ridiculous, to be sure ; but

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

really, Frank, it is somewhat of a melancholy reflection, that,
after all the money expended on Inkleton's education, and with
reallj'- good parts, which he has, he should now pride himself
upon nothing so much as being a first-rate coacliman. Surely
he did not imbibe such ambition from reading the classics.'

' Perhaps not, sir,' said our hero, a little petulantly, stand-
ing up for his patron and friend. ' But please to recollect,
uncle, that one of the best of them advises us, with his own
usual good taste, not to condemn the taste of others any more
than to extol that of ourselves. " Nee tua laudabis studia, nee
cdiena reprendes " ; and, moreover, if the Athenians, the most
polished nation of all antiquity, deemed it an honour to be
considered skilful charioteers, why should Englishmen consider
it a disgrace ? Again ; — have not their poets divided the
honour of the charioteer with the hero who fights in the
chariot ? Does not Homer make his Nestor the wisest man,
and the bed coachman of his day ? Does he not make Priam
put his own horses, with his own hands, to the car in which
himself and the herald demand the body of Hector ? Is he not,
indeed, blamed by one of his commentators for dwelling upon
the description of Juno's chariot, when his reader expects him
to lead him into tlie thick of the battle ?

"For why should Homer deck the gorgeous car,
AVheu our raised souls are anxious for the war?
Or dwell on every wlieel, when loud alarms.
And Mars, in thunder, call the host to arms?"

And is he not so minutely faithful to this part of his

subject, that, at the games of Patroclus, he represents Menelaus

borrowing one of the horses of Agamemnon — a horse called

Mthe (here the uncle smiled, as much as to say : I wish your

recollection was as good on all points, as upon this) — ^to put

to his chariot with his own, on account of his superior action,

no doubt. Has not the greatest poet that ever dipped pen in

ink immortalised the coachman in song— ay, even in letters of

pure gold ? Turning, then, to the Romans ; can anything be

finer than Juvenal's descinption, in his eleventh satire, of the

excitement created in Rome by the various chariot races at

the Circensian games, which passage has been so admirably

translated by Congreve : —

"This day, all Rome (if I may be allowed.
Without ottence to such a numerous crowd,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

To say 'all Rome') will in the circus sweat:
Echoes already to their shouts repeat ;
Methinks 1 hear the cry — Away! away!
The green has won the honour of the day.
Oh ! should the sports be for one year forborne,
Rome would, in tears, her loved diversion mourn ;
And that would now a cause of sorrow yield,
Great as the loss of Cannae's fatal field."

Did not Lateranus, tlie consul, drive his own cliariot by night,
and, when the year of liis office was out, publicly in the streets
of Rome, by day ?

' But really, uncle, Joking apart — for I have seen you smile
at my panegyric on ancient coachmen — I think you must admit
that the fashion for gentlemen driving their own coaches, which
is now becoming so prevalent, will, in time, do much good. It
has caused them to notice and take under their protection
public, or " road-coachmen," as they are called, a most useful
body of men, " scientific " in their calling — you may smile at
the epithet, and yet it is their due — who will be nmch the better
for coming more in collision with their superiors, and receiving,
whilst imparting, instruction. It is (|uite evident, and I have
heard not only my father, but Dr. Chapman and ]\Ir. Egerton
say, the coachmen on our road are wonderfully improved since
Sir John and the Hon. Mr. Conolly have been so much at work
amongst them with their own teams. The latter, indeed, has put
together and pul^lished a few general maxims, not only relating
to their situation and practice, as coachmen, but to their
conduct as men ; and they will, no doubt, be the means of
saving the lives of many pei'sons who travel in the course of the
year. Now, if lie were not himself a coachman, he could not
have done this — at least witli any effect.'

' Certainly not, I admit,' replied Mr. Raby, ' any more than
./Eschylus could have celebrated the triumphs of his country on
the stage so perfectly as he has done, had he not fouglit and
bled on the plains of Marathon ; for I suppose I must be
classical here as well as yourself. But tell me, Frank, do you
mean to be an amateur coachman, as well as a fox-hunter ? '

' I should like it,' answered Franlc, ' if my means allowed me,
but not else ; for we should pay too dear for an}' pleasure, I
should think, if it Inings us into pecuniary difficuUies.'

'Good, my dear Frank,' resumed the uncle; ' tliese are
honeyed words of yours to my ears.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Why, you know, uncle, coaching can be enjoyed for six
months in the year, in wliich tliere is no hunting ; and I should
like never to be quite idle, if I could help it. I think lounging
away one's time, at a watering-place, in the summer, must be
poor fun for a young man ; besides, the having a team of one's
own affords opportunities of dispensing much pleasure amongst
our friends and acquaintances.'

' And what think you of racing, now you have seen it in
perfection ? ' asked the uncle, with some expression of anxiety
on his countenance.

' I like racing much,' replied Frank ; ' as Mr. Egerton says,
" it is a stimulus, acting on the generous ambition of men and
horses, and, as regards the latter, most serviceable to the
country ; but only a tit pursuit for persons of large means " ;
consequently^ it will be out of my power to indulge mj^self in it.
As an object of gain, I think very lightly of it ; I have been
told there is no instance on record of a fjcntleman getting
money by it, on the long-run ; and we have one instance to the
contrary, at this time, at Cliristcliurch ; at least, there is a very
good fellow, by the name of Fairfax, who says he shall be
£100,000 a worse man for his father having been all his life on
the turf.'

Mr. Raby looked serious at the conclusion of these remarks ;
but there was something in the expression of his features which
implied dissatisfaction, if not disgust, at the idea of a young
man, who had gone through Eton school, laying his account
in driving four horses on a turnpike road — in which the most
ignorant fellow in the country might excel him — as a means
of employment in after life ; or, to use his nephew's words,
to prevent his lounging away his time in idleness, at some
watering-place, in the summer. He remained silent, however,
perhaps from the recollection of the little use he himself had
made of a hrst-rate education, and of first-rate talents as
well.

The arrival of the postman with some letters put an end
to the conversation. One of them was from Mr. Raby to his
brother, who read the following extract from it to his nephew :
— ' Frank has informed me of the pleasant manner in which
he lias passed his time in London, Ascot, etc. ; and likewise of
the high treat you afforded him, by asking those Leicestershire
sportsmen to meet him at dinner. As for Ascot, the less

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THE LIFE OF A SrORTSMAN

practical inioniuition he brings witli him i'rom thence, the
better, for it is not my wish that he should attain a relish for
the turf ; but, as lie is Ijont on being a fox-hunter, I am glad
you have exliibited to him, in the person of your Melton
friends, some of the best specimens of that class of men. I
knew Mountford's father well, and there was no better man ;
and I hear an excellent account of Lord Edmonston, from an old
friend of his mother, who visited me lately. Of Raymond I know
nothing but from what I see of him in the newspapers, as the
owner of a good stud of race-horses, and a successful gentleman
jockey at Bibury and other places. His being an acquaintance
of yours, however, is a guarantee for everything that is correct ;
for there must be something in a man beyond being a mere
sportsman, to give him access to your table. These are the sort
of men, then, that I wish Frank to be acquainted with ; and as
I hear very good accounts of him, it is not improbable that
he may, one of these days, know a little more of them, by
accepting Somerby's invitation to spend a month at Melton
Mowbray, and see " the cream of the thing " with foxhounds,
under the direction of the famous Meynell, which, I flatter
myself, he has seen with harehounds, under the management
of your humble servant. You must be aware that the
expenses of a trip of this sort would be considerable, and,
under general circumstances, somewhat unjustiflable, as
regards a younger brother ; but you must also be aware that,
beyond the expenses of his education, and the purchase of a
few books, Andrew costs me nothing. His pony is all that
he requires ; and his sister tells me he must be saving
money out of his annual allowance. Now, as our grandfather
and father were both sportsmen, and I have myself some
pretensions to the appellation, I should wish Frank to become
one, and be somewhat conspicuous as such, for which I
think he is qualifled. As for his passion for driving coaches,
that will most likely wear away ; he imbibed it from Inkleton,
who is an excellent person withal, and certainly has done
much good in his neighbourhood, in liberalising — at all events,
humanising — a set of men, I mean coachmen and guards,
by coming so much into collision with them on their own
ground. It seems the " passion for the ribbons," as it is
called, is very mucli gaining ground ; that it is encouraged
by the Prince ; that his friend Sir John Lade has, at this

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

time, seventeen chestnut coacli-horses, with whole legs, in his
stable ! and that a regular driving club is in agitation,
patronised Ijy John Warde, Prouse, Oakover, Bamfylde, and
some others, who. are great patrons of the road. Prouse, I
hear, has already composed a song for the occasion, in which
every individual coachman, guard, and horsekeeper, between
London and Exeter, is introduced by name and character.
I fancy I see you smile ; neither can I avoid doing so myself,
at the recollection of such absurdity ; but there is no harm
in it, after all ; au contraire, they say, good will be the result
If so, flor eat Auriga.'

' Well, Frank,' observed the uncle, ' I know not whether
I am not myself of the same opinion with your father. We
have to thank an amateur of " the ribbons," as you call
amateur coachmen, for the present improved mode of con-
veying our mails. I allude to Mr. Palmer, who suggested
that they should be carried by coaches, drawn by four horses,
contracted for by Government, and guarded, instead of in the
old mode by a boy on horseback ; and his plan was carried
into effect in 1784. He assured ministers that Government
would be put to a very little additional expense, inasmuch
as the coach proprietors would have a strong inducement to
contract for conveying the mails at a cheap rate, on account
of the additional recommendation to passengers their coaches
would thereby acquire, in point of security, regularity, and
despatch. Strange to say, however, although Government
approved of this plan, and the public in general were satisfied
of its utility, yet, like all new schemes, however beneficial they
may promise to be, it met with a strong opposition in some
quarters. It was represented by a number of the oldest and
ablest officers and clerks in the post-office, not only as im-
practicable, but dangerous. Notwithstanding this opposition,
powerful as we may suppose it to have been, it was at length
established, and gradually extended to different parts of the
kingdom, chiefly by the exertions of country gentlemen, who
took an interest in the coaches which were running on the
various roads in their neighbourhood. It soon appeared that
not only was the revenue improved by the introduction of this
system, but that a prodigious saving of time was the effect of
it. For example : previously to the extension of it to Scotland,
the mails were eighty-two hours on the road fi-om London to

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Edinburgli, and ciolity-tive from Edinlmroli to London; and,
subsequently, tlie time has been shortened to sixty-two in each
case.'

'I am happy to hear this account from you,' observed tlie
nepliew, ' and I will retail it to Sir John Avhen I see him ;
but will you have tlie kindness to inform me when the con-
veyance of letters by post, as the term is, connnenced in the
world ? I have often heard the subject discussed, but never
satisfactoril}^ so.'

' You have iniposed a task upon me,' answered the uncle,
' that I scarcely know how to perform ; but I imagine the case
to have been something like this : —

' In the earh^ periods of society, communication between
the difi'erent parts of a country must always be rare and
difficult; individuals, at a distance, had little occasion for
mutual intercourse; and, when such counnunication was found
necessary, special messengers were employed. As order and
civilisation advanced, occasicms for correspondence multiplied.
The sovereign, for instance, found it requisite to transmit
orders and laws to every part of his kingdom ; and for this
purpose he made use of messengers, or " couriers," as they are
now called, to whom he committed the charge of forwarding
his despatches. But, without stations in the way, where could
these messengers find refreshment f(jr either tliemselves or
their horses ? Experience soon pointed out the necessity of
ensuring such accommodation, by erecting, upon all the great
roads, houses, or stations, where the messengers might stop,
as occasion required, and where, for their still greater con-
venience, relays of horses were kept in readiness, to enable
them to pursue their journey with uninterrupted despatch.
Thus, these houses were called po,s'^.s, and the messenger who
made use of them was dignified by the appellation of a post.
Though, at first, the institution was, no doubt, intended solely
for the use of the sovereign and the necessities of the state,
yet, by degrees, individuals, seeing the benefit resulting from
it, availed themselves of the opportunity to carry on their own
correspondence, and for which they willingly paid a certain
rate to the sovereign. Thus a post-office, of some kind or
other, gradually came to be established in every civilised
country, although we find Cicero lamenting the absence of
one in Ital}^ in his time. Still thej' can be traced, I believe,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

as far back as tlic ancient Persians. Xenophon, indeed, tells
us they were invented by Cyrus, on his Scythian expedition,
about 500 years befoi'e Christ; that the station-houses were
sumptuously built, with accommodations for many men and
horses ; and that every courier, on his arrival, was obliged to
communicate his despatches to the postmaster, by whom they
were immediately forwarded again. Herodotus mentions the
singular fact tliat, from the shore of the ^gean Sea to Susa
the capital, there were 111 stages for posts, each a day's
journey distant from the preceding.

' It does not, I believe, clearly appear,' continued Mr. Raby,
' in what manner, or when, posts were established among
the ancient Greeks ; and, although they are known to have
existed among the ancient Romans, it is difficult to trace
the period of their introduction among either, Suetonius,
however, assures us that Augustus instituted posts along all
the great roads of the empire ; and it is also asserted that
they were known in the days of the republic, when posts, and
post-stations, called statores and stationei:<, were established by
the senate. The epistolary correspondence of antiquity, how-
ever, was probably at no period so extensive as to require or
maintain post-offices on the footing of modern posts for the
mere conveyance of letters. It is in later times only, when
the extension of commerce gave occasion to frequent communi-
cation, that those establishments are to be found complete.
The institution of them in modern history appears to be in
the year 807, by the Emperor Charlemagne, but we hear little
of their being regularly established in England until the time
of James the First. In the time of Charles the First, rates
of postage were fixed ; and it is rather a curious fact, that the
allowance to postmasters on the road, for horses employed in
these posts, was fixed at twopence-halfpenny per mile ; which
is, I believe, the exact sum now paid to the proprietors of
our mail coaches for conveying the letter-bags. These posts,
however, extended then only to a few of the principal roads.'

' And can you tell me when travelling by the use of post-
horses commenced,' asked Frank, ' for I lately heard a dis-
sertation on that subject, which came to no satisfactory con-
clusion ? '

' At what period the public of any country commenced
tra\elling post, as the term is, is difficult now to decide.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Post-horses are mentioned in the Tlieodosian code {<U ciirsib
imblico), but I doubt whether, any use could be made of them,
except by persons travelling in the service of the state. At all
events, I remember Pliny found himself compelled to ask per-
mission of his o-overnment to avail himself of their services to
carry his sick wife. In the year 1548, horses for riding 'ponU
were let out in England at a penny per mile ; but when post-
ing by carriages commenced, it is not in my power to deter-
mine. I think somewhere about the same time, although to
a very limited extent. It is, indeed, only within these last
twenty years that English gentlemen have desisted from the
practice of what is termed riding post from their country seats
to London, good hackneys being provided for themselves and
servants on the roads.'

' And not a bad way of travelling,' observed Frank ; ' next
to a seat on a coach-box, behind good horses, I should prefer
it to any other.'

' Very good,' resumed the uncle, ' for gentlemen of a
certain age, and of certain personal dimensions ; but it would
hardly have suited me. It was all very well, however, for
gentlevien to travel in this way, because they could go just as
far in the course of the day as they felt inclined to do ; and
no doubt but, by the change in the action of the muscles, the
result of changing the horses, they could travel a long way
without feeling fatigued, if in the previous habit of fast riding.
But there is one practice amongst our noblemen and country
gentlemen which they carry to the verge of cruelty. I allude
to their making their servants ride post-horses, after their
carriages, when they travel post, and often to the extent of
from 200 to 300 miles, with very little intermission. This is
a system that ought to be done away with, and no doubt will
soon be remedied, as it is calling too severely on the personal
exertions of servants.' ^

'Allow me to ask you,' said Frank, 'now^ that we are on
the subject of the road, what distance of ground ought to be
implied by the word onde, for I have heard many disputes on
the subject ? '

' A dispute on this subject,' replied Mr. Raby, ' is imme-

' It is scarcely necessary to observe, the placing runil)les, or dickeys, on the
hinder jiart of gentlemen's carriages has caused the abandonment of tiiis system
of servants riding jiost.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

diately settled by a reference to different countries. An
English statute mile is eighty chains, or 1760 yards, that is,
5280 feet ; but reckoning in geometrical paces (60,000 of
which make a degree of the equator), it stands thus in relation
to tliat of other European countries; England, 1200 paces;
Scotland and Ireland, 1500; Italy, 1000; Russia, 750;
Germany, 4000 ; Hungary, GOOO. Thus, a friend of mine,
travelling in Germany, arrived in a town, at the edge of night,
by a diligence, on his road to visit a friend ; and on being
informed that liis house was only a " mile distant," he set off
to walk. Guess his surprise, then, on finding that he had
to walk nearly four miles of the measure of liis own country.
There were no less tlian four distinct French leagues, varying
from 1500 to 8000 paces; neither of them, I believe, adopted
now. Nevertheless, ask twenty Frenchmen what is the extent
of a modern French league ? and nineteen of the twenty will
be unable to tell you. It is generally supposed to be 3000
geometrical paces, or three English miles, but I believe the
case to be this : — twenty-five French leagues make seventy
miles, which renders the length of ground five miles less, in
that given number of leagues, than if the leagues were exactly
three English miles. Then, again, among the ancient Romans
there was the like confusion respecting this measure of distance,
commonly called a mile. It was generally expressed by the
words 'tnille jjassus, a thousand feet ; but the extent of it is by
no means defined. One author makes it to consist of seven
stadia ; Plutarch, little short of eight ; Strabo and Polybius,
just eight. The reason of this discordance seems to be, the
difference between the Grecian and the Roman foot, the first-
named being the greatest. The Romans, however, had a
stone (" lapis ") — which we call the " nnle-stone," at the end of
each mile, the number marked on it denoting the distance
from Rome. . Augustus, indeed, erected a gilt pillar in the
forum of that city, at which all the public roads, or " ways," of
Italy, distinguished by stones, were terminated ; and the same
was afterwards done in the provinces. Hence the traveller
would find tertius lapis on one denoting three ; centesimiis
lapis, a hundred miles, etc'

138

CHAPTER VIII

liural life in liall and Held : a ball and a wound (conspqncncos alike common in

love and war)-

The period of our hero's brief visit to the metropolis of all
that is gay and voluptuous having- expired, he set out again for
Amstead Abbey, where his arrival was hailed with joy by all
parties, and by none more than Jem Perren and the huntsman.
But Frank Raby came under the denomination of ' one whom
everybody likes,' a characteristic which, indeed, he preserved to
the last day of his life.

Shortly after his return to the Abbey, a grand entertainment
was given by a neighbouring Baronet — intended to have been
given under the canopy of heaven, in his beautiful grounds ;
but a shower of rain making its appearance — which caused
his lady to declare she had a great mind to go and live in that
country where no rain falls — the company adjourned to the
mansion-house, which had ample means of accommodating
them. A ball, at night, was the result, and as it was the first
at which our hero had appeared since he had assumed the
manly gown, he was an object of some interest in the
assembly.

' What a fine young man Frank Raby is become ! ' was the
remark overheard in one quarter.

' He has a very manly appearance, in addition to his good
looks,' was whispered in another.

' How like a gentleman he looks ! ' in a third.

' There appears to be no aflTectation about him,' in a
fourth.

' God never made a coxcomb worth a groat,' muttered a
gouty old gentleman, who overheard the last encomium ; ' there
never was a bad Raby yet, and I think Frank will keep up the
charter, as well as his brother Andrew.'

' Oh ! ' remarked a fair lady, who liad two daughters in the
room, ' 1 think Andrew is superior of the two. It is true,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Ilia healtli is delicate, and requires care, Init he is a most
amiable young man, and of a more intellectual turn of mind
than his younger brother. For my own part, I do not know
whether or not I exactly like Frank Raby ; I think his father
has acted wrong in letting him be so much with Sir John
Inkleton, who, we know, although a good-hearted young man,
has some strange propensities, and is also very extravagant.
I am told he spends a thousand a year amongst coachmen and
guards, and I hear that he has made Frank Raby as fond of
coach-driving and fox-hunting as he himself is. If Frank
were the elder, instead of the younger, brother, all this would
not be so material ; but as his chief dependence, to pursue
such expensive pleasures, is on his uncle, I wish he may not
place it on a broken staff I know Mr. Beaumont Raby well,
and surely a person of his high literary attainments, and great
personal accomplishments, and living in such good London
society, must think very lightly of all such pursuits. I have,
indeed, heard him say as much as that he wished both his
nephews to distinguish themselves at Oxford, if not to carry
honours (which you know was his own case), and then to
assume high stations in the senate (which you know was, un-
fortunately, not his case, not from want of ability, but from
a natural and insuperable indolence) when they make their
appearance in the world. As to my valued friend. Lady
Charlotte, I am quite sure she is much pained at the accounts
she hears of Frank's hunting and riding ; and Andrew told my
daughter Jane, the other day, that he has already been in
scrapes, connected with them, at Oxford.'

' All very fine theory of yours, my dear madam,' said the
gouty old gentleman, ' but doings and sayings are wide apart.
No one knows Beaumont Raby much better than I do, and
no one esteems some parts of his character more. All know
his literary, as well as his personal, accomplishments to be of
the first order ; at the same time, where can we find, in pro-
portion to his means, a much more useless member of society ?
It is true, he sends his money to Italy, to enrich a country
which owns him not as her son, and thereby may be said to
encourage the fine arts ; but, with the exception of the benefit
arising from the necessary disbursement of liis fine income,
what good does he do for his own ? With talents which might
have made liim one of the resources of his country, he sits by.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and looks on at the difficulties that oppose it, all his energies
being relaxed and absorbed in what may be called the effemi-
nacy of rehnement. But why all this ? Merel}^ because lie
was averse, from his youth, to those manly pursuits which you
condemn, and which he now finds out, though too late, would
have saved him — as they have his brother — from those almost
insupportable bodily inconveniences he at this time endures.
Then look at my own case. My wife entreated me to leave off
hunting with my friend Raby's harriers, on two accounts :
first, she feared I should break my neck, emphatically remind-
ing me that the key of the cupboard was in my pocket ; and,
secondly, tliat, as a clergj^man, it was improper in me to hunt
or shoot. It was in vain that I referred her to the book of
Genesis, to show that hunting was ordained by the Almighty
Himself, and also pursued b}^ the best of men. Then I must
not shoot, for my neighbour, Lord Longden, did not like it,
and it would prevent his giving me the living of Branton,
which, you well know, he gave to a distant relation only last
year, although I hung up my gun, and gave away my dogs
seven years back. My case, therefore, is that — more from the
fear of displeasing a great man, than offending my God — for I
cannot look upon Him as so severe a judge — I have done
myself all this disservice. I am punished in this world, from a
vain apprehension of being punished in the next ; I am become
a cripple, by disease produced by an inactive life, and am,
half my time, useless to my parishioners from that cause
alone. It is now too late to remedy all this ; but rather would
I incline to the sentiment of Confucius, that he who finds out
a new pleasure, provided it be harmless, is one of the most
useful members of society, in a highly civilised country like
our own.'

The ball connnenced ; —

'Music arose, with its voluptuous swell;
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spoke .igaiu ' ;

and our hero was not long in selecting the partner of his choice.
Like Merion, in the Iliad, also, he distinguished himself by his
dancing, a qualification hardly to have been looked for in one
who might liave been disposed to have hekl that accomplish-
ment cheap. But sucli was not the case. It was enough for
him that it was an accomplishment, and one necessary for a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

gentleman ; and although it could not have been said of him,
what Shakespeare says of the dancing-master, that ' his grace
was only in his heels,' he had taken some pains to improve
himself in the elegant and fascinating art. But who was the
object of his choice at this gay ball, where were assembled all
the youth and beauty of the neighbourhood, that the higher
class of society could boast of ? Was it a young lady in her
teens, about his own age, and one who, like himself, had just
made her debut in the world ? It was not. He had selected
a young and beautiful married woman for his partner, and
who, although of character pure and spotless, seemed some-
what pleased by the choice. The dance concluded, he led
her to her seat, and again made his election. But there was
something in his manner, at this moment, that might not have
been regarded by a common observer, but which attracted the
eye of Lady Charlotte, and also of his ci-devant tutor, who
happened to be seated by her side. There did not appear
to be that gaiety in his demeanour, that earnest admiration
of his partner, young and elegant as she was, that he had
exhibited whilst standing opposite to Mrs. Denham — for that
was the young matron's name ; neither was he seen approach-
ino- her, as in the other case, for the purpose of exchanging
words, or we might perhaps say, thoughts. All this, however,
would have been passed over, but for some after-occurrences
which had less chance of escaping the notice of his lynx-eyed
observers — for such are all mothers, if not all tutors, over young
persons of both sexes at a ball.

In the dance previous to entering the supper-room, our hero
was aoain seen leading out Mrs. Denham, and afterwards
appeared seated by her at the supper-table. Neither did his
attentions stop here. When her carriage w^as ordered, it was he
who handed her into it, and that of his own family being the
next in the rank of those about to depart, he entered it with
these words on his lips : —

' Well, Lady Charlotte (to his mother), I dare say you will be
o-lad to get home, for you have had a fatiguing day of it. But,
Emma (to his sister), was it not a delightful ball ? Is not that
Mrs. Denham a beautiful creature ? I am so glad Sir John
introduced me to her.'

' She is,' replied Lady Charlotte, ' and ' — laying some
emphasis on the lirst epithet — ' as good as she is beautiful,'

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THE J.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

■ What a spoon you must be,' continued Frank, to his elder
brother, ' to dance with those two ugly sisters, and that Miss
Johnson, who is old enough to have been your mother, when
there were so many pretty women in the room. For my own
part, I think dancing, unless with a pretty woman for a partner,
one of the greatest of all bores. In fact, pretty women and
good suppers are, with me, the only inducement to go to balls.'

* Some of your Christchurch notions,' said Lady Charlotte,
' or else those of your friend Sir John. But I know no one
fonder of a ball than he is, and you always see him dancing
away as if '

' Yes,' resumed our hero ; ' but always with a pretty woman.
I have heard him say, he dislikes an ugly woman in a ball-room
as much as he would an ugly leader in his coach. He swears
he never yet saw one who had any action that was not good
looking, either in one place or in the other.'

' Ah,' resumed Lady Charlotte ; ' Sir John's tongue runs
fast, as, Dr. Johnson says, the race-horse does when he carries
a light weight ; but are you (|uite sure, Francis, he would not
marry that little ugly heiress, whose fine estate joins his own ? '

' No,' answered Frank, ' not if he was sure that, witliout her
and her estate, he could never sit behind the bars, or his own
coach, again.'

' There you go again, Frank,' observed Lady Charlotte
laughingly, ' to the stable, as usual, for your allusions.'

' And did not you go thither, also my dear mother, for your
simile — at all events, to the race-horse ? ' rejoined her son.

' I believe I did,' replied his mother ; ' but I do not wonder
at my having done so ; for when you are at home, and
especially when Sir John is at the Abbey, I hear of nothing
else but horses, hounds, and coach-boxes, leaders, wheelers,
and so forth. Still, I like Sir John, with all his foibles, but
shall tell him, the next time I see him, not to be introducing
you to pretty married women.'

Frank said nothing in answer to this remark, turning oft* the
conversation to his sister, whom he asked, in a jocular mood,
whether either of her partners had made a tender impression
upon her heart, insinuating, at the same time, that that of
their brother Andrew must necessarily have escaped unscathed
in the assault, from the very ineffective strength of the batteries.

It has been often asserted that, amongst the infirmities of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

human nature, men take some pleasure in creatine a feelinf]^
of jealousy towards a rival, in their wives, merely because it
occasions the frequent mention of the name of the lady who
may, to a certain extent, have supplanted them in their affec-
tions. One thing, however, is quite beyond doubt : namely, that
men — young men especially — are perpetually given to introduce
subjects that may lead to the mention of, or allusion to, the
object of their attachment and love. And such was the case
with Frank Raby. It would be useless to disguise the fact,
that the personal charms of Mrs. Denham had made an impres-
sion on our hero ; and the words ' Mrs. Denham said this,'
and ' Mrs. Denham thought that,' were almost perpetually on
his tongue, at least, as often as opportunity occurred to him.
And what excuse can be made for his indulging himself in the
anticipation of feasting on forbidden fruit? None, save the
almost irresistible power of a beautiful woman on a heart so
young as his ; and the following is the description he gave of
Mrs. Denham, to one of his Christchurch friends, on his return
to Oxford, after the vacation :—

'She is,' said he, 'just what, to my eye, a beautiful woman
should be. Her person is of an advantageous stature, very
well proportioned, and not too tall. Her hair is black as jet,
with more of nature than art in the arrangement of it ; her
eyes, neither quite black nor yet grey, contain more sweetness
than fire. Her complexion inclines to the pale, though it does
not want freshness. There is, in fact, a mixture of the lily with
the rose, and a clearness and delicacy of skin which is essential
to beauty in a woman. Her words and actions are full of
grace, and there appears a sweetness of temper in her manner
and demeanour, that must engage the affections of every one.
Then there is a feature in her person which I greatly admire,
and that is, the form of her hand and arm. By heavens, they
might be copied for the portrait of the white-armed Juno ; and
her bust altogether would have done for a Phidias or a Praxi-
teles. And in her, even is an imperfection created a beauty.
She has a slight hesitation in uttering her words, which, if she
were my wife, I would not have removed on any account. And
yet I can hardly describe to 3^ou the effect it has, but it is some-
what like this: — it gives a simplicity of expression, delightful
in any one, l)ut irresistibly so in a pretty woman ; a sort of
confiding manner about it, which, although it cannot be de-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

scribed, you could not but be sensible of ; and to the expression
of sentiments of endearment, what force must it o'ive ! '

'And what kind of a man is the hus])and of this fine
woman ? ' asked Goodall, for it was to him that Frank Raby
was unbosomino; himself. ' I hope he is deservino- of the
treasure.'

' Not he, indeed,' replied our hero ; ' he appears scarcely
conscious of possessinf]^ such a jewel. If I had such a wife, I
think I should never be able to keep my eyes oft' her person ;
whereas, although she was the finest and best-dressed woman
at the ball at which I met her, I never once saw him even
look upon her — certainly not in admiration. Then I am told
he is equally indiffei'ent at all times. She likes riding, and is
a beautiful horse-woman, but a groom is her general attendant.
She likes female, societ3% but her husband does not, and few of
her sex are asked to visit her. She is musical, but I am told
he never quits the dining-room in time to hear a note of it.'

'He is in danger, I think,' observed Goodall, with a signi-
ficant wink of the eye ; ' and especially if yon '

' Nonsense,' observed Frank ; ' a more virtuous woman never
lived. I confess I was much stricken with her that night at
the ball, and danced twice with her. Perhaps I may never
see her again ; and perhaps it will be well for me that I never
do. In fact, when I handed her into her carriage, I seemed to
wish to bid her a final adieu ; and as it drove from the door,
with her cold-hearted husband by her side, I muttered to myself
these lines : —

" Since thoii would'st needs, bewitclied bj' some ill cliarni.s.
Be buried in these monumental arms ;
All I can say is, may the earth lie light
Upon thy tender limljs : and so good-night."'

But to return to the party at the Abbc}'.

' I am somewhat uueasj^,' said Ladj^ Charlotte to Mr.
Egerton, after a few days had expired since the night of the
gay ball, ' about your friend Francis. I really think the silly
boy fancies himself in love with that beautiful, and, I believe,
very excellent person, Mrs. Denham. Emma tells me he is
always talking about her, and he says he would have his right
arm cut off", on condition that he could make her his wife. It
is trul}' ridiculous : but he seems to verify" the proverb of " love

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

at first sioht " — for, althoii":h he never saw Mrs. Denham before,
he was evidently smitten, as tlie term is, by her charms. For-
tunately Mr. Raby knows nothing of the matter, and God
forbid he should ; but as you are somewhat aware of it, as well
as myself, I wish you would take an opportunity of giving him
a lecture on the subject. He is too well-disposed, I am sure,
to harbour dishonourable intentions towards any one ; but the
fact of his having tlie name of the lady so perpetually in his
mouth is extremely unjust towards her, and the very thought
of it makes me wretched. Oh,' continued Lady Charlotte,
somewhat angrily, ' I will give Sir John a trinnning if he intro-
duces either of my sons again to a married woman, merely
because she is pretty. There has been enough of mischief in
my family, on that score, already, without Francis adding to
the stock.'

' I am glad, my dear Lady Charlotte,' said Mr. Egerton, ' that
you have mentioned this subject to me, which, I doubt not, is a
painful one to you, as, indeed, it is to myself. I have a strong
regard for Francis, and should extremely lament that one of the
first acts of his manhood should cast a slur over his character,
which it might never be in his power to remove. That he has
acted imprudently, at all events tlioiiglitlesdy, in this affair,
there is his own evidence to show. Li one of those freaks in
which human nature sometimes indulges, he has inconsiderately
yielded to the impression made upon him by a few hours'
intercourse with, certainly, a very lovely woman, but one whose
situation in life forbids her ever becoming his wife, unless under
circumstances which no rational man would anticipate, much
less speculate upon — the age of her husband being not more
than half a dozen years beyond his own.'

' Then you really think the silly boy fancies himself all at
once enamoured with another man's wife ? ' interrupted Ladj^
Charlotte, with marked anxiety in her countenance.

'Why,' replied Mr. Egerton, 'if it were justifiable to make
a joke of a subject so serious as this, it might create a smile
were I to tell you in what way my suspicions have been con-
firmed. Whilst Francis was under my tuition, his constant
objection to verse-making was, that he had no poetry in his
soul ; in fact, that Nature had forbidden his being a poet, and,
consecpiently, his attempt at making verses was a futile one.
But mark the change ! No sooner does the " sill}'- bo}^," as your

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

ladysliip .so pi-opei4y styles liim, fancy hiinsolt' in love, than he
likewise fancies himself a poet.'

' Surely,' exclaimed Lady Charlotte, ' he has not been writing-
verses to Mrs. Denham ? '

' I hope not,' replied Mr. Eoerton ; ' but that he has been
exercisino- his newly-acquired talent on Mrs. Denham, I fear
there is no reason to doubt ; and I speak from somewhat like
ocular demonstration of the fact. Happening- to enter his room
yesterday afternoon, in search of a book I had lent him, I saw
some sci-aps of paper on his table, on which, in spite of erasures
and alterations, I could decipher the following lines (the fair
copies, I presume, he may have put into his pocket, intending,
as may be also presumed, to throw the rough ones into the hre).
The first ran thus : —

" Sweet's the light of morning breaking

O'er the dew-bespangled mead ;
Sweet the night-breeze, hardly shaking

In its course the pliant reed.
Sweeter far the smile enlightening

Beauty's soft and sjiarkling cheek ;
And the sigh love's ardour heightening,

With its breast so soft and meek."

' Then scrap the second contained these : —

"Thou hast an eye of tender l)lue,
And thou hast locks of sable hue.
And cheeks that shame the morning's break,
And lips that might, for redness, make

Roses seem pale beside them :
But whether soft or sweet are they,
Lady, alas ! I cannot say,

For / have never tried them.

"Yet thus created for delight,
Lady ! thou art not "

' He proceeds no further ; vulgarly speaking, there is a hole
in the ballad. But, turning over the paper, I found that his
muse had been again at work, and had again failed. Even love,
I fear, will not make Francis a poet. He had scribbled thus : —

"The music cea.sed, the last gay dance was o'er.
And one by one the brilliant beauties lied ;
The garlands vanislied from the frescoed lloor.
The nodding liddlcr hung his weary head ;

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

"And I, a melancholy single man,

Ketired to mourn my solitary fate ;
I slept awhile, but o'er my sliambering ran
The sylph-like image of my darling mate.

" I dreamt of mutual love, and Hymen's joys,
Of happy moments and connubial blisses ;
And then I thought of little girls and boys.
The mother's glances, and the infant's kisses.

"But Avlien I woke, how changed appear'd the scene;
I found "

' Here he stopped, with the words—" Query, look out ')nate
in Johnson ; fear it won't do for partner at a ball. Implies
partner for life, and that can't be. The devil take

' Well, really, Mr. Egerton,' said Lady Charlotte, ' this
farrago of nonsense is almost laughable. However, although,
no doubt, another term at Christchurch will cure him of his
" love at first sight," still, I wish you would talk seriously to
him on the subject, and warn him of the consequences of
indulging a guilty passion.'

' That I will certainly do,' replied Mr. Egerton, ' at the
first convenient opportunity ; and also tell him not to indulge
in the sudden inspiration of his muse, unless he can turn it
to a better account. I think, however, I know your son well
enough to persuade myself that the present outbreak is but the
mere ebullition of youthful blood, and that a little cool reflec-
tion will restore him to his senses. First, his heart ran away
with his tongue ; and then, his tongue ran away with his heart.'

Not many hours elapsed before the wished-for opportunity
arrived, during a stroll through the shrubberies, for Mr. Egerton
to fulfil the promise he had made to Lady Charlotte ; which
he did with both grace and feeling : pointing out to Frank the
folly, to say the least of it, of this newly-born fancy, and
requiring from him a pledge that he would think no more of
Mrs. Denham, further than as a common acquaintance of the
day ; nor continue to mention her name so lightly as he had
lately done. This pledge Frank willingly gave, and a circum-
stance shortly afterwards occurred to put the seal upon the
same. Mr. Denham 's father died, in consequence of which he
remoN'ed his family to a distant part of England, and our hero
and the beautiful Mrs. Denham never met again.

There is little more to record of the proceedings of the long

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vacation, fishing and shootiui;' being the princij^al amusements
of that period — at all events, with young men who, like Frank
llaby, come under the denomination of sportsmen. Relating
to the last-named diversion, one fact is worth mentioning : —
What is called flapper-shooting was amongst the sports entered
into with spirit b}^ our hero, and, what is very rarely the case,
it was not, in this instance, merely confined to young wild
ducks. The great lake in the park, at Amstead, was also
frequented by teals, which bred in one of its islands in the
summer, a fact very much doubted by naturalists, and certainly
of rare occurrence in the southern parts of England. With a
brace of well-broken retrievers, flapper-shooting, whether at
ducks or teal, is very good sport, and rendered valuable by its
being seasonable previously to the commencement of game-
shooting, to which it of course gives place.

At partridge-shooting, Frank Raby was now become an
adept. In fact, there was but little difference, in the contribu-
tion to the bag, between himself and the elder Perren ; and as
for Jem, he bowed to the superiority of his young master, who,
he was heard to say, ' he believed would turn out a capital
sportsman, in spite of all that had been done to spoil him, by
sending him to Eton and Oxford.' And our hero, with a gun
in his hand, was a sportsman in the strict sense of that word,
and not merely what, in these times, is more reckoned upon,
namely, ' a dead sltot' ' The latter,' as Mr. Cobbett eloquently
expressed himself, in allusion to the admirers of the modern
battue system, 'never participates in that great delight which
all sensible men enjoy at beholding the beautiful action, the
docility, the zeal, the wonderful sagacity of the pointer and
the setter ' ; but tJieir merit consists in rarely missing a
pheasant which is found for them by men-beaters, and in
slaughtering as many head of game in a day, as a sportsman,
who takes pleasure in finding them, would be satisfied with in
a week. Pheasants, however, were not, at this period, plentiful
on the Amstead estate, but their rarity increased their value.
There were, in those days, no 'sky-rockets of pheasants,' as in
the technical language of these, when a cloud of them rises
in a corner of a cover into which thej' have been driven, and
three or four fall at a shot.

We will now exhibit our hero at the county races, it being
his first appearance on a race-course since he had visited

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Ascot during his sojourn with his uncle in London, the
account of which we have detailed. It appeared that he had
brought along with him, from that aristocratic meeting, a few
aristocratic ideas, and, amongst them, the notion that it was
considered very slow indeed to be a looker-on at any species of
diversion without having an interest in it; and in this case,
having no bond fide interest in the horses — none appearing in
his name — he could only concern himself with their perform-
ances. His betting-book, then, was produced, and a few
speculations entered in it, though altogether to a trifling
amount. This act of our hero, however, gave birth to a
ludicrous incident or two, which, as a caution to youngsters
who venture on the same slippery ground, it may not be amiss
to make mention of.

' Pray, Francis,' said Lady Charlotte to her son, on observing
him, from the window of her coach, familiarly addressed, on the
second day of the meeting, by a person of doubtful appearance
— that is to say, a very ordinary-looking man, in tolerably good
clothes — 'who is the friend who came up to you just now, and
seemed so glad to see you ? '

' Oh,' replied our hero, who did not intend to let his mother
into the secret, ' he only wanted to speak to me about one of
the horses.'

' And that strange-looking old man, on a white horse, in a
harness-bridle, who followed you a long way down the course,
apparently in earnest conversation w^ith you, and carrying a
book in his hand ? ' continued Lady Charlotte.

Here was a poser for the young sportsman. He was above
telling an untruth, but was somewhat puzzled for an oft-hand
answer to rather a close question.

' A bothering old Irishman, by the name of O'Hara,' replied
Frank, ' who has been trying to persuade me, that Ac could pick
out the winner of the next race, and wanted to know whether /
thought / could do so, also.'

' But, Francis,' exclaimed his sister, ' I saw you all but
quarrelling with some ill-looking man on the other side of the
course ; what could that have been about ? '

' WhJ^ I had better tell you the real state of the case at
once,' replied Francis. ' The persons you allude to are all
of them members of the most rascally community upon earth
— known by the appellation of black-legs. They attend all

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THE LIFE OF A SPORI S.MxVN

country races; and, havini;- heard uie offer a few bets yesterday,
have been following me about the course to-day, with the liope
of winning my money. But I shall be ver}' cautious in having
anything to say to them, for two reasons. In the first place,
my knowledge of the horses must be very inferior to that of
themselves, who are intimate with all the trainers and jockeys
in the countj^ ; and in the next, many of them dispute a bet
if they lose it. For example, the man Emma saw me disputing
with served me thus : — having won ten pounds from him
yesterday, I went up to him to-day, and said, very civilly, " I will
thank you for ten pounds " ; on which he replied, " I beg pardon,
sir, / kave ten pounds to receive from you." '

' And did you pay the fellow ? ' said Lady Charlotte.

' I did not,' replied Frank, ' but I lost the ten pounds I
won from him. Then that old Irishman is, I understand,
famous for making wrangles, and disputing bets which he
loses. But the gi'eatest adept of them all, is the well-dressed
rascal you first saw me speaking to. He has a method of
half-shutting one eye, so as to give the appearance of being
blind of it. This device serves him in two ways. When he
makes a bet with a stranger, he appears blind of an eye,
previous to the event being decided ; if the bet is lost, he
shows two good eyes, and the stranger being in pursuit of a
one-eyed man to pay him his money, overlooks him in the
crowd, and, of course, never gets paid. Then, again, I heard
of his doing a very neat thing, the other day, by the help of
this accommodating eye. He lost twenty pounds to a stranger,
on a race, having his eye closed when he made the bet. On
the result being against him, he thus addressed his antagonist,
with his eye wide open : " I believe, sir, I owe you twenty
pounds." " You mistake, sir," replied the other, " I had only
one bet on the race, avd that was witJc a one-eyed (jentleman." '

' Well, really, Francis,' observed Lady Charlotte, ' I think
you must be a very great simpleton to have anything to do
with such scoundrels ; in fact, it is only with simpletons that
they dare to play such tricks. As you cannot be a match for
them, I hope you will, from this time forth, have nothing more
to do with them.'

Our hero made no repl}', and so the matter dropped.

The other incident which occurred is of a more harmless
nature. In the days to which I am now alluding, it was the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

custom for the public dinners, or ' ordinaries,' as they are
termed, at race meetings, to be attended by the gentlemen of
rank and wealth in the neighbourhood, as well as, occasionally,
by a few whose situation in life, although respectable, did
not allow of their being in such good company on any other
occasion. Amongst the latter class was a wealthy young yeo-
man, fond of racing and hunting almost to insanity, but who,
from his appearance and manners, would, in these days, be
placed at the head of all the snobs. There was, also, in the
room, a gentleman in whom he greatly delighted, inasmuch
as he was an owner of harriers and race-horses, and, by his
extreme good-nature and affability, a highly popular character
with the order of which his admirer made one. It chanced
that they sat opposite to each other at the dinner-table ; and
as the youthful blood of the yeoman waxed warm with wine,
he resolved to pay his favourite Squire a compliment, and,
taking courage, thus addressed the chair : —

' Mr. President, may I be allowed to propose a toast ? '
' By all means,' replied the president.

' Then I will give you — Down-Barton's glory,' said the man,
who delighted in hounds and horses, and doated on the Squire
that was the owner of them.

' Down-Barton's glory ? ' repeated the steward ; ' I must beg
an explanation of the toast, for I do not comprehend its
meaning.'

' Then, sir, you shall have it,' resumed the yeoman ; ' / mean
Squire Cranhrook, and tliere lie sits' — (pointing to his opposite
neighbour).

It was now the Squire's turn to pay a compliment, his health
having been drunk with great applause ; and this is the way
in which he did it. Sending for his servant, he ordered him
to go to a druggist's shop, and get half a pint of syrup of
buckthorn, which he was to put into a bottle containing an
equal quantity of claret, and, when well mixed, to put it by
him on the table. ' Now, Mr. President,' said Squire Cranbrook,
' allow me to give a toast.'

' By all means,' answered the steward ; ' always haj^j^y to
hear from Mr. Cranbrook.'

'Then I'll give you the health of my opposite neighbour,
Mr. Ridge ways, a good sportsman, and a dear lover of horses
and hounds,' replied Squire Cranbrook. ' Stand wp, if you

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please, Mr. Ridgeways (himself also rising from his seat at the
moment, with a bumper of claret in one hand, and the delight-
ful mixture in the other). ' Now, sir,' said he to his admirer,
' to convince you of the higli sense I entertain of the compli-
ment you have paid me, in proposing my health in the flattering
manner in which you have done it, we will, if you please, pledge
to each other in a bumper, out of the same bottle.'

' I should l)e delighted, sir,' hiccuped the yeoman — the
Squire filling his (Mr. Ridgeways') glass at the moment. ' And
now, sir,' continued the Squire, ' as a still further proof of
sincerity, and my high esteem for you as a sportsman and
gentleman, suppose we take off our glasses at a chuck, and I'll
give the word.'

' Delighted beyond measure,' replied the head of all the
snobs.

' Gentlemen ! ' exclaimed the Squire, ' here's the health of
Mr. Ridgeways, a great promoter of sport. — Mr. Ridgeways'
good health — 7iow,' and at the word ' now,' the contents of
both glasses disappeared.

The sequel of the story is soon told. The operation of the
buckthorn was instantaneous ; and the warm-hearted yeoman
was carried out of the room in a state that need not, if it
could, be described.

153

CHAPTER IX

Two events occur, of groat inlliience upon tlie caiecr of the hero : lie takes his
degree at Oxford, and loses his brother, wliereby he becomes heir to the
goodly domains of Amstead.

We now proceed to rather an awful period in the lives of
young English gentlemen, and of such, especially, as may wish
to distinguish themselves as scholars — namely, the taking a
degree at college. At the period, however, to which we are
now alluding, between thirty and forty years back, this was
a less serious affair than it now is, inasmuch as the under-
graduates and examining masters — of Oxford, in particular —
were more intimately associated with college convivialities
than they now are ; so much so, indeed, that not only, in
many cases, were the selection of the master to examine them,
and the books in which they were to be examined, left to the
candidate's choice, but, on the preceding evening, at what is
now called, amongst the vulgar, ' a good blow out,' at the said
candidate's expense, the very passages in the chosen authors
were pointed out as having been carefully perused for the
occasion.

The sequel to this part of the progress of my hero and his
brother is soon told. Andrew took a first-class degree, and
was highly complimented in the schools ; and Frank obtained
one quite above the average of those taken, or even tried for,
by young gentlemen brought up as he had been brought up,
amongst hounds, horses, gamekeepers, and coachmen, and
whose mind was strongly bent towards all uses to which such
animals are applied.

Having completed their Oxford ' trials,' everything was
arranged for the departure of the two Rabys on their travels,
when an unexpected event put a stop to it. The insidious
disease which had lono; been making silent, though certain,
inroads on the naturally weakl}' constitution of the elder
brother, now showed itself openly ; and it was the opinion of
his medical attendants that a continental tour was out of the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

question, whatever might be the result of the benign influence
of a more temperate dimate than tlie one in which he was then
living. This step was in contemplation, but met with the
same fate, in being also deemed impracticable, and was, of
course, at once abandoned. In short, the rupture of a blood-
vessel at the lungs, produced by a fit of coughing, brought
on a rapid exhaustion of a body already enfeebled by disease
and weakly from its birth ; and in less than a month from
the day on which that occurrence took place, this talented
and amiable, although somewhat eccentric young man, was
laid by the side of his ancestors in the family vault of Amstead
church.

It is almost needless to remind the reader of the change
that had now taken place in the situation and prospects of our
hero. In the place of his being sure of succeeding to nothing
at the decease of his father, beyond his share of the money
settled on younger children on his marriage, which, as there
were only two, amounted to £15,000, he now found himself
heir apparent to the entire Amstead estate, settled by entail on
male heirs ; and likewise heir presumptive — at least, such had
he a right to consider himself — to the very considerable wealth
of his Tuicle. The effect of this change very soon became
visible ; two more hunters were talked of, as necessary to hunt
with the foxhounds, the Amstead harriers and ' old Dick '
being considered as infra dig., if not absolute bores. Perren
also was spoken to, by the ' young Squire,' in a tone somewhat
different from what he had been previously accustomed to from
the late ' young S(|uire,' or even from our hero himself. ' I will
have lots of pheasants in the " Big Wood," ' said he to him one
day ; ' and likewise in " Blackthorn Rough " ; they will make
capital preserves.'

' That they sai'tinly will, Mr. Francis,' replied Perren ; ' but
where am I to get the pheasants to stock them with '( I doubt
the Sc^uire will not stand the expense.'

' D — n the expense ! ' said Francis ; ' I will find the pheasants.
I can have as many as I like from a man in London ; and if the
Squire will not pay for them, I will.'

' But the l(jok('is-out, Mr. Fi'ancis,' resumed the keeper ;
'who is to pa}' tliem ? Old Will Hodges and Jack Barret will
have no chance against the poachers, when our covers arc full
of pheasants.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

'I will find lookers-out,' ;uiswered our hero, 'and some of
the right sort, too. You must draft those two old cripples,
wlio are quite uiie(|ual to their task, and have long been
so.'

' Well, to be sure,' said Perren, ' they are poor creatures for
that purpose, sir, but you know '

' Yes, yes,' exclaimed Francis, ' I know what you are
going to say ; they are worn out in our service ; but I shall
not forget that circumstance ; and I will take care to provide
foi" them, although I believe they have ginned many a hare in
their time, and spent the money they sold them for in the
alehouse.'

' Well, to be sure,' continued Perren, ' they both loves
a drop of drink, as most people who follows held sports
commonly do; but I never catched them out in selling any
game.'

' I dare say not,' answered Frank ; ' they are both too sly for
that.'

Then, again, a conversation took place, in the stable,
between the young Squire and the coachman, somewhat to
this effect : —

' I must make my father get rid of these infernal long-tailed
blacks,' said the former ; ' they are really only fit for a London
black job.'

' You are quite right, sir,' observed the latter ; ' I am really
quite ashamed of them when we go to the races, or to dine
at Sir John's, or Lord Morton's. In short, the sarvants make
game of me, and tell me I want nothing but the cold-meat cart
behind me ; and one of them — a London sarvant, who was at
the Grange on a visit — axed me if I warn't agoing to be coach-
man to King Pluto ? But I tell you, Mr. Francis, it's no use
speaking to the Squire about these here old blacks ; it's my
lady that will do the business. I often hear my lady praising
other gentlefolk's coach-horses; and I once heard her say she
" wished Mr. Raby would get a better sort in his stable." Now
you know, sir, the Squire never refuses my lady anything ; see
what expense he goes to with those tame pheasants, and that
trumpery flower-garden ; I am sure, sir, one word from my lady
would do it.'

' Oh, I'll do it,' said Frank : ' I am determined these
stinking, greasy-heeled brutes shall be drafted, and that

X56

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

infernal old coach, too; for you mio-lit as well attempt to drive
four horses from a stool, as from that thing- called a box.'

Then the old and faithful butler was talked to, much after
this fashion, the first time our hero caught him alone in his
pantry : —

' Is your stock of claret low ? ' demanded Frank.

' Not particularly so," replied the butler.

' The Squire has got very shy of it, then,' resumed Frank ;
' I was quite annoyed on IMonday, when Sir John Inkleton
and those gentlemen dined here ; he never called for it until
he had half poisoned them with his " old port," as he calls it,
only fit for the steward's room.'

' It is very dear, you know, Mr. Francis ; at least, such as
is drunk in this house; Carbonnell's best. Let me see, nearly
£100 the hogshead, or twelve shillings the bottle ; a deal of
money, sir, to be swallowed at four glasses ! it's like swallowino-
gold, Mr. Francis.'

' Nonsense,' said Francis ; ' what if it is ? — there is plenty
here to pay for it. And the champagne ; how is it we did
not have champagne on Monday ? ' ' Lord ! sir,' replied the
butler, ' you would not drink champagne in such cold weather
as this; it's only fit for the dog-daj's, when you want some-
thing to cool you.' ' Well,' said our hero, ' these thino-s must
be altered, or few of my friends will come a second time to
the Abbey.'

Next comes Mrs. Jones, the old housekeeper.

'Upon my word. Mother Jones,' said the young Squire to
her, as she was giving out some essentials to tlie cook, 'you
are getting very slack, indeed; and as for you,' addressino-

himself to the cook, ' it is time to put you on the shelf, not

that you must want for anything for the rest of your life, for
you have been an excellent servant. But, Mother Jones, you
are really past enduring. Your bills of fare are of the most
scanty dimensions, and as for your second courses, you really
trive us nothing.'

' Lord, sir,' replied Mrs. Jones, ' what can I give you, at

this time of the year, better than you always have ? either

hare, woodcock, or snipes, as the keeper brings them in, for
you know we have no pheasants here, at least very few.'

'We will soon have plenty,' said Frank; 'but mind this,

I have two friends coming to visit me next week, and as (Jic

157

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fathers of eacli keep excellent tables — indeed, one of them
gives £200 a year to his French cook — I do hope you and the
cook will exert yourselves, and not let them go home saying
they were half -starved at Amstead.'

' No one was ever starved here yet,' muttered the cook, as
she walked out of the room, not a little nettled at the remark ;
adding, when she thought she was out of hearing, — ' Tlcis
comes of your C/iristchurcJi job ; but it does not signify talking,
the times get worse and worse. Gentlemen isn't now what
they had used to be, contented with a good wholesome dinner ;
a plague on those French cooks, say I ; they have brought
many a good gentleman to the dogs. I know one of them
who '

Here her voice was drowned by persons meeting her in the
passage which led to her scene of action — the well-stored
kitchen — our hero joining with Mrs. Jones in a hearty laugh
at the zeal displayed by the faithful old cook for the credit of
the Amstead kitchen.

Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof : here the conversa-
tion with this class of domestics ceased ; but on the following-
morning it was somewhat alarmingly resumed amongst those
of another description.

' I want to see Mr. Robson,' said our hero, and Mr. Robson
(the steward) made his appearance.

'Robson,' said Frank Raby, 'I want to find out a part
of the park where the ground is very dry and sound, and
(juite out of sight of the house ; also within easy reach of
water.'

' May I ask you, sir,' replied Mr. Robson, ' for what purpose
you intend to apply such land ? If for .planting '

' It is not for planting at all,' interrupted the young Squire
(for ' being 'planted,' perhaps, would have been no misnomer).
' I have some idea of getting two or three thorough-bred brood
mares, in which case half a dozen paddocks will be necessary.
The spot should be high and dry, and in as retired a part as
can be found, that the mares may not be disturbed.'

' Have you consulted the Squire, sir, may I be so bold to
ask ? ' observed the steward.

' Not yet,' answered Frank ; ' but leave that to me. Let us
walk into the park, and look for the place I want.'

As they were proceeding on their errand, througli the fine

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and well-timbered park, Perron, the keeper, appeared in sight.
' Give him a holloa, Robson,' said our hero ; and in h've minutes
Perren was at his young master's side.

' Perren,' said he, ' I want to have a word or two with yon, as
I am about to leave home. You must get rid of all those slow,
lumbering pointers of yours, and, before next August, bo pro-
vided with two brace of down-charge setters, and a brace of
Newfoundland retrievers, for I shall be in Scotland for the
grousing season.'

' In Scotland, sir ! ' exclaimed the keeper.

' Yes,' answered his young master, — strangely altered, by
the bye, in the old keeper's eyes since that time last year. ' Sir
John, and myself, and young Lord Dauntley, have taken a
shooting-ground of one of the great Scotch dukes, for which
we are to pay £400.'

' But the setters, sir,' resumed the keeper ; ' right good
ones are very difficult to get. And then the money to get 'em
with.'

' Oh ! leave that to me,' continued Frank.

' But the " down-charge," sir. I reckon we shall make a bad
job of that, sir : I never zead a down-charge dog in my life,
though I have beared Sir John's keeper speaking of them.'

' Oh ! leave that to mo,' was once more the clincher. ' I shall
send them into Cheshire, to old Potts, the watchmaker, who
breaks them for ten pounds apiece.'

' Ten pounds for breaking a dog ! ' exclaimed the keeper,
with his eyebrows half-way up his forehead, and liis little pig
eyes opening as wide as he could stretch them. ' Did you ever
hear of such a thing, Mr. Robson ? — the man must be a bic;
rogue.'

' Not at all,' resumed Frank ; ' it is money well laid out.
Lord Dauntley tells mo he can bring four setters, broke by him,
into the tield, not one of which will stir, after the bird is dov/n,
till called by its name. For example — if Dash makes the point.
Dash is first on his legs again, not one of the others stirring
until their names are called. See what an advantage this gives
you with wounded or scattered birds ! He refused a hundred
guineas for the two brace of dogs.'

' Well, to be sure,' observed Perren, ' his lordship has a chance
to get his money back, but '

'Oh! botheration to getting the money back, you slow old

i59

THE rJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fool,' said our hero. ' Do you look out for two brace of the
best young setters you can lind, and leave the rest to me.'

' But the retrievers, sir,' resumed the keeper ; ' where shall
I '

' Oh ! leave them to me,' was the young Squire's reply. ' Lord
Dauntley has recommended me to a dog-dealer in London, who
will furnish them to me, but I suppose I shall have to pay the
rascal an infernal price for good ones.'

' No doubt, sir,' observed the keeper ; ' and wouldn't it be
well, sir, first of all, to know that they be good ones ; for, if they
shouldn't be good, I doubt you would have some trouble to get
your money back ? '

' Well, leave that to me,' said Frank ; ' look you to the setters ;
and now go about your business ; but don't come home without
at least three couple of cocks, as I want to send two couple to
London.'

The keeper touched his hat, and walked off; and, just as
he was beginning to cogitate, was holloaed back by his young-
master, who thus somewhat imperiously addressed him : —

' Oh ! Perren, I forgot to mention one thing to you. I
don't think I shall ever be really fond of coursing. In the
first place, it is too slow a sport for me ; and, in the next, I
think it breeds petty jealousies amongst the owners of dogs.
In fact, I am now about to give a proof of the latter objection.
I am determined that leather-headed parson, Roberts, shall no
lono-er be the champion of our coursing meeting. He has now
won the cup three years following, but he must have a check.
Those brindled devils of his will not be hard to beat : there-
fore, you must look out for some of the best blood that can be
found.'

' And where will I get it, sir ? ' demanded the keeper ; ' I

knows nobody that has '

^-. 'Stop; never mind the greyhounds, you may leave them to
me, and go on for the present with your own mongrels, who, I
must acknowledge, seldom miss a hare, although they all run
foul,' continued our hero : ' Lord Dauntley will be the man
to apply to, as he is a member of the SwifFham meeting.
Only mind this, I am determined to beat that old parson, cost
what it may.'

Exit Mr. Perren, lieaving a deep sigh, and muttering to him-
self— ' I wish all this may end well.'

160

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

I have yet one more little ' sign of the times ' to produce.
The following day was a hunting day with Mr. Raby, and his
harriers went to one of his best places for sport. One of
Frank's horses went with them, but he himself did not make
his appearance at the breakfast table. His father ordered him
to be summoned, and his answer was this : —

' Tell my father I liave ordered Achilles to be sent to cover
with the hounds, but, as I have got a bit of a headache, I shall not
get up just yet. Tell him not to wait for me ; I will follow him.'

The hour of meeting being ten, the harriers had one good
run before our hero made his appearance, which was at the
comfortable, and, with harriers, now usual houi- of twelve.
And when he did arrive, there was a something in his manner
that did not exactly please old Dick.

' Where is Inkleton ? ' said he to his father, scarcely throw-
ing his eye over the pack. At all events it was not — as
formerly — ' Here's a tine morning, Dick, for a run ! Yoicks !
Bellman and Blossom, you beauties, I hope you'll show us a
tickler to-da}'.' — No ; it was once more — ' Where the devil is
Inkleton ? — he promised to be here — but to be sure it's early
yet — to arrange about our horses sleeping out to-night ; and
also about ourselves getting to the foxhounds to-morrow. It
is one of their most distant covers, thirty miles ott" at least, but
I would not miss it on any consideration. Confound him, I
wish he would come, for my groom is waiting at the Abbey
for orders to send the General forward.' Inkleton at length
arrived ; and the arrangements to go to cover were instantly
made, after this rather comfortable fashion — namely, Frank
to dine with his friend that evening ; to go the first twelve
miles of the thirty next morning, on his friend's coach-box,
behind four of his greys; and to put foiu- posters to the
' drag,' over the last eighteen. And we may as well give the
events of the day at once ; at least those in which we are
concerned. They found a capital fox ; and on seeing a person
play a solo over a new, stift", hog-backed, oaken stile, at the
end of fifteen miles, point blank, and over a right stiff" country
to boot, our hero made him an offer of 200 guineas for his
horse, which, after some hesitation, was accepted. Sir John
having been previously consulted as to whence the 200 were
to be forthcoming, a point soon determined upon, Sii- John
making use of an expression rather familiar to our hero —

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

jiamely, ' Leave that to me.' In fact, Sir John said, ' Let the
horse be sent to my house to-morrow, and I will advance
the money, and with pleasure, for I think you have bought a
right good horse.'

But we nuist ' Hark back ' to the harriers. They also found
a capital liare, and a capital run was the result. Our hero not
only, took the lead, but frequently pressed upon the hounds ;
now and then, indeed, riding abreast of the leading ones, regard-
less of old Dick's —

' Pray don't press upon 'em, Mr. Raby ' — (it was no longer
' Mr. Francis ') ; on the contrary, he had once the satisfaction
of hearing him exclaim —

' Go along, you yelping curs ; get from under my horse's feet,
or I'll ride over you ! '

But the scent was so good, and the hounds were so good,
that they would not be driven off the line ; and a capital forty
minutes to Lord Morton's plantation was the result, no one
being near to them except Frank Raby and old Dick, Sir John
being upon a hack. But I have not done with them yet.
Seeing Mr. Raby, as he called him, putting his horse straight
at a six-barred white gate, into his lordship's plantation,
which he knew was always locked, the following soliloquy
escaped him : —

' Surely Mr. Raby ain't agoing to jump that gate ! He's
over it, by the Lord ! Well, now I am done ; I never thought
I should have seen the man who could set me with these
hounds ; but I am too old, and so is Clodhopper, for white
plantation gates. Well, I never thought I should have come
to this.'

One of the park keepers being at hand, the gate was opened,
and the first thing that presented itself to Dick, was our hero,
who had jumped some very high paling, out of the plantation,
into the park, standing on his feet in the middle of the pack,
the hare lying dead in their presence.

' Well, Mr. Raby,' exclaimed Dick, on approaching his young
master, and within hearing — with a sort of gfrin on his counte-
nance, which I believe is called ' laughing on the wrong side of
the mouth ' — ' I think, sir, you needn't go to the foxhounds,
when you can see such a run as this with our hounds. And
what a hor.se, to be sure, is that there Ackillis ! '
' He's only half a good one,' said Frank.

1G2

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

'Make so bold, Mr. Raby,' observed Dick, 'what do you
call a whole good one ? '

'He wants a turn of speed, Dick, as your old£Clodhopper
wants a turn of blood. You see Jte could not do it at the last,
or you would have been here to save nie the trouble of keeping
your hounds at bay.'

This speech was ' daggers to the soul ' of poor Dick, and
all vestige of the ' grin ' disappeared. In fact, so dejected was
he, in the servants' hall, throughout the evening — so unusual
with him when his hounds had been showing sport — that he
was more than once asked if he were not ill ?

' There is nothing the matter with me,' was his reply ; but
on waking from a bit of a snooze in his chair, after two extra
horns of ale, he was heard to sing out —

' Damn that white plantation gate ! '

It might, for a moment, be a matter of surprise in what way
the various discussions which have been detailed, relating to
the schemes and speculations of the young Squire, reached the
ears of his parents ; but when it is recollected that five servants
on the establishment were involved in them, the thing is easily
accounted for.

To begin. ' La, Miss Raby,' said her maid, when attending
her in her bedroom, the next night, ' what do you think ? — we
shall be so gay at Amstead ; Mr. Francis is going to keep race-
horses ! Oh, how I do love a race ! Then,' continued the
Abigail, ' he is going to have the finest greyhounds in the
world, and we are all to go to the coursing meeting, to see
him win the cup. But I haven't told you all yet, miss. The
coachman said last night, in the hall (as the servants' hall is
called), that you was no longer to be drawn about by those old
black horses, with long tails, only fit for a funeral ; and that
Mr. Francis was going to London to buy four blood bays, as the
coachman, I think, called them.'

' I don't believe it, Sophy,' said Miss Raby.

' It's true, upon my honour, ma'am,' resumed the Abigail ;
' and not only that, but you are to have a new coach as well,
to be built under Mr. Francis's direction. And I suppose j^ou
have heard of his new horse ? '

' Not I, indeed,' was the reply.

'La, miss; why he bought him out a hunting with tlic fox-
hounds, tlie day before yesterday, for 300 guineas, and \ Iicai'd

1G3

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Jack Wilson oixlered by his groom to go to Sir John Inkleton's
to fetch him home to-morrow.'

' I never heard a word of it,' said tlie young lady.

' Nor of the house in Scotland neither, miss ? '

' Not a word.'

' Oh ! ho has taken such a fine house ; that is, it is between
him, Sir John, and Lord Dauntley, I think they call him; and
they are to give £1000 a year for it, to shoot grouse and
stags upon, and some other things, whose names I can't
remember.'

' You astonish me, Sophy,' said Miss Raby.

' All as true as the Bible, miss, I assure you,' resumed the
Abigail ; ' all the servants in the hall know it, and '

' But, Sophy, surely Francis must be mad,' said the sister ;
' whence is the money to come, to do all this ? '

' Oh, miss,' replied Sophy, ' that is all right. The coach-
man says, he will be bound Mr. Beaumont has given him
£10,000. You know, Miss Raby, he is very rich, and how fond
he is of Mr. Francis.'

' I know my uncle is fond of him,' replied Miss Raby,
' and that he is rich ; but he is not so fond of parting with
his money, Sophy, as all that comes to. And, pray, have you
heard anything else of my brother ? You really alarm me,
Sophy ! '

'Nothing particular, ma'am,' answered Sophy; 'only they
were saying last night, in the hall> that Mr. Francis was
going to make strange alterations about the game ; that he
was very cross with old Perren, the keeper, about his dogs,
because they would not c]iar<je ; that he gave Jein Perren half
a guinea for licking young Mr. Hall, of the Aslies, because he
called him proud — Mr. Francis, I mean, ma'am ; and I heard
old Dick the huntsman say he thought Mr. Francis wasn't
easy in his mind about that lady he used to talk so much
about ; for, the last time he was out with our hounds, he tried
to break his neck over a new white-painted gate in Lord
Morton's park.'

It is scarcely necessary to say that every word of this was
carefully retailed the next morning to Lad}^ Charlotte, by her
daughter, before her ladyship broke her fast ; and by lier trans-
ferred to Mr. Raby, before he ate his dinner. Now then for the
result.

164

THE LTI E OF A SPORTSMAN

It so happened that, on this evening, there was no male
stranger guest at the Abbey ; and after the ladies left the
dinner- room, Mr. Raby and his only son were left by themselves,
over a bottle of Griffiths's port.

'Well, Frank,' said Mr. Raby, ' although by Dick's account
you have got too fast for my harriers, I find you met with your
match yesterday with the foxhounds, for I hear the horses were
all very much beat.'

' They were, indeed,' replied Frank ; ' in sliort, only one horse
had wind left in him to leap a very high stile at the tinisli, and
I bought him.'

' You did right, Frank,' said the father ; ' that is to say. if you
bought him at a reasonable price.'

' Two hundred was the price,' said our hero.

'A large sum, to be sure,' observed Mr. Raby, 'but I suppose
a horse that shows such superiority at the end of a long fox-
chase commands a large sum. I shall order Robson to give
you the money to-morrow, or perhaps a check on my banker
will be preferable, as you will have to send it to the gentleman
by the post.'

' The gentleman is paid for the horse, sir,' said Frank ;
' Sir John lent me the mone}^ : but now we are on the subject
of money, I have a few words to say to you, and a better oppor-
tunity may not, perhaj)s, present itself, as I am going fi'om
home to-morrow for a week or ten days. As my poor elder
brother is now no longer a charge upon you, perhaps you will
have the kindness to increase my allowance, for I should be
very sorry to find myself involved in debts which I could not
readily pay.'

' I am glad to hear you say so,' replied Mr. Raby : ' as for
myself, I never had the courage to get into debt ; but, Frank,
have you quite abandoned the idea of going abroad ? Your
uncle is very anxious that you should go, and I must say I am
not a little so myself.'

' I am sorry to thwart the wishes of either yourself or my
uncle,' resumed our hero; 'but, upon my word, I do not see
the use of my incurring such an expense. Besides, in wliat
shall I be better for visiting foreign countries, when I cannot
talk or understand the language of tlieni :* You know Doctor
Johnson has put it in black and white — that he never met with
Si man who could talk a whit the better for having been abroad ;

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and as for ivriting the better for it, I do not suppose my scrib-
bling propensities will ever exceed a few short epistles to my
friends. At the same time, if yourself and my uncle partievj-
larly wish that I should travel, I am ready, thouo;h I cannot
say willing, to make the required sacrifice.'

' We will drop the subject,' said the father ; ' I will never
ask a son of mine to do that which I perceive he is really
averse to ; neither is it a point so near to my heart as to that
of your Uncle Beaumont, for reasons which I have heard him
give. I confess, my chief desire is, that yoii should learn to
fulfil the duties of a covmtry gentleman and large landed pro-
prietor— not a few, I assure you — and for which, perhaps,
England may, after all, prove the best school. But, Francis,
what is all tliis I have heard from Lady Charlotte to-day about
your going to keep race-horses ? '

' Why, sir,' replied our hero, somewhat taken aback ; ' I am
very fond, as you know, of the animal, horse, and have noticed
the great pleasure my friend Dauntlej^ takes in breeding. I was
just asking Robson yesterday, as I was walking with him in the
park, what he thought would be the expense of a few paddocks
for the purpose ; and likewise, if you did not object, what part
of the park would be the fittest, at the same time not within
sight from the house.'

' Paddocks in the park, my dear Frank ! ' exclaimed Mr. Raby ;
' I cannot consent to anything of the sort. I should be sorry
to see the pastoral character of this fine park defiled by a
parcel of fiery-red brick walls. Then you quote your friend
Dauntley as a precedent for this frolic of yours ! You must
bear in mind that Dauntley has twice as many tliousands a
year as you have hundreds, and perhaps you have no idea of
the expense of a breeding stud on ever so small a scale. I am
told that the annual expense of a mai-e, including her produce,
exceeds a hundred pounds, saying nothing of the chapter of
accidents, and the probability of the produce not being worth as
many shillings after another hundred have been expended upon
him. In fact, it is asserted, and I believe on good authority,
that the present Lord Grosvenor, although a winner of the
immense sum of £200,000, is still a loser b}' his breeding
paddocks, all expenses being reckoned. Moreover, Frank,
although it has been noted for lovers of all field sports — indeed
your Uncle Beaumont and poor Andrew are the only exceptions

166

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

within the last 200 years — the name ot" Raby has never yet
appeared to a race-hoi-se ; nor am I by any means anxious
that it slioukl. A fox-lmnter j^ou may be, witli my liearty
approl)ation ; it is o^ettin<^ to the top branch of the tree,
altlioui;li I had not tlie nerve to ascend so hit^'h ; it is there, I
Ijrlieve, that perfection is to be found. But I would not com-
bine tlie pursuits which are in themselves so opposite ; it would
resemble the minglino; of garlands of roses with the poison of
deadly nightshade. But to the point, Frank ; I will increase
your allowance to £800 a year, paid half-yearly ; I will pay for
the hunter you have just bargained for, and for another as
good, if you can find him ; and then I should imagine, with
what is vulgarly termed the run of your own teeth, and those
of your horses and servants at home, when you wish to be at
home, you will not only have no cause for complaint, but be
enabled to make as good an appearance, and enjoy yourself as
much as any other young heir-apparent in this country, or the
next.'

Here our hero nodded assent, and afterwards acknowledged
the kindness of his father in connnon-place words, which it may
not be worth while to repeat. But a bystander would have
observed a something in his manner at the moment, which too
plainly showed the final result of the conversation was by no
means satisfactory. In fact, though scotched, the snake was
not killed, and Frank said within himself, ' If I am not per-
mitted to breed him, I am determined to have a race-horse,
before I am much older.'

Now, as it has been my desire to draw a portrait of Frank
Raby in his own true character — one which, on the whole, does
honour to our nature — I must endeavour not only to account
for, but to smooth down this too apparent disregard of the
wishes of a kind and indulgent parent. The real truth, then,
is this, startling as it may appear : — racing has been repre-
sented, and justly, in my opinion, to be a stimulus acting
powerfully on the generous ambition of man, prompting
him to personal exertion, and highly exciting to super iority.
What, then, is the result ? Wh}^ that, as a man now and then
violates his best principles for a woman, he now and then
violates them for a horse. Such, it appears, had been the
impression made on Frank Raby by his late intercourse with
Lord Dauntley, who had been introduced to him by his friend

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Goodall, by the well-conducted breedino- establisluneiit that he
liad formed, together with his temporary success — for he had
just won the Oaks, and had run second for the St. Leger— that
he had made a vow to himself, that, before he was three years
older, he would win a Derby or an Oaks, if money or management
could effect it.

168

CHAPTER X

Our siiorlsm.-ui lias now entered in oiunesL upon his life. He refuses ;i seat in
I'arJiainent, and stuilies liis craft with enthusiasm, opening liis lirst
regular hunting campaign with the Warwickshire, under tlie celebrated
Mr. Corbet, and tlie Pytchley, under tlie gTcat Joiin Warde.

On liis return to the Abbey, after a week's absence on a visit to
his friend Lord Dauntley, lie found tlie following lettt^r from his
uncle : —

' Harley Street, January 10, 1S02.

'Dear Frank, —

' As I do not expect to see you in town till the hunting
season closes, I write to inform you, that a friend of mine and
your father has intimated to me his intention of retiring from
the fatigues of parliamentary life in consequence of ill-health,
and made an offer of the borough to me, which, being a close
one, he has, of course, the power to do. My taking it is out of
the question ; but, as you are aware it was very much my wish
that your poor brother should have been in the House, and the
voice of a Raby once more listened to with attention within its
walls — which would certainly have been the case if that wish
had been granted me — I am particularly desirous that you
should accept the proffered boon. It will be an excellent intro-
duction into life, and, situated as you now are, I consider it
little short of a point of duty that you should avail yourself of
this offer.

' I fancy that I may be met with some objeetions from
yourself ; indeed, I will at once anticipate them, at the same
time endeavour to remove them. You may tell me, you have
no oratorical talent, but you must allow me to tell you what
you have been before told {nasclmur poetce, fi'mns oratores),
that eveiy highly-educated man has it in his power to speak
well. To become a perfect orator, perhaps, one must be endued
by nature with a genius superior to the bulk of mankind ;
yet pains and industry may make any person possessing' a

'l69

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

good judgment and ordinary imagination, a tolerable speaker,
especially if he set about improving himself when young — by
making himself master of the great events, and of the principal
characters which are handed down to us in history, and thus
laying in such a store of knowledge as will be ready at hand
on almost all occasions. And history will not only furnish you
With the best materials and groundwork of public speaking, but
it will also furnish j^ou with the best models. To imitate the
brightest examples, and to follow the steps of those who have
been ornaments of human nature, and an honour to their
country, should be the study and desire of every English
gentleman. Your first attempt may fail, as did that of the
greatest orator the world ever saw : but, like him, do not be
discouraged ; and remember that my first attempt was crowned
with complete success. The efiects of a good classical educa-
tion shine brilliantly when least expected, which, I believe I
may say, was my own case : a scripture expression has weight
in a popular assembly, but nothing impresses so strongly as a
highly classical allusion.

' As to the line of conduct you may choose to adopt — in
other words, as to which side of the House you may give your
support — I leave that to your own discretion. My own politics
are soon told. I would support the rights of the people to their
full extent, without losing sight of the principles of the consti-
tution, and my duty to my king and country. We want not
another Theseus here, who, as Aristotle says, " parted with
regal poAver for popular favour " ; nor would I recommend you
to press" any political point further than is consonant with the
general sense of the community. And here I speak from what
I have read or seen. If any state has happened to experience
— to whatever cause it might be owing — a sudden change in its
system of government ; if an alteration in its established forms
has been brought about by means which were uncalled for,
it has almost always either relapsed into its ancient channel,
or else the change has been attended with very disastrous
circumstances.

' My sermon is concluded. Ponder seriously, my dear
nephew, on what it contains, with a full assurance that it is
intended for your benefit, and qualify yourself for the task I
wish you to perform. Speech being the faculty which exalts
man above the rest of the creation, we must consider eloquence

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

as the talent which gives him tlie most (hstinouislied pre-
eminence over his own species. Study it, then, as you regard
the wishes — I may say more — the desires of

' Youi- affectionate uncle,

'Beaumont Raby.'

To this epistle, our hero returned the following reply : —
' My dear Uncle, —

' It is with much regret that I find myself compelled to
decline complying with any wish of yours, particularly with one
so earnestly expressed as that which is the subject of your last
kind letter. But the fact is, being confident that my enjoyment
of life is one of the objects most dear to your heart, I have less
compunction in refusing to grant your present request than
I should otherwise feel. I have more than one objection to
becoming a member of Parliament. First, on the score of
expense, for, as it is my wish to keep not less than six hunters
(I have four now — my father has just made me a present of
two), and I mean to be absent from home, in some of the best
hunting countries, during the winter, it would surely involve
me in expenses which I might not be able to meet, for, as you
are aware, my allowance from my father is only £800 a j^ear.
Then, again, of what use should I be in Parliament with my
slender experience of the world, and no knowledge of business
beyond adding up a bill ? I suppose I might, if called upon,
make a tolerable speech — that is to say, if it were on a subject
with which I was conversant ; and without being so, the
tongue of the Demosthenes would be useless. But, to tell you
the truth, I am not so much enamoured as yourself, with the
effects of fine oratory ; neither do I think it is altogether neces-
sary to dress up the new-born occurrences of the day in the
pompous robe of history. Your fine talkers always remind me
of the fable of Narcissus — they fall in love with their own
voices, as he did with lii.s own face. Did the flaming speeches
or strong remonstrances of Demosthenes (indeed, old Juvenal
tells us he had better have remained a blacksmith) banish cor-
ruption from Athens ? Did what is called the masterpiece of
Cicero's orations prevent the banishment of Milo, or his invec-
tive against Anton}^ destroy the power of that tyrant ? Was
not He " who spake as never man spake," disregarded and per-
secuted to death by the multitude ? Can human elocution

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

perform what divine accomplishments and assistance were not
able to effect ? No, uncle, in matters of common life, and also
in the House of Commons, it is not so much what is said, as
'who said it, that has weight. In short, I look upon oratory as
a two-edged weapon, which cuts both ways ; and if my scanty
knowledge of history has led me to a right conclusion, it is
much to be doubted w^hether the gift of fine speaking, though
both excellent and useful in its nature, has not been applied
in such a manner as to do more harm than good. Factious
demagogues, in the shape of fine speakers, have too often led
the multitude captive, by first deceiving, and afterwards plun-
dering and destroying them. I have now, my dear uncle,
nothing more to say on this subject than to assure you that it
is one on which I hope you will not press me further, inasmuch
as it gives me great pain to dissent from your opinion, or
thwart your wishes. On all other points, I trust you will find
me, what I hope you have hitherto found me,

' Your afiectionate and dutiful nephew,

' Francis Raby.

' Beaumont Itiiby, Es(|., etc. etc. etc.

' P.S. — I forgot to mention one more objection to being in
Parliament. The House meets in the month of February, de-
cidedly the best month in tlie year for fox-hunting. Then
there is a call of the House, perhaps, just as you had set your
heart on some favourite fixtures. Dauntley tells me, he never
takes up a newspaper in the hunting season, but he trembles for
the words — " The Lords summoned." ' ^

As may be imagined, the contents of this letter, as far as they
related to the ofier of the borough, and the hopes of the uncle
for the future renown of his nephew, were by no means agreeable
to Mr. Beaumont Raby ; but enough has been said of his char-
acter to make it apparent that he did not take the trouble to
renew his solicitation by letter. In mere acknowdedgment, then,
of our hero's determination to refuse the proffered boon, he thus
expressed himself in return : —

' Your letter, my dear Frank, wliich I receivL'd yesterday,
was to me rather an annoyance than a matter of surprise. I

^ It is a well-known fact that on two celebrated Meltonians requesting to be
excused sitting on a committee of the House, the Speaker observed, that he
believed ' tlie month of February w.as the best hunting month in the year.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

now plainly see bhrougli all your distant views ; that you are
(leteriaincd to be a sportsman, and to lead ;i country life.
Well, I know not how I can blame you on the principle of
Horace, who, with his usual good discretion, tells us, that we
should neither commend our own tastes, nor censure those of
others ; neither will I blame you, provided you bear in mind
that the alternate pleasure of reading and recreation is the
happy privilege of retired leisure. That you will descend so
low in the scale of intellectual beings, whose minds have been
cultivated, as to assume the character of tlte mere sportsman, I
cannot, for a moment, induce myself to suppose : such a person
is now happily becoming scarce ; and the badge of a liberal
education is not, as it was used to be, all at once thrown aside.
Let me, however, as you are about to launch into what may
be called promiscuous society, which that of sportsmen must
generally be termed, offer to your notice a few hints, a close
attention to which may turn to your account, as you pass
through life.

' Civility and good breeding are generally considered synony-
mous terms, but they are not such. Good breeding implies
civility, but civility does not reciprocal!}^ imply good breeding.
Good breeding is the middle point between two extremes, —
between flattery and sincerity. It is to be acquired partly by
a knowledge of the world, but chiefly by keeping good company.
It is, I admit, difficult to be defined, inasmuch as it consists in
a fitness and propriety of words, actions, and looks, adapted to
the variety and combination of persons, places, and things ;
but it covers a multitude of faults,^ and, to a certain degree,
supplies the want of virtues. In the common course of life it
is invaluable, keeping people within the bounds of decenc}^
checking familiarity, and restraining excesses. It is, in fact,
tlu^ ornament and cement of social life. Great talents make a
man famous ; learning causes him to be esteemed : but it is
good breeding — which is something more than an accomplish-
ment— that alone renders him beloved. We will talk over
these matters when you come to town, which I suppose you
will do in the spring, when all the world is here ; and till then,
and alwaj^s,

' I remain, jowr affectionate uncle,
' Beaumont Raby

' To I'raneijs Raby, Esq.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

The remainder of this winter passed away very agreeably
with our hero, who may be said to have been quahfying for
those which were to follow, by improving himself in riding and
shooting, and in all the other branches of what may be called
' rural education and accomplishments.' Amongst the novel-
ties, however, was a prize-fight, of which, as his friend Sir
John Inkleton was, to a certain extent, a backer of one of the
men, he became a spectator. He, however, returned from the
spectacle very little gratified ; and, despite of the encomiums
bestowed upon boxing by his companion, — who maintained
that it preserved the vigour and characteristic courage of the
Encdish people, which had raised this country above the other
nations of the earth ; that, although the same God who made
man rational also made him resentful, it was the charac-
teristic of Englishmen to be resentful of insult only, but not
to be vindictive, and which was to be attributed to the same
cause, also reminding his young friend of the splendid enco-
mium on boxing in Knight's Analysis of Taste, just then
published, — agreed with what Cicero had said of the gladiators,
namely, that the exhibition satiated whilst it lasted, and left
no satisfaction in the reflection of it. Inasmuch as this was
the first, so it was the last of these exhibitions which Frank
Raby attended; but by way of showing the difference in the
style in which the records of such events are handed down, I
subjoin that of the one now alluded to. Whether such things
are unworthy of a memorial, or whether the pen which per-
petuates them is debased, is not for me to determine, but the
improvement in the style in which they are recorded is remark-
able, and not, I should imagine, to be excelled. And who can
doubt but that this adds to their celebrity ? ' The Athenians,'
says Sallust, ' were clever fellows, but they owed much to their
historians, who made them as clever as their own wit and talent
could represent them.'

' Harlston, in Norfolk, July 30. — Yesterday, in the afternoon,
Slack and Pettit met and fought. At the first set-to, Pettit
seized Slack by the throat, and held him up against the rails,
and grained him so much as to make him extremely black.
This continued for half a minute before Slack could break
Pettit's hold, after which, for near ten minutes, Pettit kept
fio-hting and driving hard at Slack, when at length Slack closed
with his antagonist, and gave him a very severe fall ; after

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that, a second and a third; but between these falls Pettit threw
Slack twice off tlie stage, and, indeed, Pettit so much dreaded
Slack's falls, that he ran directly at his hams, and tumbled
him down, and by that means gave Slack an opportunity of
making the falls very easy. When they had been fighting
eighteen minutes, the odds ran against Slack, a guinea to a
shilling ; whereas, on first setting out, it was three or four to
one on his head ; but after this time Slack shortened Pettit so
as to disable him from running and throwing him down in the
manner ho had done before, but obliged him to stand to close
fighting. Slack then closed one of his eyes, and beat him very
much about the face. At twenty minutes, Pettit grew weaker.
Slack stronger. This was occasioned by Slack's straight way
of fighting. At twenty-two minutes, the best judge allowed
Slack to have the advantage over Pettit very considerably, as
he was then recovering his wind, which was owang to game.
When they had boxed twenty-four minutes, Pettit threw Slack
again over the rails. This, indeed. Slack suffered him to do,
as by that means he fixed a blow under Pettit's ribs, that hurt
him nuich. Whilst Slack was again getting upon the stage (it
was not half a minute before he was remounted), Pettit had so
mucli the fear of his antagonist before his eyes, that he w^alked
oft' without so much as civilly taking leave of the spectators, or
saying anything to any person. This the backers call rogue-
ing of it, for it is generally thought that he ran away full
strong. The whole time of their fighting was twenty-five
minutes ; and this morning the battle was given to Slack, who
drew the first ten guineas out of the box. Thus ended this
dreadful combat.'

The month of May having arrived, our hero, after a fort-
night's good sport in trout-fishing, repaired to ' the great city '
for several weight}'^ purposes. One was, to make up matters
with his uncle, by convincing him, which was true, that he had
no business in Parliament ; another, to purchase two more
horses at Tattersall's ; and here lie was guided by the advice
of one able to render it.

' Purchase those,' said his adviser, ' wliich liave been ridden
over grass countries, such as Leicestershire or Northampton-
shire, where the fences are higli and ivide, and where tliere
are brooks. Half the horses called hunters are all but
worthless to hard-riding men, by having been ridden in

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

countries where the fences are chiefly dead hedges, with small
ditches and timber, but no strong, live, blackthorn hedges,
which horses must push through, and leap a wide ditch beyond
them as well, and where there are no brooks of any width,
many of which, indeed, horses can walk through.'

He took his friend's advice, and purchased two well-seasoned
geldings that had had many a hot spirt over the deep vale of
Belvoir, and the cream of the Quorndon country, and at the
moderate price of 800 guineas for the two.

Epsom and Ascot were also taken in their turn, and neither
of them without their impression on our hero. When con-
templating with himself, at the latter place, as to the means
by which he could put his resolves into effect, as to once
signalising himself on the turf, the following rather curious
coincidence happened. He was thus accosted by his friend
Dauntle}' : —

' I have a word to say to you, Raby,' said he. ' I have
just heard of a person in a retired part of Wales, — a devilish
good judge of racing, mind ye, — who has two two-year-old
fillies of his own breeding (and very well bred they are) to
sell, and both are in the next year's Oaks. He will take 400
guineas for them, and I strongly recommend you to purchase
them, as you wish to have a shy at the turf. At all events,
they are dog-cheap.'

' Cheap enough, no doubt,' replied Frank, ' but I must look
out for tlie money before I open my mouth wider. I cannot
spare such a sum out of my allowance.'

' Certainly not,' replied Lord Dauntley ; ' but I will manage
that part of the affair. I will lend you the money, and I have
a friend who will let the fillies run in his name, and they can
go to my trainer's, or any other you may prefer.'

No sooner said than done. The fillies — and very clever
ones they were — were purchased, and, soon after the following
Christmas, put into training in the name of Darkin, but, as
they had not made their appearance as two-year-olds, were not
even named in the betting. In fact, in the true acceptation of
the term, they were dark ones.

Nothing very remarkable occurred to our hero during his
stay in London, whicli did not exceed six weeks, although he
was very far from being idle. In addition to the purchase of
the two hunters, he gave orders for a comfortable travelling

176

o
o

t/3

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

post-chaise to one of the best builders in the Acre, and furnished
his saddle-room with everything wanting for his stud. He also
purchased two brace of greyhounds, at rather a high figure,
which, after having defeated the parson's famous bitch. Fly, that
had been the terror of the Club in his neighbourhood for two
successive years, he made a present of to Perren, having no turn
for coursing. Having then replenished his tishing-book with
some of the best tackle and flies, he took leave of his uncle,
whose house had been his home during his visit, his uncle
taking leave of him in nearly these words : —

' God bless you, Frank ; I wish our pursuits were more con-
genial ; but still, although they are as wide apart as the poles, I
wish you to excel in yours, as I might have excelled in mine, but
for a constitutional infirmity. This,' putting a £100 bank-note
into his hand, ' Avill not retard your progress ; and if at any time
you require the fellow to it, you have nothing more to do than
to say so.'

The month of August found our hero snugly domiciled in the
Highlands of Scotland, on the shooting-ground engaged by Lord
Dauntley, and where, with the accession of another friend of his
Lordship, a delightful month was passed. The return of the
game killed was as. follows, which was not amiss for that period,
when it was not so abundant as at present : —

Black grouse, seven and a half brace ; red grouse, eighty -five
brace ; ptarmigan, three and a half brace ; red deer, seven ; and
roe, thirteen.

But something more imjwrtant and more durable than
grouse and deer was the result of this excursion. The trio
returned to England with their nerves braced, ready to crack,
by the exercise upon, and the breathing the air of, the truly
romantic regions of the north ; and each came to the resolu-
tion that the excursion should be repeated during the next
twenty years, should life and health be so long granted to
them to enjoy it, for this was true enjoyment. Exclusive of
the actual diversion on the moors, everything they ate was
delicious ; the champagne and claret were nectar ; their beds
were beds of roses ; hid why ? Because hunger is the best
sauce ; exercise refines the palate, and gives additional goilt to
wine ; and hard must be that bed on which sound and refresh-
ing sleep is denied to the man who has had a good day's
grouse-shooting over the Scotch hills, or tho.se of any otlier

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

country on which that noble game is to be found ! There was,
indeed, but one drawback from the sum-total of happiness
of which this party were partakers, and this was — ' the
reckoning.' Including the rent of the shooting-ground, it
amounted to nearly £600, to be divided into three parts, our
hero's proportion being rather an awkward set-off against the
annual amount of his income, which, as has been already
stated, did not exceed £800. To the others of the party it was
a flea-bite.

In the circle of British sports, fox-hunting ever must and will
take the precedence ; and towards the end of October, having,
up to that period, hunted with his father's harriers, and satisfied
himself of the efficiency of his stud, Frank Raby determined on
making his (Mmt as a fox-hunter, but not his election of hounds
and country, until experience of some of the best of them had
fully enabled him to decide as to which to give the preference.
Of Oxfordshire he had had a taste during his residence at
Oxford, and this was the opinion he had formed of it: — the hill
country was light and uncertain wath regard to scent, but a
clean and gentlemanlike one to ride over, and contained many
excellent sportsmen. The vale called the Bicester country was
preferable ; he considered it, despite of its large woods on one
side of it, and the almost fathomless depth of its soil after a
hard frost succeeded by rain, what may be termed a fox-hunting
country, and he had seen some fine runs in it. A criterion
of the strength of it, he used to say, might be ascertained by
the fact, that not only did the Oxford livery stable-keepers
charge a third more for horses ridden over it by the gownsmen
than they did for those ridden over the hill country, but the
calculation of falls, by the riders of them, was in the proportion
of three to one in favour of the vale ; that is to say, there were
three falls in the vale, to one in the hill country. But the
Northamptonshire side of the country, he used to say, cannot
be ridden over without falls by a man who is determined to be
with hounds.

There was likewise another country which he had had a
taste of when at Oxford, and that was what was called the
Vale of White Horse, adjoining to the Craven country ; and,
althouo'h in the county of Berks, some of its best covers were
within easy reach of Oxford. He liked parts of that country
much : being a dairy country, it abounded in fine large grass

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fields, and ho was told that such parts of it strongly rescnil)lcd
Leicestershire. He had also a regard for it, on another con-
sideration. In a fine run from Pusey Firs, he was one of only
five who cleared the Rosey Brook, himself taking the lead upon
Achilles, altliough, as somewhat of a take oti' from the merit of
it, it had been leaped, nearly in the same place, by Mr. Barry
Price, upon his famous horse called Monarch, a few days before
— the said I\Ir. Barry Price being eighteen stone plum weight
in the scales. But the Rosey Brook is, in most places, a very
serious affair.

Our hero, up to this period, had had but a slight taste of
Warwickshire, and this at two of its least inviting fixtures ;
namely, Wolford Wood, and Witchford Wood, almost the only
two covers within possible reach of Oxford men ; roughish
places, both of them, but often holding, as most rough places
do, very capital foxes. But Frank Raby had heard enough of
Warwickshire to induce him to make it his election for his
debut on the fox-hunter's stage, so sent his stud to Stratford-
on-Avon, the head-quarters of the Hunt ; and arrived there
himself, in his travelling chaise, on the evening of the fourth of
November, anno Domini, 1808.

He found a highly finished gentleman at the head of this
establishment, in the person of Mr. Corbet, of Sundorue Castle,
Shropshire, who himself sustained the expenses of it, keeping
a complement of hounds and horses for four days a week, and
occasionally a fifth; having two kennels, one at Stratford-on-
Avon, and another at Minden, near Coventry, whence the
country called ' The Mereden ' was hunted at two different
periods in the season, but chiefly in the spring, for which it is
eminently adapted. He soon obtained an introduction to the
members of the Stratford Hunt Club, whom he found living
together on the best possible terms — Mr. Corbet joining them
at dinner on every Thursday in the week, and commonl}^ enter-
taining some of them on the other six days. He found a man
hunting these hounds, whom, although he was too young to
give an opinion on his merits as a huntsman, he pronounced
to be the finest horseman, in the form of a servant, he had
ever hitherto seen ; and it was told of him that, during his
service with that eminent sportsman, Mr. Childe, of Kinlet
Hall, in Shropshire, as whipper-in, he was the only man in his
establishment that he would ever suffer to mount the horses he

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

hiuiself rode. His name was William Barrow, commonly
called Will Barrow, and his brother Jack, also good in his
place, acted as his first whip. He saw a month's very good
sport with these hounds, and he saw some right good sports-
men in the field ; but what surprised him most, was the fact
that the two leading men over this strongly fenced and, in
parts, very deep country, weighed, with their saddles, good
seventeen stone. The name of these eminent horsemen and
sportsmen was Canning, the elder possessing a large property
in the country, and the younger also in possession of a very
considerable income. But the most extraordinary part of the
history of these gentlemen as sportsmen, is the fact of their
having — by reason of being Catholics — been educated abroad,
and never seeing a foxhound in the field until past their
twentj^-fifth year. The younger, Mr. Robert Canning, was the
finest horseman of the two; but their knowledge of fox-
hunting, and their judgment in riding to hounds, were not
inferior to those of the most experienced sportsman of the
day. Mr. Hawkes, so celebrated as an amateur jockey, and a
conspicuous man with Mr. Meynell's hounds in Leicestershire,
also then resided in Warwickshire, and was occasionally seen,
and, as it fell out at this identical time, by our hero, gallantly
crossino- its large grass enclosures on his thorough-bred nags,
delighted with the cheering voice of Will Barrow to his
' lasses,' as he was used to call the bitch pack ; and, certainly,
no human voice ever exceeded his in a view-halloo or a cheer.
But

' What more grateful to the ear,
Than the voice that speaks to cheer?'

There was another very remarkable character, in the shape
of a sportsman of the old school, residing in the town of
Stratford, but a member of the Stratford Hunt, and an inti-
mate friend of Mr. Corbet. His name was Stubbs ; and so
insatiate was he of hunting, that, on the vacant days of the
foxhounds, he hunted with his own harriers ; and, indeed, on
one occasion, on a Sunday, when a fox broke out of his saddle-
room, during divine service. ' Saddle the dun horse,' said
he to his man, when lie told him what had happened, and
he immediately put his hounds on the scent. But what was
most remarkable in this very zealous fox-hunter, was the fact

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that, when hounds ran straight across a country, lie could
neither see nor hear him, as he could not persuade himself to
leap fences ; and yet, from his great knowledge of the country,
he was generally up soon after the finish, whatever that might
be. Mr. Corbet also surprised our hero by his great dislike
to fences, which he found it difficult to reconcile with the
enthusiasm he exhibited in the chase ; he, however, by being
mounted on very speedy horses, and not afraid to gallop over
the ivorst sort of (/round, saw a great deal of the sport, appear-
ing at times in a good place when very little expected. And
Frank Rab}^ took a leaf out of his book, as regarded his
hunters, of which he had always a score of a very good sort.
He purchased them, when foals, from his tenants and other
farmers in Shropshire, which county has alwaj^s been celebrated
for good hunting blood.

Our hero's opinion of Warwickshire was this. He found a
great many bad fixtures for hounds in it, although it was
possible that, even from them, by taking a certain line, a fine
run, over a fine country, was on the cards. For example, he
went one morning a long distance to a cover which was in bad
repute with the Hunt, and whence he was told he had scarcely
a chance of a run. The fox led him over twelve miles of
country, at the very best pace, with only one ploughed field by
the way, no river to cross, and only two brooks, and those not
serious ones ! But he found some parts of the country which
could not be excelled anywhere — and these to a large extent ;
and that part which was not good had this redeeming quality : —
a blank day in Warwickshire, at this time, was as rare as a
black swan in all other countries.

After a month's sojourn in Warwickshire, where he received
some kind attention from several of the principal families,
which his name and connections might have ensured him, he
took his departure for Northampton, and became domiciled at
the George Inn, in the county town, one of the most comfort-
able in England. The country — the word county is obsolete, in
alluding to hunting districts — was then occupied by Mr. Warde,
whose kennel was at Pytchley, where the Club was also
established. This was a fortunate circumstance for our hero,
inasmuch as it gave him an opportunity of witnessing the
proceedings of what may be termed the second great sports-
man of that day — the immortal Meynell, although at that

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

time about to retire from the field, being the first. He was
mucli struck with tlie pecuhar character of the hounds, com-
bining gigantic Hmbs, and extraordinary height and strength,
with high form and symmetry ; and their steadiness in chase
was also at once conspicuous. The turn-out, however, was
not equal to Mr. Corbet's. There was something like an
aflfected disregard of appearances in the costume of the men,
and the horses were of a coarser description. Still it was
altogether sportsmanlike, for a sjwrtsman was at the head of
the establishment.

Our hero regretted that he was a few years too late in his
visit to this country, by which he lost an opportunity not
likely to return : this was, of seeing the celebrated Dick
Knight, huntsman to Lord Spencer, who formerly hunted the
country ; and whose portrait, from the pencil of Mr, Loraine
Smith, had helped to adorn the walls of his room in Christ-
church College. His noble master, however, he had the
pleasure of meeting in the field, and seeing him keep a very
good place in a run of an hour and twenty minutes, from
Winnick Warren, a cover on the Daventry side the country :
his Lordship's son, then Lord Althorp, who afterwards hunted
the country, also being one who saw the finish and the death.
But, until Frank Raby met Mr. Warde's hounds at a cover in
the Crick country, he never knew the extent to which the man
who rides after hounds is opposed in his attempts to go
straight. Although mounted on the General, one of the finest
fencers in England — at least in the parts of England in which
he had previously been hunted — he got three falls in little
more than as many miles, and lamented that it had not been
the turn of one of his newly purchased horses to have carried
him on that day, as they were more accustomed than the
General to make their way through the enormous blackthorn
hedges — to say nothing of the ditches, brooks, and timber,
with which this part of Northamptonshire abounds. Frank,
however, left the country very highl}^ enamoured of it. It
appeared to him to leave both Oxfordshire and Warwickshire
very far in the shade, and he nearl}^ despaired — not but that
there are some rough fixtures in Northamptonshire — of ever
seeing a better. In fact, when he was told tliat there were
woodlands in it, near to the town of Kettering, the property of
the Duke of Buccleugh, in which were seventy miles of finely

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

rideable avenues, from which hounds could never be out of sight
of the men, for the purposes of cub and spring- hunting, he seemed
to make up his mind that, taken for all in all, Horthampton-
shire as a hunting country could not he much excelled.

As may be imagined, for it is particularly the case with
young sportsmen, our hero noticed the best horsemen in each
country he visited, and those of Northamptonshire did not
escape his rather discerning eye. Mr. Warde never shone as
a rider ; that is, he was not, even in those days, what is called
a fast man over a country ; nor, indeed, have there been more
than a dozen ' fast men ' of his weight since the world was
created ; but his two brothers went well : Harry Warde, as he
was called (afterwards General Sir Harry), in particular, quite
tip-top ; and what very much surprised the ' young one,' was
the fact of his very best horse being a roarer. Then there was
one man in the throng, to whose horsemanship rather a far-
fetched epithet might be applied ; it was heautifid. I allude
to Mr. Davy, who has hunted in Northamptonshire, I believe,
ever since ; and, as somewhat of a strange coincidence, there
was a singular defect in his ]:)est horse. He had but half an
eye, having quite lost the sight of one, and a cataract was
formed over part of the pupil of the other. He called him
Skylark, and a brilliant hunter he was. There was something
aristocratic in the names of these horses — that of the first
being Star, and the other Skylark. And, by the way, Frank
Raby heard an extraordinary fact related of this elegant horse-
man, j\Ii'. Dav3^ He got a fall in Oxfordshire, and was thrown
beyond his horse's head, to the ground. On looking back for
his horse, he was non est inrenfiis. He had fallen back into
an old, deep well, the covering of which had given way under
him, as he leaped on it.

Raby, for it may be as well now, sometimes, to drop the
Frank, had the pleasure of dining several times at the Club — -
the famous Pytchley Club, of which so much has been heard
and said. Nothing could be more agreeable, and so Mi-. Warde
himself said. — ' All very well but the reckoning,' was the praise
he always bestowed upon it. But Mr. Warde himself added
prodigiously to the agreeableness of this club, and the high
social feeling that pervaded all the members of it. And, as
regarded our hero, he w^as thus heard, on one occasion, to
express himself : —

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' This young Raby is a promising lad ; I think he will do,
in time, especially if he stays with us for a season or two. I
saw him out once, when a school-boy, in the last country I
hunted, and devilish well he went. His father is a hare-
hunter, but the 3^oung one won't have that ; he flies at higher
game ; and, as he will be well breeched some day — for, inde-
pendent of his father, they tell me he has a rich uncle, likel}''
to choke in his collar, who will leave him lots of the ready^ —
I should not be surprised to see him one of us, in another
sense. He has asked me a great many questions about hounds,
the breeding them, etc., to which I have generally replied,
" Keep mine in your eye, sir, and you will do well, should j^ou
have a pack of your own, which no doubt you will, when one
of the old ones goes to ground." He has also a great mind to
be a coachman, which Inkleton has given him a taste for. I
told him to go to Jack Bailey, of the Birmingham " Prince of
Wales " coach, for instruction, when he told me he was his
pupil when at Eton. " Then you will do," said I ; " Jack
himself is a pattern-card for patience and prudence, having
need of both ; for heavy loads and weak horses, on bad roads,
have made him such. In short, he is a coachman ; and I advise
you, if you mean to get upon your own box, to take as many
leaves as you can out of his book. It will be worth all the
Greek and Latin you brought with you from Eton." '

So much for the Pytchley Hunt of those days. Not only

' Those joyous hours are j)assed away,
And many a heart that then was gay,'

has long since ceased to beat, but the master of the pack, after
a stout struggle, has been obliged to yield to that common
destiny of our nature, which, sooner or later, awaits us all.
Peace to his ashes ; his system and himself are gone together.

During his stay, our young sportsman had one day with the
well-known pack of the late justly celebrated Lord Fitzwilliam,
whose extensive country embraced parts of Northamptonshire,
and all Huntingdonshire, besides the Yorkshire woodlands for
cub-hunting. The fixture was Stanwick Pastures, one of great
note, but far from being one of the best. The scene, however,
was such as amused our hero much, since, from being within
reach of Cambridge, it reminded him of olden times. In one
direction were to bo seen knocked-up hacks, broken-down

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

tandems, witli the leaders scarcely able to make a walk of it,
from the fiankings they had received from their rather merci-
less drivers, in their anxiety to display their art ; in another,
four or tive of the better sort of college sportsmen, whose
finances had allowed of their sending hacks forward overnight,
coming along at a good cover-hack pace, without showing-
distress ; while, just as the fox was found, up drove a post-
chaise, at a gallop, with three red-coats inside, and two on the
bar ! One or tw^o of these aspirants were well known to Frank
Raby, and amongst the lot — quite as many as could be expected
— four or five of them rode well and judiciously to the hounds,
throughout a really good run of an hour over a right stiff"
country.

Young Raby's next move was to Leicester, where he took up
his abode at the ' Three Crowns Inn,' the principal one of that
day, and about as bad as most country inns of that day were
found to be. On his road, in his travelling carriage, he amused
himself by booking a few of Mr. Warde's sayings and hints;
amongst which were the following : —

' Half the goodness of a horse goes in at his mouth.

'Never buy a horse from a rich man who hunts: or from a
poor man, till you have tried him.

' Never believe a word any man says about a horse he wishes
to sell — not even a bishop.

' Never keep a drinking man, nor a very pretty maid-sei-vant.

' Never refuse a good dinner from home, unless you have a
better at home.

' Breed your hounds with bone and nose ; without the one
the}'' will tire ; without the other, become slack.'

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CHAPTER XI

The dchKt in Leicestershire — Frank Rahy hunts with tlie Quorn under Lord
Sefton, with Lord Lonsdale's, and with the Duke of Rutland's hounds.

The fixture for the Quorn hounds, then lately become the
property of Lord Sefton, being very distant from Leicester,
Frank Raby had a day to dispose of, and occupied it in a visit
to Quorn, for the purpose of looking over the establishment,
and much as his expectations had been excited, the reality
very much exceeded them. He found more than sixty couples
of working hounds in the kennel, exclusive of the pack that
day in the field, and they were shown to him by John Raven,
one of his Lordship's huntsmen — Stephen Goodall, the other
liuntsman, being at work on that day. Then, in one stable he
saw twenty-eight hunters, all in the finest condition, the build-
ing being so contrived that each horse could be seen from his
liead to his tail by a person standing in the centre of it. In the
boxes, he saw some of his Lordship's best horses — Plato, Row-
land, and Gooseberry amongst them, which cost little less than
1000 guineas apiece — and they excited his admiration, not
only by their high form, but by their condition, which equalled
everything that Mr. Somerby had told him of it during his visit
to Amstead, and to which we have already alluded. They were
shown to him b}' Mr. Potter, his Lordship's head groom, who
told him that ' every gentleman's hunters might be in as good
condition as Lord Sefton's were, provided the}^ were similarly
treated, and not turned out to grass in the summer.'

There being no one about the house but servants, Frank
Raby ventured to walk through the grounds of Quorndon Hall
(for such is the name of this celebrated hunting-box), cele-
brated as having been the property and residence of Mr. Mey-
nell, and purchased of him by Lord Sefton — and found it
exactly what Mr. Somerby had represented it to be ; namely,
a complete residence for a sportsman, aftbrding all necessary

186

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

accommodation, thougli divested of unnecessary ornament, and
pretending to nothing beyond the residence of a (luiet country
gentleman. The grounds, however, he found rather prettily
laid out, having the advantage of the river Soar running
through them ; not that there is nmch to admire beyond the
fact of its being water — which makes all scenery agreeable —
in the still and even flow of a deep Leicestershire stream.

The next day to this was one of intense interest to our hero,
who was to make his first appearance with hounds in Leices-
tershire, having been informed by a letter from Mr. Somerby,
that he had taken stables and apartments for him at Melton
Mowbray, and that he should have nuich pleasure in paving
the way to his arrival thither, by introducing him to some of
the leading characters of the Quorn, and also of the neighbour-
ing hunts. He felt a buoyancy of heart almost inexpressible
on the occasion ; in fact, he never before felt it beat so high,
for, although fearless in his person, he could not divest himself
of the notion that riding to hounds over Leicestershire, and
amongst Leicestershire men, was something very diflerent from
what he had hitherto seen it in what Leicestershire men call
the ' provincials.' His master-passion, however, was well roused
on the occasion, and, without indulging himself in the absurdity
of being able to ' dare impossibilities,' was determined to do
his best.

The fixture was Cream Lodge Gorse, in the township of
Great Dalby, and no misnomer either, forasmuch as it is in
the cream of the Quorn country ; and a horse called Gentle-
man, one of the two purchased at Tattersall's, was sent forward
by our young sportsman for the occasion, he himself following
on his hack, his carriage ha\ ing been despatched to Melton
with his luggage. On his arrival at the cover, he was imme-
diately met by Mr. Somerby, and, in the course of the day,
introduced by him to the following leading characters of those
truly sporting days : —

To Lord Sefton, of course, as master of the hounds, and also
to Mr. Meynell, who, although no longer a master, was in
the field ; to the Lords Villiers, Maynard, Chai'les Somerset,
Craven, and Foley ; to the Honourable George Germaine, the
Honourable Robert Grosvenor, the Honoui'able Joshua Van-
neck, the Honoui-al)le Berkeley Craven, aiul the Honourable
Martin Hawke ; to Sirs J(jhn SlicUey, Koljert Laiigle}-, Hciny

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Peyton, and Steplien Gl^ame ; to Messieurs Cecil Forester,
Thomas Cliohnondeley, Loraine Smith, Cliikle of Kinlet,
Cliarles Meynell, Harvey Aston, John Musters, Thomas Asshe-
ton Smitli, Lindon, Langton, John Hawkes, John Lochley, and
Jacob Wardel].

But he was nearly lost in admiration at the splendid sight
that presented itself. In addition to the gratification of seeing
what was considered the crack pack of foxhounds of all
Europe, in the crack country, with John Raven as their
huntsman, of whom he had heard such a character from
Mr. Somerby, together with the above-named galaxy of sports-
men, and at least 150 well-mounted men besides, several of
whom were eminent men in this line — independently of all
this, I say, he saw no less than six splendid teams — the noble
master's amongst them — that had been driven to cover by their
owners, as was very much the fashion of those highly aristo-
cratic, as well as ' truly sporting days.' And why should I not
name them ? They were the teams of Lords Sefton and Foley ;
of the Honourable Martin Hawke ; of Sirs Henry Peyton and
Stephen Glynne ; and of Mr. Harvey Aston. In fact, he had
now before his eyes, what were, in those days, popularly con-
sidered, hounds, horses, men, and country, not to be equalled in
any part of the world, and that, it must be allowed, is saying
a great deal.

Although foxes in Leicestershire were not at this time so
plentiful as they are at present, the amount of noses on the
Quorn kennel door averaging little more than fifty brace, and
this with, perhaps, the best hounds in England, — a smart
little empty vixen went gallantly away from Cream Gorse this
morning, in less than ten minutes after the pack were thrown
into it, and none the slower for one of John Raven's thrilling
view-halloos as she crept out of the gorse nearly under his
own horse's feet. ' Possunt, quia posse videntiir' being the
Leicestershire men's motto, they only waited for some part of
the hounds to get upon the scent before they were all at their
speed, determined to be with them, let whatever might oppose
them ; in other words, to go till they fell, or their horses could
no longer go. And this was the way in which they did go, at
least such of them as came under the notice of our hero, who
thus noted them in his book, and sent a copy of his remarks
to Sir John : —

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THE LIFE OF A SFORISMAN

'Jacob Wardcll, on a weedy thorough-bred one, looking
nearly as fit to be carried by, as to carry his rider, with a
hooked stick in his right hand, one end of it resting on his
shoulder, and his own head nearly as high as the top of it,
went away with the lead at a pace that could scarcely be main-
tained on a race-course, still less over ridge and furrowed irrass
land, on a stiff clay bottom ; and, although he held the lead
gallantly for the first four fields, was at length laid flat on his
back in a wide, broad ditch, and leaped over, as he lay there,
by Forester, and three more whose persons I could not distin-
guish, being a good land's length in the rear of them. By a
luckj^ turn in my favour, however, I soon got alongside them,
and found them to be Lord Villiers on one of his two famous
black horses that Mr. Somerby had told mo of, Mr. Childe,
Mr. Cholmondeley, and Mr. Smith, ]\Ir. Germaine and Mr.
Musters lying a little to their left. I was delighted to find
myself in such company, but fearing I should soon be cut by
them, as we used to say at Eton, and recollecting an aphorism
of Egerton's, that example is the best instructor, I determined
on endeavouring to follow Mr. Forester so long as my horse
enabled me to do so. And now for the result, which I could
not have believed prior to the experience of it. When, at
about half a field's distance from him, I saw him take each
fence as it came, I repeatedly said within myself, that's nothing
at all events — adding, where are your big Leicestershire fences ?
But I was as oftentimes deceived, w^hen I came up to them, by
finding them very big. But how is this ? 1 would exclaim.
Neither Forester nor his horse appeared to make more exertion
to get over those strong bullock fences than they might have
made in clearing a dead hedge and small ditch. I was told it
was all the efiect of hand — of handing his horses, as it were,
easily and tenderly over their fences ; not allowing them to leap
a yard higher, or farther, than was necessary. That is the man
for me.

' But I was soon obliged to decline keeping such good com-
pany ; the pace was beyond what I had been used to, and my
place was taken by Sir Henry Peyton on Watchmaker, Lord
Foley, and Lindon, who appeared to be just about my own
age. This gave me encouragement. " I see the young ones
can do it," said I; "so I must not despair." But where were
the old ones :* Why, in about three more fields I heard a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

thrilling scream, that seemed to enter into my soul, and look-
ing to my left, there saw Mr. Meynell, and also Mr. Loraine
Smith, who, having taken advantage of a turn, the result of a
quick eye, were then close to the pack. But where was Martin
Hawke, of whose desperate style of riding I had been told so
much by Mr. Somerby. He was not then to be seen, having
had a fall over a gate which would have stopped a red-deer.
But what surprised me most, was the pace at which Lord
Sefton passed me in the middle of a large field, and the quick-
ness with which he made up his ground, having had a bad
start. Young Raven, the huntsman's son, however, was behind
him, mounted on one of his horses, on to which he jumped at
the very first opportunity ; and well it was tliat he did so, for
neither money nor condition could maintain that speed long-
under sixteen stone. Still there were several heavy men going
well ; amongst them, Mr. Lockly, on a superb horse, called
Confidence, for which I heard he had refused 800 guineas.
But this reminds me of a sad disaster, which chilled the
pleasure of tins fine run. At the first check, Mr. Loraine
Smith's horse, whose name I understood was Hollyhock, and
for which Lord Sefton had oftered him the above-named sum,
dropped down dead, from a rupture of a blood-vessel at tlie
heart. Neither was this the sole disaster. A horse called
Hermit, ridden by Captain St. Paul, and which he had only
just purchased at the, even then, stiff price of 700 guineas,
stood stock-still in the middle of a field, and was only saved
from death by a copious bleeding by his master. This, how-
ever, gave rise to a rather ludicrous circumstance. A caricature
appeared in London, representing the scene, these words being
written underneath it : — " An apostle administering comfort to
a distressed hermit."

' Up to this time — .say twenty minutes — I had been carried,
as I thought, well ; indeed, one gentleman, whose name I did
not know, said to me — " You are going well, sir " ; upon which
I stroked my horse's neck with my hand, and said to myself,
" I have got a superior horse." But I was rather premature in
my praises. He very soon did what 1 did not at all like. He
put his fore feet into a ditch, dropped his hinder legs in a
small brook, struck the top rail of a timber fence very hard
indeed, and was altogether not by half so pleasant a horse to
ride as he had been for the first ten minutes. To say the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

truth, I beo-an not to like it, for the fences got very large and
strong, at least so they appeared to nie.

' " A very stiff country this, sir," said I to a gentleman in black,
who appeared to be going very much at his ease ; " devilish big
fences, sir."

' " Pretty well for that, sir," he replied ; " but you are young
enough, and strong enough. You've nothing to do but to throw
your heart over them, and follow it."

' My heart, howe^'er, proved stouter than my horse. I went
boring along, losing around in every field we entered, and beine;
obliged to turn away from a stiff stile, with a foot-bridge over
a brook on the rising side, which I knew I had not in me at
the time, I lost sight of the leading men, and of the hounds of
course, only making my appearance at the last, by the help
of a turnpike road, with the rest of the awkward squad,
about ten minutes after the fox had been killed, which he was,
at the end of a beautiful and very fast burst of thirty-eight
minutes.

' Nevertheless, all things considered, I had not great reason
to be dissatisfied with the occurrences of tliis day. I certainly
was in a very good place the first quarter of an hour, and not
in a bad one the next five minutes ; and, now I thiidc of it, I can
account for my not being able to go well to the end of the run.
I recollect hearing Mr. Somerby say, when at Amstead, that there
was a sort of, not ad valorem, but ad virtufeni, price upon horses
that were, as mine were, " well known in Leicestershire." "It
depends," said he, " on how long they can go. For example,"
resumed he, " a horse that can go well for twenty minutes will
always fetch his 100 guineas, and if half an hour, double that
sum." Now as I only gave 150 guineas for Gentleman, at
Tattersall's, I had no reason to expect to have gone fartlier than
I did on that money. I shall, however, in future require a little
exposition of the words, "well known in Leicestershire " — whether
for good, or for evil.

' I was rather surprised to find, judging from the state of my
own horse, and that of many others, that another fox was to be
drawn for, as, notwithstanding some of the leading men mounted
fresh horses, others rode the same which liad carried them so
forward in the first severe burst. This, however, was another
pi'oof of the superiority of tliese hor.ses; and when next in want
of hunters, it shall be from amongst such as are known to do

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

such things that I shall make my selection, and not from those
which are well known to be able to jump a few tremendous
fences, and travel at the ultra pace for a short quarter of an
hour, and then shut up at once, or tumble in every other fence
at which their riders may put them.'

Although our hero's Gentleman, with his hollow sides,
dejected countenance, extended nostrils, and dirty face — for
he had been twice down on his head, and only picked up by
the superior strength of his rider — had not the aristocratic
appearance which he had exhibited before the hounds found,
when he certainly looked (juite fit to carry a gentleman — and
such he had on his back when he carried Frank Raby — still
he had enough left in him to trot along with the hounds to
Scraptoft, and see a second find. This gave him an opportunity
of throwing his eyes over the hounds, which, it might be almost
needless to say, he admired beyond any that he had hitherto
seen, not only for their form, but their very businesslike appear-
ance ; and, as may be supposed, the fact of their having been
bred by Mr. Meynell added not a little to their value in the eyes
of so young a sportsman. Then the three infheii, having been
Mr. Meynell's men, were equally pearls in his eyes. He could
not, indeed, but admire the appearance of all three, for any-
thing more characteristic could scarcely be exhibited in the
human form. As for John Raven, he might have been shown
as a pattern-card of his order. His keen and piercing eye,
beaming from out a swarthy, but health}' skin, and strictly
according in colour with his black and curly hair — raven
locks we might call them — just visible under his cap ; all this,
added to his well-proportioned form, cast in the very mould for
strong work, and of the right height for a horseman — and
as such he was first-rate — at once pronounced him entitled
to the character we have given of him. Neither were his two
whippers-in foils to liim. Joe Harrison (Jones, the cork-legged
whipper-in, had then just retired, to the discomfiture of our
hero, who wished to have seen the vara avis) was an excellent
sample of his craft, as was also Tom Winkfield, with his one eye,
and a countenance reminding one of a fox. They were both
capital horsemen ; indeed, I think I may say of Winktield, from
the long experience I lind of liis performance, that a better could
not be found.

As this was one of the last days of 31r. Meynell appearing

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

in the Held, it was fortunate for Frank Raby that sometliint;'
occurred to call his attention to his proceedings, how trivial
soever it might be. A small cover that lay on the road to
Scraptoft was tried, but it did not hold a fox. One hound,
however, threw his tongue once in the gorse, and no rate being
heard, 'a, find was considered certain.

' Have a care, Dromo,' however, was heard from Mr. Meynell,
with one smack of his whip. It was no find ; and on Lord
Sefton approacliing Mr. Meynell, lie asked him if he knew the
tongue of the hoimd that spoke in the gorse ?

' It was Dromo,' said Meynell.

' I think not,' replied his Lordship ; ' Dromo was on the other
side of the cover, drawing very well.'

' It was either Dromo or Drunnner ' (brothers, and one-year
hunters), resumed the veteran ; but as Raven came by with the
pack, the question was at once decided.

' What hound spoke to a scent, John ? ' said Lord Sefton.
' Dromo, my Lord,' replied Raven. ' I think a fox has been
through the gorse early in the night.' This showed the accuracy
of Mr. Meynell's ear, and at a period of life when such accuracy
is not often exhibited.

It would not be worth while to recite the further doings of
this day, and this on two accounts : first, the day altered,
as we sportsmen say, and the pace could not be maintained ;
and secondly, if there had been a really good thing, our hero
could not have partaken of it, forasmuch as Gentleman had
not recovered the twister he had had in the morning. To say
the truth, he was -a ver}'- middling nag, and ' well known in
Leicestershire ' as such, or 150 guineas, or even double that
sum, would not have purchased him at Tattersall's, for, like
many other ' gentlemen,' his appearance was very impo.sing.

On his arrival at Melton, our hero was much disappointed
at all he saw of the town as he rode to the ' Swan,' the head
inn of those days, but now a private house ; and likewise with
the inn itself, which was as bad as bad could be. This, however,
was a point of minor consequence to Frank Raby, inasmuch as
by the introduction of Mr. Somerby, in addition to the weight
his own connections gave to his name, he was seldom thrown
on his own resources for a dinner ; and on the veiy day of his
arrival was a guest at the Old Club. And there was, in the
proceedings of this club, what much took his fancy. There was
a quiet, unaffected style in tlie dinner, although dressed by a good

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

man-cook, as well as in the way in which the evening was passed,
which he considered to be quite in character with sportsmen.
After a moderate allowance of wine, tea and coffee were announced;
and after an hour or two's amusement with cards, each man
retired to his couch, to be ready and fresh for the following day.
And here the forthcoming day was productive of an event
which could only have occurred in this 'metropolis of fox-
hunting,' which Leicestershire is very properly called; but it
was an event which our hero would never have forgotten, had
he lived a thousand years. Having fallen asleep after his
servant had called him, he found himself almost alone in
Melton, that is, amongst the hunting men, all of them, with
the exception of two — who, as luck would have it, were going
to the same hounds as himself, those of the Earl of Lonsdale —
having started on their road to cover. The names of these
individuals he did not know at the time ; but on seeing them
pass the windows of his inn, he ordered out his cover-hack,
followed them, at a respectful distance, along the London
turnpike-road, which it was highly necessary he should have
done, as he did not know his way to the cover, nor was there
any one else to direct him. He had not, however, proceeded
more than two miles along this road, before he saw his guides
turn, at a right angle, through a bridle-gate, and of course he
turned through it also. Three more bridle-gates were passed
through at the extremities of fine grass grounds, over which
these two crack horsemen, for such they were, went at a rate
which rather surprised our young sportsman, conceiving them
to be, like himself, riding their cover-hacks. No sooner
through the fourth gate, however, than a different line of
country presented itself. They left the bridle-road and made
for a sheep-pen in a corner, which they passed, and then,
leaping into and out of a lane, put their heads about as
straight as the crow flies, in the direction of a spire which
was in view. Our hero now began to And his mistake — nay,
more, that he was in a scrape ; for, although the hack he was
mounted on could get over certain fences, at a certain pace,
he began to find that, if he continued at the pace these
Meltonians were leading him over this fine but choking
country, he would soon be unable to leap at all. He had
nothing to do, then, but to pull up, and endeavour to follow
his guides, as Hercules did the oxen, by the tracks of their
horses' feet on the ground.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

All went well for the next five fields. The fences were
practicable, and as the distance from Melton was only eight
miles, our hero began to think that, from the pace they had
been going, he might still arrive before the fox was found.
But when in the middle of a very large field, and in the act
of descending from the highest part of it, he saw what he
suspected might prove to be death to all his ho23es. He saw^
and apparently for miles right and left, the valley he was
about to descend into, not, in poetical language —

' Witli rural dainties crown'd,
^yllil(i opoiuiij;' hlooiiis difluse their sweets around,'

wliere nothing was to be heard but the hum of insects, the
melody of birds, and the wild nmsic of the .shepherd's pipe,
but he saw a long and undulating line of stumpy old pollarded
willow-trees, which too plainly convinced him that a deep
brook was in his line ; and as for the hum of insects, the
melody of birds, and tlie wild music of the shepherd's pipe,
not a thing could he hear, animate or inanimate, beyond the
puffing and blowing of his half-tired horse, and the sort of
sucking noise his feet made as he pulled tlieni out of the
furrow^s of this highly ridged field.

' Now what is to be done ? ' was the question he put to
himself, — and a serious question it was : for should he not be
able to get to hounds, he greatly feared that many a good
laugh would be had at his expense, even should he escape
being shown up in a caricature as ' a young provincial
gentleman going to cover in Leicestershire.' As to a bridge,
or a ford, or a road, his eye looked for either in vain ; and
when he came down on the brook, and saw where his two
guides had taken it in their stroke, he considered himself to
be in the most trying situation in which a young sportsman,
similarly circumstanced, could be placed. He recollected,
hoM'ever, that he had once ridden the horse he was then on,
and which had been hunted by a young farmer with his
father's harriers, over a brook nearly, if not quite, as wide as
the one which now unfortunately arrested his progress ; so he
at once determined on riding at it. And he certainly gave
him a fair chance ; for it was not until he had turned his head
to the wind, and thereby enabled him to recover his strength a
little, that he put his intentions into execution. Taking him,
then, about twenty yards from its banks, he put liiiii manfully
at the brook, which, as we say of the grave, only yawned to

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

receive him. Whether it was that he wanted the excitement
of the Amstead harriers, or whether tlie Melton cover-hack
pace was quite beyond his mark, it is hard to determine, but
this much is certain : — despite of the resolute manner in which
he was ridden at it ; namely, with two good digs of the spurs
on starting, a refresher, when near tlie bank, by the whip, and
a ' Come up ' at rising, he only landed his fore legs on the
bank, falling backwards into the water, with our hero under-
neath him, who might be said to have been anywhere but in
clover at the time. The upshot, however, was that, having,
after a lapse of nearly lialf an hour, got his horse on the bank
again, he retraced his steps to Melton, on no very agreeable
terms with himself, but with a full determination to know
beforehand to whom he should in future look as pilots to
direct his course over Leicestershire, for in this instance he
had made a sad mistake.

He had got into the wake not only of two of the best men in
the hunt, the afterwai'ds great Tom Smitli and Mr. Vansittart,
but, as is often the case with Meltonians who possess large
studs, they were not themselves on cover-hacks, but on first-
rate hunters, whose pipes they were amusing themselves with
opening, against their next day's work with hounds, instead of
leaving that task to their servants, who, as they had known to
their cost, could not perform it so well.

As might be expected, many inquiries were made respecting
the absence of ' young Raby,' as he was called ; for his
having been introduced by Mr. Somerby, an influential character
in the liunt, together with his name and connections, had
rendered him an object of notice, even with the Melton men,
an honour not very often conferred on persons of still greater
pretensions. But they liked the looks of young Raby. There
was something manly and sportsmanlike about him ; in short,
they considered him 'a promising young one,' a compliment
first paid by Mr. Forester, no bad judge. To the questions
put to our hero himself, he made the following candid answer :
' Why, I was very rightly served. I neglected the observance
of what ought to be a standing rule in all situations in life,
and in none more than in a sportsman's ; namely, to " take
time by the forelock," as the proverb has it, and even to allow
for the chapter of accidents. The fact was, I was at my
breakfast when I ought to have been on my hack, and I paid
dearly for my folly by being soused over head and ears in

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9i

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

a brook, besides losino^, as 1 undeistand, a tine day's sport. How-
ever, the lesson will not be lost upon me, in having impressed two
things upon my mind ; first, to be wider awake on a Imnting
morning ; secondly, the fact that a pretty good hunter with my
father's harriers is a devilish bad cover-hack in Leicestershire.'
Tlie next day being Sunday, Frank Raby, after being in
clmrch, for Melton men go to church, and hearing an excellent
discourse from Doctor Ford, on the empty vanity of all human
pursuits, was conducted by his friend Somerby through several
of the stables belonging to the principal Melton men, which
was to him a great treat. Tlie impression made upon him by
this inspection was conveyed to his friend, Sir John Inkleton,
in a letter, of which the following is a copy : —

' Melton, February 8, 1802.

' Dear Inkleton, —

' I promised to let you know how I get on in Leicester-
shire. I made a bad start on Friday with the Quorn ;—
attempted to go tlie pace Avith the leading men, and brought
Gentleman to a standstill. I think his place is " the pro-
vincials," as the top-sawyers here call all countries but their
own. However, I was nmch pleased with their beautiful
riding, and went as long as I could. But, to use the vulgar
phrase, I must either eat more pudding, — that is, become
older, — or buy better horses, before I shall be able to go their
pace, for it is nearly the Bibury Welter pace. And yet I have
no reason to be displeased with my first day in Leicestershire.
Somerby introduced me to several of the dons, and, above
all, to Mr. Meynell, who equals all I have heard of him in his
manners and appearance. Lord Sefton does the whole thing
in first-rate style ; his huntsman. Raven (I have not seen
Stephen Goodall), is worth riding fifty miles to see. Every
one says he is perfect in the field, and has, what can be said
of few, only one fault elsewhere. He is rather too fond of his
Lordship's good October. The meet at Cream Lodge Gorse
was such a sight as I never thought I should see — but more
of this when we meet.

' Yesterday I made a very " bad cast," as old Dick says. I
missed seeing a fine run with Lord Lonsdale's liounds by over-
sleeping myself, and got well punished for so doing. When I
ought to have been half-way to cover, I was at my breakfast,
and by endeavouring to follow the two last men out of Melton,
but generally two of the first in a run, on their cover-hacks,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

as I imagined, I got over head in a brook, and was obliged to
return without seeing a liound. They proved to be Mr. Asshe-
ton Smith, called here, 'par excellence no doubt, Tom Smith,
and Mr, Vansittart, both mounted upon hunters.

' I was much disappointed with Melton — I mean the town,
which is a poor place, but it contains many good fellows. I
dined at the Old Club the first day, the members of which
appear to live together after the manner of brothers, and just
as sportsman ought to live ; no midnight revelling to shake
the nerves. In fact, I am told a pint of wine is the usual
limit with many of the best men at Melton.

' To-day I went to church, a beautiful specimen of the
florid Gothic, with very pretty chimes, and was amused as
well as edified by the rector, Dr. Ford. When I say " amused,"
I must tell you why. He would not suffer the clerk to murder
the second and fourth verses of the psalm of the day, but read
them himself, evidently partaking of the poetical inspiration of
the author of them. It is really abominable to hear our clerk
at Amstead murder and miscall this fine language, — " the howl
in the dessart," for example. But enough of this. After
church I walked through several stables in the town, and saw,
as you may suppose, many fine horses. To carry my weight,
Mr. Forester's stud pleased me most. They were chiefly
brown geldings, that colour being prevalent in Shropshire
(where he generally purchases his hunters), with those got by
the Hundred House Snap, his favourite blood. Cholmondeley's
horses were very perfect, and just suited to his weight. By
the way, I remember a Christchurch man, out of his county,
saying that whilst he was staying at his seat in Cheshire,
thirteen hunters took their departure for Melton ; and on his ob-
serving that " it must be a difiicult matter to find such a lot " : —
" Not at all," replied Cholmondeley, " the difficulty is in finding
the money to pay for them."

' Further particulars of what I saw to-day must remain till
we meet. I shall only add that, although the general con-
dition of tlie hunters here is very good, it does not equal that
of Lord Sefton's stud ; and I have told Pritchard — who of
course growled on hearing it— that no hunter of mine should
ever again have a summer's run at grass.

' Believe me, dear Inkleton,
' Truly youi's,

' Francis Raby.
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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' P.S. — I hope your stable continues riglit, and that you will
come here soon. Depend upon it, it is the place for sport.
In fact, one of the flyers here says — not that I agree with
him — "riding to cover over this country is better than riding

to hounds over most others."

' F. R.'

The next appearance of our young sportsman with hounds,
was with those of the Duke of Rutland at one of their most
favourite fixtures, and where, as is usual in such cases, most
of the leading characters of the three adjoining hunts met
together. The scene, like that at Cream Lodge, was one of the
most cheering and soul-stirring description to a person of his
age and experience, and tended to enhance greatly his opinion
of Melton as a domicile for a hunting man. Then there was
a character at the head of his Grace's hunting establishment
who was an object of much interest, and especially so with
young sportsmen, inasmuch as he was, at that period, what
may be called the only one in his calling with anything like
equal pretensions ; namely, to unite the gentleman with the
huntsman, combining the duties of the servant withal. This
was the far-famed Shaw, who then hunted the Duke of
Rutland's hounds, and who, for what may be called 'style' in
every department and movement of his calling, was the most
celebrated huntsman of the day. All this, indeed, was visible
to Frank Raby previously to the hounds throwing off'; for,
instead of seeing him, where he looked for him, in the middle
of his pack, as they stood under the shelter of a fence, await-
ing the appointed hour, he observed him coming along on his
cover-hack, at the rate of fifteen miles in the hour, and in
company with two distinguished sportsmen, then on a visit to
the Duke, and who were, no doubt, enjoying, as well as profit-
ing by, the sage and pertinent remarks of a man so eminent
in his way, which, although delivered with the authority of a
master, were given with the respect expected from a servant.
Nor was this all : he was amused with his proceedings on his
arrival. After the usual exchange of greetings between him-
self and his hounds, which no man who has a soul, or is
capable of being pleased with such simple exhibitions of nature,
can witness without pleasure, there was something quite
aristocratic in the manner in which he prepared himself for
entering upon his office, and commencing the operations of
the day. Tlie mud-boots being taken off, and the dust, should

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

there have been any, wiped off his neat and well-polished

boots, a white cambric handkerchief was generally taken from

his pocket by Shaw, with which, after gently raising his cap

from his head, he as gently wiped his brow, returning it to

whence it came. Then there was something remarkable too —

something pleasing to the ear, in the tone of Shaw's voice, and

especially so when uttering the words — ' your Grace,' which,

of course, were invariably appended to his answers to his noble

master. Again, there was an air about him even in mounting

his hunter, and trotting away with the hounds towards the

cover, at the signal given to him by the Duke, which forcibly

struck Frank Raby as something out of the common way.

The signal was silently but gracefully acknowledged by a gentle

raising of the cap, and he may be said to have thrown his

hounds into cover with much grace. As for his horsemanship,

it was elegant, and so thought our hero.

But our hero's opinion of the hounds shall appear in a

letter he wrote to his friend Lord Dauntley, after hunting with

Lord Lonsdale's hounds on the following day, and once more

with Lord Sefton's.

' Melton, February G, 1802.

'Dear Dauntley, —

' As we shall meet so soon, I shall only now tell you that I
have been out with the three packs, and am delighted with all
I have seen. I could not have believed, had I not witnessed
it, that any part of England could be so favourable, both
for hounds and those who ride to them, as that which I have
lately travelled over. And at what a pace it is travelled over !
But you know all this better than I can tell you. I can only
say, it is too fast for me, at least, for my horses. I stopped
Gentleman, the first day with the Quorn, in little more than
twenty minutes ; Achilles is too slow ; ditto Pantaloon ; ^ in
fact, the General, and Bowman^ — a right good one — are the
only two at all fit for the country. My stable will soon be
stumped up, and I must either return to the provincials, or
purchase others. It is useless to be here with only six horses,
and four of those not up to the mark. I overheard one of the
fellows yesterday say — " I think that young Raby would ride if
he had the cattle, but the present lot won't do. They tell me
he'll be well breeched one of these days, so it's his own fault

^ The liorse purchased at Tattersall's, togetlier with Gentleman.
- The horse purchased at the reconiniendation of Sir John Inkleton, and
already spoken of.

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a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

if he don't mend his stable." I think so, too, Daunth'y ; and I
nmst go to Moftes before next liunting season — that is to say,
if Mr. Darkin don't win the Oaks. Truenian gives me hopes
in his Uxst letter ; he says " Rouge is one of the best goei's of a
young one he ever saw." As he is so good a judge, I think
something of this. He says nothing of Euphrosyne ; but if one
of them can do the trick it's enough.

' Now for my opinion of what I have seen. I like the
Melton fellows much — " no nonsense about them," as Jack
Bailey says ; and they are very civil — indeed, kind to me !
Of the hounds I should say this : — The Quorn and Lord
Lonsdale's are the most businesslike, but the Duke's are,
perhaps, the handsomest to the eye. They certainly show
nmch blood, as we say of horses. The others are coarser in
some of their points ; for example, a hound in the Quorn
called Guzman, which Raven told me they breed much from,
is coarse in his fore-quarters, with what old Dick calls " a chit-
terling shirt about his neck." I believe the term is, " a little
throating." But they all have good legs, and feet, and loins,
at least as far as I am a judge. The Duke's, with a good
scent, are called the fastest ; indeed, one day last week they
ran clean away from the horses, in a burst of twelve minutes
— only one thorough-bred one being able to live with them.
Shaw confessed he was beat half a mile in four, and over the
finest part of the country for a splitter. Lord Lonsdale's are
capital hunters, and, I believe, seldom lose a fox, unless by
accident, when the scent serves. The country I met them in
looked very much like fox-hunting. The fixture was Tilton
Wood. Yesterday, I met the Quorn again ; it was the pack
hunted by Stephen Goodall, a most intelligent-looking fellow,
but a cruel weight for a horse. He is said to be very clever,
and if up with his hounds in time, generally puts them right,
when at fault. We had a capital run, and I am happy to say
I was capitally carried by Bowman. I suppose I could put
him into my pocket at a large sum, if I was so disposed, as
Pritchard tells me no less than three of his brothers of the
stable have asked him whether he was for sale ? There was
some desperate riding yesterday ; and I understand the part
of the Stanton Brook which Forester leaped on a horse called
Bernado, measured thirty-two feet — a great leap for a horse,
with better than fourteen stone on his back.

' Now, then, adieu till we meet. If you chance to see the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fillies, let me have your opinion of their condition, etc. ; and,
should you hear of a good tvell-bred hunter for sale, think of
ine. I will go as far as 300 guineas.

' Dear Dauntley,

' Ever yours,

'Francis Raby.

' Tlie Lord Dauntley, efco. etc.

'P.»S'. — I had nearly forgotten to tell you, that I was much
pleased with the appearance of the celebrated Mr. Brummell
in the held. He is not a sportsman, I believe, nor much of a
rider; but he is one of the neatest and best dressed men I
ever saw. His horses, also, are complete both in shape and
condition, and everything about him — the tout ensemble, I
think they call it on the other side of the channel — may be
said to be complete.'

The ides of March were not more dreaded by the great
Caesar himself, than they are by a fox-hunter in the ploughed
countries, as half a dozen ' fine March days,' as the farmers
say of them, put a stop to anything like sport with hounds.
This being the case in that district in which Sir John Inkleton
hunted, he most liberally made an offer of his four capital
hunters to his young friend, Frank Raby, and they arrived at
Melton in tip-top condition, just one month previous to the
conclusion of the season. . Here, then, was the character of
our hero at once brought forth, and stamped. In some of
their best runs — which are not denied to hounds in the grass
countries, even to the middle of April — he particularly dis-
tinguished himself ; and it was the general opinion of the best
judges amongst the Meltonians and the members of the other
hunts, that Frank Raby, as he was now everywhere called,
woukl one day or another rank in the foremost class, not only
of horsemen, but of sportsmen — -verifying the prophetic verdict
of Mr. Forester, that he was 'a very promising young one.'

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CHAPTER XII

A sample of a young sportsman's life in London — A near thing for the Oaks at
Epsom, and a close shave for the Oaks at Amstead.

The season concluded, our liero took his departure from
Melton, but not without havini^ hired most convenient apart-
ments for the forthcoming one, together with a ten-stalled
stable for his horses, being resolved on adding four others to
his number, as well as replacing those who could not do the
trick. In fact, he was now spoiled for riding anything second-
rate, and Bowman and the General were the only two that he
intended to keep for the ensuing year.

Between his arrival at Amstead, and ' the Derby,' a period
of as much note in the almanack of a sportsman as Whit-
suntide or Easter in that of others, nothing occurred to our
hero sufficiently worthy of record, unless it be the receipt
of the two following letters at about the end of the first fort-
night : —

' Grosvenor Square, Sunday, April 19.

' Dear Raby, —

' Your account of your doings at Melton delighted me, but
not so much as that I have heard from others of your per-
formance over the country, and the good impression you left
behind you on the people. They all say " you will do," and
enough is expressed in those few words. I saw your fillies a
few days back, and I really think you have a chance. Trueman
says he has tried them high (such are his words), and that
Rouge is the second best two-year-old he ever had in his stable.
I am just come from Tattersall's, and find they are both in the
betting; Rouge at only 12 to 1 — Euphrosyne at 25. You
should employ some one to lay out a hundred for you, chiefly
on Rouge, from what Trueman says. He has taken the odds

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THE LIFE OF A SFORTSMAN

himsclt" to Ji^50. Make use of uie, if you like, as I mean
to lay out sonic money on Rouge — a hundred at least — to-
morrow. As they tell me the may-fly is gone, I suppose we
shall soon meet in the little village. I shall therefore only
add that I remain,

' Dear Frank, truly yours,

' Dauntley.

' F. Raby, Essq.'

' Honoured Sir, —

' I writes to tell you how your fillies is, as it is my duty
so to do. I thinks we shall be nioh hand with Roup-e'if we
doesn't win the Oaks. I have tried her with a good four-
year-old at eight pounds, and they ran head to head. Euphro-
syne is well, and has good speed, but I doubt she will not
stay.^ I have taken the odds (12 to 1) to £50 about Rouge,
and I would advise you to do the same, but don't meddle with
the other yet. The odds will be higher against her after a bit,
when people sees she hasn't many friends.

' Sir, your obedient servant,

' W. Trueman.

'To Francis Kaby, Esq.'

The consequence of these letters was, one from our hero to
his friend Dauntley, requesting him to take the odds to a
hundred pounds on Rouge, but, in the classical language of
Mr. Trueman, not to meddle with Euphrosyne, and the com-
mission was executed, on the following Monday, by his
Lordship.

A fortnight before the Derby our hero arrived in London,
and, as usual, took up his residence with his uncle, whose
kindness towards him was unabated. He could not, however,
help remarking that, although, from the length of time since
he had last seen him, it was, to a certain extent, to be looked
for, there was a wide difference in the character and deport-
ment of his favourite nephew, and in one or two respects not
exactly to be accounted for. In the first place, he was rather
short in his answers ; in other words, if he did not appear to
hold his uncle cheaply, he appeared evidently to attach but

' Avglicc — is a jade and will die away in a strnjigle at the last.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

little weight to his general remarks and opinions. The fact
was, his uncle had never been at Melton. In the next, he
observed a thoughti'ulness about hini that was not, he was
certain, natural, and he now and then appeared to be almost
absorbed in thought. In fact, Mr. Beaumont Raby began to
doubt whether his favourite nephew was happy, and even put
the question to him, to endeavour to satisfy his mind on the
subject. The answer was, of course, in the affirmative.

That Frank Raby was, at this time, quite happy, no one
will readily believe, and the cause of his not being so will as
readily present itself. He had embarked in a speculation, the
result of which was not only in itself uncertain, but it was
also apparent to him that he had embarked in it rashly, and
without the means of cai-rying it through with any satisfaction
to himself. He had already put himself under an obligation
to a friend, and that a newly-accjuired one, for the money his
fillies had cost, and he was further involved with him in the
odds he had taken for him at Tattersall's. In short, for the
first time in his life, he found himself in trouble, in conse-
quence of exceeding his means. But this was not the utmost
extent of it. He had subjected himself, also for the first time,
to a severe self-reproach, for acting an underhand part in the
possession of his racing fillies — in fact, for having done what
he feared to be known to all the world, which he felt was quite
repugnant to his naturally ingenuous disposition.

Within a week of the meeting, matters stood thus : Rouge
was third favourite for the Oaks, the odds being only 8 to 1
against her, whereas, with respect to Euphrosyne, they remained
at 25. Nevertheless, in consequence of her being in the same
stable with Rouge, said to be such a flyer, added to her being
known to be a superior goer, a good deal of mone^^ had been
laid out on her at the above-named quotation, but not by the
principal bettors, further than to make up their ])ooks. As
to her owner, although he had taken the odds — at least his
noble friend had done so for him — to another hundred pounds,
on the Monday before the race, when they were only 12 to 1,
he had not one shilling on Euphrosyne, nor had any of his
friends who were in the secret, and they only consisted of
three ; namely. Lord Dauntley, Hargrave, and Goodall, his
old Christchui-ch chums, who had laid out some money on
Rouge.

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

On the morning of the race, an alteration had taken place in
the betting, in consequence of something having transpired, and
the odds stood thus : 12 to 1 against Rouge, and 10 to 1 against
Euphrosyne, or 6 to 1 against Mr. Darkin's lot. Thus had
Rouge gone down four points, whilst Euphrosyne got up fifteen
in the betting.

But one thing surprised Frank Raby and his friends more
than the alteration in the betting ; and this was the fact of the
worst jockey being put upon Rouge, and the best on the other
filly, which was thus accounted for by Mr. Trueman : —

' We must not throw away a chance, sir,' said he to our hero,
' with Euphrosyne, although hers is a poor one ; she is a difficult
mare to ride, whereas Rouge wants no riding at all, beyond
keeping her straight and holding her well together. She's as
honest as, I fear, the other is a rogue.'

All this, however, was very satisfactorily explained about an
hour before the race, and in the following manner : —

Our hero was accosted on the course by a person of rather
mean appearance, but having a good deal the look and
character of what is called a ' leg,' in the real acceptation
of that term.

' Pray, sir,' said he, ' are you not Mr. Raby ? '

' I am,' he replied.

' And the owner of two fillies in this race ? '

Our hero paused, but his silence was thus interrupted by the
'leg':-

' I know all about them, sir,' resumed he ; ' they are both
your fillies, and you have been robbed ! I saw them tried, and
I have no doubt but that Euphrosyne is five pounds a better
mare than Rouge. As for myself, I stand to win upon her, and
have laid long odds against the other, which, in my opinion, is
as big a jade as ever started in a race.'

' And pray who are you ? ' asked our hero.

' No matter who I am, sir,' was the reply ; ' you'll find I have
told you the truth.'

' Here is a pretty business,' said Raby, as he galloped up to
Goodall, whom he chanced to espy on the course ; ' for God's
sake, where is Dauntley ? '

' What do you want with him in such a hurry ? ' asked
Goodall.

' To hedge our money before the ring breaks up,' was the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

reply ; ' I have reason to believe we are all done about Rouge,
who has not a chance to win, and the other iilly has.'

The upshot, liowever, was this : — Lord Dauntley could not
be found ; neither our hero nor Goodall had any ci-edit in the
ring, which, in an hour from that time, was broken up ; and to
the post went the fillies. The race was one of the quickest
ever seen over that course. Euphrosyne answering every stroke
of the whip and every dig of the spur — struggling, in short, to
the very last stride — was only beaten by a head, whereas the
favourite was at the extremity of the tail, or, as his owner said
of Eclipse's competitors, ' noivhere.' And the summing up of
the case was this : — Mr. Trueman won £300 by backing Rouge
to lose, the money being laid out for him by a friend ; and if
Euphrosyne had won the race, he would have pocketed £8000
on the event — in fact, to use his own words, let drop when very
drunk, he sJwnld from that hour Jtave been a gentleman. But it
now matters little : Mr. Trueman went to his account without
having been created a gentleman, by breaking his neck down
stairs, when in a state of beastly intoxication ; and our hero
purchased a lesson at no very great cost.

Now, independently of the loss of the stakes, and the honour
of being a winner of the Oaks — an honour which, nevertheless,
must in this case have lain dormant for a time — there was one
very provoking circumstance to Frank Raby, in this foul
transaction. He could have sold Rouge for 1000 guineas, on
the strength of her place in the betting, whereas she was now
worth little more than as many half-crowns — in fact; she was
soon afterwards sold at about that figure. Euphrosyne, how-
ever, was valuable, and might have been sold for a very
considerable sum. To get rid of the thing altogether, however,
and to prevent the necessity of his applying to a friend to
enable him to paj^ the debts Lord Dauntley had made for him at
Tattersall's, and to discharge Mr. Trueman's bill, he accepted
an offer made to him, through Trueman, of 800 guineas for
her, which, with no great addition from his own present
resources, enabled him to discharge all obligations — that to
his friend Dauntley, for the original purchase of the hllies,
amongst the number. And there was one redeeming quality
in Mr. Trueman, the trainer : he left the world without betray-
ing the secret as to whom these fillies belonged ; and as our
hero had not made any admission to the ' leg,' who made the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

disclosure of the villainy, it never came to lic^ht until he revealed
it himself, at a period when it mattered nothing if all the world
knew it.

Horace says, ' Life is short, and we should gather its roses
while Fate leaves them in our power ' ; and he also says
(mistakenly, I think), that ' the charm of Fame consists in
being pointed at, and having it said. This is Jte ! ' Now, I do
not think that our hero was under the ban of the last-named
infirmity ; but that he was bent upon gathering the roses before
the bloom began to fade, his late proceedings have pretty
clearly demonstrated. As his friend Daunt! ey and himself,
then, were taking a ride together in the park, on the Thursday
after the Epsom meeting, the following conversation took
place : —

' I may consider myself very fortunate,' said Frank Raby,
' in getting out of my racing speculation so well as I have
done ; and shall be very cautious how I enter into another.
But I have a serious undertaking on my hands, which must be
accomplished in the course of the summer.'

' What is that ? ' said Lord Dauntley.

' I must lay out upwards of £1000 in horseflesh, and I am at
present uncertain whence that sum will be forthcoming.'

' My good fellow,' said his Lordship, ' you need be so no
longer. I have that sum at your service any day you may call
upon me for it. Nothing is more grateful to me than the act
of serving a friend ; indeed, I consider that we are sent here,
among other wise purposes, to serve each other when it lies in
our power.'

' A thousand thanks, my dear Dauntley,' replied Rab}^ ; ' but
I must not trespass further on the kindness of my friends,
so long as I have other sources to fly to for relief. Goodall
tells me he can recommend me to a respectable man in the
city, who will advance me a couple of thousand pounds on a
post-obit security, and on fair terms. I am to be introduced
to him to-morrow.'

' Needs uuist, when the devil drives,' resumed Lord Dauntley ;
' but, as your father cannot bo fifty, you will have to pay a
heavy bonus.'

' Yes, but there is my uncle, also,' replied our hei'o. ' Goodall
says the contingency may be made to embrace my expectations
from him.'

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THE LIFE OP A SPORTSMAN

' I doubt it,' said his Lordship. ' However, ii" you do not
succeed in the city, you know where to come ; at all events, do
not conclude the bargain witliout informing me of the nature

of it;

At the appointed liour Goodall met our hero at Limmer's,
and getting into a dirty hackney coach, proceeded to the city
on an ec^ually dirty business, and in due time arrived at the
residence of Mr. Sharpe, a member of the honourable pro-
fession of money-scriveners. On their names being announced
to him, they were shown into the dining-room, where Mr.
Sharpe almost immediately made his appearance, that part of
his premises, as he himself said, being better fitted than the
' office ' for gentlemen who came to him ' on matters of a
delicate nature.' He was a middle-aged man, respectable in
his appearance, possessing a quick eye, and altogether a very
intelligent countenance. We will once more have recourse to
the dialoo-ical form, in describing; this interview.

' Good morning to ye, gentlemen,' said Mr. Sharpe (on making
his appearance) : ' Mr. Goodall, I believe.'

' The same, sir,' replied Goodall.

' Then I presume,' continued Mr. Sharpe, ' this gentleman
(bowing to our hero) is Mr. Raby. I beg, gentlemen, you will
be seated.'

' My friend Mr. Raby, sir,' said Goodall, ' is in want of some
temporary assistance, and having been recommended to you by
my friend Mr. Thornton, I have reason to believe you will
render it to him upon fair and honourable terms.'

' Sir,' said Mr. Sharpe, smirking a bow, ' you pay me a
compliment : but this I may say of myself, that, from my very
extensive pecuniary connections in this great town, I have the
means of rendering gentlemen accommodation to an extent not
within the reach of — I think I may say — any other man. But
pray, sir, let me ask you, is your friend a son of Mr. Raby, of
Am stead Abbey ? '

' He is,' replied Goodall.

' Then,' resumed Mr. Sharpe, ' there will be no difficulty in
this case. I foreclosed a mortgage last year, on a property
adjoining the Amstead estate, and, having been some weeks in
tlie neighbourhood, know all about Mr. Raby. I think, sir,'
continued he, addressing himself to our hero, ' you are now the
only son.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' I am,' replied Frank ; and, as he spoke, a deep flush came
over his face, at the same time that he stifled a sigh, and
avoided catching the eye of his friend Goodall.

' Very well, sir ; now what is the sum you are in want
of?'

' Two thousand pounds.'

' Oh, sir,' quoth Mr. Sharpe, ' 'tis hardly worth while
going to parchment for such a sum as that; suppose we say
live ? '

'No,' replied Frank Raby ; 'I only want £2000 at
present.'

' And the security ? '

' A post-obit.'

Mr. Sharpe first squeezed together his lips, hard enough to
have cracked a hazel-nut, and then, pouting them out on a
level with the end of his nose, looked exceedingly wise — ' Post-
obit ! Difficult to get money on post-obit — that is to say, on
fair and easy terms ; would not annuity be better ? '

' No,' returned Frank, ' annuity won't do ; I have only an
allowance from my father.'

' Well, sir, then we'll say no more on that subject. You
propose a bonus on the death of your father ? '

' Yes, or my uncle.'

' Oh ! you have an uncle ? '

' I have ; and as he has never been married, and is nearly as
old as my father, I have reason to believe I shall inherit his
property.'

' Ah, sir,' said Mr. Sharpe, with a sigh, ' two or three
young gentlemen I have had to deal with, have believed the
same thing of their uncles, but found their mistake when they
died. Old uncles are ticklish fellows to deal with; if you
please, we will confine ourselves to your father, whose estates
I know are entailed on you. Have you ever borrowed money
before ? '

' Never ; unless it was a hundred or so, from a friend, which I
repaid.'

' Good, sir ; and what do you expect to be the bonus upon tlie
sum you propose to raise ? '

' Let us hear what you have to say, Mr. Sharpe.'

'Why, let me see,' said Mr. Sharpe (placing his hand
over his eyes, and resting his elbow on the table) :—' your

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

father, sir, you say, is tit'ty-two years old ; he may live another
fifty-two years. Then (removing his hands from his eyes, and
looking at our hero) your father, sir, is, I understand, a very
regular liver, entering but little into the dissipation of this
town ; on the contrary, I believe he almost altogether lives
in the country, devoting himself to hunting, agriculture, and
such-like health-giving pursuits. Then, what a fine, noble-
looking man he is ! I think, Mr. Raby, he'll hold for a long
tug.'

' I hope he may,' replied Frank ; ' but tell me at once what
you expect for £2000 ? '

' Certainly not less than £5000, all circumstances con-
sidered.'

' Then be it so ; when can I have the money ? "

' In a fortnight from this day ; you shall hear from me
within that time, to appoint the day and hour in which the
money will be forthcoming. All, then, that I have to add is,
a request that Mr. Thornton may be an attesting witness to the
bond, or, indeed, any other gentleman who is known to both
parties, merely to identify the person of Mr. Rab}^ who is, of
course, a stranger to me.'

' Why, to be sure, we are both strangers to you, Mr. Sharpe,'
said Goodall ; 'but there can be no objection to call upon
my friend Thornton, on whom I can depend for not talking
about this affair, which, of course, Mr. Raby wishes to be kept
a secret.'

' Oh, sir,' said Mr. Sharpe, with a small smile, ' we never talk
of these matters ; we should be cutting our own throats.' And
so exeunt omnes.

' Well, Raby,' said Lord Dauntley to our hero, the first
time they met after this visit to Mr. Sharpe, ' how did you
get on with the money-lender ? What are you to give for
your £2000 ? '

' What do you think ? ' was the reply.

' I am no judge of such things,' answered his Lordship, 'as
my father died when I was two years old. All I know is, you
must mind what you are at ; for a friend of mine was nicely
humbugged by one of these advertising money-lenders. He
was absolutely obliged to take twelve dozen gross of cotton
stockings, and a lot of vulgar plate, whicli he did not want, for
more than half tlie sum promised him.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' There is no tear of iny being served in tliat way,' replied
Raby ; ' Mr. Sharpe seems to be a respectable man ; has a
devilish good house ; and keeps lots of clerks. I am to give
£5000 for £2000, cash down.'

' Well,' resumed his noble friend, ' all things considered, for
your father is a young and very hale man, I do not think that
is nmch out of the way, for there is no small risk in post-obit
bonds. You know the law takes no cognisance of the homis —
that is, the lender can only recover the principal and legal
interest for the same.'

' Indeed ! ' exclaimed our hero, somewhat surprised at the
assertion. ' Still, no man, with the feelings of a gentleman,
would refuse to pay the bonus.'

' Certainly not,' replied Lord Dauntley, ' if he were fairly dealt
with in the transaction, and no further advantage taken than
that to Avhich he himself had been a party.'

At the end of a fortnight from the visit of our hero, with
Goodall, to the city, he received the following note from
Mr. Sharpe : —

' Mr. Sharpe presents his respectful compliments to Mr. Raby,
and begs to inform him that everything is arranged relating to
the post-obit transaction ; and will thank Mr. Raby to give him
the meeting on Thursday next, at two o'clock precisely, at
No. 13 Edward Street, Portman Square, where the gentleman
who makes the advance resides.'

As may be imagined, our hero was true to liis time, and
having been introduced to Mr. Thornton, who acceded to
Mr. Sharpe's request, made his appearance in Edward Street,
just as the clock struck two, expecting to find the lawyer, if
not Mr. Thornton, there before him.

It happened, however, that he was the first ; and on inquiring
whether Mr. Longbottom was at home, was answered by a smart
livery-servant in the affirmative, and to whom he presented his
card.

' Walk this way, if you please, sir,' said John ; and he con-
ducted him to the front drawing-room, which was not only
elegantly furnished, but had its walls absolutely covered witli
large and apparent)}' well-executed paintings.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' This man must be a man of fortune,' said our hero to him-
self, as he threw his eyes round the room ; ' I think I am in
good hands.'

In a very few minutes the door of the room was opened, and
a tall, thin, unhealthy-looking person in black, with a well-
powdered head, walked in, with our hero's card in his hand, and
was, of course, very polite to his guest.

'You are punctual, Mr. Raby,' said he; 'I like to have to do
with persons who are punctual.'

' But where is Mr. Sharpe ? ' inquired Frank.
' Why, I think he will soon be here, accompanied by a gentle-
man whose name and object you have been acquainted with,'
resumed Mr. Longbottom. 'But you know, sir, lawyers like
Mr. Sharpe, in a large way, cannot always connnand their own
time. Pray, Mr. Raby, be seated.'

' Thank ye,' replied Frank Raby ; ' but I wish to have another
look at your pictures. I admire tlds, much,' pointing to an
•historical piece of very large dimensions.

' That is a clief d'oeuvre,' said his host ; ' I gave 3000 guineas
for that picture in Rome.'

' And this,' resumed our hero.
' A Correggio,' said Longbottom.
' And this, how beautiful ! '

' You show your taste, Mr. Raby ; that picture is yours.'
'Mine!!!'

' Yes, yours ; that is to say, merely nominally so. General
Jervis, now at the Bedford Hotel, in Covent Garden, is to oive
you 700 guineas ; and a gentleman of the name of Crow will
also give you 300 for that exquisite "Holy Family," by
Le Brun, which will just make up 1000 guineas of the
money.'

On hearing this our hero smelt a rat ; and, taking out his
watch, thus addressed Mr. Longbottom : —

' By the way, Mr. Longbottom, I want to leave my card on a
friend who lives in the square, and by the time I return, no
doubt Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Thornton will be here. So good
morning for the present.'

The bell was rung; the door opened by the footman; and
exit Frank Raby, with the,se words in his mouth : —

'If old Sharpe's head never aches till I meet him at this
fellow's house, he will have a good time of it.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

But what was to be done with Mr. Thornton, whom our
hero could not think of thus leaving in the lurch ? Luckily
for both parties, he saw him at the other end of the street,
and told him what had passed about the pictures.

'They attempted to do me in the same way,' said Mr.
Thornton,' ' and, as it was, I was obliged to take £300 worth
of plate which I did not want ; but they are unreasonable in
your case.'

' Well,' said Frank Raby, ' I am very sorry you have
been brought here on a fool's errand, but I will instantly write
a note to Sharpe, and tell him to let matters rest till he hears
from me again ; and I will send it to him at Longbottom's.'
Mr. Thornton approved of his discretion, and here the matter
ended for the present.

The next day Frank Raby called on Lord Dauntley, to
inform him of the result of his visit to Edward Street, and at
the conclusion of his story was thus addressed by his truly
noble friend : —

' My dear Raby, have nothing more to do in this business.
As I told you before, I can furnish you with the £2000 with-
out the least inconvenience, and require no other security than
a common bond. I would advise you to get Mr. Thornton to
make your peace with Mr. Sharpe, by paying him his costs in
preparing the bond, which cannot be much, as the value of
stamps to unexecuted deeds is not enforced. As to Mr. Long-
bottom, with his chef d'ueuvre, leave him to his fate ; he will,
however, be aware that you are too long-headed for him. Who
Mr. Crow is, I know not; but General Jervis I do happen to
know, and am (juite sure that, so far from his being at the
Bedford Hotel, in this town, and able to give 700 guineas for
a picture, he is at this moment playing at hide-and-seek with
the bailiffs, and cannot command 700 shillings.'

' My dear Dauntley,' replied our hei'o, ' you are too
kind ; if compelled to do so, I will accept your offer, but I
still have one more move. There is a rich old miller on
the Amstead estate, who, I have reason to believe, will lend
me this money, on a common bond, with an insurance on
my life, which I should be willing to make, by way of
rendering the security " undeniable," as the law3'ers say. I
will write to him this evening.' — And so he did, to the follow-
ing purport : —

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THE LIFE OF A SrOllTSINlAN

' Lininier's Hotel, Bond Street, June 4th, 1804.

' Mr. Grimes, —

' I want to borrow £2000 on my bond, for which I will
pay the legal interest, and make an insurance on my life, if
you think it necessary, for the principal. If you can so far
oblige me, do it quicJcly, as I want to purchase some hunters
against next season. At all events, say nothing about this
application to any one — of all persons in the world, not to
Robson. I can have the bond prepared here, which will be
better than employing a country attorney.

' In haste, yours, etc.,

' Francis Raby.

' To Mr. Grimes.'

An answer to this effect was returned by tlie first post : —

' Ashton Mills, June 7tli, 1804.

' Hon. Sir, —

' I am sorry to liear you want such a large sum as £2000.
Sure you been't agoing to lay it out all in horses, for you liave
the finest in the country now, by odds. Howsomever, 3^ou
shall have the money by this day month, on the conditions
you propose ; and on receiving the papers, it shall be paid
through my salesman, in London, so that nobody will know
nothing about it. I am glad to oblige you, sir, and don't
doubt but you'll be kind to the lads when I am gone. No
more at present from, hon. sir,

' Your dutiful servant,

'John Grimes.

' P.S. — As I loves you, Mr. Francis, as the apple of my eye,
don't be offended at my saying I hopes you won't get into no
mischief among the gambling gentlemen in London. They
tells me they are too sharp for us country people.'

How is it, it may be asked, that we have heard nothing of
Sir John Inkleton, the friend and patron of our hero, in the
late memorable transactions ? How is it, indeed, that he was
not allowed to be privy to them ? The answer is — it was too
near home for the grand secret of the racing fillies, as also the
transactions with Mr. Sharpe, to be divulged in that (juarter.
Sir John, in spite of now and then a hint from Lady Charlotte,
that he had ' spoiled Francis for a j^ounger brother,' was a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

great favourite at the Abbey, and, although considerably his
junior, much in the confidence of Mr. Raby. Nor is this the
extent of the reason why he was kept in the dark. Our hero
knew that this outbreak of his, so far from being approved of,
would have been discouraged by Sir John, who, as has been
shown, indulged himself in various pursuits, which were con-
genial to his taste, and one of them of an expensive nature — I
allude, of course, to his propensity to the coach-box — still he
was so far prudent as to regulate his disbursements according
to his income; in other words, he had hitherto lived within
his means. Nevertheless, had his young friend told him that
he wanted a few hundred pounds to purchase hunters with, his
purse would have been liberally opened to him for the purpose ;
forasmuch as having, in some measure, looked upon himself
as his preceptor in matters relating to the field, and written
letters in praise of him to his friends at Melton, he was anxious
he should establish his character in that country as a first-rate
horseman, and — in due time — sportsman. The fact is, then,
his ' friend Frank,' as he always called him, and himself,
were not of the same party during the Epsom meeting of this
year, but for that of Ascot he was booked for the box place, as
usual, on the Baronet's well-turned-out coach, which went to,
and returned from, the course after the manner already
described during the last year's races.

Although the intimacy between Mr. Beaumont Raby and Sir
John Inkleton was not on so close a footing as was that
between the Squire of Amstead and the Baronet, they were
upon very friendly terms, and, as may be supposed, occasionally
exchanged visits. During a morning call, when no one besides
themselves was present, the following expression of sentiments
passed between them : —

'I think, Inkleton,' said Mr. Raby, with a smile, 'I am
indebted to you for the disappointment I have experienced in
the character and prospects of my hopeful nephew, Frank.
You have given him such a taste for hunting and driving, that
I fear he is likely to abandon all other pursuits for which his
education has fitted, and to which his duty calls, him. Of
course you are aware I could not persuade him to go abroad
on a tour, which eveiy young Englishman with his expectations
ought to do ; and he also refuses to go into Parliament,
although I have the ofier of a borough for him, without a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

shilling expense. Now, as I have often told him, I object not
to his being a sportsman, and he may drive his own coach,
when he has one, if he thinks he can do it better than his
coachman ; but I did hope to see him something beyond a
sportsman and a coachman — (jualified, in fact, which I cannot
at present consider him, for the useful and elegant intercourse
of common life, in the first place, and serviceable to his country
in the next.'

' You do me honour,' replied the Baronet, also with a smile
on his countenance, ' by attributing to me influence over a
mind so capable of judging for itself as that of our friend
Frank is. His coaching propensities may, perhaps, be laid at
my door ; but when you recollect that his father sent him
a-hunting before he was twelve years old, I plead not guilty to
the other charge. As to his declining going abroad, I confess
I agree with him that, without a better knowledge of foreign
languages than lie possesses, it would be two years of his life
wasted, which I certainly considered to have been the case with
myself, because my heart was all tJte time at home, where his, I
am sure, would be also. And then, with respect to his being
in Parliament, I scarcely know what to say on that subject.
To be sure, one reason for declining — that of being occasionally
interrupted by a call of the House in the hunting season — is
of rather a childish nature. If every gentleman were to refuse
to sacrifice a few of the comforts of life to his duty to his
country, where should we find statesmen to carry on the
business of the country ? Still, it is my opinion there should
be a kind of ad valorem consideration here; a man may, I
think, with propriety say this to himself: — "By going into
Parliament I shall make a great personal sacrifice, and the
question is, shall I be, beyond the value of my vote, worth
anything, when I get there ? Had I not better (supposing him
to be aware that he will be of no further value than by his
vote) leave the vacant place to be filled by some one who
is better qualified than I am for so important a situation ? "
And, friend Beaumont,' continued the Baronet, ' as you are
fond of a classical allusion, I refer you to something like a case
in point, in ancient days. Xenophon describes Socrates in
conversation with a very young man, whom he knew, and who
was, at that time, soliciting for a principal post in the army.
To what does he compare him ? To a sculptor who undertakes

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

to form a statue, without having learnt the statuary's art !
" In time of war," adds the sage, " no less than the safety of
the whole community is intrusted to the general ; and it is in
his power, either to procure to it many and great advan-
tages, by a prudent discliarge of the duties of his station, or
involve his country, through misconduct, in the very deepest
distress ; and, therefore, that man must be worthy of no
small punishment, who whilst he is unwearied in his endea-
vours to obtain this honour, takes little or no thought about
qualifying himself properly for executing a trust of such vast
importance." '

' I remember the passage you allude to,' replied Mr. Beaumont
Raby, ' and also that the lecture of Socrates wrought so power-
fully on the young gentleman, that he immediately applied
himself to the gaining instruction, which qualified him for the
post ; and why should not my nephew have done so also ? The
history of our country tells us that youth is no bar to a display
of either talent or of action ; and, if you recollect, when Homer
calls Agamemnon venerable, it is not in reference to his years,
but to his knowledge and acquirements.'

' Well,' resumed the Baronet, ' all I can say on the subject
is, that, amongst my acquaintance (indeed, I might have been
in the House myself, but I was aware of my own incapacity to
do good), three very good fellows, in their way, had seats in
Parliament as soon as they came of age ; but I have yet to
learn that either of them did anything beyond the value of
their vote. One of them, in fact, disappointed me ; for, being
rather a cleverish fellow, I thought he would have made a good
speech, and knowing it was his intention to make one, I went
into the gallery one night to hear him. But what was the
result ? In the fii'st place, having had a dinner party that
evening, he was more than half drunk ; and knowing that the
motion he was about to speak on would not be called till after
midnight, he went first to the Opera. Now, whether it was
that, being musical, the line singing of Catalani had quite
bothered his brains, or the eflect of wine, I cannot pretend
to say, but this I know, he made sad work of it. He not onl}^
hemm'd and ha'd to an extent scarcely ever heard before ; kept
turning ] and twisting about his cocked-hat as if, as Addison
humoroiisly says, he had been cheapening a beaver instead of
addressing a senate ; but at length got so bewildered among

218

THE LIFE OF A SrORTSISlAN

the phenomena of his own theory, that, luckily perhaps for
him, his voice was so far drowned between the " hear, hear," of
his friends, and the coughs of his enemies, that not a syllable
he uttered could be heard by the House. Being a good plucked
one, however, he would not sit down until a friend in his rear
pulled him into his seat by his skirts, to the amusement of
those who witnessed it. Still,' continued Sir John, ' there
are striking exceptions to this rule — none, perhaps, more so
than in your own person in your maiden speech on the slave
trade.'

' I thank you for the compliment,' observed Mr. Raby,
' although I see in it an unintentional rebuke. I was certainly
successful in my first essay ; but being aware that to have
followed up this success would have imposed upon me labours
that a naturally indolent disposition was unwilling to submit to ;
and being averse to the attempt at doing anything by halves, I
gave up politics at once : and in one respect I am a gainer.
I have retained the friendship of men for whom I have the
highest regard, but which, being opposed to them in my views,
would have been endangered in the heat of political warfare and
debate. However, to return to the original object of introducing
the conversation respecting Frank. As you have decidedly an
influence over him, let me beseech you to use it in impressing
on him moderation in his pursuits, and not to forget tliat, one
day or another — and no one knows how soon— he may be called
upon to fulfil duties of no ordinar}^ kind. Again, I am rather
inclined to believe he has somewhat of an extravagant turn,
which may lead him into difficulties unexpectedly ; for I hear
he has already added two hunters to his stud — talks of pur-
chasing others — and has taken apartments and stables at
Melton for the forthcoming hunting season.'

' Well, Raby,' said the Baronet ; ' you have now paid me
a compliment, in return for one which is justly your due.
With regard to expense, I have always instilled upon Frank's
mind — at least, whenever an opportunity otiered — the advan-
tage of living within one's income, inasmuch as the exceeding
it is the bane of all real comfort ; and, believing example to
be much better than precept, I have shown him, in black and
white, that I live considerably within mine. As to his stud, I
think that, with his allowance of £800 a year from his father,
the run of the Abbey for himself and his horses in the summer,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and an occasional tip from his kind uncle (here the uncle
smiled, which, of course, implied assent), he may afford to
increase it to six, and a hack or two : and without that number
he would cut a very poor figure at Melton, and not a good one
with it. And as for his going to Melton, why, I '

' Yes, but, my good Inkleton, he has, I hear, taken stalls for
ten,' interrupted Mr. Beaumont Raby.

' Has he ? — still it does not exactly follow that, because a
man takes a ten-stalled stable, he is obliged to put a horse
into every stall,' replied Sir John; 'nor has he intimated as
much. But since you have mentioned the subject to me, Raby,
permit me to deliver my opinion on it, and that without
reserve : — Let him have his ten Jiunters, if such he Ids ivislt ;
and do yon help him to buy and keep them.. You will not, I am
certain, have occasion to repent of the act. If a young man
attempt anything, let him try to do it well ; and this, I am
sure, is a maxim which you must approve. It equally applies
to hunting, as to any other pursuit ; and let me advise you,
as you helped to send your nephew to the fountain-head of
learning, where the best society was likely to be met with, to
send him to the fountain-head of fox-hunting, which Melton
surely is, and where advantages are to be looked for similar to
those thought so much of at Oxford. You know you doat on
Frank ; he is a noble-hearted fellow ; you will be delighted in
making him happy ; so at once open your purse-strings, and do
so. Give him a few hundreds towards purchasing his horses,
and add another hundred or two to his allowance.'

' Your logic, Inkleton, is certainly good,' said the uncle ; ' you
have taken it from a great authority : Dr. Johnson has told us,
that whatever is worth doing at all, is worth trying to do well.
I confess I like what I have seen of the Melton men ; they are
sportsmen and gentlemen ; and although I could have wished
to have seen Frank a little higher up in the tree of life, I will
endeavour that he shall preserve the place he has allotted to
himself. I will, then, yield to your suggestions ; I will give
him £500 towards purchasing his horses, and will add £200 a
year to his allowance,'

As may be imagined, the Baronet was not slow in communi-
cating this good news to his young friend, who felt, as he ought
to have felt, the kindness of both parties. Nor was it without
its good effect on Frank Raby, inasmuch as, in the overflow of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

his heart, he determined upon making known to each of his
benefactors the affair of the fillies, and the result of their
racing career, appending thereunto a promise that, until he was
in circumstances better suited to the pursuit, he had taken his
leave of racing. But how did the uncle relish this outbreak of
our young sportsman, and the somewhat clandestine spirit in
which it had been carried on ? The fact is, he was so much
pleased with the subsequent ingenuous deportment of his
dearly-beloved Frank, when detailing the various circumstances
as they occurred and related to himself, as the sufferer; and
more especially so with the small share of vituperation
bestowed by him on the scoundrel who had handled him so
mercilessly, that he merely made use of this short ex-
pression : —

' Well, Frank, let all this be forgotten ; you wore in a
serious scrape, which, no doubt, will be a warning to you,
and you got out of it much better than might have been
expected.'

The Baronet and his young friend having passed the evening
of this day together, the former took an opportunity of
expressing himself nearly in the following words : —

' If you will follow my advice, Frank, I should recommend
you to abandon your present purpose of visiting Melton
Mowbray next season, and I know a man who will take the
stables you have engaged off your hands. I do this from a
regard to your comfort and good name, being convinced, from
experience, which is our best preceptor, after all, in matters
of this kind, that your present income is not equal to the
expenses of such an establishment as you would require at
that place. You would not like to be in the background
among your compeers, and nothing under a stud of ten efficient
hunters would keep you in the same rank with them. Six
good ones will be enough in almost all other counties but
Leicestershire; and, were I in your place, I would content
myself, for a few years, with what the Melton men call " the
provincials," making an annual visit to Melton at the con-
clusion of the season, if you like it, when the ploughed
countries get dry, and the sport they show, consequently,
becomes rare. I would recommend you to the following-
packs: — to those of the Duke of Beaufort and Sir Thomas
]\Iostyn, in Oxfordshire; to that of Mr. Corbet, in Warwick-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

shire ; of Mr. Musters, in Nottinghamshire ; ot" Lord Dar-
lington and Mr. Ralph Lanibton, in Durham ; Mr. Leehc and
Sir Richard Puleston, in Cheshire; Mr. Farquharson, in
Dorsetshire ; Lord Fitzwilliam, in Huntingdonshire and Cam-
bridgeshire ; and Lord Vernon, in the Atherstone country.
The masters of these hounds are all of them eminent sports-
men, and, by a close observance of their proceedings, you will
learn much, and be better al)le to appreciate what you may
afterwards experience in countries more distinguished for their
capability of showing sport, and which, perhaps, deservedly
stand at the head of all others.'

This somewhat unwelcome advice was listened to with
attention by our hero, rendered the less welcome, in fact, by
the recent publication of the Billesden Coplow poem, by
Mr. Lowth, which not only added greatly to the i-eputation
of Leicestershire as a hunting country, but, from its spirit-
stirring lines, had very much increased his desire to make one
of the many choice spirits whose names and exploits gave
birth to them.^ His good sense, however, at length got the
mastery over his desires, and to the great satisfaction of the
Baronet, he yielded to his friendly advice.

' As Horace says of Anacreon, to relish this poem we shoukl transport our-
selves, in idea, to the time in which it was written ; but one of its great
recommendations is, the author having- been an eye-witness of a great part of
what he relates. As the poet says : —

' He on whose natal hour the queen

Of verse hath smiled, shall never grace
The Isthmian gauntlet, or be seen
First in the famed Olympic race ; '

and that Mr. Lowth did not go to the end of this terrible run, is not a matter of
surprise ; for it took place over, perhaps, the severest part of all the Quorn country.
There are a few typographical inaccuracies in the last edition published (altliough
they appeared, I believe, in the original one), such as Wardle for Wardell, and
' short home ' for ' sweet home.' The first-named error led to the confounding
the late Colonel Wardle, of Mary Ann Clarke notoriety, with the person intended
to be introduced — viz., the late Jacob Wardell, who, although not making a con-
spicuous figure here, became, afterwards, a first-flight man, and sold one of his
hunters for 800 guineas — a great price in those days — in consequence of his carry-
ing him through a famous run. Again, for the sake of the rhyme, justice is not
done to the Hon. Martin Ilaickc, who is said to liave been reduced to a ivulk,
wiiereas, although that might have occurred at one period of the run, I have good
reason to know that he was up at the end of it, and rode his mare afterwards to
Melton, twenty-one miles, in company with the late INIr. Germaine.

CHAPTER XIII

A season -witli Sir Tliomas Mostyn, in the Bicester eonntry, with anecdotes of
some of the leading sportsmen in the provinces at that day, and a glance at
' liome, sweet liome.'

The summer having passed away much in the same manner
in which summers have since done, and our hero having par-
taken of the amusements of London up to a certain period,
and of the partridge and pheasant-shooting at the Abbey, in
the autumn, he commenced his winter career under very
favourable circumstances. He liad a stud of seven hunters,
strong, but not deficient in blood, together with a capital hack,
bred by his father, by an Arabian sire out of a strong English
mare. Moreover, he had himself a naturally strong con-
stitution, consequently, excellent health, and, thanks to the
liberality of his relations, a fair account at his banker's.
With a light heart, then, and well-braced nerves, he followed
his horses to the humble town of Bicester, twelve miles from
Oxford, on the Buckingham road, where lie found a few sports-
men collected together for the same purpose as his own ;
namely, to enjoy the pleasures of the chase in a country of
which he had had some experience during his residence at the
University of Oxford.

Neither was Frank Raby disappointed in the object now in
his view. He obtained an introduction to the master of the
pack, a good, honest Welshman, of plain, unaffected manners,
but of extremely gentlemanlike deportment, and in every way
qualified for the situation he filled. A single man, possessed
of £20,000 a year, and with no other lieavy expenses but his
hounds, he was able to do the thing with spirit, and witli
spirit was it done throughout. He had a full complement of
hounds, and a good stable of horses ; and the utmost regu-
larity was observed in every part of the establishment. But
what most struck our young sportsman, as regarded the
establishment, was, the perfect little Welsh colony that was

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

established in this part of England by Sir Thomas Mostyn
and his connections, brought with them, at different periods,
from North Wales. The connections consisted of Sir Edwai'd
Lloyd, since created Lord Mostyn, who married the Baronet's
sister, and at length succeeded to his property ; and Mr.
Griffith Lloyd, his brother, a fellow of All Souls, Oxford, both
o-ood sportsmen. As may be expected, more Welsh gentlemen
occasionally sojourned in the neighbourhood, for the sake of
huntino- with their countryman, who was deservedly popular
amongst them all.

But the great object of attraction in the eyes of Frank Raby
was the huntsman to this pack, the very celebrated Shaw, who
afterwards hunted the Belvoir hounds with so much spirit and
Mat. There was a peculiarity in his manner of hunting his
hounds which was quite unlike anything he had ever before
seen, as well as a quickness, almost approaching to wildness,
in his motions, that could not be lost upon any one who was
capable of common observation. And to show the repute he
was in as a huntsman, and the value put on liis services by
his master, his salary — for wages would be an improper term
for such an annual sum, although paid to a person occupying
what may be called a menial situation — was £300 per annum,
with a servant to arrange his apartment ! And then his
horsemanship also surprised Frank Raby. There was an
ease and elegance in his seat not often witnessed even in the
higher orders of life, together with a quickness that kept him
always in his place, and this with a pack noted, as that of Sir
Thomas Mostyn was, in those days, for going a racing pace
whenever the scent served. And he was told of an extra-
ordinary circumstance that occurred to Shaw, which made a
lasting impression on his mind. He first commenced hunting-
Sir Thomas Mostyn's hounds in what is called the Woore
country, comprising parts of Staffordshire and Cheshire, pre-
viously to their removal into Oxfordshire. It so happened, at
this time, that, partly from a scarcity of foxes, and partly
from ill-luck in not catching them, the space of seventeen
days had passed over without his hounds tasting blood.
Having, then, marked a fox to ground in an earth on the side
of a bank, Shaw determined on digging to him, although the
night had commenced, and the assistance of lantliorns had
become necessary. At length he got him in his hand, not a

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little to his satisfaction, and throwing him to the pack, who
were below him, on very slanting ground, and hallooing
' Who-xuoop ! ' most lustily, expected to see him devoured.
But no ; the nature of the ground favoured him ; the hounds
overshot their mark, and reynard, rolling himself over, escaped
all their mouths, and bade them, for the present, good night.
As may be supposed, there was no stopping the pack with a
fox so near to them as this was ; and away they went in the
dark, through several strong covers, without any one being
able to follow them, many not returning to the kennel until
the next morning.

The name of Raby, added to some little reputation our hero
had already gained in the hunting world, was a passport
sufficient to introduce him into the best society of this part of
Oxfordshire. Neither could he have fixed on a better place,
in some respects, to have made what might be called his debut
in the hunting world, with a perfectly organised establishment,
and with a view to future proceedings. In the first place,
that part of Oxfordshire called the Bicester country is one in
which a man attains useful lessons on riding to hounds, inas-
much as, from the depth of its soil, the strengtii of its fences,
and its numerous brooks, it is by no means one that can be
trifled with ; on the contrary, it requires a good horseman, on
a good horse, to be enabled to live well over it with hounds.
In the next, he reaped the benefit of good example in some of
the conspicuous members of the Mostyn Hunt, at that period
comprising some of the first horsemen of the age. For
example, the present Earl of Jersey, then Lord Villiers, would
often be seen at the cover side, previously to his removing his
stud to Melton for the season : Sir Henr}^ Peyton was then
in his prime, and, taking a season throughout, was not to
be beaten by any man — when on Watchmaker especially, on
whom he took a leap, of which a drawing was made, and a
plate from it, in the Sporting Magazine. It was a stile, with
a brook on the landing side, over which was a long foot-bridge,
all of which he cleared, and stopped the whole field. The
late Mr. Harrison, of Shelswell, a few miles from Bicester,
was also a beautiful horseman, and had a stable of capital
horses, no price stopping him. The Lloyds (brothers) were
likewise good, the elder (the Baronet) especially at water.
The celebrated Mr. Davey would also occasionally be seen

225 P

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

with these hounds on the Northamptonshire side of the country,
over which, being the strongest almost in England, he was
much given to shine. To prepare him for Billesden Coplow,
too, the quickness of Shaw in his saddle, when hounds ran
hard, was by no means disadvantageous to our young sports-
man as an example.

And what did Frank Raby think of the hounds ? His senti-
ments on this subject shall be exhibited in the following
letter to his friend Hargrave, who was at that time hunting
in Essex : —

' Bicester, November 30th, 1810.

'Dear Hargrave, —

' I have spent the month of November at this place, hunting
with Sir Thomas Mostyn's hounds, and occasionally with those
of the Dukes of Beaufort and Grafton, when they meet within
reach. I like the country much ; it looks like a fox-hunting
country, especially in the neighbourhood of the See Woods,
and the Quarters, where the foxes are capital, and generally
show runs. The Northamptonshire side of it is suj^erb, but
infernally strong as to fences, with the river Charwell passing
through it. I saw a splendid run over it last Friday, from
Bobbington Hill to Abdy Wood, in the Pytchley country,
fifteen miles as the crow flies, and with only one check. Very
few saw the finish, but I was one of the few, on the General,
who went well to the end, and only gave me one fall. When
you come here you must bring horses of power as well as
blood, on account of the depth of the country in many parts ;
and also good water jumpers, as there are many brooks. It is
not uncommon to meet with half a dozen in a day ; and to
convince you of the truth of what I say, I counted seven bridges
on the road from Gallows Bridge to Bicester, a distance of only
eight miles.

' I like the people also. Mostyn is a perfect gentleman,
both in appearance and manners. The Lloyds are good
sportsmen ; " Grifi"," as he is called (his Christian name is
Griffith, a Welsh but not a high-sounding prenomen), especially,
who is said to have the quickest eye to a heavy vixen, in
the spring of the year, of any man going, and capital in a
wood. He takes rather an active part in the field, as well as
in the kennel, not much to the delight of Shaw, as I am told,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

who anticipated injury to the pack by hi.s being too much
prejudiced to one sort of hound. For example : there is a
beautiful bitch called Lady, whose picture, with her cubs, is
in almost every house in the county, and from which, and her
produce, there are a great number of hounds in the kennel —
more than should be, good judges say. Some persons will tell
you a pack of foxhounds should seem to be all of one family ;
but I think that characteristic should oidy extend to the look,
as breeding too much in-and-in, as it is called, will not do with
either the human or brute race, and no doubt the objection
extends to the canine. Whether it be from that cause, or
otherwise, I cannot say, but these hounds have not much
tongue with even a moderate scent, and still less, of course,
with a good one. With a good one, however, they go at a
tremendous rate. It would do your heart good to see Villiers,
Peyton, and Harrison ride a sharp burst. They are beautiful
horsemen, and not to be beaten b}^ any man in this country,
or, I believe, in any other.

' I need not tell you anything of the Duke of Beaufort's
hounds, as you have so often hunted with them from Oxford ;
liut I believe you never saw the Duke of Grafton's pack. You
would be much pleased with Rose, their huntsman, better
known as "Tom Rose." He is the very pattern-card of a hunts-
man, in all respects ; has a most intelligent countenance,
the voice of a Stentor, speaking excellent dog language, and
is a good horseman. The hounds are not so neat as Mostyn's,
but have more power ; and they appear to be higher in Hesh,
which Rose says is necessary in his very strong country,
wherein the woods are large and rough. The Fitzroys are
considered good sportsmen, but there is a gloom thrown over
their appearance in the field by the colour of their coats — a
dark green, which looks very sombre by the side of a bright
scarlet, which is that of the Mostynites. The latter have the
letter M on their button, which lately gave rise to a good joke.
One of them appearing in Leicestershire in this costume, with
a martingal on his horse, was asked by one of the elite,
" whether the letter M implied martingal ? " If 3'ou are not
smothered in an Essex ditch (how can you hunt in such a slow
country as that ?) I would advise you to come here next season.
I think you will agree with me that the country is a sporting-
one — the field composed of sportsmen, and the whole thing

227

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

clone well. As for Shaw, the huntsman, you will be delighted
with him. To use a common phrase, he is as quick as
lightning in all his motions — a little too quick, some of the
knowino- ones say ; and I like to watch his countenance, when
his hounds are at a ticklish point. He has a peculiar expression
of the eye, which shows how his heart and soul are absorbed in
the sport.

' We had a tine run yesterday, from a cover called Graven-
hill, which, being within such easy reach of Oxford, produced
a good show of tyros, as you and I may now call those of the
cap and gown who have a taste for hunting. The fox crossed
the brook at starting, and several of them got into it, as
usually is the case, for you know it is a teazer. I followed
Peyton, and got well over on Achilles, who, you know, is capital
at water. I stuck to him throughout the whole run, and
towards the end of it the following epigraTYiinatic sentences
were pleasantly exchanged between us : — " More willow-trees,
Sir Henry," said I ; " another brook, I suppose ? " " Go along,"
replied this line horseman, " and don't stop to look at it." We
both got well over, and had the best of it to the end of a tine
run, and over a fine country. But, talking of brooks, there is
a proper teazer in the Banbury country, — no less than the
Charwell, which, as you know, is navigable far above Oxford.
It gets less and less as you approach Northamptonshire, and is
jumpahle in places in the Chipping Warden country. I tried it
the other day, on the General, but, although he landed me, he
fell back, and had a narrow escape from drowning. " The
Charwell was never leaped," said Griff Lloyd to me. " Pardon
me," said I, " it has been leaped this day, and I will ride at it
again, if it comes in my way." Let me know what you have
been doing in your country. Those Roodings foxes are, I
believe, proverbially stout, and I am informed there is no better
sportsman than Mr. Charles Newman, the master of the hounds
with which you hunt. One day or another I hope I may
see him.

' I have given up Melton for this year — indeed, until finances
increase. Racing, also, I have promised my uncle to think no
more about — for the present at least ; so the hunters, the gun,
and the tishing-ro<l, must furnish the out-a-door amusement;
the cook, the butler, and the young ladies, with a peep, now
and then, into the classics (for I will not give them up), the

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pleasures within tlic walls, secondary, I admit, to the others ;
for—

No sport to the chase can compare,

So manly the pleasure it yiekls ;
How sweet, how refreshing that air

Inhaled in the woods and the fields !
As we rusli in pursuit, new scenes still appear, —

New landscapes encounter the eye ;
Not Handel's sweet music more pleases the ear,

Than that of the hounds in full cry.

New strength from the chase we derive ;

Its exercise sweetens the blood ;
How happy those mortals must live,

When sport yields both physic and food !
So new and so varied their charms they ne'er cloy,

Like those of the bottle and face ;
The oftener— the harder— the more we enjoy,

The more we're in love with the chase.

' Having become poetical, it is time to conclude ; so subscribe
myself,

' Dear Hargrave, truly yours,

' Frank Raby.

' P.8. — My uncle has been very ill ; everybody says he is break-
ing fast. I hope not ; for he is too good a fellow to drop short
before his time ; and although there is no doubt of my being a
great gainer by his death, it is an event, so far from desiring, I
would do all in my power to avert.'

There was an extraordinary character at this time hunting
with Sir Thomas Mostyn's hounds, and who afterwards made
himself so signal by his pedestrian feats, as to be known by
name and character to all the nations in the civilised world. I
allude to Captain Barclay, of Ury, in Aberdeenshire, who, a
few years subsequent to the period to which I am alluding,
performed the Herculean task of walking 1000 miles in 1000
hours, over Newmarket race-course, for a bet of several
thousand pounds. The Captain was likewise, at this period, a
great patron of the boxing ring; and our hero having some-
what of a penehcmt for the manly science of self-defence, their
acquaintance grew into intimacy, which continued through life.
He was also considered a good and scientific sportsman, as
well as an excellent judge of a hunter; and on the subject of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the latter, offered his friend Raby the following useful advice,
enforcing it with the result of the performance of his own
stud : —

' Purchase your hunters,' said the Captain, ' with more
strength than is merely required to carry your weight. / get
into the saddle full fourteen stone, notwithstanding which, I
hunted eighty-three times during tlie last season, although the
amount of my stud did not exceed four ; and I was only enabled
to do this by the superior strength of my horses. Never pur-
chase horses,' added he, ' that are not, at least, a stone above
your weight.'

The Captain and our hero being domiciled in the same town,
it is only natural to suppose they occasionally met in the
evening, as well as by the cover side. ' Is it true. Captain
Barclay,' said the latter to him, as they sat one evening over
their claret, ' that you drove the mail coach from London to
Aberdeen, a distance of more than 500 miles, without any
relief ? '

' Quite true,' he replied ; ' and I offered to drive it back again
for the same wager.'

'Then your journey to London to see a fight?' resumed his
companion.

' Oh ! ' answered this modern Hercules, ' I considered that
nothing beyond tlie fact of my being exposed to bad weather
for so long a time, having stolen a march from my regiment,
saying I was only going to take a walk, and absolutely starting
without a great-coat. I mounted the box of the mail at
Chester (my regiment was quartered at Wrexham, eleven miles
distant from that city) ; saw the fight at Wormwood-scrubs, on
the other side of London, the next day but one ; returned on
the box of the mail to Shrewsbury, and, walking thence to
Wrexham, appeared in the messroom on the fifth evening.
My clothes were wet and dry several times during the journey,
and you are aware how rough the box of the mail is, from
the pace it travels at, in comparison with that of the stage-
coaches.' ^

' And is it possible,' continued Frank Raby, ' that a man
of your athletic make can be a fast runner ? '

^ The boxes of all pi:bli(! coaches were not at this period on springs, as they
subsequently were.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' I never ran more than one match,' replied Captain Barclay,
' my forte bein*^ walking ; but in a match against John Ward,
which I won with 2 to 1 against me, I ran 440 yards, or a
quarter of a mile, in fifty-six seconds.'

' That you are a patron of the boxing ring,' resumed our
young sportsman, ' all the world knows ; I am an admirer of
it myself, but, partly to meet the wishes of my father, and more
particularly so those of an uncle from whom I have no trifling
expectations, I do not 2^uhl id y avow myself as much.'

' My dear fellow,' said the Captain, ' you will excuse my
saying, that both your father and your uncle take a wrong view
of the practice and effects of what is called prize-fighting, very
probably confounding it with the fights of the gladiators in
ancient times — and upon a lower scale it certainly does admit
of a slight comparison — in which men were either in part
deprived of resistance, or opposed to very unequal force. No
man now enters the ring but upon perfectly equal terms, or on
as nearly such as circumstances will allow ; and the display
of manly intrepidity, firmness, gallantry, activity, strength,
and presence of mind, which these contests call forth, is an
honour to the English nation, and such as no man need be
ashamed of viewing with interest, pride, and delight ; and we
may safely predict that, if the magistrates, or Government,
through a mistaken notion of preserving the public peace,
succeed in suppressing them, there will be an end of that sense
of honour, and spirit, and gallantry, which distinguishes the
common people of this country from that of all others ; and
which is not only the best guardian of their morals, but,
perhaps, the only security now left either for our civil liberty
or political independence. If Englishmen are restrained from
fighting occasionally for prizes and honorary distinctions, they
will soon cease to fight at all, and decide their private quarrels
with daggers or knives, instead of fists, in which case the lower
orders will become a base rabble of cowards and assassins, ready
at any time to sacrifice the higher to the avarice or ambition
of a foreign foe. No people under the sun are less cruel than
the English now are, or so little prone to shed blood ; and,
even admitting there is some cruelty in prize-fighting, experi-
ence has shown that cruel sports do not create a cruel people ;
and, strange to say, the love of gladiators among the Romans
increased as the people began to be civilised, and as their

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

manners, in other respects, became more refined. Even tlie
excellent and humane Titus encouraged all such exhibitions
of science and manly courage ; and we find Pliny, in his pane-
gyric on the still more excellent Trajan, stating his belief, that
the public shows, exhibited at that emperor's expense, had
no tendency to weaken or debauch the soul ; on the con-
trary, that they excited the courage of the spectators ; making
them proud, rather than afraid of honourable scars, whilst
they beheld slaves thirsting after praise, inflamed with the
love of victory. What did Mr. Wyndham say in reference to
it, the other day, in the House of Commons ? — and a more
humane man than himself does not at this time exist. " It
is thought," said he, " that the prevention of conflicts between
inferior animals might prove prejudicial to the courage of the
people. In defence of this hypothesis, Britons have ever been
distinguished for what is called bottom or pluck. But conflicts
between inferior animals, and those between rational beings,
f^ach (IS men, bear no comparison, inasmuch as, in the one
case, the will of the combatant is not consulted, and he may
consequently be compelled to flght, not only against his
inclination, but likewise on unequal terms." Again, the
picture he presented to the champion of the British boxing-
ring, of the victim bleeding from the assassin's knife, and the
accompanying inscription, written with his own hand, show his
opinion in unequivocal terms. However, let me refer your
father and uncle to a recent charge to the grand jury by one
of our most distinguished judges, in my opinion highly char-
acteristic of the national character, and plainly intimating
that, if we do not encourage boxing, we must be prepared for
the viler practices of the stiletto, or the knife. " I cannot,"
said his lordship, in allusion to a charge in the calendar for
cutting and maiming, " but express my regret that a knife
should have been found in the hands of an Englishman, as an
instrument of offensive quarrel. It was formerly the practice
in this country, when men fell out, to fight as long as they
could, and possibly to do each other as much injur}' as could
be inflicted by the personal strength of the combatants ; but
they fought in an open, fair, and honourable manner ; they
took no mean advantages ; they had no recourse to deadly
instruments to procure superiority, or to gratify revenge. I
will take care, so long as common assaults are punishable by

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the law, to visit, with the utmost severity of that law, those
who dare to desert that mode of defence which nature has
given, and which time has almost sanctified in their own
country, and who have chosen to adopt that foreign practice of
employing instruments of this description against an opponent.
Gentlemen, the practice of boxing has often been a sul)ject of
discussion in this country ; I must say, that it seems to me a
practice that may be very advantageously encouraged to a
limited extent. It is, in some sort, a law of peace, for it dis-
courages the use of unfair means of attack : it prevents
malicious retaliation ; it only enables men to employ, fairl}^,
advantages they may naturally possess, and from the abuse of
which they are restrained by the point of honour ; and while
it encourages a proper English spirit, it prevents courage from
degenerating into brutality, and secures men from the treachery
and malignity of those whom they have offended." This
language,' said the Captain, ' is corroborated by the well-
known fact that, in Lancashire, where fair boxing is very
little resorted to in quarrels, there are forty cases of man-
slaughter for one that takes place in any other county in
England. Then, as to the charge of cruelty on the part of the
promoters of boxing, it cannot be sustained in the face of evid-
ence to the contrary. Where is there a more humane man
than Jackson, the present captain of the ring; or Thomas
Belcher, the champion of all England ? Within four miles of
where we are now sitting, are two promoters of the ring — the
worthy master of the hounds, and Mr. Henson — than whom
the world cannot produce two kinder-hearted men. Who will
accuse me of cruelty towards man or beast ? ' added the
Captain emphatically ; ' such was never my disposition ; and
I can honestly assert that, so far from having witnessed in the
ring anything having a tendency to make me so, I have wit-
nessed the display of feeling and conduct productive of the
most opposite effects. Only let public pugilistic contests go on
as they are now conducted — with honour and credit to the
parties concerned — and, my word for it, they will be the source
of infinitely more good than harm to society.'

' The sentiments you have given utterance to,' observed
Raby, 'are precisely those which I myself entertain, and
which I have oftentimes availed myself of when arguing the
subject with my uncle. I remember reading to him a passage

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

from the speech of an eminent counsel, who was defending five
persons, indicted for having riotously assembled for the purpose
of witnessing a prize tight, and resisted the authority of an officer
employed by the magistrates to disperse them. " As to the
practice of boxing, a great deal has been said about it of late,
and the counsel for the prosecution has endeavoured to work
upon the feelings of the jury by stating that such encounters
sometimes terminate fatally. The common law of England had,
however, made wrestling, cudgel-playing, and even bull-baiting,
legal : people assembled to witness or engage in those national
pastimes — those manly exercises of Englishmen — did not as
much as come within the definition of a riotous or unlaw^ful
assembly, yet wrestling and bull-baiting often terminated
fatally. Such sports, however, preserved the health, the vigour,
and the characteristic courage of the English people, and
our brave ancestors had, therefore, looked upon them with
indulgence. He asked the jury to look at the practice of
boxing, not through the medium of a mawkish sentimentality,
but with the feelings of sensible and manlj^ Englishmen,
who partook of the generous courage which had raised this
country above all the other nations on the earth. He had
heard it observed, by one of the greatest advocates in West-
minster Hall, that the same God who made man rational
also made him resentful. It was, indeed, characteristic of
Englishmen to be resentful of insult, but not vindictive.
They preferred returning an insult or a blow at the instant,
to cherishing a spiteful recollection for an opportunity of
dark and malignant revenge. They were prone to the manly
habit of lighting out their quarrels on the spot, and retaining
no ill-will afterwards. They did not, like the people of Italy,
avenge their exasperated feelings by the cowardly use of the
stiletto ; nor, like the people of Portugal or Spain, by the knife ;
neither did they gouge and maim their antagonists with the
savage barbarism of North America. The practice of boxing
in a ring taught them the observance of fair play. To that the
infrequency of assassination in England was to be attributed.
He did not mean to say that lighting of any description was
not an evil, but he confidently asserted that it could not be
put down without a greater evil arising out of its suppression.
Boxing-matches could not be abolished without encouraging
assassination ; and to such a lamentable change in the English

234

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

character he was sure the jury would not allow themselves to
be made instrumental." '

' May I ask what was the result of the trial ? ' said the
Captain.

' Why,' replied our hero, ' the chairman told the jury that the
learned counsel had given a wrong interpretation of the law,
and, commenting upon the evidence, considered it conclusive
against the defendants.'

'Then, of course, they were found guilty,' observed the
Captain.

'Certainly not,' answered Raby ; 'they were not only accjuitted
by the verdict of the jury that tried them on the first indict-
ment, but upon two other indictments arising out of the same
transaction it was thought expedient not to ofFer any evidence
against them, and verdicts of acquittal passed.'

' And what were the principal objections to pugilistic
exhibitions urged by your father and uncle ? ' inquired the
Captain.

'I do not, at this moment, recollect what my father said
on the subject,' replied Raby ; ' but my uncle drew on
antiquity for the arguments he made use of against any such
public displays, especially in cases wherein money is the
proffered reward. In the first place, he contended, that a
cold indifference to the sight of blood and wounds was no
characteristic of the true hero ; and, looking back to antiquity
pronounced the Athleta3, on the authority of Euripides, to
have been the worst soldiers in Greece — so much so, indeed,
as to induce Solon to persuade the Athenians to allot the
rewards bestowed upon them to the maintenance of poor
orphans, rather than to them. Neither did gladiatorial exhi-
bitions continue in the Roman state after it ceased to be pagan.
Secondly, although it might have been good policy in the
Romans to impress their soldiers with a just contempt of the
power of elephants, by having a considerable number of those
animals driven through the circus at Rome by a few slaves,
armed with blunted javelins ; and although, in Homer's time,
bodily strength met with the greatest honours, being necessary
to the subsistence of little governments — still, as our soldiei's
have no elephants to contend with, and as, since the invention
of gunpowder, physical strength and personal exertion, so
much depended upon by the ancients, are now not essential,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

such exliibitious are useless. Men are more upon an equality
in lighting than they were in the early ages of the world. He
admitted, however, that the spirit-stirring descriptions of single
combats with the fist or the cestus — those between Pollux and
Amycus, so admirably told by Theocritus in his twenty-second
Idyllium, and between Dares and Entellus, in the fifth ^neid
of Virgil, especially — had induced him to be present at a
sparring- match between two celebrated boxers of his younger
days. " The attitude of these men," said he, " excited my
highest admiration ; that of one of them, in particular, remind-
ing me of Milton's description of the angel, whose

' starry lielin unbuckled, show'd him prime

In manhood.'^

The firm and erect posture of the body, the head drawn a
little back, the expanded chest, and the judicious position of
the brawny arms, certainly display the human form to the
greatest possible advantage ; and, in this particular instance,
I was favoured by a private display, by one of the performers,
of the grand and powerful expression of his muscles, together
with the agility and suppleness of his movements. Having
been instructed for the occasion, he successively placed himself
in the attitudes of the fighting and dying gladiators, of the
Hercules Farnese, and other antique statues, as well as in that
of the Atlas of Michael Angelo ; finishing by exhibitions of
strength and activity beyond what I considered to exist in the
human form. This man became the champion of England ;
and, like the invincible Pancratiast of ancient Greece, finally
retired to his native place, not only with honours well deserved
by his bravery and good conduct in the ring, but with a com-
petency sufficient to render his situation agreeable to him.
Unwilling to be idle, however, he became a teacher of gym-
nastic exercises, and was, in his own person, the best example

^ What can be liner, or more true to the life, than Virgil's description, in the
fifth /Eneid, of Entellus stripping in the ring ? —

' Hie fatus, duplicem ex humeris refecit amictum ;
Et magnos membrorum artus magna ossa lacertosque
Exuit ; atqiie ingens media consistit arenii.'

The same may be said of the set-to between Hector and Ajax, in the fifth Hiad
of Homer, and of tlie wrestling-match in the twenty-third.

23(J

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of their beneficial effects in improving tlie health and increas-
ing the strength and beauty of the human figure." '

' Well,' observed the Captain, ' I think your uncle said nearly
as much in favour of boxing, or " the science of self-defence,"
as we now call it, as he advanced in its dispraise ; and let me
ask you whether you availed yourself of the liberty given you
to reply ? '

' Of course I did,' answered our hero ; ' and I think I can
call to mind most of the arguments I made use of. Meeting
him on his own ground, I reminded him of some striking
facts in the histories of the times to which he alluded, favour-
able to the pursuit in question. In the first place, I echoed
your words, namely, that the love of gladiatorial exhibitions,
among the Romans, increased as they began to be civilised,
and as their manners in other respects became more refined;
although I was obliged to admit that it ceased when they
became Christians ; and we are very well assured that, amono-st
the ancient Greeks, in the highest state of their refinement,
education was not considered complete in which the powers
of the body, as well as those of the mind, were not regarded
and cultivated to the utmost. The statue of Hercules, as well
as that of Mercury, adorned the gymnasia of Athens, whilst
that city was celebrated for the cultivation of every liberal
accomplishment ; and those of the higher orders in society
seldom passed a day without practising bodily exercises in
their gymnasia, of which boxing, we may be assured, was
one. Even in the time of Lycurgus, sumptuary laws and
the proscription of everything that had a tendency to soften
the minds and enervate the bodies of the Spartans, were
enforced ; and, centuries after that period, it was owing to
Alexander the Great sending 30,000 children, of the best
families, to be educated in Macedonian exercises, that he
secured the possession of the Persian empire, which he had
acquitted solely by the effeminacy of the Persian soldiery.^
Amongst the characters of fiction, equal honours have been
given to those who distinguished themselves in puo-ilistic
encounters; and the circumstance of the dandy. Dares,

*Amongsttliei>riiicipiil<;aiiiescelebratedinli()n()urofPatiot'lu.s, as enumerated
in Homer's //tVu/, boxing is mentioned ; and the duel of Ulysses with thebeofar
Irus is one of the most diverting incidents in the Odyssci/. The King- of Ithaca
seems to have been well calculated for the ring.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSINIAN

thrashing the huge Entellus, shows that the use of the fists
was by no means beneatli the practice of a gentleman. Then
care has been taken to prove that a bullying manner rarely, if
ever, accompanies true courage and even consummate skill.
For example : when Hector, in the seventh book of the Iliad,
is made to challenge to single combat any of the Greek
leaders, Ajax remains silent, through modest reserve, till
Nestor's speech rouses him to an offer of meeting the defiance.
Again, when the lot falls upon him to be the champion on the
occasion, the same reserve marks his conduct. He merely
expresses a soldier's confidence in the result, and desires the
Greeks to pray to Jupiter for his success. Then, as I under-
stand is invariably the case with British pugilists, Homer
takes care to show that Ajax bore no personal ill-will towards
Hector when he went forth to fight him ; and it is on this
ground that Cicero, in his Tusoulan questions, offers an
apology for the gladiatorial exhibitions of his country.^ I
finished my exordium,' continued our hero, ' on British boxing,
with a short extract from Jackson's Stranger in America,
which I had written in my memorandum book for the express
purpose : —

' " Gouging, in the State of Georgia," says the author, " is
thus practised : the best man throws his antagonist on the
ground, and gets up with an eye in his hand, which he has
turned out of the socket with the thumb-stroke ; — ' The first eye
for the honour of the State !!! ' They use their teeth, sharpened
with a file, and bite off ears and noses. A scufiie took place
among some sailors; one of them, a practised gouger, knocked
out the candle, gouged out three eyes, bit off one ear, tore a few
cheeks, and made good his retreat ! " '

' And what said your uncle to all this ? ' asked the
Captain.

' Why, he gave a shudder, and expressed a wish to drop the
subject for the present.'

' Had I been present at this conversation,' resumed the

' Why Homer lias chosen to represent Ajax as a loser in all the games in
which he is engaged at the funeral of I'atroclus, is not easily exiilained ; especially
as they are of a nature in which his bodily strength and vigour would have fair
scope for exertion. We may suppose, however, that, having lixed his reputation
by making him the resource of his countrymen on all important occasions, it is
of little consequence that others excel him in sportive conflicts.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Captain, ' I would have told your uncle that, although the
invention of gunpowder has put men more on an equality in
battle, still, as has been proved in our numerous and generally
victorious contests with the enemy, physical power in our
soldiers has greatly served our cause. It has been ascertained
by the means of an instrument called the hynanometer (or
measure of strength), that the English are the strongest of
all European nations, and, by a fourth part, stronger than
savages in a state of nature. Thus it appears that the im-
provement of social order does not impair the physical powers
of man, as some persons have imagined ; but experience has
shown that the strength and activity of the human frame,
arising from the natural muscular conformation of its parts,
can be nearly trebled by proper food and exercise, or what we
call training. It has been ; proved that, under such circum-
stances, man is infinitely superior in strength to the horse,
relatively to the size of the latter, which is to that of a man
as six or seven to one ; and he is capable of being trained to
beat him at a continuance of labour. I, myself, walked 110
miles in nineteen hours and tv*'enty-seven minutes, and a man
named Granville went 142 miles in twenty-nine hours.
Takino- the average of horses, not one in a thousand would
have performed either of these tasks.^ The mechanical con-
struction of man, however, is admirably adapted to his
destination under any circumstances in which he may be
placed ; but the degree of strength which is attainable by
exercise, and lost by effeminacy, is, unfortunately, not gene-
rally considered, or it would cause many to withdraw them-
selves from the slaver}'- of luxury, and induce them to enlist
under the banners of temperance and exercise, the true sources
of enjoyment, and the only efficient means of utility. And
this state of additional strength in man, together with health
which none but those who have experienced it can appreciate,
is found by those who are trained for the rinrj to be attained
by plain but substantial food, with good malt liquor, or water,

1 An ingenious Frenchman ascertained the strength of the human frame, by
pLacing on every part of a man's body, standing upright, a number of weights, in
such a manner that each i)art supported as much as it could bear, relativel}' to
the rest ; and it \vas found by this contrivance that a man could stand under
2000 pounds. Supposing, then, the bulk of the body of a horse to be as I have
stated, he ought to bear a weight of 12,000, or 14,000 pouiuls, which no horse
could bear.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and not through the means of .soups, jellies, or rich sauces,
and still less of spirituous liquors, or large quantities of wine,
which are all found detrimental both to health and strength.

' Then look at our own case. Within the last ten days,
you and I have hunted nine times, the distances to and from
the places of meeting averaging twenty miles. Now, adding
thereunto the several tine runs we have seen, during the late
succession of good sport, we may safely reckon upon having
ridden fifty miles per day, putting the extra exertion of riding
over the country out of the question. Have either of us, let
me ask, felt the slightest degree of fatigue from the doings of
these ten days ? On the contrary, have we not felt invigor-
ated, and, in every respect, in better health ? Have we not
enjoyed our meals, and our wine, and our beds, rising in the
morning with a freshness not perceptible at other periods of
the year, in the summer months especially, when our exertions
necessarily abate ? Rely upon it, then, my young friend,'
added the Captain, with no slight emphasis, ' manly exercises
of all sorts should be encouraged in the youth of this country ;
and although the practice of prize-fighting cannot altogether
be justified on moral grounds — inasmuch as the training two
persons for the express purpose of inflicting serious injury to
each other, in cold blood, at the hazard of sacrificing their
lives, while thousands of their fellow-men are looking on, for
their amusement, is undoubtedly opposed to Christian feeling ;
still, up to the present time, considerably more good than evil
has arisen from it, in upholding the national character for
courage and fair play, and enabling Englishmen to boast, not
merely of their courage and fair play in their quarrels, but
that England is ihe only country under tJoe sun, in which the
knife or the dagger is not used to avenge insults or injuries.
There are, I am sorry to add, some signs of a departure from
the strictly honourable conduct hitherto displayed in the
British ring, the consequence of Jews becoming prominent
characters in it : should this become manifest, it will lose the
patronage of those highly respectable persons who now support
it so liberally — many of them on principle — and I have no
hesitation in saying, that my support, earnest as it has
hitherto been, will, in that case, be withdrawn. But it is not
only from the practice of boxing that national advantages are
derived : the use of the cudgel and back-sword, or single-stick

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

— as a stick with a basket to guard the hand is called — is
equally serviceable in its way ; and I will show yon a man,
to-morrow, at the cover sidi', who is one of the best SM^ords-
men in the army of the present day, having derived his
superiority from the constant use of the back-swoi-d while at
Rugby school.'

The season drawing to a close, and Frank Raby, not con-
sidering his stud strong enough to -make a finish of it at
Melton, bent his steps homewards, and arrived at the Abbey
about the first week in April, having the pleasure to find all
his family in good health. Nearly the first thing that he did,
was to send for Mr. Robson, the steward, and direct him as to
making preparations for his stud during the summer months ;
neither was the order a light one. But we will describe the
meeting between them on the occasion.

' Good morning to you, Robson,' said our hero ; ' I am
glad to see you well. I want to arrange about my hunters,
eight in number, which I intend shall remain here durinu- the
summer.'

' Exactly so,' replied the Scotchman. ' We have a very
good prospect of a fine bite of grass in the park by May-day
at furthest, and the Squire's hunters are always turned out
about that time. There is plenty of shade and water, and it
will do your heart good to see how the poor beasts will gallop
about and enjoj' themselves on fine summer days, and how fat
they get. Then there will be a fine herd of them together,
with the Squire's eight, and my lady's ponies, and all the
hacks ; oh ! how they will '

'Ay, ay! I know what you are going to say, Robson,'
resumed the young Squire, ' but I am not going to turn my
horses into the park, to knock their legs to pieces in galloping,
and stamping to rid themselves of flies, besides losino- all
their condition, which is now (|uite perfect. You must run
me up four hovels in a dry and retired part of the park,
dividing each into two, with four outlets of ground, well railed
in, of about a quarter of an acre each. The doors must be
double the common width, with rollers to the side-posts ; and
if no water be at hand, a water-cart must be made to hold
two days' consunqotion, and a one-horse cart at command, to
carry hay and corn.'

'Hay and corn!' exclaimed Robson; 'why .surel\-, sir,

'241 \.)

thp: life of a sportsman

you are not goin<; to expend hay and corn on liorses when they
do no work ! The expense of hunters is quite enough in the
winter months ; but surely, sir— — '

' Leave those matters to me,' said Frank Raby ; ' if the S(|uire
lias no very good old oats, purchase twenty quarters of the best
for me, the next market day, and let the hovels and paddocks
be run up without delay, as my horses will be ready to be put
into them by the first w^eek in May. But I have forgotten one
thing ; I understand you will have both lucern and wanter tares
ready by that time ; and you must order a cart-load of them to
be brought to the hunters, whenever my groom tliinks it proper
to give them.'

' The lucern and the tares will be very young at the time
you specify,' resumed the steward. 'It will be a sore waste to
cut them,'

' The younger the better,' answered our young sportsman ;
' there is no purpose to which you can put them, that wall pay
half as well as that for wdiich they are required by me. But do
not alarm yourself, Robson ; I shall not want many of them,
having been informed by the best groom of the present day
that much green food of any sort is injurious to the condition
of hunters ; and on their condition does half of their excellence
depend. Indeed, the longer I live, the more I am convinced of
the truth of Mr. Warde's maxim, that " the goodness and shape
of horses go in at their mouths." '

The faithful steward having satisfied himself that the
sanction of his master had been obtained for this outlay of
capital, assured ' Mr. Francis ' that his orders should be
immediately executed, and with as much economy as possible,
observing, at the same time, that, although he had never
given the subject a moment's consideration before, yet he was
inclined to be of his opinion as to the condition of the horses,
which no doubt would be very much affected by the sudden
change of keep.

' Besides,' added he, ' your horses, sir, will be wy/'<? in the
paddocks. Since I have lived with the Squire, we have had
three good hunters spoiled — two by being kicked by others,
and one gored by an ox. I have heard Dick the huntsman say
that he never rode but one hunter that he could not find the
bottom of, in the course of the season, and that was a roan
horse, called Marplot, which was obliged to be kept at house

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

all summer, and for two reasons : first, he was so vicious tliat
he was dangerous to the others in the park ; and secondly, his
body was so deep, in proportion to the lenoth of his fore legs,
that he could not reach the ground with his mouth without
great difficulty, and of course straining his limbs. You do not
remember Marplot, Mr. Francis, but you have often heard Dick
talk of him. To be sure he always looked very different to the
other hunters, especially before Christmas.'

' And how was he treated in the summer ? ' inquired Mr.
Francis.

' He stood in the stable with the coach-horses, and Dick rode
him almost every day, when exercising the hounds, in the park,'
was the answer.

' His goodness in the field, and his superior condition, are
accounted for,' said our hero, as he walked away from the
steward ; and on his road to the house he met Dick going
towards the kennel. ' Where now, Dick ? ' said he to the man
whom he once thought more of, perhaps, than of any other in
the world — compared with whom Mr. Egerton was a dunce, and
even Sir John but second fiddle ; whose very words he had
devoured as he sat on his knee in the ' hall,' when describing
the run of yesterday, and anticipating that of to-morrow, which
he had obtained permission to witness.

' To the kennel, to feed, sir,' replied Dick ; ' will you not come
and see 'em ? '

' Not I, indeed, Dick,' answered Frank Raby, ' I would not
give twopence to see the best harriers in the world ; in fact, /
luite anything belonging to Jtarriers. They are always bow-
wowing about the country, disturbing the foxes, and they do
more harm to farmers than two packs of foxhounds, by being
so long pottering in the same place.'

' Sorry to hear you talk so, Mr. Francis,' said the old hunts-
man, evidently chagrined at these remarks, ' but our hounds,
you know, never hang long about any one place. Indeed, the
very last day but one, the Squire was saying he wished you had
been with us, on one of your best hunters ; we went from Burton
Clumps to Fox's Barn, good eight miles, as straight as a crow
ever flew; and, out of nineteen horsemen, six only were up
when we killed the hare.'

' Horsemen !' i^iiid our hero contemptuously^ — 'what sort of
horsemen ? '

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

* Why, some of the right sort, sir,' replied Dick ; ' Mr.
Hammond was one of them that could not go to the end, and
Farmer Williams on the old grey mare.'

' The old grey mare,' continued Frank, ' fed upon clover, hay,
and Swedish turnips in the winter, and lying with the feeding
oxen all the summer.'

' Beg pardon, sir,' resumed Dick ; ' it is true the old mare
lies with the feeding oxen in the summer, but the old gentleman
gives her the best of everything in the winter, and the Squire's
horses do not eat better hay or corn. Then there was Lord
Brock on one of his Leicestershire horses ; his Lcjrdship had
quite enough of it at the finish ; and, what was more, I heard
him tell the Squire that he never saw hunting quite perfect till
that day. It certainly was a beautiful sight to see how the
hounds did their work from hrst to last ; how they turned with
the scent, and what a head they carried ; and how the blood
of old Tyrant told at the last, for every hound was in his
place.'

Time had been when Frank Raby would have been entranced
with this short but graphic description of an eight miles' burst,
but the charm was now dispelled : so, turning on his heel, he
pursued his course with merely telling Dick ' it was all very fine
but he had taken his leave of thistle-whipping.'

Our hero's next visit was to the keeper, to inquire into the
state of his kennel. This he found quite to his satisfaction.
It contained three brace of well-broken setters ; three couples
and a half of spaniels, all as mute as a gate-post ; two capital
Newfoundlanders, then just coming into fashion as retrievers
of wounded game ; and four brace of greyhounds of the best
blood in the country, some of them having proved themselves
such by the various prizes they had gained. But matters did
not end here. Two brace of fine young setters had been sent
off into Cheshire in the pairing season, to be broken on the
down-charge system, by old Potts, and were not as yet returned.

' Your kennel, Perren, is all right,' said our hero ; ' I think
there will be few better teams than mine, next year, on the
moors. How does Jack get on in his business ? Is he improved
in his shooting and vermin-catching ? '

' There is not a better shot than Jack in the country, sir,'
replied Perren ; ' and as to vermin-catciiing, not a crow nor a
magpie can escape Jiini, much less a weasel or a stoat. I'll

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

back liim, indeed, to kill magpies against any keeper in
England.'

' How does he go to work :* ' inquired Frank Raby.

' Why, sir,' perhaps you will smile when I tell you,'
answered the keeper ; ' he gets a live magpie and a cat, and
has them staked down near a wood, within a certain distance
of each other, but not quite within reach, when the cries
of the bird, at fear of the cat, are so loud and unnatural
as to bring every magpie in the wood to the spot. He is
sure to get a double shot ; and such is the infatuation of these
birds, by the scene that is going on, that they return to the
spot, and thus afford him a second, and sometimes a third
chance.'

' By the way, Perren,' said our hero, ' I heard a good story
of a magpie the other day in London — or, I had rather said,
the mention of the bird was very happily applied. A friend of
the Prince of Wales, who says many good things, and is to a
certain extent privileged to say them in the royal presence,
was complimenting his Royal Highness on the excellence of
his cook, adding that he supposed " there was only one pie
which baffled his skill." " What pie is that ? " inquired the
Prince. " Why, sir," replied the wag, " he cannot make a
magpie." '

' And how are you oft' for foxes ? " continued Frank Raby.
' Although I do not hunt in this country, and perhaps never
shall do so, I am not on that account the less anxious that a
good head of foxes should be found in it, and in our own covers
especially.'

' We were not deficient last season, sir,' replied the keeper ;
' and they have whipped off from two heavy vixens within the
last fortnight ; there is also a litter of cubs already in the Big
Wood ; but a bad misfortune happened to Jack, a few weeks
back. He laid a trap overnight for a polecat, and found a fox
in it in the morning, and, what was worst of all, a heavy vixen,
almost ready to lay up her cubs.'

' And what then ? ' exclaimed our young sportsman hastily ;
' was she dead ? "

' She was not dead, sir,' replied the keeper, ' but her leg
was so dreadfully mangled that I cut off the injured part and let
lier go. She was, however, found dead, a few days afterwards,
by one of our woodmen, in the Birch Coppice. Jack imme-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

diately told me of what had happened, and requested that
you sliould be informed of it, sir, for which I gave him
praise.'

' That was much to his credit,' resumed our young sports-
man. ' Jack always was a good fellow, and I am sure he
would almost as soon have had his own leg in a trap of his
own setting as that of a fox ; but, in future, let him give over
setting traps of any sort. I hear keepers say rabbit-traps do
no harm, but I know to the contrary ; they not only will hold
and maim foxes, but foxes will not lie in covers where they
are set.'

In our zeal for the success of the stables and kennel, we
have passed over the family at the Abbey without a word of
notice. After an absence of some months, and those forming
part of the second year after the melancholy event that
occurred, in the death of the eldest son, Frank Raby was not
void of anxiety, on his arrival at the Abbey, as to the state in
which he might find his father and mother. In Mr. Raby he
observed little, if any, visible alteration either in person or
manner. As regarded the former, his uniform habits of life,
a naturall}^ sound constitution, regular out-of-door exercise,
and, up to a late period, almost uninterrupted prosperity, if
they had not bidden defiance to the all-consuming power of
Time, had caused his hand to fall so lightly upon him, that,
in the eyes of Frank, he did not appear to be a da}' older than
when he first knew him as his father; and as regarded the
latter— his demeanour in the family circle — he had called both
philosophy and religion to his aid in bearing up against a blow
which he had not the power to ward ofi". But not so the
amiable and motherly Lady Charlotte. The loss of her
favourite son — the first-born of her love — had so scathed and
scorched her soul, that neither the sympathy and kind ojSices
of her friends, nor the most delicate and cherishing attentions
of her family — still less the occupation and amusements sought
out for her, were able to dissipate her grief, and wean her from
the recollection of her child, and the tragical scenes she had
gone through. She would occasionally appear joyless where
all around was gay; the hue of health and contentment had
nearly forsaken her complexion ; and her smiles, which were
wont to be so redundant, were now as transient and fleeting
as an April sun, peeping from beneath a watery cloud, but

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

obscured nearly as suddenly as it bursts forth. Sucli vicissi-
tudes as these, however, are fearful lessons to all possessors of
wealth and honours ; and their participation in them tends to
render those who possess not such dazzling appearances more
satisfied and contented with their lot. But Lady Charlotte's
trial was not yet completed. Having constantly present to her
n)ind the figure of her departed son during his illness — the
deep red hectic spot that burned in the centre of his cheek ;
the skin of his forehead of that transparent white which added
the mockery of beaut_y to the ravages of disease ; his bright
brown hair having that silken flow peculiar- to persons of
delicate frame ; his form wasted to a fearful thinness — to the
utmost extent, indeed, to which the human frame can be
reduced without being dissolved ; and in his gait, the flat-
footed tread of weakness, instead of the bounding step of
youth wdiich once was his ; when dwelling upon this sad pic-
ture, then, and viewing it, as she did, through the medium of
a morbid imagination, natural though we may allow it to have
been — for, as the poet sa3\s —

'When trees do drop their fruits in autumn ripeness,
'Tis Nature's common course, and so we look on't ;
But when unseasonous frost nip promisinff buds.
And lovely blossoms, then the heart grows sad
To see those troth-plights of much after riches
Untimely broken ; ' —

she ever and anon fancied that signs of the same insidious
complaint were visible in the person of her eldest daughter,
just budding into womanhood. Then her imagination was
strengthened and her fears increased by having read in books
that there is a sacred halo round those whom we see in the
bloom of years destined for the grave, and even that — bugbear
as it might be — would occasionally present itself to her
diseased mind. Here, however, her prayers were heard, and
the cup of bitterness was not suflered to overflow. Nature
came to the relief of one of the fairest of her creatures : as
the frame of Miss Raby exj)anded, her strength proportionately
increased, and in three years from tlie period to which we are
alluding, there were not two healthier nor handsomer young-
ladies than herself in her own county, or in the next. The
health and spirits of her amiable and once beautiful mother

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

also revived to a certain degree, and that was as much as
could be expected ; for the heart of woman —

' ... is like the youthful tree
The lightning strikes to earth ;
Once scathed, its bloom no more will be :
It knows no second birth.'

The domestic news, and that of the immediate neighbour-
hood, had been conveyed to our hero by letters from the
various members of his family, during his sojourn in Oxford-
shire ; and his uncle had been visited by him for a few days,
during a temporary stop to hunting by frost. Mr. Egerton
had succeeded to the living of Amstead, it having been pre-
sented to him by Mr. Raby on the decease of Dr. Chapman ;
was married at the end of the twelvemonth to tlie second
Miss Chapman ; and, having the promise from Sir John
Inkleton of the living of Orton, on the decease of its then
incumbent, far advanced in years, this amiable man and sound
scholar had every prospect of happiness within the range of
his moderate desires. Neither were his expectations ill-
founded. He lived to see his family grow up and prosper ;
and it is scarcely necessary to add that he proved a treasure
to his parishioners ; for, independent of being an excellent
classical scholar, he possessed what, to be a good divine, every
man of that order ought to possess — namely, a tolerable fund
of every species of useful knowledge ; and being conversant
with many other branches of science besides the classics and
the doctrine of his own sacred calling, he became generally
conducive to the benefit of those whose souls were committed
to his care.

248

CHAPTER XIV

A few words on summering liunters. Mr. (.'orbet'.s country and men, and the
finish of the season witli the Atherstone.

As may be supposed, the paddocks for summering the hunters
were finished by the appointed time, and the orders of our
young sportsman had been strictly complied with in the con-
struction of them. Each hovel contained two horses, which
were shut up in them at night, as well as in the heat of the
day, when wetted matting was placed in the open windows, to
cool the air, and prevent the entrance of flies. Their hours of
being let loose in the small space of ground allotted to them,
on the outside of their hovels, were from four to eight or nine
in the morning, and from seven or eight to ten in the evening,
unless the weather was wet, when they were invariably con-
fined to their hovels. Their food was, occasionally, tares or
lucern, in some cases mixed with their hay ; and in no instance
were they allowed green meat altogether for more than three
or four consecutive days. And another precaution was ob-
served. The horses were sorted according to the nature of
their constitution — those which carried much flesh being put
together, and vice versa, the quantity of their food being regu-
lated accordingly. In the case of two, indeed, such was their
aptitude to gather flesh, that, after the first month, they were
ridden out to exercise for at least two hours, in a cool place,
and on turf. Their general allowance of oats was three-
quarters of a peck to each horse, in the twenty-four_ hours, a
few old beans being given to two of them, who were 'a little
deficient in stamina, although the most brilliant of the whole
stud in a burst. Their hinder shoes were taken ofl", but their
fore feet were protected by tips, and their toes were kept
shortened, the same as if they had been in work, although
little was done to the sole, and the frog not touched at all.
EfVch horse, with the exception of one that had thrushes, and

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

was under a process of cure by the groom, stood in wetted clay
for the space of two liours daily, for the benefit of their feet
and legs, and some light doses of physic were administered to
such as exhibited symptoms of foulness. Alterative pow^ders,
also, consisting of levigated antimony and sulphur, were given
in their corn to three who did not coat well in the preceding
winter, and the best eftects were experienced from them. The
stud were put into these paddocks on the 8th day of May, and
taken into the stables again on the Lst day of August, during
which time no accident of any kind occurred to them. More-
over, their condition was excellent ; that is to say, to commence
the preparation for severe work in the hunting season, from
the firmness of their flesh in the first instance ; from their
not being overladen with it, to the injury of their legs, in the
second ; and from only a trifling diminution of muscular
powers, in the third. The feet of these horses also appeared
very different to what their groom had hitherto seen in those
of hunters previously under his care, which had run abroad for
three months in the summer. They were, in fact, in a more
perfect state than when they had left off" work in the spring, as
far as crust and sole and frog were concerned ; and, moreover,
their form altogether had approached nearer to the natural one,
by having proper attention paid to them during three months'
growth.

This system of sunnuering hunters having never before been
seen, nor even heard of, in this part of the country, it excited
no little surprise, and the expression of sage opinions that the
young Squire's hunters would be spoiled for want of their
summer's run in the park, which the old Squire's hunters had
always enjoyed, and those of the Squire's father before him.
The following dialogue occurred between Mr. Robson the
steward, Dick the huntsman, and Frank Raby's groom, as they
were looking at the horses in the paddocks.

' Poor beasts,' said the Scotchman ; ' I am sorry to see you
shut up this way, in a prison, instead of enjoying yourselves
at your pleasure in the park, after the hardships you have
undergone. And ' (addressing himself to James the groom),
said he, ' wlio put all this new fasliicjii into iMr. Francis's
head ? '

' Lord Sandford's groom, sir,' replied James.

' And are you not sorry, James, that your master listened
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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSINIAN

to hiin ? — are you not sorry to see the poor beasts shut up after
this manner ? ' resumed the steward.

' Indeed I am not, sir,' answered James ; ' for if it has the
same effect on these horses that it had last winter on Lord
Sandford's, I shall not have half tlie trouble with them next
winter that I had last.'

' What d'ye mean, James ? ' inquired the steward.

'I mean this, sir,' said the o^room : 'I had rather look
after three horses in the same condition that Lord Sandford's
were in all through the last season, from the very beginning
indeed, than after any two M^e had in our stud. They were
cleaned in half the time it took to clean ours after hunting;
and what is m<3re, they never broke out into a cold sweat, as
ours so often did, after we thought we had got them quite dry
and comfortable. Then I used to watch them when they were
going to cover, in the morning, along with our horses, espe-
cially before Christmas. Ours would be in a sweat if the
morning was at all close, whilst my Lord's would be as dry
as a bone. I thought to myself, sir, tliat this must be a great
advantage to these horses over ours, when they came to follow
the liounds through a run, as, for my own part, I always feel
weak after sweating much in my work. So you see, sir, if it
is a little hard on master's horses to be pent up in these places
all the summer, instead of galloping about and playing in the
park, they get the best of it in the winter, by being in so much
better heart for their work. Then, again, they are not tor-
mented with the flies here, as they are in the park, for I have
often watched the old Squire's hunters in the summer, and been
really sorry to see liow they were plagued. It was nothing
but stamp, stamp, stamp, all day long, and' (addressing the
huntsman) 'you remember, Dick, that you always said your
famous old mare, the Queen, would not have turned roarer, nor
Stumps have gone broken- winded, if they had not been turned
out to grass.'

' I certainly did so,' replied Dick, ' and think so still. Indeed,
I am something inclined, Mr. Robson, to be of James's way
of thinking as to keeping hunters in the summer months. I
have often said to myself, when I have seen tlie liorses I ride
with the hounds galloping about this park, where the ground
has been as hard as a barn-floor, " surely I give you enough of
galloping in the hunting season." Then, again, they come up

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

so fat from this good land, that they never seem to me to be
anything like themselves till after Christmas is turned ; and,
moreover, when I have done with them for the season, and they
are stripped for turning out for the summer, they appear to me
to be just in proper trim.'

' Well,' said Mr. Robson, ' I am not one of those who refuse to
listen to reason ; and from what I have heard from James and
yourself, I am much disposed to believe that this method of
treating valuable hunters may be better than letting them run
loose in the park, that is to say, as far as their condition is
concerned ; but the expense is very great.'

' One would think so,' resumed James, ' but master says
it is not. Indeed, he declares it is much the cheapest plan ;
and Lord Sandford's groom told me he has often heard ray lord
say he considers he has saved £2000 in the hve years that
he has tried it in his large stud. In the first place, never a
summer, he said, passed over before, that some accident, or
indeed accidents, did not happen which occasioned him to buy
more horses : and in the next, he said that, if one of the stud
only were to be sold at Tattersall's at the commencement of
the following season, he would fetch as much extra price, by
his superior condition and appearance, as would repay the
expenses of summering the whole lot on this plan. In fact,
the groom told me he had seen my lord's own calculation,
which showed that, had he to pay for his twelve hunters at
grass for three months in the summer, the difterence between
the charge for it, and the expenses of keeping them after this
fashion, would not be more than twenty-five or thirty pounds
at furthest.'

' Depend upon it, my lord is right ! ' exclaimed Dick.

' Well, I think so, too,' observed the Scotchman.

'/ am (juite sure of it,' said the groom ; ' and I am also sure
tliat no gentleman's horses in any hunt we may go into next
season, unless it is Lord Sandford's, and a few others, belonging
to some of his friends who have acted on his plan, will look as
ours will look ; and I have reason to believe we shall be able to
do with one helper less in the stables.'

'That will be no trifle,' said the steward, and here the
conversation dropped.

When the next season commenced, the appearance and
condition of the horses fully answered the expectations of our

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THE TJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

young sportsman and his oroom — the latter, indeed, feeling
proud of them, and, of course, claiming the merit to himself.
After a fortnight's hare-hunting with his father, Frank Raby
and his stud made their appearance in Warwickshire. But
why select Warwickshire, when other and more fashionable
countries were at his option — Leicestershire, Northampton-
shire, etc. ? The answer is comprised in a few words. Neither
his purse nor his stud were then equal to Leicestershire, in the
first place ; and in the next, he was strongly recommended to
Warwickshire, on account of the gentleman who then hunted
it, and the harmony and good fellowship that was said to
distinguish the society of that long-established Hunt, and of
the neighbourhood generally in which the headquarters of the
Hunt were established. And who was the gentleman who then
hunted Warwickshire, and was considered so particularly worthy
of our young sportsman's notice ? The justly celebrated Mr.
Corbet — and celebrated, not merely as a master of foxhounds
and a sportsman, but as possessing, to the greatest extent, the
manners and deportment of the highly-finished gentleman,
although of a school of a somewhat earlier date than the period
to which we now allude. But it was from a desire on the part
of his father and a few of his particular friends, that Frank
Raby should witness a specimen of the school which had given
to Mr. Corbet these highly -finished manners and deportment^ that
a visit to this country, in preference to any other, was uro-ed
upon him.

' I see a little of it,' said Mr. Raby to his son, when discussing
these matters, 'in my own small way, as master of a pack
of harriers ; but, depend upon it, there are not many situations
in which the manners, the deportment, and the temper of men
are oftener called forth into action, and this to public view, than
when placed in the trying one of master of English foxhounds.
First, be it remembered, it is a post of no trifling eminence,
and is apt to engender a little pride of place, as most other
situations do.'

In this situation, then, as master of a pack of foxhounds,
Mr. Corbet was considered a pattern- card ; and as Mr. Raby
had good reason to believe that, one day or another, his son
would be similarly placed, he was on that account more
anxious for his visiting Warwickshire whilst Mr. Corbet
hunted it. He was also informed that there were a few ver}'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

eminent sportsmen, inembers of this Hunt, from whom some
good lessons might be derived. That he was not disappointed
in the result, the following letter from our young sportsman
to his friend Hargra\ e will pretty clearly show :—

' Stratfoid-iipon-Avon, Dec. 9.

' Dear Hargrave, —

' I am delighted with all I have hitherto seen in Warwick-
shire. Although there are a few rough fixtures in it, it is,
taken altogether, a right good fox-hunting country, and as full
of foxes as it can hold. Indeed, they say here that the life
of a fox is quite as safe from the gun of the poacher or
farmer, as the life of a man is from the hand of the assassin.
And I do not marvel at this. Old Corbet, as he is called, is
the most proper man I have ever yet seen as a master of
foxhounds, and as such, of course, popular amongst all descrip-
tions of persons. The farmers, indeed, appear to adore him
(as they generally do a really well-bred gentleman, which Mr.
C. is), and the gentlemen love and respect him. He is also a
good sportsman, and a perfect enthusiast when his hounds are
in chase, although, strange to say, he will not ride over any-
thing approaching to a large fence. How he gets on as he
does — for he is generally pretty near at the end of the run —
I cannot imagine, unless it be by his intimate knowledge of
the country, as well as of the line foxes generally take, and
the speed and goodness of his horses, which are hrst-rate.
His huntsman. Will Burrows, is my delight. He is a sulky-
looking fellow, and I believe his looks do not belie him ; but
it is when his hounds are running that he excites my admira-
tion. In the hrst place, he is a beautiful horseman ; in the
next, his •jyipe is the clearest and most melodious you ever
heard. Then, to hear him cheer his hounds, — the bitches
especially, which are his favourites — transports one. He
finishes his thrilling halloo, which he ever and anon encourages
them with, even when going their best pace, wnth — " Have
at him, 'my lasses, and stick to him till he dies." But as to
his never being many yards from his lasses, who can wonder
at that, seeing the cattle he rides ? He has four slapping
nags, able to carry fourteen stone, whereas his weight
with his saddle does not exceed eleven. And a word or two
about his horses, not a bad hint for us who hope one day

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

or ancjther to Iveep foxhounds. All Mr. Corbet's horses, with
the exception ol" those he himself brecrls, ai-e purcliased, at
weaning time, from his tenants or the neighbouring- farmers.
He thus has not onl}^ a great choice, but has the advantage of
having all geldings, and no mares, in his stables. I under-
stand the price he gives is, generally, about twenty pounds,
which, reckoning good keep for the next four years, puts
excellent five-year-olds into his stud, at about eighty pounds,
which no doubt is cheaper th:in purchasing them — all risks
included.

' Mr. Corbet's hounds are, in ni}^ opinion, very good, but
his blood does not, I believe, rank quite so high as that
of some other kennels. They say he has done mischief —
causing a certain degree of slackness — by breeding too much
in-and-in, or from one particular sort. This has given him
the somewhat classic title of the Father of the Trojans, and
the foundation of it is this. Many j^ears back, when he
hunted another country, his hounds came to a check at the
wall of a gentleman's park. The scent appeared to be lost,
when one hound, called Trojan, was seen carrying it along the
top of the wall, on which the fox had run, and thus baffled his
pursuers for a time. This was the distinguishing charac-
teristic of the hound alluded to; and his after-performances
being on a par with it, he became not only the favourite stud-
hound in the kennel, but nearly the founder of an entire pack,
in which the parent cross was carried too far. As professed
judges entertain this opinion of Mr. C.'s hounds, it would ill
become me to dispute it ; but this 1 will say, that, as far as I
have seen them in the field, I can find very little to condemn.
The newly prevailing fashion of dividing the sexes is adopted
in the field, and the character of the two packs is that,
although under very adverse circumstances the dogs may be
the most efficient, the bitches are more brilliant with a
straight-running fox and a good scent. Of the country, as I
have already said, there is good and indifferent — none ver}^
bad ; but the good greatly prevails ; and by way of giving
you an idea of the part esteemed indifferent, I must tell you
that I saw a run, last week, from one of the covers in it,
called Farnborough, of twelve miles, in which we only crossed
one ploughed field ! On the other hand, on the Northampton-
shire side of the country, there is as fine a grazing district as

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

is to be seen in Leicestershire or Northamptonshire. Then
there is another country, called the Meriden country, which
these hounds hunt for two periods in the year, and we have
just been staying at Meriden, on the high road from Coventry
to London, where the kennel is, and whence it is called the
Meriden country. The covers are large and frequent, and it
is altogether very unlike tlie Stratford country ; but, speaking
as a sportsman, I cannot withhold my praise of it. It is a
fine, wild, fox-hunting-looking country, in which the foxes are
so good that they seldom hang at all in the covers, which are,
for the most part, well cut into rides, and we have been having
very good sport in it. But it being better calculated for spring-
hunting, when travelling foxes are to be met with, I anticipate
a great treat on our next visit to Meriden.

' I have been elected a member of the Stratford Hunt
Club, who dine together every day, at the head inn in the
town, the room in which they dine being honoured with the
title of one of Shakespeare's plays. Mr. Corbet gives us his
company every Thursday, when numerous visitors are added
to our party, and he generally gives us a dinner at his house
once in the course of the week. We have great fun in the
" Tempest," for that is the name of our room ; but beyond a
bottle of claret, and the wine drunk at dinner, nothing like
excess is committed. Great part of the " fun " proceeds from
handicapping our horses, and sporting our hands when the
award is made ; but beyond a few pounds hazarded in this
way, and five or ten pounds on a rubber at whist, nothing
like gambling is practised in the " Tempest." But perhaps
the most interesting part of my letter may be a description of
some of the leading members of this celebrated hunt. First,
then, let me tell you, there are two brothers, by the name of
Cannons, Warwickshire men, who are absolute prodigies in
the field, the j^ounger one especially, whose name is Robert.
The elder rides, at least, seventeen stone and a half, and
Robert sixteen stone ; notwithstanding which, not a light-
weight in the country can beat them ; in fact, Robert is
decidedly the best man in the hunt, let the pace or the
country be what it may. But what surprises me is, in tlie
first place, the extraordinary sort of eagle-eye this man — I
mean the younger Cannons — has to a country, when making
his way over it with hounds, and also wlien returning liome

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

after hunting, when he may be called the oracle of the Held.
" Which is the best way ^ " says one. " Ask Robert Cannons,"
is the answer invariably given. Then his coolness, when
hounds are running, also astonishes me. He never appears
to be in a hurry, much less in a flutter ; and I have already
deriv^ed more instruction from seeing him ride to hounds than
I have hitherto derived from all former experience. And,
added to all these good (pialities, as a horseman in the field,
he has the most beautiful and light hand on his horse I have
ever yet beheld ; he never is seen quarrelling with, or molest-
ing him in any way, but, as though they were incorporated
with each other, they go sailing along, like a ship before the
Avind, and very nearly as straight. In fact, few fences can
stop this fine sportsman — for such he likewise is — by reason
of the weight of metal himself and his horses oppose to
them ; and it is astonishing how few falls he gets, taking the
season throughout, in which he never misses a day at the
cover side. Nor is it only in Warwickshire that he shines.
I was told that, one day last season, he was quite a leading
man in a severe burst over Leicestershire with the Cottesmore
hounds, although he got a very indifi:erent start. He is, of
course, well mounted, and is occasionally ofiered immense
prices for his horses, which, however, he generally declines.
He has now two horses — the Conqueror and Knowsley, the
latter an entire horse — for which I would willingly give him
1000 guineas, could I conveniently spare the money. But
as I have taken upon mj^self to sketch the characters of these
gentlemen, I must not stop at their mere accomplishments in
the field. They are all that is amiable and delightful in
private life, and their hospitality has no bounds. For
instance, it was only last week that I myself made one of a
dozen sportsmen — ten in scarlet, and two in black coats —
that turned out each morning, equipped for the field, having
been domiciled under their roof for a week, and fed with the
best of everything.

' We have likewise two very celebrated sportsmen in this
country, whose names stand high in Leicestershire ; namely,
John Halls and John Lock wood. The former is one of the
very best of the gentlemen jockeys at Bibury, and the latter
remarkable for the high prices for which he has sold his
horses, after distinguishing themselves under his weight —

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

upwards of fourteen stone. A short time back he sold one
called Faith, for 750 guineas, in consequence of his having
been the only one that could live with the hounds over New-
bold Field, and leap a large fence into Lord Northampton's
park afterwards. So anxious was the gentleman who pur-
chased him to possess himself of such a treasure, that he
sent an express off, in the night of the day on which the cir-
cumstance occurred, to make an offer -of the money, in case
another customer should be before him. Newbold Field is
certainly one of the most distressing pieces of ground that I
ever rode over, and Faith must be, as he has the appearance
of being, a most superior horse to have crossed it on the day
I allude to, when it was in a very tender state, and very highly
ridged.

' There is a very gentleman-like young man hunting with
us here — indeed, he resides within the limits of the hunt —
who has introduced a somewhat novel style of seat on his
horse, which, although perhaps he may carry it to an extreme,
appears to succeed with him, and will, no doubt, induce many
to follow his example, to a certain extent. I allude to the
increased length of stirrup-leather which this man, whose
name is Welch Posten, allows himself, extending almost
beyond that used by the military, or in the 'nianege. It is
likewise worthy of notice, that, although his height is nearly
six feet, he rides two mares, neither of which are fifteen
hands high, but which are very difficult to beat with their
owner on their backs. I am told he gave 400 guineas for
them, and they are well worth the money, being very accom-
plished fencers, and nearly thorough-bred. You have often
heard me say that I thought both you and mj^self used
stirrup-leathers of not sufficient length ; and the case I now
allude to confirms me in that opinion, so much so that I have
dropped my stirrups at least three holes. I am convinced
that I sit easier on my horse by having my weight placed
near to the shoulder, on that part, indeed, which is the point
of union in the horse, instead of near to the loins, which are
the weakest part of his frame.

' But speaking of extraordinary men in our line, I must say
a word of one in this hunt, whose equal, .perhaps, is nowhere
else to be found. His name is Stibbs, and so inveterate a
lover of the chase is he, that he is not contented witli hunting

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

witli Mr. Corbet's foxliounds four daj's a week, which is tlie
number of their liunting clays, witli a bye one occasionally,
but he absolutely keeps a pack of harriers, to hunt the other
two. The climax, however, is yet to come. On being in-
formed, one Sunday morning, that a fox which had been
brought to him over night, had escaped from the place in
which it was confined, he ordered horses to be saddled for
himself and his man, and letting out his hounds, laid them on
the scent of the fugitive, and killed him after a sharp burst !
This very extraordinary man never misses a day in the season ;
he knows hunting well, and is rapturously fond of it, but,
being shy of fences, sees very little of a run ; nevertheless, by
an intimate knowledge of the country, like his friend Mr. Corbet,
he generally appears shortly after the chase is finished, be it
never so good.

' One of the bright features in this hunt is a ball and supper,
given annually to the ladies and gentlemen of the neighbour-
hood, at the sole expense of the members of it. That for this
year took place last week, and certainly was one of the best I
ever witnessed out of London. However, a description of such
matters is not much in my line, neither do I suppose it would
be ver}^ interesting to you ; still, as I know you like a neat
efi"usion of the lyric muse, and especially when she sings of the
chase, I will transcribe a song that was made for the occasion
by the Rev. T. Willy, and sung by him after supper, with the
very best effect : —

"The tiiuniplis of heroes let otliers declare,
Or in ecstasy sing of the charms of the fair ;

Of love, or of war, may the verse freely Ho^\ !
Let the glass aid the song, while those pleasures I trace,
Those enlivening joys which arise from the chase.

Tallylio ! tallyho ! — see the well-chosen

Pack, liow they gallantly go !

A southerly wind, and ligiit clouds in the sky.
The air mild and fresh, nerves and spirits all liigii,

Tallyho ! tallyho ! to the cover we go :
Hark ! Reveller's speaking — By heavens ! 'tis good,
Get forward and cheer them well out of the wood.

Tallylio ! tallyho ! — see the \vell-chosen

Pack, iiow together they go I

Erect in his stirrups, witli listening eye,
Tlie master is catching at Batciieior's cry ;
Tallyho ! tallyho ! — all seem eager to go.
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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Kestraiu your wiUl ardour, as yet, within bounds,
And Avait to ride after, not over, the hounds.

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — see the well-chosen

Pack, how together tliey go !

With eye beaming cunning, and light-tripping i)ace,
8ee the fox steals away — hear the pack in full cliase ;

Tallyho I tallyho ! — how together they go !
Hold hard, for a moment, and give them fair play :
You'll all want your top-speed, if they once get away.

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — see together tliey go.

How some, fairly mounted, go striding along,
Wliile others hard labour with bit, steel, and thong :

Tallyho ! tallyho !— how tl'ej struggle to go !
Hold hard ! is the word, but I strongly suspect.
Not the hounds, but some horses are brought to a check.

Tallyho ! tallyho I — how they gallantly go !

Yon fence seems a tickler — get tin to the charge ;

See the ground appears sound, though the ditch may l)e large ;

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — get forward, sir, go.
One tops it, one baulks it, and, craning, turns round.
While a third quits his seat for a seat on the ground.

Tallyho ! talljho ! — how together they go !

For a moment a sheep-foil now battles the scent,

See them stooping and questing — each tries Avhere he went ;

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — how they cautiously go !
Old Trojan has hit it — no doubt can remain ;
Not a moment is lost — they're together again.

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — how tiiey gallantly go !

Now mark, in the valley, how motley the scene ;
Here men want their horses — here horses want men :

Tallyho ! tallyho I — very few seem to go !
One loses a shoe, and another votes lame ;
Who is that in the brook ? — Oh ! ask not his name.

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — how together they go !

Once more, wet and weary, poor Keynard is view'd ;
By few, save the pack, any longer pursued ;

Tallyho ! tallyho ! — they are good ones that go !
Nor pluck, sjjeed, nor cunning, the chase can i)rolong ;
Who-WHOOP ! is the word, and who-whoop to my song.

Tallyho ! tallyho I — may the Warwickshire

Pack ever gallantly go."'

' Now, my dear Harorave, I think I lui\e told you nearly all
that can interest you respecting' this part of Warwickshire, which
I strongly recouuiiend you to visit next season. I think you

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O

U

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

will agree with me, that it is one which cannot fail to show
sport, with a oood pack of hounds, which those that now hunt it
really are : and it is not very difficult to ride over. Your horses
are, no doubt, good timber and brick jumpers, as you have
plenty of that work in Essex : but when you come into War-
wickshire, you must expect a few falls, until your horses learn to
extend themselves in their leaps more than what is re(|uired in
Essex, many of the Warwickshire fences being composed of
either a strong blackthorn hedge, or a flight of rails, with a wide
ditch to boot, v/hich, if it happen to be on the landing side, acts
as a trap to your nag, unless he be prepared for it, by extending
himself in his leap. There are not many double fences ; less, I
think, than in any other country in which I have hunted ; but
unless a horse can go well in dirt, he has no business in War-
wickshire, for some part of it is infernally deep, especially on the
breaking up of a frost. I saw every horse blown to a standstill
in twelve minutes, the other day, in the neighbourhood of
Southon, which is the deepest part of any. It was a ridiculous
scene, when about a dozen of us came to a low gate, which none
of our horses had the power to leap. Robert Cannons at last
crammed his horse througli it, and so released us from our
prison ; for there was no other way of getting out of the held,
from the immense height and strength of the fence. In the
IMeriden country your horses will excel, because the fences there
are, for the most part, placed on a bank, and not planted on the
ground, as in the Stratford. I am going to finish the season in
the Atherstone country, from whence you may hear from me
again. In the meantime believe me, dear Hargrave,

' Truly yours to the end,

' Francis Raby.'

No small degree of interest was excited in the breast of
our young sportsman on his arrival in the Atherstone country,
by reason of the high character he had heard of the nobleman
who then hunted it, and also of his huntsman, who had the
reputation of being one of the best at that time of his class.
The former was the amiable Lord Varney ; the latter, the
civil and unpresuming Sam Lawley, as clever a huntsman as
ever hallooed to a hound, and equally good in the saddle.
The hunt was distinguished as being composed of a select
number of gentlemen, of high character in their calling, and

2(jl

THE I.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

everything in LoitI Varney's hunt was conducted with a pro-
priety and respectability that left nothing to be wished for by
the members of it, or by those who occasionally joined it.

The Atherstonc country is soon describe<l. On the Stafford-
shire side it is woodland, and bad for scent ; on those of
Derbyshire and Leicestershire, very good indeed. In fact,
from Burbage Wood, or Tooley Park, or Bosworth, a run may
be seen over as fine a country as even a Melton man would
desii'e. And the mention of a Melton man reminds me that
I may as well at once transcribe the first letter from Frank
Raby to his friend Hargrave, inasmuch as, amongst other
matters, it has reference to the doings of Melton men, in
conjunction with those of some of the conspicuous characters
of Lord Varney's hunt.

' Atherstone, Feb. 2.

' Dear Hargrave, —

' According to promise, I report progress in this country,
as it is my intention to do of others which I may visit, to the
end that, when you are able to break loose from your trammels
(but mind me, Hargrave, I connnend you for complying with
the wishes of your excellent father, [and confining yourself to
Essex, so long as he continues to express them, for he is
deserving of everything at your hands), you may also visit
such as I recommend, and eschew such as are not worthy of
your notice.

' In the first place, you will be greatly pleased with the
noble master of the pack. He has all those mild and amiable
features in his character and deportment which distinguish
the English gentleman, tooether with as much of the con-
sciousness of superiority in society as, in courtesy, we accede
to the English nobleman. He is also as much of a sportsman
as it is necessary that a master of foxhounds should be who
employs an experienced huntsman ; but in this respect, his
brother, the parson, is allowed to stand before him. As for
his huntsman, I am delighted with him, considering him to
be everything that a huntsman should be ; and when I tell
you that 1000 guineas were oftered, the other day, for three
of the horses which he rides with the hounds, I will leave
you to guess how he is mounted. His first whipper-in, also
(Harry Jackson), is a \ery clever fellow, and by the appearance

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of the pack, by the cover side, there must be a good man in
the kennel.

'There are several very superior horsemen, as well as sports-
men, membei-s of tiiis hunt^botli heavy and light weights.
Among tlie former, indeed, there is one — namely, Mr. Boltab}^
who treads hard on the heels of the extraordinary performer
I spoke of witli the Warwickshire hounds, inasmuch as he
is always in a good place in a run, although not nearly
so well mounted as the hero of the " Warwickshire lads."
Among the latter is wliat may be; called a rara avis in the
land. He is a taiuier of hides by trade, and resides in the
town of Nuneaton ; and neither himself nor his mare — also a
rara avis of her kind — have pretensions nearly equal to their
merits. In the hrst place, he is a very small person ; and
in the next, his mare is of equally diminutive size ; neverthe-
less, there not only is not a man in the Atherstone hunt that
can beat the tanner on his good little mare, but, strange to
say, he has gone out two or three times with the Quorn
hounds, in their strongest country, and been amongst the
foremost men in the tield. In fact, so annoyed was one cele-
brated character in that liunt, at the presence of the tanner
and his mare, following him as though they had been his
shadow, and over every description of fence, that he was at

length heard to exclaim, "Now I'll break his d d neck."

But the neck of the tanner was spared, perhaps, by a fortunate
occurrence. The celebrated character I allude to, mounted,
perhaps, on one of the best horses in Leicestershire, rode at
some timber, a foot or more higher than the little mare's
back ; but, breaking the topmost rail, the tanner and his mare
followed him. But his history does not rest here. Being
invariably clad in a light green jacket, he has obtained the
sobriquet of the Parrakeet, to which his flying propensities —
for no man goes faster after hounds, or gets over higher fences
— have sufficiently established his title. At all events, he is a
gallant little fellow, and his good little mare may well be said
to be nearly worth her weight in gold.

' To describe a run with hounds is so difficult a task — at
least, when justice is to be done to the subject — that I am
almost afraid to attempt it; nevertheless, I cannot resist
giving you a short account of one we had last week, attended
with some peculiarly interesting circumstances. In the first

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THE LIF^E OF A SPORTSMAN

place, I must tell yon, that the uniform colour — if I may so
express myself — of the Atherstone hunt is orange, whereas,
you know, that the Quorn men all ride in scarlet. Next, it
being known that a number of the Quornites, as Dick Knight
called them, had signified their intention of being out with
Lord Vernon's hounds, on Tuesday last, at Bosworth, a report
had gone abroad that should a good fox be found, there would
be a sort of contest for the brush — more properly speaking,
for superiority of horsemanship and nerve — between the men
in orange and the men in red. This actually took place ; but,
my good fellow, Hargrave, how can I find words that will
convey to you even a faint description of the interesting scene ?
An epicure cannot judge of a dish of meat by the palate of
another; a musician must hear the concert he presumes to
criticise ; in fact, we can do nothing of this sort by proxy. It
is not that the subject is poor, but that my language is
incompetent. However, let me try what I can do.

'The fixture was Bosworth — on the very ground on which
Richard in. lost both his crown and his life ; and the field
was unusually large for this part of the world, consisting of at
least 150 horsemen, amongst whom were about a score of the
Quornites on their very best nags. They were easily dis-
tinguished, first, by the colour of their coat — for, until I saw
them together, I was not aware of the strong contrast between
the orange and the red ; and next by the superior form and
condition of their horses over the generality of those of our
party. Amongst them I particularly noticed Sir Henry
Peyton's Watchmaker, a superb horse, the same that you see
in the Sporting Magazine, where he is represented clearing
a stile and brook with Sir Henry, and setting the whole field.
Then there was Mr. Lindon on his famous horse The Clipper,
and the celebrated Tom Smith on Jack-o'-Lantern, by Meteor,
out of a sister to Tickletoby, said to be the two best horses in
Leicestershire, And amongst them were Sir Stephen Glynne
and Lord Foley, who are domiciled at Mountsorrel, in the same
house with Sir Henry Peyton ; and I noticed George Germaine,
Parson Bennett, Forester, cum mult is aliis unknown to you,
but all first-raters. Then there was John Raven, Meynell's
old huntsman, but now Lord Sefton's, who came to witness the
events of this day. And this reminds me, that Lord Sefton
himself was in the field with two of the finest horses I ever saw

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

in in}^ life. Ho calls one Plato, and the other Rowland, and
they cost him no less than 1800 (ruineas. Then their condition
was splendid. You arc aware that it was in consequence of
my conversation with his i^room, that T kept my horses last
sunnner in the house, and luive detcnnined upon never again
turning them to grass.

' As you may suppose, we made the best turn-out in our
power, on this day, from this side the country, and a most
respectable appearance we cut. Sam Lawley had a picked
pack for the occasion, and was mounted on his best horse,
John-o'-Gaunt, one of the three for which 1000 guineas were
offered. We all, indeed, skimmed the cream of our studs,
myself upon Topthorn, whose condition was nuich admired.
But now to business : —

' We found in the first cover we drew, and the fox went
boldly away at once ; and, by the quickness of Sam Lawley
and his whips, the hounds came out in a bod}''. " But they
were pressed upon and ridden over," methinks I hear you say.
Not a bit of it. They had sportsmen to deal with, who gave
them fair play. But the esprit de corps, you will assure me,
or, in other words, jealousy, must have operated to their dis-
advantage. This I also disclaim on the part of the whole
field; at least, I saw nothing like it: but every man's object
was merely to live with the hounds, which was as much indeed
as they could do, for the pace was desperately (juick. And
the hounds got an advantage in the first five minutes, and
a great one it was. A brook — the very brook, I believe,
in which the mangled remains of Richard were thrown,
and which, even to this day, the country people believe to be
tinged with blood^and a small ozier-bed very soon presented
themselves, and somewhat checked our career, as the horses
did not like them — perhaps the}^ smelled the blood, though I
should rather say, the bog. However, all in the same line
with myself got over, Peyton, on Watchmaker, being the first.
The pace now became awful, as we had ground to make up,
and those near the hounds could, without any difiiculty, be
distinguished. There were about an equal number of orange
and red, neither appearing to me to prevail. I am speaking of
the first twelve minutes. It was now that a trifling superiority
was exhibited amongst those who, with myself, were on the
left of the hounds. A large timber fence presented itself, high

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and stiff, and on the other side was a green lane, the sides of
which were covered with gorse, so as to render it impossible
to see what kind of ground the said gorse concealed. It was,
however, evident that it was of a very uneven description,
together with the certainty that, from what could be seen in
the middle of it, the entire lane was cut up by deep waggon
ruts, and, moreover, the drop into it was considerable. Eleven
of us, then in front, came up to this fence, but not one of us
liked it. The twelfth was Lord Foley, on a thorough-l)red
horse, which had been one of the best plate horses of his day,
and, without pulling him out of his stroke, at it he went ; and
although he floundered a little on landing, he kept his legs, and
went on. Here the red had it, for Lord Foley got the lead,
although there were a few on the right who were nearly on as
good terms as his Lordship was. It was gallantly done, how-
ever, and due praise was given both to the rider and his horse.
We all got over this fence, but could not catch Foley till we
came to the first check. And how were matters here ? Why,
strange to say, there were seventeen of one Hunt, and fifteen of
the other, well up, but the majority were in orange ! " How is
this?" inquired one, who was becoming somewhat sanguine on
the occasion. " They knew of a better place than we did, over
the brook and across the ozier-bed," replied one of the couleur
de rose, " but they ride devilish well."

' The science of Sam Lawley, whose eye had been on his
hounds when they checked, soon put matters to rights, and
before many of the stragglers had come up, we were all at
work again. But to make short of my story, as far as the run
is concerned. Our fox led us over a beautiful country ; and,
within two fields of Aylestone gorse, on the other side the road
leading from Leicester to Lutterworth, we ran into him in the
middle of a large field — distance about twelve miles as the crow
flies. " And who saw the finish ? " I think I hear you eagerly
exclaim. Not m.any, for the pace had been severe from first to
last ; and the fox went so straight, that few chances were given
to those who looked out for a nick. But the colours of the
coats ! You will be equally curious on this point. I will soon
satisfy your curiosity. There were eleven Quornites and eight
Vernonites well with them at the end, and about an equal
number of each — say a dozen or fifteen — in not a bad ]3lace.
Fine horsemansliip was displayed on each side ; and it struck

2G6

THE I.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

me that the Quornites had tlic best of it towards the finish, by
the superiority of their horses, and the condition of them, for,
until the hist thi"ee miles, the orange and red appeared to me,
and to others, to be, as nearly as we could guess, equal.

' I only regret that you did not see the run, which was a
splendid one from first to last, and I strongly recommend you
to the Atherstone country. And I also recommend you to see
another pack kept in this part of the country, more for the
sake of the owner of them, than for their performances in the
field. I allude to Mr. Adderley, who is one of the breed of
English country gentlemen of the old school — most polite,
most unaffected, most modest, most humane, perhaps, of his
order; but the most unlikely person to be at the head of a
pack of foxhounds that England or any other country can
produce. By the bye, I will tell you no bad anecdote respecting
him, which I had from his own lips. Being in want of a hunts-
man, one of the most celebrated of the present day happening
at that time to be out of place, offered his services, and was
engaged. He arrived on a Saturday night on his hack, with a
small pair of saddle-back's under him, leavino^ his lucrofao-e to
follow him per coach. The following morning he was desired
to feed his hounds at nine o'clock, as Mr. Adderley required
that all his servants should attend both mornino- and evening
church. The huntsman obeyed orders to the very letter, and
behaved remarkably well in church. At nine o'clock at night
the bell rang for family prayers, at which Mr. Sliaw (for such
was his name) conducted himself with becoming reverence.
But when Monday morning arrived, where was Mr. Shaw ? He
was not to be found, having put his saddle-bags under him, on
his hack, and trotted quietly off — leaving word that " he thought
he was hired to hunt a pack of foxhounds, but finding that his
chief occupation was to i^ray, he begged to resign his situation
to one who was better qualified for the office than himself."

' I must now conclude. These long letters will make you
imagine, with Mr. Shaw, that my chief occupation is not
hunting, but writing; I, therefore, bid you, for the present,
adieu.

' Francis Raby.'

267

CHAPTER XV

The death of Mr. Beaumont Raby, and the installation of the hero into a regular
sporting establishment, the details of which are given at some length.

(3n the day followiiio- the date of this epistle, our hero re-
ceived a letter from liis father, informing him of the dangerous
situation in which his uncle's life was placed, by an accident
that occurred to him as he was stepping into his carriage to go
to the opera. The extent of it was a mere simple fracture of
the left leg, which, had it happened to his brother, instead of
himself, would have shortly yielded to common medical treat-
ment ; but it was not so with the indolent and highly fed
Mr. Beaumont Raby. Unpleasant symptoms appeared about
the fifth day ; and by the time his nephew arrived in London,
having been sent for by express, at the earnest desire of the
sufferer, he was considered to be beyond the reach of all human
aid. Moreover, he was himself aware that his hour was near
at hand ; but, having a perfect command over his intellectual
faculties, he thus addressed his nephew, at the second interview
between them : —

' Now, my dear Frank, having recovered myself from the
emotion which your presence occasioned, " Richard is himself
again." Draw a chair towards my bed, and not only hear, but
mark what I am about to say. But why do you weep, my
dear boy i If tears were becoming, they should fall from me,
inasmuch as I have reason to believe I am about to quit a
world with which I have no small cause to be satisfied, and I
should be a hj^pocritc to say I shall not leave it with regret.
But shall we receive good, and shall we not receive evil ? Vain
hope ! and such I now find it. I have, however, one consolation
in this evil hour, and that is — in the station I now hold in
society being about to be filled by yourself. You will succeed
to all I possess, beyond a few legacies to friends, and annuities
for their lives to old and faithful servants ; and I pray to
God, that you may make a better use of the means at your

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

connnand than I myself haxe done. But he who tastes nothing
but the sweet poison of prosperity, which hithei'to has been my
case '

Here the feelings of the sutterer overcame him, and, con-
cealing his brow witli his hand, he remained silent for a short
time; but having recovered his self-possession thus continued
to speak : —

' I am weak, my dear Frank, as you must perceive ; but let
us look on a brighter picture. In addition to what you will
receive from me, you may one day inherit the large possessions
of your father. Endeavour, then, to tread in his steps, rather
than in mine. The reigning error of my life has been tlie
mistaking the love for the practice of virtue, and being the
friend of goodness, rather than a good man. In your father,
the union is accomplished ; and whilst I have been amusing
myself with a phantom of happiness which has been always
dancing before my eyes — turning them, alas ! from the light
of Reason which would have discovered the illusion, and shown
me what, perhaps, I never wished to see, my own real case —
he has possessed himself of the reality, by fulfilling every duty
incumbent upon an English gentleman, and, I may safely add,
the Christian. Compared with his, then, mine has been a
solitary, a barren, and a cheerless existence, and my name will
be forgotten ere my remains are cold. As the shadow waits
on the substance, Frank, even so true honour follows virtuous
actions, and not merely the profession of them.'

The natural strength of Mr. Beaumont Rab^-'s constitution
had, to a certain extent, rallied after passing a tranquil night,
in which sleep — that vis medicatrlx naturoi — had come to his
relief ; and it was not until the eighth day after this interesting
conversation took place between himself and his nephew, that
death came to his relief — on the very day, indeed, on which he
had arrived at his fifty-third year : On his will being opened,
matters stood thus : — He bequeathed £1000 to Mr. Egerton,
' as a mark of gratitude for his having instilled those notions
of propriety into his nephew that would not fail to benefit him
through life ' ; £100 to one of his oldest friends, and the same
to his brother, to pur-chase mourning rings ; annuities of fifty
pounds to three of iiis own servants, ' wlio had served him
faithfully in their respective situations ' : and the rest of
his fortune, without any stipulation whatever, ' to his dearly

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

beloved nephew, Francis Raby, trusting that he would make a
better use of it than he himself had done. It consisted of
£137,000, in the three per cent, consols, together with a
small estate in Hertfordshire, of about 150 acres, on which it
had been his intention to have built a villa for his summer
residence, but the natural indolence of his character, together
with his love of Brighton at that period of the year, had
prevented his putting it into effect. And there was a short
codicil to the will, bequeathing fifty pounds a year to the poor
of the parish of Amstead, for ever. His remains were con-
veyed to the famil}' vault at Amstead ; and in the course of a
few months, a plain but neat monument was erected to his
memory, having the following simple inscription, from the pen
of his afflicted brother :—

^arr^tr to the ill^morg

OF

BEAUMONT RABY, ESQUIRE,

YOUNGEST SON OF ANDREW AND THE HONOURABLE MARTHA ALICIA

RABY, OF AMSTEAD ABBEY, IN THE COUNTY OF LINCOLN ;

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE ON THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY, 1803, IN THE

FIFTY-THIRD YEAR OF HIS AGE.

ALL WHO KNEW HIM CAN ATTEST THAT HE WAS A MAN OF A

SINGULARLY MILD AND AMIABLE DISPOSITION— EVERY THOUGHT AND

ACT OF HIS LIFE PROCEEDING FROM THE OVERFLOWING OF A

WARM AND TENDER HEART. POSSESSING SOUND SENSE AND

PRUDENCE, JOINED WITH MUCH URBANITY OF MANNERS,

AS WELL AS STRICT INTEGRITY OF CONDUCT, HE

MIGHT HAVE QUALIFIED HIMSELF FOR THE

HIGHEST OFFICES OF SOCIETY :

BUT HIS ATTACHMENT TO LITERARY PURSUITS, COUPLED WITH A DESIRE

FOR RETIREMENT AND EASE, WHICH HE WANTED RESOLUTION TO

COMBAT, CONFINED HIM TO THE STATION HE HELD— THAT OF

AN ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN.

.THIS SIMPLE MONUMENT, ACCORDING WITH THE UNPRETENDING CHARACTER

OF THE DECEASED, IS HERE PLACED BY HIS AFFECTIONATE BROTHER,

ANDREW RABY. AS THE LAST TRIBUTE OF HIS REGARD AND LOVE

FOR ONE TO WHOM HE WAS MOST CLOSELY UNITED, NOT ONLY

BY BLOOD, BUT BY AFFECTION.

As may be supposed, the situation and views of our young
spoi'tsman were materially changed by this accession of wealth
— for such it maj' be called, when devoted to the purposes of
merely one individual. The following three years, then, find

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

hiin, first, the tenant of a large mansion and domain in one
of the midland counties, secondly, with an increased stud, and
not only of hunters, but coach-horses ; thirdly, a member of
Bibury and Kingscote Racing Clubs, and of the B.D.C., or
Benson Driving Club ; fourthly, with a house and fourteen-
stalled stable at Melton Mowbray ; and, fifthly, a member of
the House of Commons. Let us look, then, at his proceedings
in these several stations, of no small importance in our eyes.

As may be imagined, the mansion he had fixed upon was
selected with an eye to tlie amusements to whicli he was
devoted, and to as much enjoyment of them as could be
procured for a certain given sum. Hunting is here not taken
into the account, our hero having satisfied himself that there
is only one part of Engla.nd in which the chase could be enjoyed
to perfection, and in that he did not wish to reside all the year,
for more reasons than one. A great object with him was
good roads, which Leicestershire at this period was deficient in.
Another, was good partridge and pheasant-shooting, to neither
of which were the rich pastures of the queen of all hunting
countries accounted favourable, from the general absence of
corn-fields. Our young sportsman then set himself down with
a clear £4700 a year at his command, in a fine old mansion,
whose grounds opened into the great Holyhead Road, which,
even at that period, was one of the best in England, and, from
the numerous coaches running upon it, the most interesting
and amusing to a person who, like our hei'O, is fond of the
humours and proceedings of what is called, ' THE road ' ; in
fact, nothing could be more to his mind, during tlie lifetime of
his father, than the place we have now spoken of. As has
already been stated, the gates of the park opened on an excel-
lent road ; the manor sufficiently abounded with game. Fox-
hounds and harriers were kept in the neighbourhood. There
was good coursing-ground in the open fields, belonging to the
proprietor of the estate ; and a river ran through the domain,
affording good trolling for pike, at which Frank Raby had
become an adept by the instructions of Jack Perren, who, by
the permission of Mr. Raby, was now become his keeper. But
the agreinens of Farndon Hall are not yet all told. One of the
best female cooks that London could furnish was put into his
kitchen, and a good stock of the choicest wines into his cellars.
That he had a choice set of customers for the produce of each

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of these essentials to true epicurean enjoyment, it is scarcely
necessary to make apparent.

It having been on the first of May following the decease of
his uncle, that our hero took possession of Farndon Hall,
some account of his proceedings there may be looked for.
We will begin with him in his stable-yard, our fancy directing
us thither, in accordance with our own taste. Of his hunters,
not much can be said. Unprovided with accommodations for
summering them agreeably to the plan he had adopted in the
preceding spring, and which he found to answer so well, they
were in their old quarters at Amstead, under the care of his
head groom, who had nearly convinced the Scotch steward
that the expenses of the preceding summer had not been
thrown away upon them, by the superior condition of the stud,
and the way in which they had stood their work, without dis-
ease of any kind having attacked them. Let us, then, take a
peep into the coach-stables.

The space of a few months, even with the aid of both
judgment and experience, is far too little for the selection of
such a stable of coach-horses as Frank Raby had got together,
consisting of seven greys — for, like Camillus ^ of old, that was
his favourite colour— one black, and two chestnut piebalds,
which gave him two teams, and two horses to spare, called,
on the road, ' rest horses.' Indeed, no man can depend on
having one team out of four, or two out of eight horses ; and
on these matters our hero had been well tutored by Sir John
Inkleton. Sir John, indeed, had in part assisted him in the
purchase of those nags, as had also a celebrated London
dragsman, who selected some of them out of his employer's
yard, money having tempted him to part with them. And,
in truth, there is no much better method for gentlemen to
adopt, in purchasing horses for their own driving, than to
select them from regular road work, inasmuch as, in the first
place, their character can be tried for goodness ; and in the
next, they are thoroughl}^ broken-in to face all kinds of objects
they may meet — the want of which confidence, in pleasure
horses, is the cause of half the accidents which occur. This
being a period when liorse-flesh was at a premium, the above

^ History infoiMis us, tliatCiUuilhisgiivegreatoHenee to the Romans, bybeiug
carried through Rome in his (ihariot, drawn by four grey liorses ; nogeneral, either
before or since, having done the same : grey liorses were tlien liekl sacred.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

ter^ horses were considered not badly bought at £900, especially
so as there were three fancy-coloured ones in tlie lot ; but had
not four of theui been, to a slight degree, collar-marked, a
larger sum would have been required. Frank Raby, however,
had remembered the good advice his friend Sir John had given
him in very young days; and in this, as well as in most of the
future transactions of life, he looked to the main chance, and
endeavoured to get what is called — ' the penn}''s worth for
his penny.' It would be well, if all persons, situated as he was
situated — with the means of procuring all reasonable pleasures
— would observe the like rule.

But to return to the coach-stables (as those in which coach-
horses are kept are called, to distinguish them from those used
by hunters, the establishments being invariably kept apart in
all well-conducted arrangements) : I can do nothing in illustra-
tion of them, if I may be allowed so to express myself, without
the assistance of some friends. We will, therefore, announce to
our readers the arrival of the following conspicuous characters,
on a week's visit to our hero, who had made the most ample
preparation for their reception ; namely, Lord Edmonston ; 8ir
John Inkleton ; Mr. Somerby : Mr. Goodall ; Mr. Hougiiton ;
friend Hargrave ; and Jack Webber ; and no sooner had they
all assembled, and partaken of some refreshment aiter their
journey, than they walked into the stable-yard, where the
following conversation ensued : —

SirJolni. — ' Ah ! there is your drag, and it appears to be quite
the thing, or " all-right," as we say on the road. I told you
Wright and Powell would turn you out a good one. What do
you think of it. Jack, eh ? '

Now, before we give the answer, we must have a word or
two about ' Jack.' In consequence of his father having
grumbled rather more than he thought was necessary, at
having three times paid his debts — amounting, in all, to
upwards of £72,000 — the said Mr. John Webber quitted the
paternal roof, and went regularly to work on the Brighton
road for upwards of two jears. A better coachman, perhaps,
seldom mounted a coach-box ; a more popular character, with
all descriptions of persons, never ; but he (quitted it at the
earnest request of his family, and was restored to society with
no further blemish on his character than having performed
the office of a menial to those vastly below him in the world.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

But Jack had always this answer in his mouth, to any one \yho
reminded him of this : —

' Honour and shame from no condition rise ;
Act •well your part — tltcvc all the honoiir lies: '

concluding in the more humble language of prose, with declaring
that he believed he could say what no other road coach-
man in England could say ; namely, that he not only never
upset his coach, but that ]te 'put every shilling he received
on the bill. We will now give his answer, apologising for this
interlude :

Jack Webber. — ' I see very little to tind fault with. The box
appears to sail well over your wheelers, so as to put you near
enough to your leaders to have them well in your hand, and
to give them a taste of the whip when they want it ; and the
axletrees and boxes seem strong and good. Perhaps two
inches less length of perch would have made her follow better,
but I daresay you have plenty of strength in your harness,
and she is safer on her legs as she is. The foot-board is
capital ; there is nothing like a roomy foot-board, not slanting
too much, to give a man a good firm seat on his box, and full
command of his team. It is disgusting to see a man sitting
on a coach-box with his knees bent as if he were sitting on a
low stool.'

Sir JoJin. — ' I quite agree with you. Jack. The drag looks
like business, and, if I mistake not, belongs to a very business-
like fellow, for I think that our friend Raby will make a light
good coachman in time.'

Jack Webber. — ' How can he fail in being so, when one Sir John
Inkleton was his tutor ? ""

Sir John. — ' Thanks for the compliment. Jack ; now let us
look at the horses.' On entering the stable in which the ten
horses before-mentioned stood, all as clean as they could be
made by the aid of four stout helpers, at the expense of at
least five shillings'- worth of soap, ' Upon iny word, Frank,'
continued Sir John, ' you have made the best use of your time.
Business again, — eh, Jack ? '

Jack Webber. — ' Good sort of stoclv, upon my word : jjlenty of
strength on short legs. Ah, here's an old friend of mine. I
drove that black piebald for three months as leader in my
coach, and a capital leader he is.'

274

y

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Frank RaJy\j. — ' Then why was he sold ( '

Jack Webber'. — ' For two reasons. First, he fetched a good
price from a young carpet-manufacturer in the Borough, who
went down one day with me, and fell in love with him ;
secondly, he was a bad starter at one end of his ground. I
would never keep a bad starter, if I horsed a coach. They
are generally the best of cattle when once oflf, but they alarm
passengers, and get the coach a bad name. That horse twice
fell back with me, and once broke the main bar.'

Frank Raby. — ' And what did he do with the carpet-manu-
facturer ? '

Jack Webber. — ' Frightened him out of his wits the first time
he put him to his drag.'

Frank Raby. — ' But did he not know he was a bad starter ? '

Jack Webber. — ' Oh no ; he only saw him at the down change,
where he always went otf quietly.'

Hargrave. — ' And how happened it that he would not start
well at the up change :* '

Jack Webber. — ' We had a cruel scoundrel of a horse-keeper
there who used to beat him with a broomstick, because he was
rather ticklish to dress. Horses have better memories than we
give them credit for.'

Hargrave. — ' But why did he frighten the carpet-manufacturer,
whose servants, perhaps, never beat him ? '

Jack Webber. — ' Why, they put him down to the bottom of the
bit, whereas I always drove him to the cheek. And how has he
been starting with you, Frank '. '

Frank Raby. — ' Rather queerly, the hrst time, because he
did not like his side ; but since I have changed it, nothino-
can be better. No one who knew anything about puttino-
horses into harness would have put such a mouth as his
anywhere but to the cheek. I would not take 100 guineas
for him.'

Sir JoJtn. — ' I remember just such an instance as that you
have been relating of this horse, in a grey mare that went at
wheel in the Worcester mail. At Benge worth, she was very
difficult to put to the coach at all ; but at Worcester she would
almost put herself to, and stand for half an hour. She had
some reason, no doubt, for her dislike to Benge worth.'

Frank Raby. — ' How did they manage her at the down
change ? '

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Sir John. — ' When the other tliree horses were put to, the
coachman and guard up, and the passengers all seated, she was
brought quickly out of the yard, with scarcely time to look
about her ; the leading rein being passed through her turrets,
and chucked to the coachman's hand, her traces were put over
the roller-bolts, by two nimble horse-keepers, and away she
started, with a rush.'

Jack Webber. — ' What ! not poled up ? '

Sir John. — ' Very seldom ; the man who brought her up to
her place would generally succeed in putting the pole-chain
through the ring of her harness, and now and then hooking it ;
but nine times in ten it was not hooked until she had gone a
mile or so, when, by easing the pace, the guard was enabled to
do it.'

Frank Raby. — ' And did she never get back on the splinter-
bar, and kick ? '

Sir John. — ' Oh no ; she was not one of that sort. All
she wanted was to get away with the coacli from the scene of
her dislike, and the faster the better, for she was a capital
bit of stuff'. Then again she was in the hands of a first-rate
coachman. In tlie hands of a spoon, she would have been
dangerous.'

Frank Raby. — ' Is he still at work ? I should like to see him,
if he is.'

Sir John. — ' He is not ; he is dying from the effects of hot
rum-and-water.'

JoA-k Webber. — ' More's the pity ; but why was not that mare
put before the bars, instead of at wheel ? '

Sir Jolin. — ' She would not have that place, or it would have
been the fittest for her, no doubt. I thought she did the mail
harm with the public, and I told the proprietors I thought so ;
but she was too good to be drafted.'

Jack Webber. — ' W^ell, Raby, as far as I can see of them, I
think you have made no bad selection : but further cannot be
said till we see them in harness, which I suppose we shall
to-morrow. In the meantime let us look at your harness-
room.'

Sir John. — ' Well done, Frank ; all appears to be right here.
Two sets of road-harness for the drag : one for your cliariot (for
church and dinner- work, I presume) : and one set for the breiik.
Whose work is it, for it appears first-rate ? '

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Frank llahy. — ' One set of road-harness and the pair-horse
are from Whippy ; the other set of the former from Laurie — the
two best harness-makers in London, I believe — and that for the
break was made in the village. I like to lay out money near at
home, when I can ; but there is no harness ht to be looked at, of
country make.'

Jack Webber. — ' You are quite right, Raby, and you have
gone to a good market. And your whips ? '

Frank Rahy. — 'From Crowther, of course. They cost a
guinea each ; devilish dear, to be sure ; but they are so nicely
turned out. They are the only crops I could ever hnd to
stand wet weather without losing shape ; and when the thong-
suits them, there is nothing like them for punishing when it is
wanted.'

Jack Webber. — ' I like your pads much. They are well stuffed,
so as to cause no pressure on the back-bone, which sets a horse
wrong.'

Sir John. — ' Exactly so ; there is a strong sympathetic
feeling between the back-bone and the withers, and when a
horse is pinched by his pad, his patience is often exhausted,
and he makes an attempt to relieve himself. Being galled in
the shoulder is a trifle to a pinch on the back or withers ; and
no doubt many a cockney's gig has been kicked to pieces from
this cause, of which they have not been in the least conscious.
I once had a proof of it. I drove a horse fourteen miles in a
gig ; and just as he was entering on the fifteenth — without the
least provocation that I could discern — without a whip, rein,
or even a fly touching him, he began to mill, and — to use a
coaching phrase — a sack was wanted to bring home the gig.
I luckily escaped, but my servant was a good deal hurt ;
and I found out that the cause of the disaster was the pad
pressing on the back-bone, which was becoming very much
inflamed.'

Frank Raby. — ' Well, I think we have seen all we can see
for the present ; and as the dressing-bell has rung, we had
better walk towards the house. I never keep dinner waiting
if I can avoid it, for it is unfair towards the cook ; let us
then '

Jack Webber. — 'One moment longer! Just let me look
into your tool-box — a most necessary thing to keep the drag
moving. I should have been hung up many times on those

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Brighton South Downs, but for mine. Let me see. — Here is
the screw-wrench ; wheel and spring clips ; two spring sliackles,
with bolts and nuts ; two chains — one for a trace, when wanting,
and the other shorter, with a ring at one end, and a hook at the
other, in case of a tug giving way ; but where is the little strap
with two buckles ? '

Fniitk Raby. — ' The little strap with two buckles ; I know not
what you mean ? '

Jdck Webber. — ' Then you know not a very useful appendage
to the tool-box, inasmuch as, should any part of the reins, or
indeed most parts of the harness, give way, it comes into use in
a moment. I always carried two of them in my pocket, one
somewhat broader and stronger than the other.'

Frank Raby. — ' Just describe this strap.'

Sir John. — ' / can do that for you, as I am never without
one of them in the pocket of my greatcoat. It need not be
more than six inches long, but must have a strong buckle
at each end. Anything, then, in the shape of a strap being
broken, can be instantly made serviceable by punching two
holes, if none are ready within reach, to receive the tongues of
the buckles.'

Somerby. — ' But, Raby, where are the hunters ? '

Frank Raby. — ' They are at Amstead, in paddocks, which
I had made for them last year ; but against next spring I
hope to have the means of summering them here, under my
own eye.'

Hargrave. — ' My horses are treated after your plan this
summer, and I expect the greatest benefit from it, next
season.'

Frank Raby. — ' Depend upon it you will not be disap-
pointed. I had a remarkable proof of tlie superiority of
condition attained by it, in the course of a run in the last
season. We came to a check at the end of a sharp burst,
when some one observed — " What a steam there was from the
horses ! " " There is no steam from mine," said I ; neither
was there ; in fact, he was beginning to get dr}' on his
neck.'

Hargrave.—' It must be a great advantage to a hunter not to
sweat much— or, at all events, to become soon cool ; as exhaus-
tion must be proportionably diminished.'

At six o'clock precisely — there were no eight o'clock dinners

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

at tliis period, in the snimner months, in the country — our
party sat down to just such a dinner as we may imagine our
young sportsman to have given tliem — not of tlie first qualit}',
for the cJief de cuisinr was wanting, but sucli as no English
gentleman could find fault with. Neither were the wines in
th(; highest order for drinking, although all were excellent of
their sort, timr not having been allowed for their recovering
themselves, after their transport from London and Dublin —
the claret having been imported from the latter city. Every-
thing, however, in the shape of liquids, that could be improved
by it, was iced, even to the home-brewed small beer — no very
contemptible bevei-age to travellers who had been exposed to
a midsummer sun.

It was the fashion in those days to drink toasts in all private
parties, among sportsmen especially ; and the third given this
evening — that is to say, the one following the King, and fox-
hunting, was — ' THE ROAD ! ' As may be supposed, it gave rise
to some conversation on the subject, of w^hich the following is
the substance : —

AS'iV John. — ' Well, Frank, I must say that, from wdiat I have
to-day seen of your coaching establishment, I am inclined to
think you wall make a very good start on the road — that is to
say, if the cattle are to your liking.'

Lord Edmonston. — ' I think so, too ; but you will pay dear for
your wdiistle. I understand the expenses of a complete driving
establishment, to the same extent as yours, are calculated at
£1200 a year, at least.'

Sir John. — ' I can confirm that by my own experience. Mine
costs me a little more than that sum, including what I give
away annually to road coachmen and guards.'

Lord. Edmonston. — ' You are the Maecenas of guards and
coachmen, I understand, Inkleton. At all events, your name
is known to all that I have ever come in contact with, and on
air roads.'

Sir John. — 'I do what I can for them ; I think that, when
they conduct themselves properly, they are a very deserving
set of men, and are not so well remunerated as they ought to
be, considering the wear and tear of life inseparable from their
calling, and the risks they incur of accidents. I do not grudge
what they get from me, because I have seen much improvement
amongst them, on my road, from the notice I have taken of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

thein. They are aware tliat good conduct is their only passport
to my favour.'

Lord Edinonston. — ' And is it true, Inkleton, that the expenses
of a stud of twelve hunters and two hacks, at Melton, amount to
£1200 per annum ? '

Sir John. — ' As nearly so as possible — I mean the stud only ;
that sum extends not beyond the stable-yard ; it has nothing to
do with the house expenses of their owner.'

Goodall. — ' Why, Frank, £2500 a year for horses only ! It will
make a big hole in the £5000 a year, eh ? We shall be having
another journey together into the city, if the Squire of Amstead
lives to be as old as my father is, eh ? '

Frank Rahy. — ' Thanks for the hint, Goodall, although it
smells a little of the shop. But you forget that all the money
my poor uncle left me, is at my disposal, so that if, during
my father's life — which I hope may be a long one — I should
overshoot the mark, I must trespass a little on the principal.
And that won't matter much, for I daresay I shall never
marry. Besides, I have given orders for the sale of that little
estate in Hertfordshire, which is only lit for a cockney ; and
I daresay that, fi'om its pretty situation, and by the help of
one of Robins's best puffs, it will fetch £10,000. That would
give me another £1000 a year, as I shall sink the principal
in an annuity for my life. I don't mean to run in debt ; and
Inkleton says, if I do as he does — keep an account of my
expenses, and pay ready money for most of the articles con-
sumed, I shall never hurt myself. And yon know I have no
taste for gambling.'

Lord Edinonston. — ' Not for a little racing, Frank ? '

Frank Rahy. — ' Why, I intend having a shy at that, as we
used to say at Eton ; but, having been once caught, I shall be
cautious.'

Hargrave. — ' Better stick to hounds and the coach-box.

There are such a number of d d rogues on the Turf, that I

think you will do no good on that ground. Remember what
Fairfax told you at Christchurch. There are not many better
judges, I believe, than his father is, but he is minus £100,000
by the Turf, which is awful to think of, especially when one
considers into what wortliless hands a great portion of it is
gone.'

Frank Rahy.—' The legs ! '

2S0

THE T.TFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Hargrave. — ' Yes ; what cliance would you or any other gentle-
man have in bettino- with men who pay annually large sums to
trainers for information as to trials, etc. ? A dead loss, depend
on it. Frank.'

Jack Webber. — 'I think so, too Stick to the box and the
pigskin, Frank, and don't put it in the power of those fellows
to ruin you first, and laugh at you afterwards, as they have done
by poor Raymond. I understand he has lost his last shilling,
and is at this time in prison.'

Frank Mabij. — ' For a heavy sura ? '

Jack Webber. — ' I know not for what amount, but '

Sir John. — ' Well, let us drop this subject, and have a little
coaching talk. Give us your opinion, Jack, of what a coach-
horse should be. You have not only a good eye to shape and
make, but your two years' constant work must have given you
an advantage over us amateurs — even over one of such long
standing as mine, for I have been at it, now, better than eight
years.'

Jack Webber. — ' The first requisite in a coach-horse is action.
The second, substance, because horses draw by their weight and
not by the mere force of their muscles, but action is necessary
to perpetuate this force. Thirdly, good legs and feet, with
power and breeding equal to the nature and length of the
ground or stage on which they are to work. Lastly, wind.
Without good wind all the other properties are of no avail in
a coach-horse required to go fast ; for, let its strength be what
it may, it will not avail much after the first five miles, if he
have not good wind. A good winded coach-horse will always
keep up his condition, because he is never distressed on any
reasonable length of ground. Sound legs and feet are very
necessary for wheel-horses, especially on hilly roads ; but I
have driven many a good and safe-footed, bad-legged leader,
which has been a free worker, running well up to his bit.
I consider fifteen hands two inches to be the best size for a
horse for light coaches and quick work ; but would prefer
sixteen hands for heavy coaches and slow work.'

Frank Raby. — 'You have said nothing of the mouth.'

Jack Webber. — ' Oh, we must take mouths as we find them, in
regular work. We like what we call "cheek horses," when we
can get them, but we manoeuvre them in the best wa}'" we can,
when we find them queer ; and with the help of check-reins,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

side-reins, nose martingales, curb-chain in the mouth, altering
the coupling reins, and such like, we generally bring them to
our hands. But in regular work, mouth in a coach-horse is
of not so much consequence, because he is always running
home, and knows his ground. For gentlemen's work, mouth is
everything, on account of the turning and twisting to which
the}^ are subject. Gentlemen's horses should play with their
bits, and not be afi'aid of them : and each side of their mouths
should be equal. When tliis is the case, the higher their
courage the safer they are to drive, because, when running
fearlessly up to their bits, they feel every motion of their
coachman's hand. Of all teams, the most difficult to drive is
that in which there are two good and sufficiently free workers,
one slug, and a j-aking (fretful) leader.'

Sir John. — ' You are right. Jack ; it is a regular teazer. Let
us have your science on that point.'

Jack Webber. — ' As regards the " raker," you shall — the
science that was given to me by the best and quickest man
on his box that I have ever j^et seen. " Something must be
done," said he, " to keep him from killing himself. Try a
check-rein to his partner; if that won't check him, it will
brino- his partner ujj to him, and that is something gained.
If you attempt to pull him back by his bit, do it gently ; if
violently, you pull him back on his bar, whicli only makes
him worse. The best M'ay is, when there is no check-rein
used, to bring him back by his harness ; that is, to keep the
wheel-horses back, so that he may feel tJte collar and his bit at
the same time, which will tend to soothe his temper." Then
he taught me another move, which I have ever since practised.
" When a whole team are overdoing it," said he, " don't draw
all your reins through your fingers at the same moment. By
doing so, your horses' mouth (i.e. the proper feeling of them,
which you may have taken some trouble to acquire) will [very
often be lost. The following is a better plan : — Open the
fingers of your right hand, and put the reins into them, and
with a good gripe, about two inches in front of your left hand,
and then catch them again with your left hand, by passing it
in front of your right. You then have their mouths just as
they were, with only a stronger p^^ll upon them." He also
gave me the following hints, which I never lost sight of : — -
"The powers of a horse in fast work, and with a heavy load,"

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THE LIFE OF A SPOiri SMAN

said he, '■ can be measured to a mile. He may be veiy good
for seven or eight miles, but bad for ten or twelve. The
priming, indeed, is soon taken out of most of them, with a
heavy load, and they must be looked to. Wheelers liave the
liardest place everj'-thing considei-ed, as they are at work up
hill and down ; nevertheless, they must chieily regulate the
speed, by keeping them up to the leaders, instead of forcing
the leaders to get away from them ; in fact, if favour be
shown, it should be to the leaders. You may drag a tired
wheeler home, and he can shift a little in his work ; but if a
leader cuts it, you are planted — add to which, the wheel-horses
are generally the strongest of the team. Always put your
freest leader on the nearest side, as you will have him better in
hand than if he were on the other. If a leader is weak, and
cannot take his bar, tie up the wheeler that follows him, and it
will place him by the side of liis partner. Leaders should be
fast trotters ; when cantering or galloping, the bars are never at
rest, consequently, much of the draught is lost in the angles
they describe." '

Frank Rahy. — ' Do you like throat-latching coach-horses ? '
JackWebher. — ' Not always. I think wheelers are better with
more liberty than they have when throat-latched, and many
horses will pull and fret in the throat-latch, but go quietly out
of it : they do not like the confinement of it. Dealing with
horses' mouths, in harness, to make them work pleasantly and
equably, is no easy task. Some will not face a curb ; on others
it appears to make very little impression. It is difficult to
handle a tender-mouthed leader. His coupling-rein must be at

the cheek, or '

Frank Rahy. — ' Why not drive him in a snaffle, at once ? '
Jack Webber. — ' A snaffle is not safe : in case of a bolt, or a
drop, you cannot be sure of catching a horse up quickly, at that
distance from the hand. He should have good liberty in his
bearing-rein, and his curb-chain should be slack. But, of all
mouths, a dead mouth is the worst. In this case, put tlie
bearing-rein to the top of the bit (not the cheek), and the
coupling-rein to the lowest loop in the bit, which creates a
counter-action : and not only makes the bit of more service, but
keeps the mouth in play. This appears a severe remedy, but
such is the danger attending dead-mouthed horses, that we
must not be too scrupulous on that head.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Frank Rah)/. — ' One of my wheel-horses is playful, and has
twice kicked over his trace. Should I work him in a kicking-
trace ? '

Jack Wehher. — 'No, it is not necessary; what is_^called a
hip-strap is sufficient, by which the trace is lifted up as the
horse lifts himself ; thus he cannot jump over it. It is not an
ornament to your liarness, having rather a slow appearance ;
but it looks better than a kicking-trace, and, unless with a
really vicious horse, answers all ends.'

Sio" JoJin. — ' Were you ever hung up. Jack, on the Brighton
ground, for I know 3'ou loaded well, and there are some sharp
hills on it ? '

Lord Edmonstoii. — ' Hung np ! What are you talking
about ? I think if Jack had been hung up for a very few
seconds, we should not have had him here, for his weight
would soon have '

Jack Wehher. — ' Choked him in his collar, you were going to
say. Being hung up, in coaching phraseology, means being
brought to a standstill, from one cause or another. I have
never been quite fast ; but having had my share of high-
blowers and soft-hearted ones, I have now and then found it
difficult to keep my time. With horses of this description, I
have always found it answer to keep them from their collar,
and let them only carry their harness, for a few hundred yards,
when they recover themselves. A little watching and nursing
was necessary at all times on our road, as we were not capitally
horsed.'

Goodall. — ' How very fat some of the horses are which run
out of London.'

Jack Wehher. — ■'■ So much the better ; good flesh is not an
obstacle to going the pace ; and no horses on the road look
so well as what are called the London horses ; their stables
are w^arm ; they have the best of hay and corn, and are
under the eye of a sharp-eyed foreman, who knows his business
well.'

Frank Rahy. — ' I suppose. Jack, j^ou are all for the long-wheel
reins ? '

Jack Wehher. — ' No one, south of Trent, is now seen driving
with any other. They are much the safest and most business-
like : the mouths of wheel-horses cannot be felt as they should
be felt, with the short wheel-rein.'

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Hargrave. — 'Do you think it is injurious to ;i luniter to drive
him occasionally in light harness ? '

Jack Wehher. — ' By no means, proxided his legs and feet are
good ; much better do tliat tlian send him to grass, to become
full of bad flesh;

Somerby. — ' I am no coachman, ])ut I often go from Melton to
London on the box of the mail, and one thing puzzles me. I
often see the traces of a wheel-horse appear slack, and still the
coachman is satisfied with the working of the liorse. How
is that, Mr. Webber ? '

Jack Webber. — ' I will explain it in two words. If a trace be
twisted, it will never appear to be "taut," as the sailors say;
but a coachman knows when a horse is at work, by a certain
tension of his frame.'

Hargrave. — ' Will you tell me the best way to put horses into
harness the first time

Jack Webber. — ' You mean double harness.'

Hargrave. — ' I do.'

Jack Webber. — ' Then I will give you the directions which
were given to me by one of the best judges of everything that
belongs to an amateur coach-box, at this time in Eno-land. It
is best to put a young horse in, the first time, with only one
other, which should be steady, good collared, and quick. A
great deal of room should be given him in his head, and he
should be driven at the cheek of an easy bit, with his pole-
piece rather slack. He should be started very quietly, making
the old horse take collar first ; and the first start should be in
a wide space of ground, so that he may be allowed to go an}?-
way he pleases, without being checked. If he is alarmed, and
inclined to bounce or bolt, he should not be lield liard, and on
no account stopped ; for, if he is, he may not like to start
again — particularly if high-mettled. The old horse will hold
him, so as to prevent his running far. If a young horse is
shy of his collar — as most are — he should not be ])ressed at
first, as he may take a dislike to it, and become a jibber. If
not forced, they will generally take to it of their own accord.
When a young coach-horse is stopped, it should be done very
gradually — allowing at least ten yards to do it in ; for if it is
attempted to stop him short, he will resist, and tlien he is
draivlng by his head. For the same reason, coacli-horses
should not be held too hard when descending lulls, which is a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

fault many coachmen have. They foroet the o-reat additional
weight they are throwing upon them, as they are then dra wing-
by their heads. When a young horse is first put to a coach,
he should be very carefully turned to the pole, so as to prevent
its touching his hind quarter, which might cause him to kick.
When he has been driven long enough to make him steady, he
should be taken up in his bearing-rein, and put lower on his
bit, and driven in a wide circle, or figure of eight — keeping
the inner horse well up to his collar and bit. In his breaking-
he sliould be frequently stopped, and not held after he is pulled
up, as, if he is high-mettled, it will make him restless, and, if
dull, he will not require it. Great care sliould be taken, at
starting, to make the old horse begin first, if the young one be
inclined to be hot, as it will prevent him from plunging. If
he is dull, and not ready to start when the word of command
is o-iven, he should feel the whip till he answers it. If inclined
to kick, he should be taken up very short in his pole-piece,
and his bearing-rein tightened ; a stroke of the whip over the
ears is also useful — a kind of punishment that, in my opinion,
should never be inflicted hut for vice. It is a brutal practice,
and one which I never had recourse to myself, except in the
case of a kicker. Young horses should have their heads a
good dea] at liberty. Throat-latching a young horse, either
wheeler or leader, shows great want of judgment. Some will
o-o more quietly as leaders than at wheel, the reason for which
I conceive to be, their not liking to And themselves confined
by the pole-piece. All young horses should have their sides
frequently changed.'

Hargrave. — ' Thank you kindly, Jack, for your good and
practical advice. I will only trouble you to decide a dispute
lately in my presence, as to what description of road is easier
of draught ? '

Jack We})her. — ' I can settle that point for you on the
authority of a very scientific man, and you will be surprised
at the result. The draught of a liorse in harness is thus
calculated. On good pavement — 33 lb. ; on broken stone
surface — 65 lb. ; on broken stone, hard bound — 45 lb. ; on
loose gravel — 147 lb. ! This accounts for the London mail,
and also that which runs to Manchester from Chester, having
only three horses for the first twenty or thirty miles, the road
being paved. As coachmen sa}^ when describing the vis vivicla

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of the mechanic, a coach miming over pavement is always
alive. In fact, she jumps from stone to stone, whereby her
motion is accelerated.'

Lord Edmonston. — ' As for coaching, as you gentlemen of the
whip express yourselves, I know nothing of it practically, and
we should not attempt what we do not understand. We have
a good hint on this subject in the fable of Icarus, and Persius
tells us that, if a ploughman were to take the helm of a ship,
the gods would leave him to his fate. I repeat, then, that I
know nothing of "coaching," but I see no reason why English
gentlemen, who can afford to do it, may not indulge themselves
in driving their own coaches.'

Goodall. — ' It is an old fashion — Lateranus, the Roman consul,
drove his own chariot.'

Lord Edinonxton. — ' Yes, but only by night, until the year of
his office was out.'

Goodall. — ' In Greece it was the amusement of kings : Philip
of Macedon had his chariot victories engraved on his coins ;
and Alcibiades had as many coach-horses in training as Lord
Grosvenor has racers ; and, be it remembered that the fire of
Pindar's muse, which dazzled all Greece, shone forth in honour
of coachmen, jockeys, wrestlers, and prize-fighters.'

Sir Jo/m. — ' I remember he tells us that Pelops broke his
arm hitting a near leader in his race with G^nomaus. But,
jesting apart, we have taken some of our notions on the coach-
box from the "old ones," as we called the ancients, at Eton.
For example, when I saw Angus the other day, in the park,
cutting a figure of eight with his four-in-hand, I was convinced
he was thinking of that beautiful passage in the ^neid, where
the sudden and artful turns, which the goddess Juturna gave
to her brother's chariot to avoid the pursuit of ^neas, are
compared to the flight of the swallow, when seeking food for
her young.'

Goodall.—' And you have them again, in the use of the
word " artful." When Peyton was complimenting little Joe, as
he who drives the Exeter mail out of London is called, on his
being so good a coachman, for so small a man, he answered
him thus:— "I'll tell you how it is, Sir Harry; wliat the big
ones does by strength, I does by ha rtijice" Now did not Nestor
say the very same thing when he was giving instructions to his
son how to drive his chariot, when contending for the prize at

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the funeral games of Patroclus ; and where, although the worst
horsed of the lot, he was only beaten by a length i For myself,
although no coachman beyond driving my father's curricle, I
like to listen to these discussions by men who understand the
thing well, and none others are worth listening to. If ^schylus
had not bled on the plains of Marathon, he could not have cele-
brated on the stage the triumphs of his country.'

Sir John. — ' There is no small degree of mechanical science,
as well as knowledge of the laws of motion, to be learnt in our
line, eh. Jack ? '

Jack Webber. — ' Indeed, Inkleton, there is ; and many a life
has been lost for the want of such knowledge — in descending
hills, and turning corners, especially. If they were aware how
motion is accelerated by the continuance of the impetus in one
case, and in the other, that, — as by the laws of nature, all
bodies put in motion by one power will proceed in a straight
line, unless compelled to change their course by some force
impressed, — any sudden deviation from that course disturbs the
centre of gravity in proportion to its suddenness, they would be
more careful than they are. I could have told you all about
these matters when I left Cambridge ; but when I used to see a
passenger on my coach amusing himself with watching the shot
from the fore-wheel, which, on certain parts of our road, would
rise to a considerable height, whilst I was springing them, I
would say to myself, " that fellow little thinks he is taking a
lesson in conic-sections, and that the parabola and their pro-
perties, which those bits of dirt are describing, are the foundation
of gunnery." '

Frank Raby. — ' Why, Jack, you are becoming scientific'

Jack Webber. — ' Not much of that ; but if some cleverer fellow
than myself were to put these few points before road coachmen,
in plain English, and in a small tract, published at a low price,
the travelling public would be great gainers.'

Hong Jit 071. — ' Whilst on the subject of science, I wish a patho-
meter could be used to enable us to judge of the sufferings of
horses in coaches that travel so fast, and in which long stages
are run with very indifierent horses.'

Jack Webber. — ' I think the suffering of coach-horses is be-
coming less every year. In the first place, they are of a better
description of horse than formerly, which very much reduces it ;
secondly, they are much higher fed ; and, lastly, stages are much

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

shortened. We have noAv l)ut few twelve-mile, and no fourteen-
mile stao-es. I have heard my father say that, when he went to
Rugby School, there was a team on the Coventry and London
road, called " The twenty milers." They went from the " Blue
Boar," on Dunsmore Heath, to the " Black Lion," at Towcester
— just twenty miles.'

Houghton. — ' The " Blue Boar " and the " Black Lion " ! who
ever heard of either, except in the imagination of a madman ? '

Jack Webber. — ' We may as well ask, who ever saw a wldte lion
oi- a unicorn, the latter one of the supporters of our crown. For
my part I never could find out any one who could tell me what
is meant by the word unicorn. It cannot be an animal with one
horn, because we read in scripture of the horns of the unicorn.'

Houghton. — ' I believe it to have been a kind of rhinoceros,
whose history is not given us in scripture, but mentioned by
Moses, as having the strength of God ; or an animal called the
reem, which is spoken of by Job as an unmanageable animal,
of great strength, but one which refused to bend its neck to
the yoke.'

Jack Webber. — ' No bad type of John Bull, we must allow ;
and may the gods preserve me from a unicorn team, which I
once drove for three months. But as we call a one-eyed horse,
" single-peeper," should not a one-horned rhinoceros be called,
monoceros ? '

Frank Raby. — ' You are becoming facetious, Jack ; suppose
you give us another song.'

Jack Webber. — ' With all my heart ; and as you have been
speaking of Moses, I will give you one about Adam : —

PARODY ON THE 'OLD ENGLISHMAN.'

" Old Adam was the lirst-borii man, as eveiybody knows —
He never paid a tailor's lull, because lie wore no clothes ;
Nor line kid gloves upon his hands, as you may well suppose,
Nor dandy collar round his neck, nor shoes to hide his toes.

Chorus: — For Adam was a gentleman, one of the olden time.

He neither rent nor taxes paid, nor (htii.-; came to his door,

For he had enough of meat and drink, and some left for the poor ;

For the poor were not then born, nor either were the great.

No rogues or thieves had he to fear, so he never lock'd his gate.

For Adam, etc.
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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

His wife his dinner cook'd eacli day, of good fat roast and boil'd,
And oftentimes, for want of fire, his dinner it got spoil'd ;
And he Avould have had it cook'd by gas, but he could not afford —
And from Oldham had his coals, but the jiits were not then bored.

For Adam, etc.

He led a very happy sort of comfortable life.
And never quarrelled with any one, except 'twas with his wife ;
And siie durst trust him out at nights, for so some people say ;
Nor was she ever once afraid that he would go astray.

For Adam, etc.

And Eve, unlike our women now, in bows and frills ne'er drest.
Nor ever drank or gin or tea — now was not Adam blest?
Her neighbours she ne'er scandalised, nor treated them with scorn,
She was the pink of women then, because none else were born.

For Adam, etc.

Old Adam ne'er example took by other jjcople's ways.
Nor ever went to routs or balls, to concerts or to plays ;
For concert-rooms and playhouses, they were not built then.
And Eve was never once accused of flirting witii the men.

For Adam, etc.

At last poor Adam's days had run their course, and then, poor man, he
Nor was there even one stood weeping by his bed-side ; [died,

Without a good oak coffin they laid him in his clay.
Nor were they afraid of body-snatchers stealing him away.

For Adam, etc." '

Frmik Rahy. — ' Well done, Jack ! you sing like a nightingale,
and the sight of your good-humoured face adds much to your
melody. We will have one more bottle of claret, a rubber at
whist, in the other room, and to bed in good time — a rule I
mean to adopt in my house, to the best of my power to do so.
It is written of Moses, of whom we have just been speaking,
that at the age of 100 years, "his eye was not dim, neither was
his natural force abated ; " and as I hope to ride a-hunting at
fourscore, at least, I mean to keep early hours, as no doubt
Moses did.'

Jack Webber. — ' But, as a sportsman, if you wish to be old, you
must not regard all that Moses tells you. For example; he
says, " thou shalt not wear a garment of divers sorts, as of linen
and woollen fogelJter." Now, who can expect to hunt anel shoot,
in this country, without suffering from rheumatism, if he do
not wear flannel under his shirt ; as for m3\self I should have

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

been frozen as stiff as the kitchen poker, many a night diirino-
the frost of last winter but one, if I had not l)een allowed to roll
myself up in flannel.'

Frank Raby. — ' Moses lived in a warm climate, Jack.'
The first step after breakfast, in a young sportsman's house,
is to the stables, a custom which was not departed from by the
party at Farndon-house ; and ^vhen, on entering it, four vacant
stalls were observed, Jack Webber exclaimed :

' Hey-day, Frank 1 what is become of your skewbald team ? '
meaning the one to which the chestnut piebald belonged.

' They went last night to the " Barley Mow," twelve miles from
hence, to take us on to Townley Park, twelve miles further, to
call on that excellent fellow, as well as capital sportsman and
coachman, Peyton, in whose stables you will see a good stud of
both hunters and coach-horses, all in right keeping. He knows
that we are coming, so that he will give us a good luncheon, a
bowl of bishop to wash it down with, and we shall pick up Jem
Powell on the road, who will amuse us as we toddle along.'

' Who is Jem Powell ? ' inquired Goodall.

' I am surprised at the question,' said Jack Webber ; ' I should
just as soon have expected a man to ask who is George iii,
Jem is one of the oldest and best coachmen on the Holyhead
road, and a very clever fellow to boot. Indeed, he says of him-
self, that if he had had a college education, his place would have
been before the bars, and not behind them, by which he means
a first-class degree.'

' No doubt he would,' observed our hero ; ' for I never heard
him express himself but with point, on any one occasion ; and
there is a dry humour in his remarks that gives them additional
weight.'

As the clock struck eleven, our party commenced their drive.
Jack Webber on the box with his host ; Sir John behind him on
the roof ; and the rest where their fancy placed them ; and this
being the first time of Sir John seeing his pupil at work on his
own coach, he was not a little interested by the event. All
went well, however. Frank Raby gave proof that he had not
lost sight of the instructions he had received from Jack Bailey,
when at Eton, nor from himself during the vacations: and he
was at once pronounced, both by the Baronet and Jack Webber,
as only requiring one more year's experience, to make him a
first-rate coachman. His hand on the horses was liffit; his

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

temper was not to be ruffled, although it was occasionally put
to the test, by a wheeler not working to please him ; he
descended rather a steep hill without having recourse to the
skid, and yet with very little pressure on the wheelers, and he
showed himself a judge of pace, by keeping his time to half a
minute, having allowed himself an hour and ten minutes to do
the twelve miles.

At the change — the well-known ' Barley Mow ' — stood the
equally well-known Jem Powell, looking over the fresh team,
which were standing in readiness at the door, and he thus
saluted the party when they, pulled up :

' Good-morning to ye, gentlemen ; I hope I sees you all
well. You have a fine morning for your drive ; I hopes we
shall find Sir Harry well. He is a worthy gentleman, and a
good friend to us coachmen ; and (looking at Sir John) here's
another of the same sort. I hears of you, Sir John, and
what you are doing for 'em on the north road. I am told you
have made some on 'em mend their ways already. And now
we are a-going to have another good gentleman amongst us
in these parts, and God be thanked for him — of course I
means the owner of these here horses ; but I arn't a-going to
say all I think on him before his face. And sure enougli
here is Mr. Hargrave and Mr. Webber. Why, Mr. Hargrave, I
haven't seen you since you was at Christchurch, when I tried
to make you a coachman, but you was terribly fond of
those hounds, there was no making nothing on you in our
line. As for the other gentlemen, I can't say as I knows
them.'

' Then I'll introduce you to them,' said Frank Raby. ' This is
Mr. Houghton, here is Mr. Goodall, and here is Lord Edmonston ;
the two first-named gentlemen you must liave known before,
Jem, for they were at Oxford.'

' No doubt, sir,' continued Jem, ' but not in our line. I
am glad, to see my Lord ; I likes to have a Lord about my
coach, it looks so respectable ; and we have as good a one as
any in England on our road, and a brother to one that the
world cannot beat. I believe, on my soul, that he don't give
away less than £400 a year to coachmen and guards, besides
having several of tliem occasionally at his house, when they
are sick.'

' You mean the Hon. Thomas Kington,' said Jack Webber,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

shaking Jem heartily by the hand ; he is an out-and-outer, as
we say of: a capital leader, but only thiidvot" his being the son of
a judge ! '

'He is as good a judge in our line, as his father ever was in
his,' said Joui, 'I don't think there is a steadier, better coachman
in England than his Honour is.'

' I have heard a great deal of Mr. Kington,' said Lord
Edmonston, ' but I never chanced to come across him.'

' Then, my Lord,' replied Jem, ' as the horses are put to, I
haven't time to tell you half I knows of him, now, but as we
goes along, I'll let you a bit into his history.'

' Are you all right { ' cried Frank Raby, when he had seated
himself comfortably on his box ; and on the answer in the
affirmative being given, away went the team, the skewbald leader
taking to his collar without a single plunge, working admirably
throughout, with the privilege of having the bar.

' Well,' said Jem ; ' a prettier team than this no man would
wish to sit behind,'

' And well turned out, eh, Jem ? ' said Webber.

' And well handled, too,' remarked Sir John.

Jem nodded assent — merely observing that he should be a
better judge of that when they got to the top of a hill which was
before them, nearly a mile long.

' But,' resumed Jem, ' I was a-going to tell you about that
there Mr. Kington — His Honour, as the coachmen and guards
all calls him on this road, and most others. Do you know, he
works almost as regular as we poor servants do, keeping fourteen
coach-horses in full employ. He drives to his country town,
fifteen miles from his house, and back, four days in the week,
and on some other road the other two, but, like me, he lays rest
on a Sunday ; that is to say, he only puts to a pair, and drives
his family to church. They tells me there is not a poor man
in distress in his parish, he is so kind to them all ; and as to
coachmen and guards, he has saved many of their souls as well
as their bodies.'

' What do you mean by saving their bodies ? ' asked Lord
Edmonston.

' Why, my Lord,' replied Jem, ' he saves 'em in two ways.
First, although all the coachmen and guards which pass
through his village have a glass of good ale, at the public,
chalked up to His Honour, he advises them not to drink spirits,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

nor too much of any tiling. Tlien, again, if any of them meet
with an accident, or are sick, or want a week's rest, his
servants' hall and a good bed are open to them, till such
times as they recover. His Honour would have made the
l)est mail-coachman in England, for he keeps such capital
time, even with his own coach. He won't wait a moment for
nobody when his time is up ; and do you know, my Lord, he
once left his lady behind, to come home in a post-chaise,
because she warn't to the time at the inn from which he
starts. That's what I call being punctual. Then he goes
through all the manoeuvres that we regular coachmen go
through. ' When he drives into the yard, he walks into the
office, hangs up his coat and whip, takes off his knee-caps
and shawl, and then (what we can't do) walks out like a
gentleman.'

At this moment a gentleman in black trotted past the coach,
and on its being remarked by our hero, that Jem made him a
most respectful salutation, he asked him his name.

' His name, sir ! ' answered Jem ; ' why, I thought everybody
knew Parson Smith — the cleverest parson in the country. They
tells me that when he preaches the church is as full as a
cockpit.'

' By the simile you have used,' observed Lord Edmonston, ' I
presume you are given to cock-fighting.'

' Have been so, in a small way, all my life, my Lord,' replied
Jem. ' And when we gets to Sir Harry's, he will show you, if
you ask him, the picture of a favourite cock of mine, that won
me six battles. It is painted on the dial-plate of a watch I gave
the Baronet soon after he left college ; and there are also pictures
of a race-horse, a bulldog, and a greyhound on it, with my own
ugly face in the centre.'

A good laugh, of course, followed this episode of Jem's, and,
when it ceased, Lord Edmonston told him he was sorry to hear
he was fond of so cruel a sport as cock-fighting. ' My friend,
Mr. Raby, had a turn that way,' said his Lordship, ' but I am
happy to say he now flies at nobler game.'

' Why, my Lord,' said Jem, ' I much fear there are no sports
which you gentlemen takes delight in, that are not more or less
cruel. I thinks as how I should have given up cock-fighting, had
not a very clever gentleman of our University made me believe
it is not at all cruel.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Do you recollect what arf^umcnts he made use of ? ' inquired
Haroi'ave.

' Why,' answered Jem, ' if you can take them in my homely
language, they were much after this fashion. He said he did
not think cock-tighting equal as to cruelty to horse-racing,
in which poor animals are forced, against their nature, to
performances beyond their strength, with whips and spurs,
which jockeys call, cutting up. And this uow happens only
a few months arter tlie poor sufferer has been taken from the
side of its dam. But in the fighting of game-cocks, the case
is different; for instead of a force against nature, it is an
indulgence of nature.'

' Of natural propensities, you mean, Jem,' said Frank
Raby.

' I shouldn't wonder,' resumed Jem ; 'but this is my clumsy
way of telling the story, " Cocks at their walks," he said, " and
at full liberty, will seeh each other for battle, as far as they
can hear each other's crowing, and the putting spurs on their
heels, when brought into the pit to fight, is quite contrary
to cruelty, for the battle is sooner over, and what they suffer
is nothing, or next to nothing, to what they would suffer, were
they to tight with their own natural heels, bruising each other,
in every tender part — killing each other, in short, by inches.
Then here," he said, " is the comparison between the man who
fights a duel, and him who fights for money in the ring. The
one meets his man like the game-cock, of his own free will, and
with artificial weapons : but the other is made to fight merely
for the sake of money, and as he fights with natural weapons,
he receives blows and bruises, almost to the point of death, just
to amuse idle lookers-on, and for the purpose of gambling on
the event." '

' Did your friend say anything about hunting ? ' asked
Hargrave.

' Yes, Mr. Hargrave,' replied Jem, ' he compared it in one way
to cock-fighting. " Hounds and greyhounds," said he, " are
formed for the pursuit of their respective game ; they are guided
by nature." '

'By natural instinct, you mean, Jem,' interrupted Hargrave.

' Just so,' said Jem ; ' they acts of their own accord, he told
me ; the whole is an indulgence of their natural propensities, as
you call 'em.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' But the game they hunt, what did he say of it ? ' continued
Hargrave.

' Well, to be sure,' replied Jem, ' he said it must be anything
but comfortable when the dogs are pursuing it, but its fate is
soon settled, and there is no dying of wounds, as there is from
shooting and fishing.'

' But the very fact of the game-cock being the noble animal
he is,' said Lord Edmonston, ' is the reason why lie should be
restrained from lighting without a natural cause.

' Man may be considered as the delegate of Heaven over
inferior creatures, but he has no right to torment them un-
necessarily. Then observe the character of the cock, as he
claps his wrings before he crows ; how proud, how courageous
is his appearance ! The very lion himself is said to fear him
At all events, his graceful attitude and carriage, together
with his high-beaming eye, rank him in the highest class of
birds.'

' All very true,' said Hargrave ; ' but without defending
cock-fighting, wall you show me the man who can account for
that early instinct which impresses young animals with the
notion of the situation and use of their natural weapons, and
of e\en using them before they are properly formed, and at the
same time can say, that the display of this iuvstinct was not
given them for some good purpose ? I can only observe that
the science of cock-fighting, if I may be allowed to call it so, is
one of the most difficult, if not the most extraordinary of any
connected with the animal system. Training the race-horse
is A B C to it. Fancy an experienced feeder being able to
discern to a nicety to what extent cocks of one particular breed
will bear reducing in weight, and w^hat those of another. Then
one man shall make his cocks fight for three consecutive days
with equal strength and spirit, whereas his competitor cannot
keep his up to the mark beyond the second day. He wnll be
at the height of condition one day, and retrograde rapidly the
next. Again, wdiat a strange phenomenon is this : — cocks, of
the same blood, bred from a father and daughter, will run
away, whilst those from a mother and son will stay to be killed
piecemeal, and vice versa I Lastly, their colour ; how true to
their feather are they preserved by the most eminent breeders
— without the slightest deviation, indeed, for a great number
of generations ! There is a well-attested instance of this on

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

record. An einineiit biecdcr of oame-i'owls had preserved an
invariable production of what are called black-breasted reds
durino- fifteen years, but in the sixteenth he had several light
piles in one hatch, or brood. iVo change of eggs could have
taken i:)lace, nor was there a possibility of the access of any
other cock to his hens. On looking back, however, he ascer-
tained that, five years previously to his having his original breed
out of Shropshire, there had been a cross of a Cheshire pile in
the hens. Thus, it appears, the plumage had remained perfect
for twenty-one years.'

' A most singular fact, undoubtedly,' said Lord Edmonston.
' But I understand the same phenomenon occasionally occurs
in horses. I am told, that not only does the colour often go
back to a very distant cross, but that a small dark-coloured
spot on the hinder quarters of Eclipse is, to this day, entailed
on some of his blood, although distant several generations from
the original'

' Similar phenomena,' observed Houghton, ' are observable in
flowers. What florists call a " run flower," is one wdiicli has the
inherent vice of changing colour, with little chance of regaining
its primitive and valuable brilliancy. In a perfect flower, every
leaf should be striped according to its class, whether flake or
bizaune.'

' Well,' said Jem, ' I cannot talk with you gentlemen on these
matters — because why, you know, I am no scholard, but there is
one point you haven't touched upon, concerning cock-fighting.
Mr. Hargrave here will tell yo\x — for I have often seen him
in a cockpit — that cocks show as much skill, in defence and
attack, as the best prize-fighters of the day, and, like them,
their blows have more or less force, according to their better
skill. If a cock's legs are out of the direction of his body, we
call him a dry-spurred or dry-heeled cock, because he can't hit
to do much harm. He seldom carries death with his heels.
On the contrary, if his legs are in a proper direction with his
body, he stands erect, rises high, is a close hitter, and generally
wins his battle, and in a short time too. Oh ! it is a fine sight
to see a set-to between two such cocks as this, and I wish I w^as
sure it w^arn't cruel.'

' As for that, Jem,' said Hargrave, ' I fear we cannot
divest it of a certain portion of cruelty. Although, to a
tliinking mind, nothing is more astounding than that early

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instinct which impresses young animals with the notion of tlie
situation of their natural weapons, in the first place, and, in
the next, of using them, even before they are properly formed
— for a young cock will spur at his adversary before his spurs
are grown out, and a calf, or lamb, will push or butt with their
heads before their horns are sprouted — I fear we have no right
wantonly to expose one animal to the fury of another. But so
it will be to the end of time. That perfect calm, that uninter-
rupted felicity which some persons would wish to introduce into
the w^orld, is but a chimera — a beautiful one, I allow — but only
appearing possible to those who judge of things according to their
imagi)iation alone ; since every one who forms a cool judgment
on the subject will see that the earth was never designed for
such a state.'

'I do not quite agree with you, Hargrave,' observed Lord
Edmonston ; ' I think '

' Beg pardon, my Lord, for interrupting you,' said Jem ; and,
touching our hero on the shoulder, thus quaintly addressed
him : ' Beg pardon, Mr. Baby, but I should like to hear your
bars rattle a little down this next hill. Excuse me, sir, but, on
the last, you committed a fault which most young coachmen
commit — you let your leaders draw, which of course makes it
worse for your wheelers. Always let your bars rattle a little,
going down hill.'

' That near leader over-pulls me,' said Frank.

' I observe he does,' replied Jem ; ' pull his rein three
inches through your hand, and grip it tightly with your
thumb ; and when your horses are on their collars, keep your
wheelers up to him, and he will not pull you so much.
But I'll alter his coupling-rein for you when we get to
Sir Harry's.'

' That's right, Jem,' said Hargrave, ' let us have no more
cocking at present ; give us something on the road.'

' A little of your history,' added Lord Edmonston.

' Why, that will be rather a longish story, my Lord,'
replied Jem ; ' I think we had better leave it till we are on
the road homewards. A little of Sir Harry's beef, and a
glass or two of his good ale, will make my tongue run more
glib.' _

' Like a nowly-greased wheel — eh, Jem ? ' said Jack
Webber.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Arrived at Townloy Park, they found the worthy Baronet
expecting them, and with a really good luncheon on his dinner-
table ; for which a twenty-four miles' ride through the balmy
air of a spring morning, added to the cheerful talk on the
road, had given them a keen appetite. And by rather a
curious coincidence, at the very moment at whicli they drove
up to the door, another coach was to be seen at the farther
end of the park, in which were four strapping brown horses,
trotting away at the rate of, at least, twelve miles in the
hour, with apparent ease to themselves, and in the hands of
a perfect master of his art. This proved to be the splendid
turn-out of Mr. Herson, a neighbour of Sir Harry, who
chanced to call on him at that hour; and when it is stated
that he gave 400 guineas for the leaders which he had this
day at work, their line appearance and paces can be very
readily accounted for. But to the arrival of our hero and his
party, which we will relate in the dialogical form, as saving-
some trouble : —

Sir Harry. — ' Glad to see you on your own box, Raby ; when
you were last on mine, I thought you would not be long before
you got to work. The old uncle cut up well, I find, and I
rejoice to think that you have settled so near me, and on so
good a road. How d'ye do, Inkleton ? What, Jack Webber !
— are you there, with your round and rosy face ? I suppose
you are giving the young one some instructions. But there
is old Jem Powell there, I see ; I beg his pardon, a thousand
times, for supposing any man could act the schoolmaster in
Jiis presence. Glad to see you, Jem ; how smart you are to-day !
And Hargrave — delighted to see you ; you are one quite after
my own heart — fond of the box and hounds — a right good
sportsman, and the best man out of Christchurch, in your time,
out of the pigskin.'

Frank Rahy. — ' I believe. Sir Harry, I have three friends here
to whom you are not known. Allow me to introduce to you
Lord Edmonston, a most particular friend of mine, although
not one of the best on the pigskin ; also Mr. Goodall and Mr.
Houghton, both Christchurch men, not much in our line at
present, but first-class men in another.'

Sir Harry. — ' Happy to see you all. Now let Jem take your
coach into the yard, and himself into the servants' hall ; a bit
of venison pasty will do you all no harm after your drive, and

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

I have ordered a good bowl of " bishop." But liere is Hersou
coming ; you will now see the best and fastest team this day in
England : and so tliey ought to be, for he has not a horse in his
coach-stable that cost him less than a hundred, and he gave two
hundred a-piece for the leaders he has in to-day. I know them
at this distance, by their action.'

Vive minutes, or less, brought this splendid team to the door.
To some of this party Mr. Herson and his friends were known,
and the usual introduction to the others being soon concluded,
luncheon was the order of the day, and ample justice was done
to it — b}' the Farndon party, especially. A walk to the stable-
yard followed, which may be said to have been a matter of
course, from the nature of the parties assembled, and the pre-
vailing similarity of their tastes. The following may be relied
upon for its contents : —

In the hunters' stables were seven first-rate horses, but not
looking to advantage, being stripped of their clothing, and, in
the language of the grooms of that day, ' put out of condition,'
previously to being turned out for the summer, the Baronet
not having quite relinquished the grazing system, although his
stud remained abroad for a much less time than that of his
neighbour did, and were allowed a certain portion of corn.
They appeared to our hero to be just the sort of horses to carry
thirteen stone, which they did carry, whilst under their owner,
let the country or pace be what they may. In short, they
were ridden by one of the first horsemen England ever saw.
Amongst them was Watchmaker, the Baronet's favourite horse,
and of which we have already spoken as having signalised
himself on the Bosworth day, in one instance ; in the struggle
between the orange and red, in another ; and also as having
been depictured in the Spo7iiii<j Magazine, in the act of
taking a desperate leap, and setting the whole field. He
was a grey gelding, sixteen hands high, of singularly fine
form, and a delightful horse to ride over every description of
ground.

The next thing that attracted the eye of the party was the
Baronet's driving coach, which stood in the yard, with the bars
on the head of the pole, greatcoats on the box, and behind ;
lamps in the irons, with the slides down, but fresh trimmed —
everything, in short, ready for a start. The fact was, the
Baronet was going to dine with a friend, residing about twelve

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

miles distant from Townley, with the intention of returning at
night. The coach-stable was then entered, and a gratifying
sight was presented to by far the majority of the party. It
contained thirteen coach-horses, not, perhaps, remarkable for
their fine figures, but coming under the denomination of very
useful horses for road work, of which they had no small share,
scarcely a day passing in the summer, but they took their
turns in harness ; and when the locality of the fixture suited
for wheels, they were generally seen at the cover's side in the
winter. The colour was grey, with the exception of one
piebald, but the Baronet was not partial to piebalds, having,
for the most part, found them soft, and not strong in their
harness. Lastly, the harness-room was greatly admired, not
only for the cleanliness of the tackle, but for the real business-
like appearance of everything which it contained. Amono- the
items were, three sets of road harness ; two sets for a pair :
two for tlie break ; two of single harness ; three pairs of lamps ;
four sets of bars ; two tool boxes, complete ; three skids, and
two drag-chains ; seven box coats (besides those on the coach
in the yard), and seventeen whips, some of them havino- the
appearance of not being made yesterday. Then an interesting-
spectacle followed. At a given moment — the party havino-
returned to the house to finish the bowl of ' bishop ' — the
three teams came to the door, taking a sweep round the laro-e
grass plot in front of the hall door, which set them off" to
advantage. The Baronet's led the way, driven by his head
coachman, and followed by that of Mr. Herson, driven also by
his ; whilst Jem Powell Ijrought up our hero's in equally o-ood
style. As may be supposed, they became the subject of remark,
but the preference, as to horses, was unanimously o-iven to
that of Mr Herson ; and deservedly so, no douljt. In the first
place, the prices given for tliem entitled them to be first-rate •
in the next, they were nearly thorough-bred ; and lastly, they
were as fresh on their legs as when they first felt the rein,
which could not be said of the two other teams, some of each
of which showed marks of something bej^ond what is called
gentleman's work.

Having taken leave of their host, who expressed himself
much pleased with our young sportsman's turn-out, as well as
the coachmanlike style in which he approached the house on
liis arrival, they pursued their road homeward, allowing them-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

selves the same length of time to perform the twenty-four miles
of gi''ound.

'Now, Jem,' said Jack Webber, after passing the park gates,
' let us have a little of your history. By the colour on your
cheeks, you appear to be all the better for the Baronet's good
cheer, and, as I said before, your tongue ' will slip over the
ground like a newly-greased wheel.'

' My history,' said Jem, ' is told in a few words. I have been
a road coachman these three-and-thirty years, and never lay
rest, thank God, more than a dozen journeys in all that time,
except when I broke my leg, and had my right foot frost-bitten.
Then I had — like you gentlemen, who goes to school and college
to fit you for your situations — the regular education of a
coachman. I did not jump from off some country gentleman's
pair-horse coach-box, or from behind a counter in a coach-office,
or, perhaps, that of a grocer's shop, on to a stage-coach, as
some of our present would-be coachmen have done, and who
hardly knows a coupling-rein from a bearing-rein, still less
what a horse can do in his harness ; but I began my education
by riding the leaders before my father, on the heavy Brummagem,
for better than three years. TJtat's the 'place for a young "man
to learn Ids business — before a good coachman, as my father
was, and a coach that carries three ton weight, as that often
did, in roads over the fellies of the wheels, and none of the
best of cattle. Then, I have never had but one master and
one coach since I have been regular at work, now going on
for thirty-four years.'

' Are you married ? ' asked Lord Edmonston.

' No, my Lord,' replied Jem ; ' I was near being Jtad once, but
I slipped out on't, and took care never to run my head into
that tliere collar again ; I feared it might prove what we calls
" a false one." '

' But what has been your objection to the married state ? '
resumed Lord Edmonston.

' Why, to tell you the truth, my Lord,' answered Jem, ' I have
more than one objection to it. In the first place, a gentleman
who sat by me on the box, many years ago, made use of these
words to a passenger who sat behind him on the roof, and they
made such an impression on me that, if I was to live a thousand
years, I should never forget them : — *' The ancients," he said,
" are clearly against the female sex, and the moderns are not

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

very favourably disposed towards them, from all I have read
of them." Now, thinks I to myself, surely both ancients and
moderns can't be wrong on this here matter ; but as neither
seems to have a favourable opinion of womankind, I thought I
had best leave them alone. And it was a very clever man who
spoke this in my hearing.

' ' Some rum old fellow of a college, I'll be bound for it,'
said Jack Webber, ' who would not have given up his common
room comforts, and his old port wine, for the finest woman in
England.'

' No, he warn't,' resumed Jem ; ' but I ain't told you my
other reason. I daresay there is much pleasure in the married
life, but I am quite certain there is also much pain. What
scenes have I witnessed amongst husbands and wives,* and
parents and children, since I have drove this coach — I mean
when taking leave of each other ! I have seen two or three
rascals a-going to be hanged, but I never saw them half so
cast down as I have seen passengers on my coach, when
leaving their families behind them — perliaps for ever ! I have
heard them bellowing and crying for the first two stages, and
they wouldn't take no comfort. My very heart has bled for
them.'

' You umst be rich, Jem,' observed Lord Edmonston.

' No, I arn't rich, my Lord,' replied Jem ; ' not but what, if I
was to leave the coach to-morrow, I should have enough to
keep me — -just able to make tongue and buckle meet.'

' But what have you done with your money, Jem, eh ? ' said
Jack Webber, ' two coaches a day, and no one to look after you !
Something for the shirt pocket, every day, eh, Jem ? '

' Why,' replied Jem, ' I am not a-going to boast that I am
honester than other folks ; my having served one master three-
and-thirty years will best speak to that point ; but I have been
a good friend to my poor brother's widow and children. He
was killed last Christmas Day thirteen years, on the Worcester
mail, and I have supported his family ever since. Poor fellow,
he was one of the nicest light coachmen you ever saw on a
coach-box ; and I hope, one day or another, his eldest boy will
have my place.'

' What you have told us is much to your credit,' said
Frank Raby, ' and it is no wonder that you have so many
friends.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' I have many kind friends, indeed,' replied Jem ; ' only
think of Squire Amste}^ keeping a horse for me at Oxford, all
the summer months, on purpose for me to ride out after I come
in with my coach ; and I have a good dinner at his house every
Sunday in the year, if I like to go for it.'

' Then you don't drive on Sundays ? ' observed Goodall.

' No,' replied Jem ; * I would not work on a Sunday for
any man ; it's like leading the life of a nigger. I generally
o-oes to church in the morning, and to the Squire's in the
evening.'

' No alehouse work,' observed Lord Edmonston.

' I smokes one pipe, and drinks a pint of ale, every evening
at the " Black Dog," after I have had my dinner. I am no
drinker, nor would I advise any coachman to be such, particu-
larl}^ one that drives over such cold ground as I do. All I
have on the road is half a pint of ale, with my lunch, where I
meets my coach, and then I enjoy my dinner when I gets in.
Indeed, I often say to myself, when returning over those cold
]nll(5 : — " Oh, how I could set-to now, at a good rump-steak and
onions ! " '

' I have always thought,' observed Lord Edmonston, ' that
road coachmen must obtain a great knowledge of mankind from
their every-day communication with persons of all descriptions,
and nearly from all countries.'

' Why, my Lord,' said Jem, ' we meets with all sorts — good,
bad, and indifferent — and especially on this road. We carries
a great many Irish.'

' And how do you find them ? ' asked Jack Webber.

' There are many good ones amongst them, but still more
good for nothing,' was the answer ; ' but, saving your presence,
gentlemen, they are all devils to brag. I never carried
one, calling himself a f/entleman, that had less than £1500
a year.'

' And a park ? ' said Raby.

' A park, of course,' resumed Jem ; ' and many on them
talk of their castles — in the air, I suppose. But I could not
help thinking that they must often get pulled up, when talking
so big. Indeed, I pulled up one of them m3^self, last summer.
He asked me who lived at Warton House, on our road. I told
him the Earl of Connell — my kind friend, as you have heard
me speak of, Mr. Raby. " By the powers ! " said he, " but I

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

know his Lordsliip well ; he comes from my own country.
How I should like to stop and ask him how he does ! " Now,
as to that part of the story, you know it was quite out of the
question, as the hall is nearly a mile from the road ; but, as
ill-luck for the Irishman would have it, we had not gone far
before we meets my Lord, who pulls up his horse and gives me
a letter to take to a friend of his in Oxford. " Who is that
gentleman ? " said the Irishman as soon as the coach went on-
" That noblevum, sir," said I, " is the Earl of Connell." Now, I
says nothing moi-e on the subject for as much as a quarter of
an hour, giving the gentleman time to recover himself a little,
for he looked mighty simple after the answer I gave him about
his "friend " ; but, at last, I turns myself a little towards him
on the box, and looking full in his face, says, — " Why, sir, you
seems very intimate with that there Lord." '

* Capital ! ' exclaimed Lord Edmonston ; ' Junius himself
never gave a man a more severe rebuke. Let me ask you a
question. From your constant observation of character, are
you able to distinguish beforehand the persons by whom you
are likely to be best remunerated for your trouble — at all events,
those who will do you justice, by giving you the customary
fee?'

' There are but three descriptions of passengers,' replied
Jem, ' who pay moi'e than the accustomed fee, and those are
very soon picked out. Thei'e is, first, the gentleman who not
only bespeaks the box place, but who asks questions about the
horses, etc. ; he is sure to come the double tip. Next, is the
quiet, gentlemanlike-looking passenger, with a good collar to
his coat, who merely asks a few questions about the places we
pass by on the road, and who has a good-sized black portman-
teau about the coach. We are pretty sure of him. But the
best customer of all is the just paid-off sailor, three-parts drunk.
I have often had a crown put into my hands by one of those
chaps, and once half a guinea, which I refused. " Why, you
lubberly land lubber," said he, " if I don't give it to you, I shall
give it to the next that steers us ; put it into your locker, and
be thankful." '

' How do you find women pay you i ' asked Houghton.
' Generally speaking, unless they happen to have a young-
child about the coach, which you arc kind to,' answered Jen),
' or can throw in a word or two, to tickle them about their

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

good looks, they are the worst payers we liave. So far from
giving us a double tip, they are much more apt to tip us the
double when they can.'

' You don't seem to be very fond of the women, Jem,' said
Goodall.

' They are all very well in their places,' replied Jem, ' but
I don't like too many on 'em about my coach. I hates the
sight of a bandbox, and still worse of an old maid and her
lap-dog.'

' I observe,' said Lord Edmonston, ' there is not so much
swearing now among road coachmen as there used to be, when
I first travelled by coaches.'

' Please you, my Lord,' answered Jem, ' there is not so
much swearing among gentlemen as was used to be. Depend
upon this, my Lord, we little ones borrows many vices from
you great ones ; and you great ones, now and then — I ax
pardon, my Lord — borrows from us little ones. When gentle-
men leave off swearing, depend on it, it will get very much out
of fashion.'

At this moment one of the Birmingham and London coaches
gave our party the meeting, and called forth some remarks
from them on the superior style of the cattle, as well as the
improved build of the coach. It was full inside and out,
together with an abundance of luggage, but was nevertheless
proceeding at the rate of eight miles an hour, on rather a
considerable ascent of ground.

' What country in the world but England,' exclaimed Jack
Webber, ' can exhibit such a sight as that ? We ought to be
prouder of it than we are. There go half the population of a
village, together with all their traps, as we call luggage on the
Brighton road, carried at the rate of a good nine miles an
hour, all stoppages included; and, although on what may be
called a ticklish balance, as safe as if they were in their beds,
by the superior system of putting horses into harness and
driving them. I repeat, we ought to be prouder of it than we
are.'

' They tells me, Mr. Webber,' said Jem Powell, ' though I
scarce knows how to believe it, that we shan't be proud of it
long. They say coaching by horses is soon to be at an end,
and that we are to have coaches go of themselves — that is to
say, b}^ some kind of machinery which it is not in my power

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

to explain. This seems a hard case, to knock up sucli a system
as coachino-, now that it is just brought to perfection, or nearly
so. It will be the ruin of a great many people who now gets
their living on the road. But they tells me this is the case
in most other tilings, nowadays. Some busybody, with, perhaps,
more brains than his neighbours, and wanting to make himself
rich, without caring who he may make poor, comes out with
some new-fangled plans, and upsets all the old ones, w'hich did
very well for us before.'

' There is some trutli in what you have said,' observed Lord
Edmonston ; ' this is a wise and understanding age ; but if we
look into the history of mankind, in all periods of the world,
we find men have arisen, from time to time, who have changed
the whole face of some department of human knowledge ;
nevertheless, Jem, you need not alarm yourself on this point.
I conceive you have been told that carriages will be propelled
on roads by what is called a locomotive power, produced by
steam, but, be assured, it will never take place. Whenever
they travel by steam, it must be on iron tram-roads, but the
time is far distant before that will be accomplished. At all
events, coaching by horses will last your time.'

' Then,' resumed Jem, ' there is a man who has built a carriage
that cannot be overturned, but they tells me it is as heavy as
a broad-wheel waggon, and as much iron about it as is in three
of our coaches. Surely our coaches are safe enough, in safe
hands.'

' I saw the coach you speak of, tried,' observed Goodall ; ' it
certainly did run on a bank elevated thirty inches from the
ground, and the centre of gravity was not disturbed, but I
thought it a sad complicated piece of workmanship, and, for my
own part, I would as soon ride in a waggon.'

' Well,' said Jem, ' we must not find fault with all those busy-
bodys, as I calls them, for this American chap, Mr. McAdam, is
showing our people how to make the roads run well, though
they are terribly loth to follow his directions. They won't
believe but what those small stones will grind all to pieces in
a very short time, instead of — which they do — forming a hard
and smooth surface. Indeed, I was myself some time before I
could persuade myself that they would do so, even if properly
broke, and put thick enough on the road.'

' The surface of a road is formed as ice is formed,' observed

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Lord Edmonston, ' by the uniting of its own spiculse, which
dovetail into each other ; thus, small stones unite by their own
angles, and produce the effect we see. I consider McAdam
the greatest benefactor to England since Dr. Jenner. for, until
we adopted his plan, we did not know what a good road is.
The large stones previously made use of, both in forming and
repairing roads, were calculated, mechanically, to render them
uneven and full of holes, inasmuch as they acted as levers
to raise up the ground, when a wheel passed over one end
of them.'

' You have been very lucky in the accident way, have you
not, Jem ? ' said Webber.

' Never throwed a coach over, sir,' replied Jem, ' but have
had lier over twice — once by the axle-tree breaking, when I
broke my leg, and once — before we got patent boxes — by
losing a fore- wheel. There ought to be an act of parliament
to prevent any coach from running that has not patent boxes
to the wheels, for linch-pins are not to be depended upon ;
and axle-trees should be made stronger than they are.'

' I think so, too,' observed Webber ; ' the sustaining power
should be much more than equal to the impending weight.
I had my coach over once from an axle-tree giving way, but,
luckily, no one was hurt. Coach axle-trees should be tried
before used by an hydraulic press, the test being twice the
weight they would ever be required to sustain. And care
should be taken that not only the best iron is used, but that
there is no flaw in it — for axle-trees are always found to break
where any flaw exists.'

' But would it not be difficult to find out whether there is a
flaw in the iron ? ' asked Jem.

' Not at all,' replied Webber ; ' let the axle-tree be placed
on an anvil, and struck on its nose at one end with a key, or
any bit of iron or steel, and if, on the ear being placed at the
opposite nose, a hissing sound is heard, you may be sure a
flaw exists somewhere. Should it be about the centre, no
harm may arise ; bvit if within a short distance of the shoulder,
which is the chief bearing part, it is a great source of
danger.'

' As to accidents to coaches,' resumed Jem, ' they are
almost always to be traced to carelessness either in the builders,
the drivers, or the horsers of them. How man}" proprietors

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

keep on a night coachman, when they know he is drunk on
his box four nights in the week, although, to be sure, this part
of the business is not so bad as it used to be, in my early
days ! It was a chance, then, to find a night coachman qiiite
sober. Then how many proprietors keep on a restive horse,
sooner than lose a few pounds by getting rid of him to the
best bidder ! Again : what cripples will some on 'em put on
the mails over the middle ground ! A gentleman once told
me, that he was on the box of one of the cross country mails,
when, after passing a very awkward bridge, on a dark and
foggy night, the coachman said to him : — " Well over that 'ere
bridge, sir ; there's only one eye among us," which, of course,
was his own. But only think, sir, of four blind horses for
night work • '

'Give us a few maxims, Jem,' said Frank Raby, 'by the
observance of which you have succeeded so well in keeping
your coach on her legs.'

' They are few and simple, sir,' replied Jem ; ' but, mind
ye, I haven't had much practice of night work, my lamps
being only lit for an hour or two in the dead of the winter ;
but you shall have what you wish. First of all, I examine
my coaches before they leave the builder's yard, to see that
the best kind of stuff" is put into them ; and I am very par-
ticular about the pole fitting tight in the furchells. Once a
pole begins to swag in the furchells, a little thing breaks it :
and, mind ye, it is one of the main stays of a coach ! — what
the rudder is to the ship. Then I never drive a shying horse
as leader, if I can help it ; but if he is too slight for the wheel
of our coach, or will not work well in that place, I always put
a mope over his face, which prevents his seeing anything
beyond a few yards of the road under his feet, and that's
quite enough. A coach-horse don't want to be a-looking
about him, no more than the man who drives him, unless it
be at his road. I am very particular about my harness —
about the reins and billets. I watch the wearing parts, and
have them cut out and replaced in time, and I make my horse-
keepers beat the collars and keep them clean, so that, in spite
of the heavy loads my coach carries, and the steep hills on
our road, I never have a gib-horse, because I never have a
sore shoulder. In short, I hates to see a broken skin about
a coach-horse, and he never need have one, if his coachman

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

minds his business. Poor things ! coach-horses have too
often punisliment enough in their work, without being nearly
flayed alive, as they are in some hands. As for mine, they
are as round as balls, and as free from scars as you gentle-
men's hunters are ; indeed, people say I shall spoil the coach ^
by nursing them too much, and not galloping headlong, as
some of t' others do on this road. But see what happens ;
scarce a week but one on 'em goes over. A gentleman comes
up to me t' other day, and says, " Jem, what will you take me
to Birmingham for ? " " My fare, sir," said I, " is fifteen
shillings." " I can go by the Rora (Aurora)," said he, " for ten."
" No doubt, sir," I replied, " but then there's the doctor's bill ! "
He went with me, and that very day they had an accident with
the Rora.'

' Of what description ? ' asked Lord Edmonston.

' They was a-galloping, my Lord, against the opposition,
which was just behind them, and over they went.'

' And was any one hurt ? '

' Several, my Lord.'

' Of course tlie opposition stopped to afford assistance to the
passengers ? '

' Not a bit of it, my Lord ; one gentleman told me that, as
he was in the act of rolling away from the coach, he heard the
opposition coacliman sing out to the other, as he galloped by —
" What, Joe, your bees are a-swarming this fine morning, are
tliey ? " Then again,' resumed Jem, ' I takes a precaution
that, perhaps, few others does. On my two worst hills, I
gives the man who looks after the road, a pot of beer, now
and then, to leave a few yards of loose stone or gravel in two,
or perhaps three, places on the near side ; when I feel the
coach press on the wheel-horses going down these hills, I run
her into this loose stone, or gravel, and, if it don't quite balance
her, it so far checks her as to make all safe. Then, as this
prevents my putting on the skid, I can let 'em go towards the
bottom, and '

' Let them avail themselves of the impetus of motion — the
vis vivida, as we call it,' observed Lord Edmonston.

'/ calls it cheating 'cm out of half the opposite hill,' said
Jem.

1 Which he did.

310

THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' You have had your sliare of kickers, I suppose,' observed
Webber.

'Not lately,' replied Jem. 'My master and I are old
acquaintances now ; I can pick my stock a little ; and depend
on't I don't pick out a kicker. But when I was a-going over,
I didn't think much of kickers, dangerous as they are. If
leaders, I always had a ring on the leading reins, between the
head turrets of the wheelers and the pad turrets of the leaders,
so as to prevent their getting under their tails ; and if at wheel,
I took care to have a right strong kicking trace over their
backs. I got tired of carrying a wheeler on the pole, one day ;
and as for leaders, I have had their legs so fast, either among
the bars, or among the pole-chains, that I more than once
thought I must have got a saw to work to get them out.
Never keep a kicker, Mr. Raby, he gives no notice ; a mere pinch
of a pad, or even a twist in his trace, sets him off'; and he cares
not where he runs you, till he has had his kick out. Depend
on't he'll never leave it off", for his real meaning is- — he don't
like ivork, and he wants to kick himself out of harness at once.
And be sure always keep your own side on the road '

Jack Wehher — interrupting him —

' The rule of tlie road is a paradox quite,
I confess I have thought it so long :
If you go to the left you are sure to go right.
If you go to the right, you are wrong.'

' I am not much of a man for iwetry,' resumed Jem ; ' but
never throw a chance away in coaching, for, remember, other
limbs and lives are in your care besides your own. Never
run too near cai'ts, and waggons, and so forth. The horses in
them may bolt towards you, and catch hold of you before
you can get away from them — especially if your team is not
one of the handiest. But, mind this — wherever your leaders'
bars can go, your wheels can go, without touching, with some-
thing to spare — that is to say, provided your leaders are on
the collars at the time. I was once in a nice scrape by going
too near a cart in which two horses ran abreast of each other
before the shaft horse. The trace of the oft" horse caught my
roller bolt, and thus we were locked together as fast as if we
had been in the same vice.'

' And how did you get out of it ? ' asked Webber.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSJMAN

' Why, by a bit of good luck,' replied Jem ; ' the cart-horses
kept pace with me, till they got blown, and then stopped of
their own accord ; the driver was in the cart, without reins, and
had no command of them. It cured me of running too near a
team of powerful horses

' But to show you how soon an accident may happen to a
coach, and from what a trifling cause, I will tell you what
happened to a fellow-servant of mine about a dozen years back.
The collar of his box coat was fastened by what is called a
hook and eye ; having occasion to stroke his chin with his
right hand, on which was a strong glove, with a hole in it,
the hook entered the hole, and held his hand fast. The horses
bolted at the moment towards the near side of the road, which,
being deprived of the use of his right hand, he had not the
power of preventing, and the consequence was, that his coach
was upset, and one passenger killed and several badly hurt.'

On arriving at the house where Jem Powell had been picked
up, he was taken leave off by the party, our hero slipping a
five-pound note into his hand, as he gave it a hearty shake ;
and the fresh team being put to the coach, within a minute of
the time allowed they were at the hall door of their owner, with
scarcely a wet hair on their skins, a cool breeze from the north
having met them point-blank for the last five miles. In the
course of the evening, the doings of the morning were talked
over, much in the following strain : —

' Well, Raby,' said Hargrave, ' we have spent a very pleasant
day. Peyton is the same straightforward good sort of fellow as
he was when we first became acquainted with him ; and how
complete is his establishment in everything ! '

' There is no better,' said Jack Webber, ' take it altogether,
and there is a workman at the head of it, which is everything.
As a horseman and a coachman Peyton has not met his equal.
And is not old Jem capital, with his broad-brimmed hat and
copper-coloured weather-beaten nmg and his lingo ? No
person could mistake his calling ; and how quaintly, yet to
the purpose, does he express himself on all subjects on which
he speaks ! He has been an excellent servant to Costar, and is
highly respected on the road. ^ Have you enjoyed yourself to-
day, Edmonston ? '

^ It is to be lamented that there is no print in existence of this thorough-bred
coaclinian, who was the hcan-ideal of his calling.

3J2

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' It would have been impossible o^ot to have done so,' replied
his Lordship. ' In the first place, it was one of the finest
mornings I ever saw in ni}^ life, and I delight in a fine spring
morning above all things. I always think that the same animal
pleasure which makes the bird sing, rises sensibly in the heart
of man.'

'Give me a November morning,' interrupted Somerby, 'and
music of another sort than the chirping of birds and bleating
of lambs. This is all very well for your pastoral poets to sing-
about ; but, as Forrest says, there is no such melody to the ear
of a sportsman, with a good stud of hunters in his stable, as the
clinking of women's pattens in the Melton streets on a dark
night in December.'

' Every man to his taste,' resumed Lord Edmonston ; ' all
these things are very \vell in their way, if not carried too far.
I see no objection, for example, to a gentleman driving his
own coach, provided he do not lose caste by transforming
himself into a coachman. But, I repeat, the love of the
pursuit does not admit of his going to extrevies. We debase
ourselves by imitating servants in the first place ; and, in the
next, by exalting them to something like an equality with our-
selves, we make them conceited, and, consequently, destroy
subordination. And the example is often injurious to very
young men. I knew one, very w^ell connected, and with good
prospects before him, who began by affecting the character of
a coachman, and ended by adopting it, to the great mortifica-
tion of his family.'

' You are hitting me under the bars,' said Jack Webber, with
one of his good-humoured smiles.

'Present company are always excepted,' replied the peer;
' besides, you have resumed your place in society, wdiicli, indeed,
you can scarcely be said to have lost ; for I know^ that, wdien you
took it into your head to turn coachman, you never forgot that
you w^ere a gentleman. Indeed, I have been told that you w^ere
the cause of working a reformation amongst jour brethren of
the whip on the Brighton road.'

' As for myself,' resumed Jack Webber, ' I was never happier
than during the three years I was a coachman, and I wish
the next three years of vny life may be as well and profit-
ably employed. The devil, they say, ahvays employs an idle
man, but I was too busy for him, and he left me alone.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Idleness is the parent of all vice, both in man and beast ; and,
when I had done my day's work, I was seldom inclined for any
mischief. A newspaper, or a book, with one glass of grog,
after my supper, and then the night-cap, formed my almost
daily course.'

'But, Frank,' said Lord Edmonston, 'with these studs of
yours, botli for the field and road, when will you be able to
find time to comply with the wishes of your late uncle and
father, and take a tour on the continent ? You will find good
account in it. You need not adopt the peculiarities of one
country or another ; but, rely on it, travelling is very essential
to men who are to live in the world : it not only enlarges the
mind and improves the understanding, but it frees it from
prejudices, which is a great point gained. In the last page of
a diary kept by my father, when he went the grand tour, is
this sentence : — " I am truly glad that I have taken the advice
of my father, though sorely against my will, to take this tour.
It has dispelled prejudices, short-sightedness, and caprice, to
which I was previously addicted. With change of place, I
found my ideas were changed, as also my opinions and feelings ;
and, having reflected on much that I saw and heard, I returned
to my own country a more charitable and a better disposed
man than I had left it." '

' I have not made up my mind on this subject,' replied
Raby, ' It is true, my uncle suggested a tour on the conti-
nent, but perceiving I did not exactly respond to his sugges-
tion, he no longer pressed it. I have conversed with several
of my friends, senior of course to myself, who have been
abroad for longer or shorter periods, and they assured me that
they all suffered during the first half of the time from what the
French call la rtialadie du pays, the result of their regrets for
having left their homes and friends ; and, during the second,
from a perpetual longing to return. To those young men who
labour under a sense of weariness and satiety of the good
things they enjoy in England, and who have no active pursuits,
a sojourn abroad may be an agreeable and healthful change ;
but by a person, who, like myself, has a pursuit for every day in
the year — \yhose wish is to live the life of a country gentleman
and a sportsman, and who has no desire to breathe the un-
wholesome and somewhat tainted atmosphere of courts, little
advantage is to be gained by it.'

314

CHAPTER XVI

The B.D.C and B.C. M. Our Si)ortsinan makes a tour, in wliich he visits many
of the most celebrated fox-hunting establislinients in England.

Our hero's next move was to London, where he had apartments
taken for him at one of the best hotels, in the best part of the
town, and stabling for twelve horses in a mews hard by. As
may be imagined in so young a man, he was occasionally to
be seen in the streets and the park with his team, in the latter,
indeed, always on Sunda3^s ; but he generally preferred the
public roads, especially the one on which his education for a
coachman had been completed, that to Windsor and Eton ; and
twice a week, during his sojourn in London, he gave a
dinner to his part}^ at the Castle Inn, Salt Hill, bringing them
back to town in the evening, performing the ground, with a
change at Hounslow, in two hours, to a minute. Richmond
was also another of his favourite rendezvous, where two or
three others of the amateur coachmen of his day assembled,
and where excellent hand-in-the-pocket dinners were partaken
of by the passengers which each brought down — first-class
men in their line, of course. But, it may be asked, were there
no mishaps on the road from this after-dinner work, with well-
bred and highly-fed cattle (the expressive epithet 'spicy'
was not then in the vocabulary) ? Not often. A pole was
broken one night between Brentford and London, by an
amateur working for his amateur friend, and who dropped one
of his reins, although a very good coachman ; and on another,
owing to a holt on the shoot from off' Kew Bridge, a singular
accident occurred. No sooner did the horses feel the drag
press upon them, than they got the better of their driver, also
a first-rate workman, and were only pulled up b}^ coming in
contact with some iron paling, enclosing a gentleman's
grounds. ' A dreadful smash, of course — a case for the
coroner ' ' methinks I hear my reader exclaim. Two horses

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

were killed, it is true, but the Corinthians escaped, with the
exception of one, who was actually impaled on the iron spikes
on which ho fell ; but, hard as Corinthian brass, he was not
killed, and in a few weeks recovered. Then, on another occa-
sion, in returning from Salt Hill, our hero had a narrow
escape, as had also the party who were on his coach. His
horses got the better of him, and where, reader, would you
suppose they were pulled up ? You would never guess, so you
shall hear at once. — Between the eight horses of the down
Exeter waggon ! Miraculous as it may appear, neither man
nor horse was injured to any serious extent. The fact was,
what are called 'the stretchers' — rods about the thickness
of a mop handle, which were attached to each pair of the
waggon-horses, to prevent their leaning towards each other in
their work — checked the career of the horses, as they broke
their way through them, and so far modified the collision
between the waggon and the coach, as to cause no further
damage than breaking the pole of the latter, and hurting two
of the horses.

It was during this visit to London that Frank Raby was
elected a member of the B.D.C., at that time held at the small
town of Benson, in Oxfordshire, but afterwards removed, on
account of the distance from London, to the Black Dog Inn, at
Bedfont, a small village fourteen miles from London, on the
Great Western Road, then kept by a person named Harvey,
famous for his beefsteaks, as also for the fish sauce which still
bears his name. It was composed of about thirty members (at
least seventy have been numbered since), including the best
and most experienced amateur coachmen of those days, at the
head of whom was the great John Wall, the father of the field
and the road, as he was even then called in the sporting
world ; and a curious circumstance occurred on the first day
of our hero making his appearance at it. George iv., then
Prince of Wales, was changing horses at the door of the inn
at which the club dined, and was informed that his health was
that moment about to be drunk by the members, with three
times three. The Prince afterwards acknowledged the compli-
ment to one of the party, at Carlton House, adding — ' Was
not old John Wall among you ? ' On being answered in the
affirmative, he replied — 'I thought I knew his halloo.' Then
there was another well-known and amusing character, a mem-

316

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

ber of this club. His name was Price. His scene of action
was on the Great Western Road, on which he worked, as an
amateur, nearly as regularly as any coachman upon it. But
it is for this evening's exploits that his fame is recorded liere.
After tive bottles of hock, which he could put under his waist-
coat, at a sitting, without being much affected by them, he
would till a bumper, and, placing the glass to stand on his head,
he would sing a song, in which the names of every coachman
and liorse-keeper employed on a certain coach from London
to Plymouth, were introduced. Nor was this all, he would, at
the same time, go through the manoeuvres of hitting wheelers
and leaders, without spilling a drop of his wine ; and after he
had drunk it off, he would run the empty glass up and down
the large silver buttons of his coat, with very singular eflect.
Then the following anecdote speaks to the prevalence of his
ruling passion for the coach-box. At the time to which we
have been alluding, the French revolution was raging in all its
horrors. The subject being discussed in his presence, he took
a letter from his pocket, and thus addressed those who were
present : — ' What's the French revolution to me ? Here is Bill
Simmons, the first man that ever drove the Exeter mail out of
Exeter, turned over to the heavy coach, and against his will.
Now, that is what I call a revolution ! '

There was another club formed at this time, of which it may
be imagined our hero was anxious to become a member, and
the character he had acquired in society at once secured him
his election ; for, as Johnson said to Burke, who recommended
a candidate for the Literary Club as a man of rjentle manners
— 'no more need be said.' The one now alluded to was
generally called either the ' Whip Club,' or the ' Four-in-hand
Club,' but its real title was the ' Four-horse Club.' Their
first meeting was held in April 1808; and they assembled,
afterwards, every first and third Thursday in May, and the
same in June, at the house of their president, in Cavendish
Square, whence they drove in procession to 8alt Hill, on the
Bath road, where they dined, alternately, at the two capital

inns for which that delightful village has been so celebrated

one of them, indeed, especially so, as having been the scene of
the destruction of thirteen persons in one day, from eatino-
mock turtle soup, which had been left to stand a night in
a copper vessel not properly tinned. Two guineas a head was

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THE T.TFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the price of tlicsc dinners, and the utmost good fellowship
prevailed at them. Neither were themselves only considered ;
their charities to coachmen and guards in distress were largely
dispensed, and they were the chief means of establishing the
' Benevolent Club,' which, to this day, is the refuge of such
of that class of persons as are unable to get their living in
their calling — that is to say, such as had the foresight to enrol
their names on its books. In fact, there was nothing that could
be cavilled at in the proceedings of this club, unless it might
be the somewhat unnecessary parade of the procession, which
generally contained at least a dozen teams, each hand fide
member having an honorary member on his box. Not much,
however, could be said against this ; it afforded a splendid
spectacle on a fine June morning, each member vicing with
his neighbour in the elegance and i^ropriety of his turn-out ;
and it may in truth be said, that neither before nor since has
its equal been seen in any country in the world, for the excellent
workmanship of the carriages and harness, and the superior
class of horses that were attached to them.

As may be supposed, all eyes — at least all those of the
members of the Four-horse Club — were upon Frank Raby and
his team, as he entered the square on the first morning of his
appearance ; neither were they, in any respect, disappointed.
His coach was new for the occasion ; his harness — patent
leather for pads and winches was not then known — as clean
and as shining as Lord Salton's coachman's blacking could
make it ; an extra pound of soap had been used that morning
on the horses ; and, by way of a finish, the manly and hand-
some person of the owner, becomingly dressed for the occasion,
and with a w^ell-selected houquet in his breast, produced the
coup. By his side sat his friend Hargrave, elected an honorary
member of the clvib ; and his team — the picking of his stable,
of course, having the black piebald ofi" leader — was pronounced
all-sufficient and business-like, although, as might have been
expected, not first-rate ; the premiership having been awarded
to that of Sir John Inkleton, which time and better judgment
had rendered perfect. But having mentioned his blacking, we
must not pass over the crack team of those times — that of the
Earl of Sal ton, who, although not a member of the club,
generally was on the look-out for the procession, and being, by
the superiority of his cattle, able to give any of tlie members

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the go-by wlieu lie pleased, would occasionally ainuse himself by
so doing.

It may be gathered, by what has been said oi" him, that
Lord Edmonston — although a young nobleman of a highly
honourable character, uniting prudence with liberality to a
degree not often experienced at his period of life, and, as may
also be recollected, not only a kind friend, but an affectionate
and serviceable monitor to our hero in the hour of need,
although he was at that time little known to his Lordship — was
neither a practical coachman nor sportsman — beyond driving
his own curricle, in the one case, and joining the hounds of
his neighbourhood, in the other; not so much, perhaps, from
the love of hunting, which he did not profess to understand,
as for the exercise and society which the noble pursuit afforded
him. At a dinner, then, given by Sir John Inkleton, a day or
two after one of the processions of the Four-in-hand Club had
taken place, and at which, by the introduction' of Frank Raby,
his Lordship was one of the guests, the conversation having
turned upon the doings of this very celebrated club, he was
thus heard to speak of it : —

' It may be all very well,' said his Lordship, ' for gentlemen
to drive their own carriages, wheresoever and whensoever
they like ; but it strikes me that there is too much system in
the proceedings of the Four-horse Club. There is, likewise,
in the dress of the members, too great a desire to imitate the
public coachmen, to the detriment of their own caste, as well
as of their personal appearance. I rather give the preference
to the Benson Club, inasmuch as the gratification arising from
the pursuit is equally enjoyed by the members, but in a quieter
way, and stripped of all display.'

' There is some justice in your remarks,' observed Sir John
Inkleton ; ' still I am disposed to believe that much more
of good than of harm has been the result of both of those
clubs. That great improvement has taken place in coach
travelling during the last few years — a point of innnense
importance to a commercial country, which England is— in
its various branches and departments, no one will feel dis-
posed to deny; and coach proprietors are entitled to their
meed of praise for their exertions in aiding the good cause.
I am, however, bold enough to assert that not the least, if not
the principal efficient cause has been, the great interest taken

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

in all that concerns what is called the road, by men of fortune
and judgment. Men of" mathematical and classical education,
indeed, of refined manners, and possessing humane feelings,
have made the working of a coach, drawn by four horses,
their study, as well as their amusement ; and although grave
old codgers have laughed at them, editors of newspapers pitied
them, and fine ladies felt shocked at them, the public have
reason to thank them, travellers to pray for them, and the
noblest of the brute creation, had they the faculty of speech,
might pour out their gratitude for the benefits they have
received at their hands. In the first place, they pointed out
the cruelty of enforcing, in the low-bred horse, the speed and
powers peculiar only to those possessing a certain portion of
high blood. Secondly, harness, if ill-constructed, indepen-
dently of being unsafe, is more tormentingly punishing to
horses than all the whipping that can be applied to them.
The members of these clubs improved this in many particulars^
of which, without practical experience of the defects, they
never could have been judges, and of which, in too many
instances, coach proprietors and their servants were too care-
less or too ignorant to be informed. In short, to the amateur
coachmen of England Englishmen are greatly indebted. To
them we owe the improved manners as well as morals of
modern road coachmen, amongst whom they have excited a
wholesome spirit of emulation, a creditable style of dress and
address, as well as honest pride in the condition of their
horses, cleanliness of their harness, and so forth. Coach
travelling is, as it were, metamorphosed into something
approaching to luxury, from a tedious and disgusting labour ;
and a modern stage-coach is become a beautiful object on our
roads, in the place of an unwieldy machine, at variance with
mathematical principles. There is an increase of speed with
a diminution of danger — a great point gained, and to the
accomplishment of which the improvement in axle-trees and
wheels has most materially tended. " Dry wheels make wet
horsed," is a proverb on the road ; and independently of the
safety of the patent box, in which the arm of the axle-tree
rests, the lubrication of it by the constant How of oil, by
reducing friction, is nearly equal to lialf a horse's draught.
I am (juite sure, then, that it adds much to the pleasure of
the members of those clubs, and to other amateurs of the

320

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

coach-box, to reflect that, whilst driving their own hne and
well-appointed teams, they are affording instruction and
example to their humbler and hard-working fellow-creatures,
as well as performing a patriotic and public good ; and as for
the too connnon but erroneous opinion amongst certain classes
of society, that a man cannot fre(|uent a public coach-box
without being morbidly infected in manners and good taste,
by coming in contact with one very much his inferior, the
notion is too absurd for even a comment. Did the learned
Dr. Paley suffer, either in his manners or his morals, by con-
versing, as was his custom, with every artificer he could o-et
hold of in his walks ? No, the case is quite otherwise ; and
those public coachmen who have come most in contact with
amateurs in their line, are uniformly improved by so doino-;
— they are better coachmen and better men. You hear from
them no ill language, no gross and offensive expressions — to
the female ear especially ; and what is of still more import-
ance, you are not disgusted by insolence to the inferior class
of passengers on their coaches ; neither are your feelings out-
raged by unnecessary cruelty to the animals placed under
their control, and, by consequence, at their mercy. I was
gratified, indeed, by an answer strongly corroborative of what
I have asserted, which I lately received from one of them to
my remark, that a leader in his team trotted along before the
bars, doing little beyond carrying her harness. '' Slie cannot
work, Sir John," said her coachman ; " there is nothing left in
her but a good heart, and I do not like to whip that out of
her." I made no reply ; but I silently put up a prayer, that
neither the head nor the heart of that man might ache on this
side of eternity, and that the humane expression would be found
booked to his credit on the other.'

' You have advocated your cause ably,' said Goodall ; ' and
although no coachman myself, I can neither discern folly
nor anything approaching to impropriety, in gentlemen
driving their own coaches, and entering scientifically into the
pursuit, as others do by that of the turf. All that I have
read on the subject upholds them. If the Athenians, for
example, the most polished nation of all antiquity, deemed it
a feather in their caps to be esteemed skilful charioteers, why
should Englishmen consider it a disgrace ? Does not Homer
make his Nestor the wisest man and the best coachman of

321 X

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

his day ? Does he not make Priam put, witli Ids own hands
his own horses to the car in which himself and the herald
demand the body of Hector? Is he not blamed, indeed, for
dwelling upon the description of Juno's chariot, whilst his
reader expects him to lead him into the thickest of the
battle ?—

" For why should Homer deck the gorgeous car,
Wlien our raised souls are eager for the war?
Or dwell on every wheel, when loud alarms,
And Mars, in thunder, call the host to arms ? "

But is he not so minutely faithful to this part of his subject,
that, at the funeral games of Patroclus, he represents Menelaus
borrowing one of the horses of Agamemnon (iEthe, by name,
I think) to put to his chariot with his own ? Has not the
sublimest poet that ever dipped pen into ink immortalised the
coachman in song ? Allow me, then, to propose that we drink
a bumper to " Success to the Road ! — and to all who patronise
and support it." '

' With all my heart,' said the host.

' And with all mine,' said Mr. Warburton, uncle to the
host, and who was one of the party. 'In my younger days
I was always an inside passenger whenever I chanced to travel
by a stage-coach ; but now I pay extra for the box-place, or a
front seat on the roof, for the purpose of hearing the shrewd,
and often witty remarks of the coachman to those whom he
has occasion to address, either in his calling or otherwise.
But a friend of mine thus accounts for this shrewdness, as
well as quickness and suitableness of reply : — " It is the 'pace.
tJtat does it" said he — "the increased pace at which they
travel, and quickness of their changes of horses on the road,
which are every day becoming more extraordinary. Philo-
sophers tell us," added he, " that wit consists in quickly
assembling our ideas, and putting them together in an instant."
Now, as analogy is but the resemblance between things, with
regard to circumstances or effects, may there not be some-
thing akin to analogy betwixt putting ideas together quickly,
and taking one set of horses from, and putting another set to,
a coach in little more than sixty seconds of time ? Certainly,
as far as my experience has gone, the faster the coach, the
more sharp and ready has been its coachman with all his

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

remarks and replies, and compressing what they have to say-
in as small a space as possible ; and I witnessed, a short time
back, one very laughable instance of it. At the first change
out of London, after the coach had stopped, perhaps three-
fourths of a minute, a passenger put his head out of the window,
and asked the coachman if he could have some breakfast.
" Yes, sir," he replied (he was at that moment in the act of
gathering the reins into his hand, the fresh horses having been
put to the coach), "if you can eat it whilst I can count
twenty ; " and, springing on to his box, he was off, leaving his
passenger to his meditations.'

It was in the course of this summer that our hero first
attended the renowned Bibury race-meeting, then in the zenith
of its glory, and he was elected one of its members neinine
contradicente. In fact, he was exactly the sort of person
calculated for it. In the first place, there was no lack of
means ; in the next, he had purchased a horse in training, said
to be likely to win what is called the ' Welter Stakes,' the best
of the meeting;, and so called because the weight carried was
thirteen stone for all ages. And he had a twofold object in
view, with respect to this horse. If he did not win the stakes,
he was convinced he would make him a capital hunter, from
his great power and size. But who was to be his jockey ? ' I
will ride him myself,' said he ; 'I can ride the weight on a light
saddle.'

' Surely not,' observed Hargrave ; ' 3^ou never rode a race in
your life ; and you are aware that you will have to contend
against all the best gentlemen jockeys of the day.'

' There must be a beginning to everything,' replied Frank
Raby, ' as well as an end. It is true I have never ridden a race,
but I have seen many ridden, and heard the instructions given
to the jockeys, who tried my two Oaks fillies twice, in private ;
and also when they came to the post. I know pretty well
what a horse can do under such a weight as mine.'

' And have you backed your horse to win ^ ' resumed Har-
grave.

'Only to a small amount,' replied Raby — -'just enough to
give me an additional interest in the race. I have taken 200
to 20 against him from O'Hara the " leg," whom you see there
on the grey horse, with winkers to his bridle.'

It was at this period that George iv., when Prince of

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Wales, was a constant attendant of Bibury race-couivse, being
domiciled for the week at the Earl of Sherborne's, whose
mansion and park are about four miles distant from the
course- — a beautiful grass drive leading from one to the other.
As his Royal Highness had a horse in the stakes, he was
anxious to see his competitors, and at length cast his eye
upon Nam.ele.ss, which was the name of our hero's nag.
' What horse is that ? ' demanded the Prince.
' Nameless, by King Fergus, out of Mary, by Herod,' was
the answer.

' He is a tine horse,' continued the Prince : ' ^^'ho rides
him ? '

' His owner, Mr. Raby, our new member, sir,' said Colonel
Leigh.

' Oh,' said the Prince, smilingly ; ' we have not much to
fear from /t m)i ; , he is a fine young man, and, I hear, very good
across a country, for his years, but, if it comes to a race, he
will have a poor chance against Lord Solville, and half a dozen
of the old hands that are here to-day.'

We will, ho we vet", repeat the communication between our
hero and his trainer, an hour before the race, and then give
the result.

' Now, sir, if you please,' said his trainer, ' the bell has
rung for saddling, and you will soon be at work. Excuse my
saying a word or two to you before starting, as it will be too
late afterwards. Your horse is well, and that is a great point,
and I think he will run a good horse. But pray don't be in
too big a hurry to get home, which is the great fault of all
young race-riders. Your horse will be in a hurr}', for he is a
free goer in his work ; but you have strength enough to keep
him back. But mind this, above all things — don't lie out of
your ground, but get away with the front horses, and keep
with them as long as you can, and head tliem at last, if you
are able. I do not think you can win ; nevertheless, do not
throw away a chance. Take three good pulls at your horse,
the last within a distance of home, and if this plan will not
enable you to win, it will be your horse's fault, and not j^our
own. Now, let me give you a leg ; and when I have mounted
my hack, you shall give your horse a gallop with me, to let
him feel his leg^s. It need not be a longf one, for thirteen stone
is a cruel weight on a race-horse.'

324

THE LIFE OF A SPOllTSMAN

' It is so,' replied Raby ; ' but I approve of the iirincix)le ;
it encourages the breeding of powerful thorough-bred horses,
which at present are very scarce. I was at Newmarket in the
Craven meeting, and I did not see half a dozen horses in
training, equal to my weight over a country.'

Now then for the race. Fourteen horses came to the post,
and, after one false start, all got away except one, who reared
and fell back upon his rider, but without materially injuring
him. Our hero, upon Nameless, got a good place in the ruck,
which he kept three parts of the way, riding strictly to orders.
In fact, he looked very much like a winner half a mile from
home, his hands being quietly down, and the fourth out of six
that were in front, with all the rest beaten oti'.

' Nameless is winning,' roars O'Hara ; ' by the powers, but
I shall lose my £200 ! '

But Nameless did )iot win. His rider let him loose too soon,
and, forgetting the advice of his trainer, to give him the third
pull, was beaten a clear length by the two leading horses, who
contested the race to a head— the Prince's horse winning by
the admirable jockeyship of Lord Solville.

And now for the scene at the scales.

' You made but one mistake, sir,' said his trainer ; ' and
that was a fatal one. Had you recollected what I told you,
and pulled back, or, I should rather say, eased, your horse a
little within 200 yards from home, you could not have lost the
race. Depend on it, you have the best horse of the field,
but you were beaten by being outridden by my Lord and
Mr. Burrell, as I feared you would be, if it came to a race,
which it did. I never saw finer riding at Newmarket than
what my Lord showed us to-day. He took a pull at his horse
not a hundred yards from home, and won his race by so doing,
for the other horse had the best of it up to that time. Onlj^
think what a thing a pull must be to a horse at the end of two
miles, with thirteen stone on his back, and in such a fast-run
race as this ! '

' I certainly lost the race,' replied our hero, ' by omitting
the pull within the distance, according to your directions;
but the fact was, my horse appeared to me to be running over
his horses, pulling so very hard, that, thinking I had the
race in hand, I was unwilling to pull him back, from fear of
putting him out of his stroke, or causing him to change his leg.'

325

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Well, sir,' resumed the trainer, ' the mischief is done now,
and it cannot be undone. I told you, your horse was ivell,
and that he would run a good horse ; but mind this in future
— do not only not forget the pull at the proper time and place,
but likewise that some horses pull hardest when they are most
beaten. Your horse, however, was not beaten ; all he wanted was
a moment's ease, when he would have come again, and headed
his horses in style.'

It is in the nature of emulation to know no bounds. Our
hero was by no means satisfied with his own performance ;
and excited a little by the remarks of some of the party with
whom he dined after the race, that his horse could have won
the Welter if he had had a better jockey on his back, resolved
on attempting to redeem his credit. Sending for his trainer,
then, he thus addressed him : —

' I should like to run the race over again which I lost
to-day ; I think I can beat both those horses by a different
system of riding. I wish you would see the trainer of each as
soon as possible, and propose a match — same weight and
distance — for 500 guineas a side. Try the Prince's man first,
and, if he decline, make the same proposal to the trainer of the
second horse.'

' I must obey your orders, of course, sir,' replied the trainer,
' but allow me first to ask you how you mean to ride your horse,
should your offer be accepted ? '

' I mean to make running from end to end, and not to wait,
as I did before,' answered our young sportsman ; ' I am con-
vinced that my horse was the stoutest in the race yesterday,
and that, if I had made strong running with him from the
post, I should have cut down my competitors.'

' Well, sir,' replied the trainer, ' I will go and see what
I can do to forward your wishes, but I think it my duty to
tell you that, for a young jockey, you are about to under-
take '

' We will talk about your duty, etc., at another time,' said
Raby ; ' go directly and see the trainers, as they soon will be
in bed. Send for me out of the club-room, and tell me what
they sa3^'

In less than half an hour, the following result was convej'ed
to him : —

' I have seen both trainers, Mr. Raby,' said Mr. Lilly, for

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that was the name of the artist who brought Nameless to the
post 'Tlic Prince's man declines, as his horse has a heavy
match over his head ; but Bliss says, he doubts not but that
Mr Portn.orc will accept your challenge, and that you shall
have his answer in the morning. But, sir,' continued Lilly,
' had you not better consider further before '

' No time for considering now/ said our hero ; ' I must return
to my porty, and will see you in the morning.'

As our hero sat at his breakfast, in company with his friends
Inkleton, Hargrave, and Goodall, the following note was brought
him : —

< gjj^

'My trainer informs me that you propose a match between
Nameless and Antonio, same weight and distance, as likewise
riders as for the Welter yesterday, for 500 guineas, P. P. I
admii^ your spirit in making this offer, after the event of yester-
day, but, being an older man than yourself, and somewhat
more experienced, perhaps, in racing ailairs, I think it only
fair to say that I ought to give you three pounds. On these
conditions, my horse shall be at the post on Thursday, after the
last race of the day. Your early answer will oblige,

' Yours faithfully, etc.,

' A. PORTMORE.

'To Franfis Raby, Esq.'

' Well,' exclaimed Sir John Inkleton, ' Portmore acts, as he
always acts, the part of an honourable man.'

' The three pounds may give you the race,' exclaimed Har-
grave ; ' but don't forget the pull.'

' I will back you for a pound or two,' said Goodall, although
I know so little of racing as to be almost incredulous as to three
pounds being an advantage worth speaking about in such a
weight as you propose to carry.'

' My good fellow,' said Fairfax, who entered the room at that
moment T' the key of the stable-door once lost the trial between
two of the first race-horses of the day.'

' An old woman's story/ exclaimed our hero ; ' but (pulling
the bell hastily at the moment) I'll have none of his three
pounds. I'll run the match at evens, and lay another £500

I win it.'

827

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

On the waiter appearing with .some lettei -paper, and being
ordered to send immediately for Lilly, the following answer was
penned, and as instantly dispatched to Mr. Portmore : —

' Dear Sir, —

' I feel, as I ought to feel, the handsome conditions on
which you offer to accept my challenge to run Antonio against
Nameless, on Thursday, same weight, etc., etc., as in the
Welter stakes : but so satisfied am I that, as far as concerned
my horse, it was yesterday, from end to end, a false run race,
that I am unwilling to alter the terms proposed by me.
Should I be beaten, myself alone will be to blame ; and it
may act as a salutary lesson to nie through life, not to persist
in my own opinion contrary to that of those who are more
experienced than myself. I herewith send you the articles of
the match, signed on my part, and on your signature being
attached, my horse shall be at the post on the day, and at the
time stated in your letter,

' Believe me, dear Sir,
', ' Faithfully and obliged,

' Francis Raby.

'To the Hon. A. Portmore, etc., etc'

Within another half-hour, the parties met in the street, and
our hero was informed by his antagonist that the articles of the
match were signed, and already in the hands of the steward ;
and in ten minutes more, the following conversation took place
between the owner of Nameless and his trainer : —

' Well, sir,' said Mr. Lilly, ' I find you have made your match,
and I wish we may pull through. I find you will not have the
three pounds. I think, sir, you should have taken it. Never
throw away a chance in racing. Three pounds at such high
weight, to be sure, is not much to get, but it is something.
They are betting six to four against us in the town, and I
daresay it will be seven.'

' So much the better,' replied Raby, ' as I may be able to
hedge some of my money, if I alter my opinion of the event
by to-morrow — not that I think it likely I shall do so. But
what is it, Lilly, that you consider your duty to tell me, respect-
ing the match '( '

' Why, sir,' replied Lilly, ' if I understand 3^ou right, you
are going to perform almost the most difficult act a jockey is

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THE IJKE OF A SPORTSIMAN

called upon to perform. Nothing-, next to the struggle of the
last few yards between two horses very nearly equal — which
we call the set-to — is so difficult in racing horsemanship as
making running by a jockey, solely for the benefit of the horse
he himself is riding. In otlier words, it requires the ex-
perience of some years in a jockey to be a good judge of pace,
that is, of not merely the pace he himself is going, but how
that pace affects other liorses in the race. And tliis task is
more difficult with some horses than with others, and especi-
ally— though this will not be your case — with idle or lurching
horses, which, when leading, require urging by the hand or
the leg every yard they go. In this case, the jockey works
hard to keep his horse going. He has to use his hands, arms,
legs, and feet, and occasionally to turn his head round, with
all his limbs in action at one and the same moment, and yet
not disturb his horse's action ; and all this in addition to great
anxiety of mind lest he should upset his horse, and so lose the
race. I have heard Frank Buckle say, at Newmarket, that he
never knows what it is to be miserable except when he has to
make running over the Beacon course, with Sam Chifney and
William Clift behind him.'

We will now bring our hero to the post, having profited by
the sensible remarks of his trainer so far as to make him
aware that he had taken upon himself a hazardous task ; but
feeling convinced in his own mind that he lost the Welter by
not making running, he was now resolved to do so, it being his
only chance to win.

' Is your book full, sir ? ' said one of the betting fraternity to
him, as he was about to mount his horse.

' I have no book on the occasion,' was the answer ; ' I
have not a shilling on the event, except the 500 on the
match.'

' I'll bet you G to 4 against your horse, sir — 120 to 80, if you
please, sir,' resumed the leg.

' No,' answered Raby, in somewhat of a surly tone, and he
was immediately lifted into his saddle. As he rode quietly
out of the crowd, towards an open part of the course, on which
he could give his horse a gallop, he was thus addressed by his
trainer : —

' Now, sir, it will be a great event in your life if you can
beat this crack horse with so good a jockey as Mr. Burrell on

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

his Lack. All I can say of your horse is, he is well — better,
I think, than he was on Tuesday ; and I question whether
Antonio has quite forgotten Tuesday's race. Then you will
liave an advantage to-day, if you mean to make running,
which you had not on Tuesday, You will be able to make
your turns — and there are plenty of them on this course —
without losing ground, which you did on Tuesday among the
crowd. But pray, sir, don't forget the pull a short distance
from home. I have backed you for a hundred.'

' No fear of that,' replied our hero ; ' but if it comes to a
very near thing at the last, should I use my whip, or only
spur my horse ? '

'Why, sir,' said Lilly, 'all good jockeys avoid the use of
the whip as much as possible. When a race-horse is in the
fullest exercise of his powers, and doing his best, it is un-
necessary, for it cannot make him do more ; but a severe blow
from a whip often does harm, particularly if it falls under the
flank, which is a very tender place, on account of the thinness
of the skin. Instead of its having the effect of making a horse
extend himself over a large surface of ground, it may have
([uite a contrary effect, from his '^shutting himself up," as we
call it, or shrinking to avoid the blows. The spur, properly
used, is a much better instrument for increasing the speed of
a horse, although there are times when the application of the
whip, or the mere act of flourishing it in the hand, is eminently
serviceable to a jockey — I mean, in case his horse swerves to
one side of the course or the other, or towards other horses in
the race, or exhibits symptoms of running out, or bolting. To
be sure, a jockey ought to be able to use his whip with vigour
when necessary, and, like Sam Chifney, witli his left hand, as
well as with his right, in case of his losing what is called the
whip hand, when he cannot use it at all with his right. I
would, however, recommend you, sir, not to use your whip at
all. Yours is a free-going horse ; he will run his own race ;
all you have to do will be to take care not to upset him ; and,
if it comes to a struggle at the last, try what the spur will do.
I tell all young jockeys, especially, that they may do more
harm by letting go one hand from the bridle, to use the whip,
than the whip does good. Hold your horse hard by the head
to the last ; shake him by the head to rouse him, if it comes
to a near thing, and give him a few digs with }our spurs.'

330

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

The crowd at the startino--post evinced the interest which
this race created, and several opinions were expressed.

' The young one is a bold man,' said the Prince, ' to attempt
to tackle George Burrell, and on a beaten horse.'

' And to refuse the three pounds ! ' exclaimed a bystander.

' Bring the young one in handsomely, George,' said a
third.

'They are off! Ha! ha!' exclaimed an old hand on the
turf ; ' the young one means to make short work of it.'

' A short life and a merry (nie,' said another, who had laid
7 to 4 against him in fifties.

' Don't be too sure of that,' exclaimed Lilly ; ' the blood of
King Fergus and Herod is no bad cross.'

' If he can live that pace home,' said one wdio had taken
the odds, ' ho will do : the young one seems to know what he
is about.'

In the form in which they .started — the young one taking
the lead, followed very closely by Mr. Burrell — did they con-
tinue this most interesting and, strange to say, heavy betting-
race for the first mile and a half, our hero being observed to
keep a steady pull upon his horse, without the least appear-
ance of having upset him by the severe play he had made,
looking back at his opponent, when a good opportunity pre-
sented itself, after the manner of an experienced jockey, and
sitting as tight and steady on his saddle as though he and his
horse were one. At the last turn of the course, a good half-
mile from home, alarm became apparent in those who had
backed him to lose, and exclamations such as these were
heard : —

' The young one's hands are down,' says one.

' Yes, and quiet,' observes another.

'I'll bet an even hundred on the young one,' roars
O'Hara.

' Done wdth you,' says Lord Marley.

' I'll bet 6 to 4 on the young one,' roars Nightingale, with
a small telescope to his eye ; no one answered.

' It's all over but shouting,' exclaims Lilly ; ' Antonio's as
dead as a hammer.'

Now, then, for the result. The trainer's figure of speech
was not carried out to the letter. Antonio was not dead, and
only dead beat. In fact, he was beaten in the first mile, but

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THE j.ifp: of a sportsman

our hero cainc in n clear length in front, and without stirring
a hand, still less a foot. The congratulations of his friends
were boundless, as he approached the scales to weigh, and his
trainer, Mr. Lilly, seemed as happy as if he had won the
Derby.

' This will do,' said he to a friend, as he led Nameless from
the scales; 'we shall have this young one another time. But,
upon my soul, he has surprised me ; he seems to want no
teaching. How like an old one he talks, and how well he rode
this race ! '

And what said the renowned George Burrell, nearly the best
of the Bibury jockeys ?

' The Prince was in luck,' said he, ' to win the Welter, with
a better horse in the race. Had it been run as this has been
run. Nameless would have been a length before us all, and hard
held too. He is an extraordinary horse, you may depend upon
it. Try and buy him,' said he, in a whisper, to a friend who
was by his side ; ' he will win the Welter next year, to a
certainty. I could not more than live with him the first mile
and a half, and as to heading him afterwards, that was out of
the question. And he was not badly ridden.'

' Bravo, Frank ! ' exclaimed Hargrave ; ' you won your race
in style. Pity is it that you cannot ride lighter, for you would
make a capital jockey in a very short time.'

' Who would have thoupht it ? ' ^rumbled O'Hara ; ' bad luck
to the garran that I backed ! '

' Garran ! ' exclaimed Lord Marley ; ' Nameless is the
best horse of the year at this weight. I wish he were
mine.'

' I beg your pardon, Mr. Raby,' said Colonel Leigh, approach-
ing our hero, as he walked away from the weighing-stand ;
' the Prince wishes to know whether you are disposed to part
with your horse, and, if so, you will be pleased to name your
price.'

' Present my duty to the Prince, sir,' replied Raby, ' and
please to tell his Royal Highness Nameless is not for sale. I
intend to make a hunter of him.'

' What ! ' exclaimed Fairfax, who was at his elbow, ' make
a hunter of a horse that could have won one of the best stakes
in England this year, and is nearly certain of winning it
next ! '

332

THE r.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' He shall never have another plate on his foot,' resumed
our hero ; ' but I hope to see many a o-ood fox killed, on his
back.'

It is written of Alcibiades, the Athenian general, that he
gave an entertainment to all the spectators who witnessed the
success of his horse in winning the three grand prizes on the
Olympic race-course — a snug little party, if we are to credit
the accounts given of the multitudes assembled on such occa-
sions. In liumble imitation of so memorable an example, our
hero gave a dinner, on the evening of his victory over Antonio,
at the Bull Inn, in Burford, to a large party of his acquaint-
ances, at which, in newspaper phraseology, 'the utmost con-
viviality prevailed to a very late hour ; ' not only, indeed,
until the cock crowed on his perch, but until the sun peeped
through the blood-red curtains of the bay-windowed banquet-
ing-room of the said Bull Inn. Champagne at a guinea a
bottle, and claret at fifteen shillings — the pi-ices charged to
some old, and to all young, gentlemen of those days, at race
times especially — flowed like water from the limpid stream ;
and devilled turkey and bishop, after the Christchurch fashion,
formed the topping-up of the feast. In short, there was
nothing wanted but another Euripides to celebrate the day by
an ode.

And what were the topics of the evening 'i Racino-, and
nothing else, merely occasionally interrupted by a casual
remark on some particular toast. And what the pith of the
discussion ? Why, that racing was very amusing to those who
merely witnessed it, but, to those who engaged in its mysteries,
the most uncertain, general)}' unsatisfactor}', and expensive
pursuit that a gentleman can possibly enter into. The only
exception to this opinion was Fairfax (a hundred tliousand
pounds the worse now, by-the-ljj'e, in expectation, by his father's
proceedings on tlie turf, as already mentioned in these pao-es),
who declared tliat he thought every man who possessed money,
and a good head for calculation, mu.sf make money b}^ racing*-.
' Then the breeding of race-horses,' added he, ' what an interest-
ing pursuit is that • '

' Interesting, indeed,' said Sii- John Inkleton : but I believe
the calculation is a hundred and fifty per cent, loss on
all thorough-bred stock, as far as their own intrinsic value
is concerned. What they may do when in training is another

333

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

point, unconnected Math the breeding of them ; Ijut I believe
the calculation is not more than one winner in twenty that
come to the post, after all charges are paid. I attended a sale
of racing colts a short time back. The two-year colts and fillies
averaged ninety-three pounds ; the yearlings fifty-seven. Not
one of the lot was bred and reared for these several sums. And
now, Frank,' resumed Sir John, ' you know you were once
nicely diddled by a trainer ; are j^ou certain all has been right
throughout with Mr. Lilly and Nameless ? '

' I have no reason to think otherwise,' replied Frank.

' But why did he tell you to wait on your horses in the Welter
race,' continued the Baronet, ' when j^ou found out, by experience
of your horse in only one race, that stoutness, and not speed,
was the best, and that, had you made running, and not waited,
you would have won, and cleverly too ? '

' He must be a fool,' observed our hero.

' No fool,' resumed Sir John ; ' his remarks to you on the
second day, when he had backed your horse heavily to win,
disproves that charge.'

' Then he is a rogue,' said Raby.

' I do not go that length,' said Sir John ; ' but it has an
awkward appearance, and a burnt child alwa3''s dreads the
fire.'

' Well,' resumed our hero, ' whether fool or rogue, concerns
me but little. Before this time to-morrow his bill will be
discharged. Nameless will be on the road to Farndon, and my
racing career will be at an end. In the first place, I do not
understand the system, and I have reason to believe it would
cost me a very large sum to learn it. In tlie next, one pursuit
of this nature is as much as any man, situated as I am
situated, ought to have on his hands at one time ; in my opinion,
between hunting and racing there is no difficulty in tlie choice.
In the one, every man you meet with is your friend — in the
other, your foe ; which a rival either for fame or money must
more or less be considered to be. Besides, I am very partial
to my coach-box, as well as to the humble but satisfactory
pleasures arising from a country life ; and, what is more, one
day or another I hope to be a master of fox-hounds. I confess
I should like to^ee myself the winner of a Derby, an Oaks, or
a St. Leger, because I an^ of opinion that when once a man
enters upon any pursuit, he should not stop until he have

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

exhibited some mark of distinctive excellence ; but the odds
against my accomplishing either of these hazardous and diflScult
\indertakings are very great indeed. Then again, I think my
father is averse to my being on the turf ; he often makes his
boast that, with the exception of a nomination to a cup at the
county races, the name of Raby has never been associated Avith
any gambling speculation whatsoever; and, although you are
all aware that I am now independent of him, and must succeed
to his estates, should I survive him, I should violate my feelings
by doing anything that he greatly dislikes.'

' Bravo ! ' said Sir John. ' Bravo ! ' cried Hargrave.
' Fox-hunting and the coach-box against all the racing in
the world ! ' resumed the former. ' Fox-hunting for ever ! '
exclaimed Hargrave ; ' and I vote that we drink it in a
bumper.' The bumper was drunk, and the room rang with
applause.

On the following day, this meeting closed with six well-
contested races for stakes amounting, in the whole, to £1100,
which, when looking back to the parent meeting at Burford,
when the horses of the Dukes of Marlborough and Beaufort,
Earls Abingdon and Ossory, Lords Ched worth and Oxford,
Messrs. Vernon, Button, Pigot, and Foley, all of high blood,
and names renowned on the turf, were contending, at heats, for
a fifty-pound plate, shows what rapid strides i-acing has made
within the last seventy years, and also how much the value of
money has diminished — at all events, the estimation of it
lessened by that description of persons. But nothing in the
shape of a race-meeting could have been more delightful than
Bibury was at the time in which our hero became a member
of the club, composed, as it was, of the first sporting aristocracy
of the day, with the heir-apparent to the crown at the head of
them, on his cropped roan hack, with merely a pad groom be-
hind him, with his surtout strapped to his back, and discoursing
with his associates in all the atfability of a private gentleman.
And a striking instance of this occurred, as regarded the hero
of our tale.

' Introduce Mr. Raby to me,' said his Royal Highness to Lord
Solville, as he saw him approaching him on the course : ' he is
a fine young man, and I am glad that you have got him into
the club.'

The introduction took place on the spot, and the Prince thus

335

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

expressed himself, in his usual elegantly familiar style, upon
this occasion : ^ —

' Well, Mr. Raby, you have made your debut very much to
your satisfaction, and I must tell you, to mine. In the first
place, I am olad that you have become a member of Bibury ;
and, in the next, your trainer gave me the Welter by a false
estimate of your horse. You would have beaten me if you had
not waited on your horses. However, a jockey should obey
orders, you know, Mr. Raby, unless he finds a very good reason
for disregarding them. Lilly is a clever fellow, but he certainly
made a mistake, which you have great credit for correcting,
and entirely on your own judgment. You will be a match for
us all in a very short time. And how is your excellent
mother ? I knew Lady Charlotte Raby well in early days,
and once danced a minuet with her. Pray tell her I inquired
after her.'

' You do her great honour, sir,' replied Raby ; ' I shall carefully
obey your Royal Highness 's commands.'

' So you are going to make a hunter of Nameless,' continued
the Prince.

' I am, sir,' answered our hero.

' And a good hunter he will make,' said the Prince, ' with so
good a horseman on his back.'

Our hero bowed, and the Prince moved on.

But a word or two of Lord Solville, who was, as has been
stated, at the Prince's side at the moment. The Prince had a
horse called Ploughater, that was a most difficult horse to ride.
He was not only a determined hard puller in his races, but
went very much on his shoulders, with his nose nearly sweep-
in o- the ground. It is needless to observe that a horse of this
description required a va.st deal of riding ; and it was said at
the time that no member of the club, but Lord Solville, could
ride him as he ought to be ridden, and hitherto he had never
lost a race upon him. On the third day of this meeting, how-
ever, his Lordship rode him to his cost. So great was his
exertion in pulling him together, in rather a sharply contested
race, that no sooner had he dismounted from his back, than a
blood-vessel burst witliin liim. Medical aid was resorted to,

^ There is every reason to believe that the week passed by the Prince, during
Bibury meeting, when he felt himself thoroughly divested of the shackles of state
and royalty, was to him the pleasantest of the Avhole year.

336

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

and on the next day but one his Lordship appeared on the
course, on his hack, with a countenance pale and wan, indica-
tive of the loss he had sustained. But mark the pluck of the
man ! Plougliater was to walk over for a stake, and his Lord-
ship mounted him for the purpose, despite of the remonstrance
of his owner. As it happened, no ill consequences were the
result. His Lordship rode as usual at the forthcoming meeting
at Bibury, and in a style seldom excelled by tlie best profes-
sional jockeys of the day, and, with a ducal coronet over his
head, is now alive and heart-whole, and as good a specimen of
an English Duke as England could wish to see. His brother,
the Hon. George German, second only to him in the gentle-
man's racing-saddle, has paid the debt of nature. The
gentlemen jockeys of that day underwent all the privations
and discipline of those who get their living by riding races ;
and it has been observed, that the greater part of them have
preserved their health and vigour to an extraordinary degree.
The preparation for riding races, however, if not carried to too
great an extent, is allowed to be most salutary, and there is a
passage in Xenophon's Cyropcedia, in corroboration of this fact.
Cyrus never suffered his men to go to their meals, not having
been sweated. This, it appears, was effected either by taking
them out a-hunting, or by inventing'such sports as would cause
them to sweat.

On our hero's arrival in London, he found the following letter
from his father : —

' My dear Frank, —

' You are aware that it was the earnest desire of your late
uncle, and it is likewise mine, that you should occupy a seat
in the senate. It will be an admirable introduction into good
society, and give you an importance in your own eyes and in
those of others, to which, by circumstances, you are entitled.
I have reason to believe a very small sum will secure you a
seat for the borough of Riply, and I am willing to find the
needful. Let me request, then, that you will immediately
proceed thither, and my friend Sir Richard Hartley will
propose you to the electors, as well as arrange everytliing that
may be necessary towards securing your return for the borough.
Observe, it is not quite a close borough ; but I understand
there will be no opposition to any one put in nomination by Sir

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Richard. We are all well here. I have heard of your success
at Bibury, but know not whether to congratulate you, being no
friend to the dangerous pursuit of racing. Out of five of my
fellow collegians who have pursued it, three ruined themselves
past recovery. Reflect upon this, and let me have your innne-
diate decision respecting Riply.

' In haste, your affectionate father,

' Andrew Raby.

' Anistead Abbey, June 25th, 1809.'

The following reply to the foregoing epistle was dispatched
b}^ return of the post : —

' My dear Father, —

' It would ill become me to refuse complying, in any respect,
with the " earnest desire " of either my late uncle or yourself.
I have only to say, then, that, although I have not the slightest
wish to be in Parliament, nor the slightest idea that I shall be
of any use when I am there, beyond a silent vote, nevertheless,
I am willing to take the step that seems so near to yovir heart.
I will proceed to Riply to-morrow, or next day, and of course
you will write to Sir Richard, and arrange all things necessary
with him. The on dit here is, that I am to be opposed by a
rich sugar-baker from the city — if so, money will be wanted
beyond the mere usual expenses of the return ; and I honestly
tell you that, after having gained a victory over the second
best gentleman jockey at Bibury, I should not relish being
beaten by a city sugar-baker over another course — still less to
spend my own money in the contest. To use your own words,
then, touching racing, "reflect on this." Suppose, when we
come to the post, it should be 6 to 9 on the sugar-baker, and
I hear he is not only very rich, but a very sharp fellow, and
can make use of his tongue. All things considered, I had,
perhaps, better await the answer to this letter before I set
forward to Riply.

' Now then for a word on another subject. You need not
longer hesitate as to your offer of congratulation on my success
at Bibury. It would have been greater, had I used my own
judgment in opposition to that of my trainer, and I should
have won the great prize of the meeting, in the room of the
Prince of Wales. To show you, however, that I am not vain

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of m}^ triumph over cither horse or man, I have made my bow
to the turf, leaving it to those who are better fitted for it tlian I
am — in other words, to those to whose tastes it is more con-
genial than I have found it to be to mine. There is too much
mystery in it to please me ; added to a sort of mutual suspicion
amongst its votaries, that all are rogues together. That such
is not the case we are well assured, by the numbers of honour-
able men who are amongst tliem ; but, to speak the truth at
once, I think, compared with fox-hunting, it is a very low
pursuit.

' By the way, the mention of the Prince reminds me that
his Royal Highness did me the honour to have me introduced
to him ; passed some compliments on my horse and horse-
manship, and in his usual — -I believe inimitable — elegantly
familiar style, inquired kindly after my mother, reminding me
that they had danced a minuet together in their younger days.
Glad to hear you are well, and renjain

' Your very affectionate son,

'Francis Raby

'Bond Street, June 27, 1809.' (' M.P. in abeyance).

The next day but two having brought the answer from
Mr. Raby, to the effect that he would find the needful for the
contest, should such take place, adding that he was not to be
frightened out of his object by a sugar-baker, wealthy as he
might be, and how ' sweetly soever he might discourse,' Frank
Raby ordered four post-horses to his travelling carriage the
next morning, and arrived at Riply the same night. On the
morrow he called on Sir Richard Hartley, whose fine seat was
in the neighbourhood, and the following was the result of the
interview :

' Glad to see you at Wortham,' said Sir Richard ; ' your
father seems bent upon your being in Parliament, and on our
borough becoming vacant, wrote to me to know whether you,
as a friend and nominee of mine, would walk over the course.
I told him, in reply, I thought you would; and as to my
interest, he made sure of that, on the score of our mutual
regard. I have, however, since learnt that an eminent suo-ar-
baker in the city has a mind to aspire to the honour ; and, as
he is full of money, he may, perhaps, cause us some trouble.'

' ]\Iy father has told me as much by letter,' replied Frank

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Raby ; ' and I must say I am somewhat surprised at his avowal
of being prepared to spend money for my return to Parliament,
for which I have no desire, and, moreover, I fear I should be of
little service to my country when I am there, having no turn
for politics.'

' You will not stand alone in that respect,' observed Sir
Richard, ' for the business of the country is, and ever will be,
conducted b}' a few ; but as the effects of a good education
sometimes shine brilliantly when least expected, I see no
reason why you are not to take your part in the business of this
great country. Your poor uncle Beaumont would have made a
first-rate statesman, if he could have aroused himself into
action ; but want of energy is not your failing.'

' Not in pursuits congenial to my taste,' replied Raby : ' no
man works harder than I do in the hunting season, but I
should not like to be shut up in the House till four o'clock in
the morning, and, perhaps, be put on a committee the same
day. Then only fancy half a dozen calls of the House in the
very best part of the hunting season ! '

To cut the matter short, we will at once proceed to the
nomination day, and, politics being inadmissible here, merely
give an outline of the proceedings, and jump at once to the
result. On a show of hands, a majority appeared for
Mr. Raby ; but the sugar-baker demanding a poll, instantly
addressed the electors, and with no small effect. He not only
promised them everything that a member of Parliament could
obtain for them, but, of course, a great deal more ; and what
was left undone by his purse, he endeavoured to effect by his
tongue. And in truth he was not deficient in the use of it ;
for, although his eloquence was of a noisy and boisterous
order, consisting more in the vehemence of his utterance, and
the violence of his action and gesture, than in the elegance of
his style, or the strength of his reasoning, he had a readiness
of wit, with a kind of low drollery, that took with the populace,
although with better judges it only passed for impudence and
buffoonery. On the other hand, the appearance and deport-
ment of his opponent were quite of a different order. He
simply thanked the electors for the preference they had given
him in that, the first stage of the contest — if contest it was
about to be — and assured them that, if they did him the
honour to elect him, he would endeavour to merit their

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

favour. He concluded liis address, however, with this pithy
sentence : —

* You have required no pledges from me, gentlemen, and
you have done wisely, for none would I have given you. If it
be your pleasure to return me to Parliament, as the repre-
sentative of yourselves and your interests, I will endeavour to
do my duty ; but I can only consent to be placed there with
the liberty to speak my own sentiments, and vote as my con-
science directs me. There is, however, one assurance which
you may accept as a pledge. I will, to the best of my ability,
support the crown, and the ancient institutions of the realm
both in church and state, which the example of a neighbouring-
country, so lately torn by dissensions in each of these depart-
ments, has induced many to assail. I am too young in years
to appeal to experience, and my reading, rather than my
experience, has led me to believe that there is no certain pro-
tection for either person or property under democratic sway,
and that Great Britain is the only nation in the world where
liberty is the direct end of its constitution. I can only add,
then, E>^to perpetua.'

Here voices in the crowd exclaimed — ' Go on ! — Look at
America ! '

' Well,' continued our hero, ' I will look at America, and
to what can I compare her ? Why, to one of those lofty and
umbrageous trees which grow so bulky, and stretch out their
branches to such an extent, that the trunk is no longer able to
sustain their weight.'

' Well done, the young one ! ' exclaimed an oldish man, in a
leathern apron, having somewhat the appearance of a journey-
man shoemaker. ' Go on ! '

' What were the republics of antiquity ? ' exclaimed a better
dressed man in black, not very unlike a dissenting minister.

' Well,' observed our young candidate, ' I will tell you
what tltey were. They were the mature result of profound
political science. In their formation, the deepest resources of
philosophy were explored ; the most enlightened sages con-
sulted ; and every aid which history, experience, or example of
other states could afford, adopted. It is true, they flourished
for periods, under the auspices of consummate wisdom and
bravery, but their glory, in many instances, was but short-
lived. In fact, it was oftentimes confined to the lustre of a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

single life. For example, the splendour of Thebes commenced
with the public character of the celebrated Epaminondas, and
declined from the moment of his death. In fact, the maxims
by which their Governments were supported are impracticable
in a populous country, such as England. They afford too
many opportunities for caballing, and betray the mass of the
people into rebellion and outrage. Between the patrician and
plebeian orders the struggle is ardent and unceasing, and then
look to the result. When the former prevail, despotism
ensues; and if the latter succeed, anarchy is the inevitable
consequence. Who but a madman would expect to revive the
stern politics of ancient nations, without their genius, their
extreme austerity, their rigid discipline, and their severe
morality ? But one lesson is given us in the construction and
proceedings of some of those celebrated commonwealths, which
were the wonder and admiration of the world for a long period
of years. They preserved their purity and vigour, and reached
the summit of unrivalled excellence, not only by instituting
the best laws, and executing them in the best manner, but by
delegating the power of the community to none hut the best
onen. Let us not, then, surrender a form of government
which has made us happy at home, and respected abroad, for
one which cannot, under present circumstances, be realised
without having a contrary effect. We should substantiate the
fable of chasing Juno, and plunging into a cloud. The
old family mansion which our forefathers have inhabited so
long, may want repair, but those who would level it with
the ground, or change it for another, would soon find their
mistake.'

' But tlie taxes ' ' says a care-worn elector, the father of eleven
children.

' I have an answer for you,' said our hero, ' in a few words.
Without taxes you could have no protection, because you
could have no Government; and with reflecting persons, the
(jpportunities affbrded them to rise in the world, in a country
whose revenue is so large as ours, are fully equivalent to all
they pay. But as to the system of their distribution, com-
plaints will ever be made against it, inasmuch as people are
apt to imagine that official duty is never honestly performed
but by virtues and abilities above humanity. Now, as you
have pressed me to deliver my sentiments, I will tell 3'ou what

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I consider to be the duty of every public man in these times,
whether in Parliament or out. He should lend all the aid in
his power to preserve the essentials of the British constitution,
yielding to such changes only as are by no means likely to put
its safety to the hazard ; to repress, as much as possible, that
violent propensity to confusion and anarchy which secretly, if
not openly, agitates the ignorant and discontented ; to soothe
the querulous, and encourage the timid, and disappoint and
undeceive the daring and ill-intentioned ; to guard every man's
right, by showing that no claims are paramount to justice;
and, lastly, to establish the security of property by encouraging
all classes in its defence, and impressing on the public mind
this great truth, that life is no longer valuable to any man than
whilst he continues in the sure and peaceable possession of what
he has a right to call his own.'

' Bravo, Raby ! ' shouted at least half of those who heard him.

From the commencement of the foregoing address, it is ap-
parent that our hero was by no means anxious for the honour
that now awaited him, since he was very sparing of his profes-
sions, and indeed, even of his words, until the spur was applied
to him. But neither professions nor words were wanting ;
neither the purse of the sugar-baker, nor his humour, could
avail against the deeply-rooted interest of Sir Richard Hartley,
who, in addition to owning nearly half of the borough, spent
£4000 a year on it ; and at the end of the third day's poll, our
hero was left to walk over the course, and, consequently, at no
heavy expense.

The visit to Sir Richard — a very good kind of man in his way,
but of tastes somewhat uncongenial with those of his young
guest, and twice his age withal — being one merely of business,
and the object of it being attained, Frank Raby was in London
again as soon as four posters could convey him, and hailed
amongst his acquaintance as the new M.P.

' I would rather be M.F.' said he, to some of his friends
who were jeering him ; and amongst the hardest hitters of
them all was his dear friend Hargrave, who cast these lines in
his teeth : —

' Go on, brave youths ! till, in some future age.
Whips sliall become the senatorial badge :
Till England see her jockey senators
Meet all at ^yestminster, in boots and spurs;

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

See the whole House, in mutual frenzy mad,
Her patriots all in leather breeches clad :
Of bets, not taxes, learnedly debate,
And guide with equal reins a steed and state.'

'But, jesting apart,' resumed Hargrave, 'how did you get on
upon the hustings ? '

'Tipped them "a little jaw," as we used to say at Eton. I
meant to have said less than I did say, but one or two of my
constituents, as I suppose I must now call them, would not be
satisfied till they had tried me on a point or two touching
my principles, as they are called, but they did not get much by
it. I only advised them to be quiet and good subjects, and
mind the main chance ; and I might have added, mind their
own business. For my part, I cannot think what a fellow
with a leathern apron before him can know about politics ; but
this I do know, that if power were to get into the hands of such
fellows, the tyranjiy of a Nero or a Caligula would be a trifle
to it. At all events, the natural form of society would be
reversed. The bad would usurp the place of the good, the
young of the old, the weak of the strong, the foolish of the wise,
the poor of the rich, the servant of his master, and the subjects
of their sovereign.'

' And did no metaphorical application of the study and
science of coachmanship or race-riding escape j^ou ? ' said
Sir John Inkleton, jocosely ; ' nothing about holding the
reins of government with a steady hand, clogging the wJieels
of administration, or of other nations outstripping us in
the race of glory ? But tell me, Frank, how did your
opponent acquit himself ? — did he touch on the shop in his
speech ? '

' Not he, indeed,' replied Frank, ' but he touched on most
other subjects, for he spoke for above two hours. In fact, he
appeared to pride himself on his eloquence, and to place his
chief dependence upon it ! Indeed, the opening sentence of his
speech — and he might as well have told us that Queen Anne
was dead — was this : — " Speech being the faculty which exalts
man above the rest of the creation, we may consider eloquence
as the talent which gives him the most distinguished pre-
eminence over his own species ! " '

' Capital ! ' exclaimed Sir John ; ' and what next ? '
» ' Oh,' replied Frank, ' I might as well endeavour to

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remember last year's clouds. He said a good deal about the
dearth of good speakers in the House of Commons, declaring
that they drowned the poverty of their conceptions in the
excess of fine words, while he himself was dealing out tropes
and figures by the dozen, on mere commonplace subjects. But
it struck me his favourite figure was the synecdoche, which ^
implies saying one thing and meaning another; for, although
he more than once spoke of " our good King George," it is well
known he would rejoice to see him dethroned to-morrow,
because he refused to make him a baronet. And in the course
of his speech he let the cat out of the bag, b}^ quoting from
Shakspeare in support of his assertion, that he himself was
neither to be bought nor sold —

..." O, how wretched
Is tliat poor man, that hangs on princes' favours !
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to.
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again."

' Ho, however, concluded his oration with a very sensible
remark, and which showed that he has looked into books as
well as into sugar, and I question whether he might not make
a much better M.P. than myself. When alluding to the
measures proposed in Parliament, he said, it was the duty of
its members, when any great undertaking is proposed, to
ask themselves these questions : — " First, is it practicable ?
secondly, is it consistent with the interest, the honour, and
the safety of the country ? They should then carefully weigh
such points as are likely to make for or against it ; — what is
to be feared, what to be expected; — what consequences may
be the result of ill success, and how such consequences are to
be repaired : — lastly, whether the extent of our risk do not
more than counterbalance the probable advantages of the
enterprise. When deliberating upon these matters, those who
address the House should examine the subject thoroughly
in every point of view — not only real, but possible. After
making themselves masters of it, they have nothing more to
do than to set forth those circumstances, and to state their
arguments for and against the measure with force and sim-
plicity. Here is no room for displaying beauties, for tickling

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the ear, or soothing the imagination. This may be called an
eloquence for service — for wliich one great man is so distin-
guished— which, in fact, rejects everything that has more of
show than of solidity. All the speeches of Demosthenes to
animate the Athenians against Philip of Macedon, are in this
strain of vigorous and convincing oratory. In them we find
no empty parade of words, no affectation of ornament, no
sophistical reasoning. They are rich, not gaudy — brilliant,
not glaring — forcing their way to the mind, not by the artifice
of insinuation, but by the irresistible energy of truth." '

' Upon my word,' observed the Baronet, ' I am myself inclined
to think the sugar-baker would be the most useful man of the
two: those are good business-like ideas of his, which you have
just quoted.'

' I think so too,' replied our sporting M.P., ' and wish
that he were in my place, and I had the money in my pocket
that my election will cost. It would just make my stable
complete.'

' Is it not already complete ? ' observed Sir John ; ' are not
eight good hunters enough for you ? '

' Certainly not for Melton,' resumed Raby ; ' and I hope to
be settled there next winter, at all events the following one.
Nothing under a stud of twelve will do there, and I hope to
have fourteen. I have no idea of being seen kicking my heels
in Melton streets, when others are out with hounds ; and such
would be the case if I had a short stable of horses, with hounds
every day within reach.'

' You will outrun the constable,' said the Baronet.

' No fear,' answered Frank ; ' I shall live quietly in the
country in the summer, to provide for the winter campaign ;
and as I have given up the turf, and never play for a sixpence,
my income will stand the brunt.'

' But Parliament ! ' remarked Hargrave — ' that will be a pull.
You must be a good deal in London.'

' Not much of that,' replied our patriot — ' at least as little as
I can help. I shall leave such matters to wiser heads than
mine. What would my opinion be worth on the affairs of the
Elector of Bavaria, or the convention with Russia ? '

Parliament not assembling till the usual period, it did not
interfere with the present views of its new member, and when
it did meet, nothing further was heard of him than tfiat he

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THE LIFE OF A SPOBTSMAN

had taken tlie oaths and his seat. The summer, however,
was not wasted b}^ him in the doubly-heated atmosphere of
London ; but, by the first day in July, he was comfortably
settled again at Farndon Hall, ^^■ith a select party of friends,
enjoying the pleasures of the coach-box, together with fishing
and cricket, until he took his departure for the Highlands, as
he had done in preceding years. On his return, in addition
to tlie usual pastime of the trigger during the months of
September and October, he entered upon another pursuit,
though it did not prove to his liking. Having what he con-
sidered a fair kennel of greyhounds, he became a member of
a coursing meeting, and contended for some of the prizes.
Neither was he unsuccessful ; his dog, Champion, having par-
ticularly signalised himself in several severe courses, and was
the winner of two cups. But coursing was not to his taste,
sufficiently so, at least, as to induce him to enter into it as a
science, and without doing so he considered it must be time
thrown away in following it, unless for the sake of what is
called the parson's course — namely, ' the hare at the end of
it.' This, however, his keeper was able to provide for him.
But he had objections to coursing on several grounds. First,
the prodigious number of rules and regulations to be observed
— at least considered necessary to be observed — in the
running of each course, naturally causes disputes, by the
difficulty of observing them — to the satisfaction of the loser
especially. All emulative pursuits, he said, produce excite-
ment ; but he contended that he witnessed more anxiety in
the owners of greyhounds, when the contest has been for a
cup, than in those of race-horses running for the Derby or
St. Leger. The difficulty of having the course fairly decided is
the chief cause of this excitement; and a more trying situa-
tion than that of the tryer or judge of a first-rate coursing
meeting is not often experienced. Secondly, the system of
breeding and training greyhoimds is so refined that, to excel
in each, a man's whole attention should be given to it. At
the end of the third year, then, of his keeping greyhounds,
he had a sale of them at Tattersall's, where they fetched as
good prices as could be expected from the kennel of so young
a sportsman as our hero. The history of Champion, however,
proved remarkable. He became the sire of more good grey-
hounds than any other dog of those days ; indeed, it was

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

asserted of him, tliat he could produce good runners from very
inferior bitches. This was a pleasing reflection to our hero,
inasmuch as it showed that, so far in life as he had gone, he
had more or less succeeded in whatever pursuit he had
engaged in ; and in the fly-leaf of his greyhound book, in
which the pedigree and performance of each dog were very
accurately entered, were the following remarks, written with
his own hand : — ' Although many kinds of dogs are as long
as the greyhound, yet, from the many curves and circles
which he describes in his shape, he excels all in his
strides.

' Fine greyhounds, like fine horses, have a general propor-
tion, and a certain elegance of parts ; they abound in muscle,
have great length for their height, have their hocks let down
to the ground, behind, and standing from them, which greatly
increases the angle, have the muscles of the thigh remarkably
broad and expanded, with great strength of back, and to supply
the want of a long pastern-joint — which speedy horses have —
their feet and toes are longer than those of any other dogs.
They also resemble the hare in the declivity of the shoulders,
and length and strength of the hinder legs, as well as the
development of muscle in the loins. In fact, were their frame
to be put to the test of geometrical science, I know not in what
respect it could be improved as regards the united faculties of
speed and endurance.'

Two things will have been observable in the progress of this
history — if history it can be called : one, that our hero,
although occasionally running riot a little, like a well-bred
young hound just entered to his game, possesses an amiable
disposition, a feeling heart, and strictly honourable principles,
early inculcated in him by his father, his uncle, and Mr.
Egerton, which could not fail to guide his conduct through
life. The other, that Sir John Inkleton has been, from the
first — although perhaps the encourager by his example of too
expensive pursuits, namely, the coach-box and fox-hunting — a
kind friend to him, by giving him the benefit of his experience
in several worldly matters, as likewise in now and then
checking the ardour of a youthful mind, conscious that, one
day or another, gratification, to almost any extent, would be
within his reach. Instances in proof of each of these positions
are now about to appear.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' What are your plans, Frank, for the winter canipaii^n ? '
asked the Baronet, who paid him a visit at Farndon Hall.

' I shall go to Melton,' replied Frank.

' Pause for a moment,' resumed Sir John, ' before you
determine upon that step. Recollect, the state of your stud
is not equal to it at present, neither should I think is that of
your purse, as you have laid out large sums in purchasing
your carriages and coach-horses, furnishing your house, stock-
ing your cellars, etc'

' But I can borrow what I may from my solicitor,
until that little estate in Hertfordshire is sold,' replied our
hero.

' Take my advice,' resumed the Baronet ; ' do not borrow
from your lawyer. Lawyers are necessary agents to men of
property; but the more independent we are of them, the
better chance have we of their doing us justice ; and it would
not be worth your while to raise money in any other way,
until that estate is sold. And, mind, I do not blame you for
your intention of selling it, since a small property like that,
in a distant part of the country, is not worth keeping ; and
the purchase-money will not only give you a still better start
in the world than you have hitherto had, but, by enabling you
to have your income clear, so as to pay your way as you o-q,
you will save twenty per cent, upon everything. Let me
advise you, then, to defer your visit to Melton for one more
year.

' But my house and stables, Inkleton ; what must I do
about them ? ' exclaimed Frank. ' I shall have the rent to
pay, and nothing for my money ! '

' You will have nothing to pay,' resumed Sir John ; ' Holdino-
will take the whole off your hands.'

' Sir Frederick, or his brother ? ' inquired our hero.

' His brother,' replied Sir John ; ' and as you have often
said you should like to take what you call a tour of hunting
countries, I should recommend you to select this winter for
the purpose. As you avow your intention of keeping hounds
yourself, you may profit much by the plan I propose. You
will be able to observe closely the conduct of both masters and
servants in the several countries you visit, profiting by what
is good, and marking what you may consider to be the
reverse.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Your advice is good/ replied our hero ; ' I will at once
act upon it. In the first place, I shall be quite at ease in my
mind, from the reflection that I shall not be drawing too fast
on my banker ; and, in the next, I shall no doubt profit by what
I see in various countries, and in the various sportsmen whom I
shall meet in them.'

Shortly aftej.- this conversation took place, Frank Raby
commenced his tour, fixing upon Cheshire as his start, and
for this very good reason : he was informed that the hounds
which hunted the country were at that period under the
management of a first-rate sportsman of the school of that
day, no other than George Home, whose family had been long
seated in this aristocratic country. Nor was he misinformed
on this subject: he found a most effective kennel of hounds,
with a truly scientific sportsman at their head, and he also
found — the surest test of merit — that his blood was sought
after in some of the first establishments of those days. But
for the country he could not say much. Having had a taste
of Leicestershire, Northamptonshire, and Warwickshire, he
found himself cramped, as it were, in the small fields of
Cheshire ; neither were some of his horses at all calculated
for its fences, which were, for the most part, hedges placed on
narrow banks, or 'cops,' as they are called there, strengthened
by a deep and often blind ditch. This kind of fence not only
requires a practised horse, very quick and ready with his legs,
as he must spring from the cop, when the ditch is on the
landino- side, but it also requires a practised and good horse-
man to get him over it with safety, when he becomes what is
termed 'pumped out' by the pace. Temper, Kkewise, and
that of a peculiar nature, is almost indispensable here; that
is to say, the courage and resolution so desirable in horses
Avho have to face the thickly-set thorn fences of the countries
we have just alluded to, are the reverse of what is wanting
here. Extreme steadiness is required— amounting, indeed, to
slackness — at the generality of the fences we have been de-
scribing ; and it being the lot of our hero to have only two of
his stud (which consisted of eight hunters and two hacks)
possessing these qualities, he never went out without a fall.
But he profited by these mishaps in more ways than one.
Before he had been a month in the country, his horses were
up to every description of trap, in the first place ; and, in the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

next, he acquired some excellent lessons on the use of the
bridle hand from some of the best men in the Hunt; and from
none more to his edification than from one whose callino- con-
fined him to the use of tlie black coat : this was the Rev. James
Tomlinson, quite the crack man of the field, being a horseman
of the very first class, and a good sportsman withal. Our
hero was delighted as well as edified by the manner in which
this gentleman crossed this cramped and difficult country,
conceiving him to be a man who would shine in any country,
forasmuch as he combined quickness with his judgment of
every point relating to hounds ; and his hand was equal to
anything. His stud was not large — not exceeding half a
dozen; but, when disposed to sell, they commanded any
price.

It has happened to most men who have ridden after hounds
— although not perhaps more than once in their life — to feel a
horse take what is called a second spring when in the air. This
circumstance occurred one day to our hero, when hunting with
the Cheshire hounds, and on mentioning the subject to Mr.
Home, he thus delivered his opinion upon it : —

' I have experienced this extra exertion in a hunter more
than once,' observed Mr. Home, ' but I admit the difficulty
of accounting for it. Leaping commonly takes place on a
fixed surface, which possesses the power of resistance, in con-
sequence of its firmness ; still, leaping, as we know, can be
performed, to a certain degree, from a yielding surface,
although the retrograde motion of the surface produces a
diminution in the velocity of the leap, compared with that
which is made from firm ground. However, here is a fulcrum
to spring from in each case ; but how a horse, having once
made his spring, has the power to increase the velocity of it,
is difficult to account for, unless, as is the case with serpents,
and such aquatic insects as have long bodies and no fins, he
have the power of inflecting the body to a certain extent, and
thence acquire an impetus. Swimming and flying are leaps
which take place in fluids, but they are produced b}^ the re-
sistance these fluids make to the impulse of certain surfaces,
througli which swimming or flying animals move with great
rapidity ; but the velocity is necessarily great in proportion to
the variety of the medium.. The muscles which produce it
require, therefore, a force vastly superior to that which is

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

necessary for a single leap upon a solid surface ; but there is
still another requisite for motions which take place in fluids,
which the horse does not possess. The body being entirely
surrounded by these media, would find an equal resistance on
all sides ; and the velocity acquired by striking the fluid
posteriorly, would soon be overcome by the quantity that must
be displaced anteriorly, if the animal had not the power of
considerably diminishing its surface immediately after it has
struck the fluid — which power, also, the horse has not. I
certainly was indebted for the preservation of some of my
limbs, perhaps my life, for an exertion of this sort, which
enabled my horse to clear a sawpit that was on the landing
side of a fence I rode at. One who saw me exclaimed — " Why
did you not look before you leaped ? " when a wag answered
him in the words of Horace — " Nemo mortalium omnibus lioris
sawpit!' '

The next pack visited by our hero was that of Sir Richard
Puleston, who hunted parts of Cheshire, Shropshire, and North
Wales, and his object for so doing was this : — he had been
informed, by more than one good judge, that Sir Richard was
an excellent breeder of foxhounds ; in fact, that he had done
much towards ridding them of those coarse points which,
whilst they disfigured them, were found not to be essential to
strength and endurance, but evidently impediments to speed.
Then he had another motive for visiting Sir Richard's pack.
He was at that time one of the very few masters of foxhounds
who hunted his own hounds, and, as he hoped some day or
another to hunt a pack himself, he was anxious to see a gentle-
man placed in that difiicult and trying situation. Nor was he
disappointed in Sir Richard, who exhibited very good judgment
in his casts, and drew for his fox in a manner very much to his
taste. Had he, indeed, ridden a little nearer to his hounds in
chase, he would have called him a first-rate huntsman. The
next pack, however, which our young sportsman went to see,
on his tour, were hunted by quite a first-rate huntsman, and
also in the character of a gentleman. We allude to Mr.
Musters, who at that time hunted one of the best of the
midland counties with very great eclat. He combined, in the
opinion of our hero, every possible requisite for his task. He
was a beautiful and bold horseman ; with a voice musically
melodious ; with the eye of a hawk to his hounds and countr}^,

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THE LIFE OF A SPOllTSMAN

and with a sort of intuitive knowledtro of tlic usual lines in
which his foxes ran, to an extent not hitherto witnessed by liini.
And the following rather curiously drawn portrait of him was
giv^en to him by a friend.

' It is in the field that Mr. Musters shines. Birds, we arc
told, cannot conceive with beasts, nor lish with fowl, but dogs,
to an extent, certainly conceive with men, and some persons
have a peculiar method of making their wishes known to them.
At the head of these is Mr. Musters. In command of hounds
I never saw him equalled, and he certainly handles them with
a master's hand. Every art has its peculiar terms, and his
language and method in the field are most appropriate. In fact,
he may be said to suit the action to the word, and the word to
the action, with the greatest possible effect. By temperament
of constitution, also, he is particularly fitted for a huntsman ;
for, being never fatigued, he is always cheery and gay. To sum
up all, althourjli a gentleman, he is a huntsman. Nature quali-
fied him for the task, and without this, it is in vain to attempt
it. As Ion saj's —

"What's t)ie ^ay Dolphin -when ho quits the Avaves,
And bounds upon the slioie ? "' '

But a singular instance of his powers over the wills and
affections of his hounds was related to our hero by one who had
long hunted with him ; and what renders the circumstance
still more extraordinary, is the fact that Mr. Musters does not
feed his own hounds in kennel, as most huntsmen (servants)
do. ' His hounds were on their road to sleep out, previously
to the next day's hunting, the fixture being a distant one, and
he himself was likewise on his road to dine and sleep at a
friend's house. It happened that, as his own house was four
miles from the kennel from which the hounds had started, he
did not travel in their line for a certain portion of the road :
but, knowing that he must cross it at a certain point, he pushed
on his hack, to enable him to get ahead of them. When,
however, they came into that part of the road over which he
had just gone before them, despite of the endeavours of the
whip to restrain them, every hound in the pack started off, and
overtook him in the space of a mile. Neither could their joy
on reaching him be restrained ; they surrounded his horse, and

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

one actually leaped on his quarters, for the purpose of licking
his huntsman's face.'

There was another eminent sportsman in that country, whom
Frank Raby was anxious to see, and that pleasure was afforded
him. This was Sir Charles Knightly, one of the most fearless
and determined horsemen of the period to which we allude. On
two thorough-bred horses — Benvolio and St. Maronel — which
he rode for several seasons, he went straighter, perhaps, than
any other man over the country in which he hunted, and which
was one of the strongest in England as to fences, and this fact
is confirmed by the following declaration on his part. On some
one observing, in his presence, that the country in which he
hunted was very strong, but that the difficulty of crossing it
was, to a certain extent, lessened by the number of bridle-gates,
he coolly replied, that tlte only fault he found with it was in the
number of bridle and other gates with which it abounded. ' I
wish,' said he, ' every gate in the country was nailed up, and
then my hounds would not be incommoded by the crowd.' He
was not a master of hounds at the period to which we allude,
so that our hero had not an opportunity of observing him in
that capacity, but he took several lessons from him in the
practice of riding to hounds.

' The straightest road is the best and easiest for your horse,'
he would say, ' until the hounds turn, when you should always
get a point in your favour, by being a little beforehand with
them at that moment.'

Then a great treat was afforded to our young sportsman, in
witnessing a day with Mr. Musters, in the very celebrated wood-
lands of the country his hounds hunted. Strange to sa}', they
are dissected by avenues to the extent of seventy miles, in
various directions ; and being the property of a noble Duke,
himself a master of foxhounds, are never short of foxes. He
was fortunate in seeing a fox made to break from them by the
surprising energies of Mr. Musters, and, after facing the open
country, being up at his death, at the distance of twelve miles,
as the crow flies.

Moving on, in his tour, our hero visited the Hertfordshire
hounds, then the Hampshire, and afterwards the Vine, with
each of which he saw some really good sportsmen, from several
of whom he gathered golden opinions, which served his pur-
poses through life. The scene of action with each of these

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packs lying in what may be called very unfavourable ground
for hounds, was his chief motive for visiting them, forasmuch
as it is in the overcoming of difficulties that talent most
strikingly displays itself. He witnessed much science in all
that related to the Hertfordshire, their huntsman being a first-
rate performer, assisted by as clever a whipper-in as ever rated
a hound ; and in the ' Hampshire ' pack, from Alpha to Omega,
all appeared to him to be perfect. In fact, he found, as a
friend of his told him he would find, a propriety attending that
establishment, as well as correctness of conduct in everything
relating to it, which are highly gratifying to a sportsman's eye,
and which cannot be too closely imitated. The civility and
respectful behaviour of the servants were beyond all praise ;
and whether by command of their master, or from their own
sense of propriety, it was not in his power to determine, but
an oath, or a coarse expression of any sort, was never heard
to escape them under the most trying circumstances that
occurred. It showed that fox-hunting was about to be purged
of the only stain that was then attached to it, namely, being
the scene of wanton disregard of the usual decorum of society.
Of the Vine hounds he thus wrote to his intimate friend and
brother sportsman, Hargrave :

' I am now hunting with a pack called the Vine, so called
because such is the name of their owner's house, he representing
the county in Parliament. He has the appearance of anything
rather than a master of foxhounds, streaming across the country
with a long pig-tail down his back, but he is very popular with
all descriptions of persons. But it is of his hounds that I
wish to speak. They are very small — the smallest I ever saw
— but very neat, very fast, very quick in their turns, and very
stout. I shall have an eye to some of their blood, one day
or another. They have a bad, light-scenting country to hunt
over, wliich puts their goodness to the test.

' You often hear me speak of my weight, and grumble about
it. I shall do so no more, because I see that men, four stone
heavier than I am, can go well up to hounds. When I was
in the Hertfordshire country, I saw this proved in the person
of one of the most extraordinary men, perhaps, England ever
produced. His name is Richard Gurney — commonly called
Dick Gurney — and, although riding eighteen stone, he goes
the best pace. In fact, a short time since, I went to see a

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gate that he and Sir Charles Knightly — but no one else —
leaped, near Northampton, at the end of a twent}^ minutes'
burst. It appeared to me next to a miracle that he could have
cleared it, when I looked at its height, and thought of his
tremendous weight. The name of the horse that performed it
is Cock Robin (winged, I should imagine, like his namesake),
and he had refused 1000 guineas for him.

' The frost is gone at last, and to our no small delight.
Indeed, the breaking-up of one always reminds me of the
inhabitants of those countries from which the sun absents
himself for half a year. Speaking poetically, when they see
the chariot of Diana, every man claps his hands for joy ; all
come forth from their caves, with dancing and songs, to welcome
the approach of that beautiful goddess. But you may wish to
know what I did with myself during the frost. I visited
London for a week, and afterwards ran down to Amstead, and
had a capital week's shooting, killing seventeen couples of
woodcocks, eleven and a half brace of pheasants, seven and a
half of snipes, and eleven of rabbits. I then ran down to
Quorn to see the hounds in kennel, and a great treat I had.
The master was from home, but I inspected the whole estab-
lishment, which, to use the low expression, " made my mouth
water," and I said to myself — when shall I be qualified to be
at the head of such an establishment as this ? I was answered
by the inner man, with a still low^er expression — " when you
have eaten a good deal more pudding." But I tell 3'ou,
honestly, Hargrave, I shall never consider myself completely
happy until I become a master of foxhounds. By the bye,
one piece of information gleaned at Quorn somewhat surprised
me, and this was, the comparatively small number of foxes
killed in the space of five seasons, during what may be called
the prime of Mr. Meynell's career. The account stands thus :
—From 16th of August, 1791, to April, 1792, thirty-four
brace. From 16th oi June, 1792, to 9th of April, 1793,
forty-one and a half brace. From 16th of June, 1793, to
2nd of April, 1794, forty-six and a half brace. From 23rd
of August, 1794, to 4th of April, 1795, twenty-six and a half
brace. From 26th of August, 1795, to 4th of April, 1796,
thirty-four and a half brace. This, you will perceive, averages
little more than thirty-six brace in the season, including
cub-huntino-, and that commencing more than usually early.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Either the foxes must have been more scarce than they now
are, to account for this trifling- amount of blood ; or, what I
think most probable, they were wilder and more difficult to kill
in Meynell's days, the country itself being wilder and more open
than it now is.

' The kennels and stables at Quorn are superb, and you
must see them soon. Exclusive of boxes, there is one stable
which holds twenty-eight horses, and so contrived by a trifling
deviation from a right line, that, although all the horses
appear to stand in a row, the (juarters of each are to be seen
at either extremity of the building. A clean watering-bridle
hangs on the stall-post of each horse, and there is a patent
lamp between every six. This is all very fine as far as the
eye of man is concerned ; but for the welfare of the horses I
should prefer smaller stables, so as to divide the lot according
to their several necessities. Horses require a state of extreme
quiet at times, which they cannot enjoy in a stable occupied by
so many. Some require to be shod ; others are in physic, and
most go out more than once in the day : and many such
occurrences tend to disturb repose, which should be plentifully
allowed to hunters after hard days, as a great restorative of
their powers, as well as a preventive of fever.'

Towards the close of the season, another letter was dispatched
by Frank Raby to his friend Hargrave, of which the following
is part :

' My tour of hounds is now drawing to a conclusion ; but I
cannot wait till I see you for the pleasure of relating to you a
run I saw j'-esterday, in the Atherstone country. The beautiful
pack of bitches met at Sibson. The morning was immoder-
ately stormy, and, as far as human foresight extended,
perfectly inimical to scent and sport ; but the result proved
how fallible is human judgment ! We drew the wolds, and
Welsborough Gorse blank. We then proceeded to Sutton
Hambion, and the hounds had scarcely been in the cover a
minute before the electric sounds of " Tally-ho ! " — " Gone-
away ! " were audible, and the fox broke in the most gallant
style. The moment the hounds were laid on the scent, it was
evident we were in for a run ; and away they went, with heads
up, and sterns down, to Bosworth, where the hounds, and a
few of the flrst-flight men, got a view of the fox. It was
but a peep, however, and away we went again, the hounds

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

api^earing bent upon conquest — the pace up to this moment
having been a flying one. He tlien made his line for Kirkby,
leaving the Gorse to the left, as if Burbage Wood were his next
point ; but the hounds pressed him so hard, that he went
farther a-field ; and, to come to the end of my story, he was
killed at the end of one hour and fifty-five minutes, during
which time nothing occurred which could be called a check.
The country being awfully deep, and the pace throughout fast
in the extreme, several disasters occurred, and veterinary
surgeons were in request, on the morrow, in more directions
than one.

' By the bye, I do not recollect having told you that I
hunted one week in Yorkshire, wath the hounds of the far-
famed Earl of Darlington. He has a noble establishment of
hounds and horses, a most extensive country, and he performs
the office of huntsman both in the field and in the kennel.
He is a superb horseman over a country as well, and altogether
a sportsman, being one of the leading men in the north on the
turf. He is, likewise — for I had the honour of passing two
days with him at his castle — one of the most lively and
agreeable companions I ever met with over a bottle of claret,
abounding with anecdotes, and having a most agreeable manner
of relating them. What think you of his feeding his hounds
in a smock-frock ? which I saw him do twice. I hope some day
to do the same by mine, that is, when I have them to feed.
His Lordship always keeps a diary of each day's sport, written
with much spirit, and showing that his heart and soul are in
the pursuit. I will give you a little specimen of his style, in
recording the sport of the first day on which I was out with his
pack. Speaking of those of his field who went well in the
brilliant run we had, of an hour and forty minutes, he says — " I
cannot omit to mention that the Rev. Mr. John Morton shone
as conspicuously on his grey mare as he always does in the
pulpit." Then, speaking of myself, his Lordship has thus
described me : — " A young gentleman by the name of Raby, a
friend of my eldest son, who made his acquaintance at Melton,
was out with us this day, and rode well to my hounds; he
appears to have an old head upon young shoulders, and I
prophesy that he will, some day or another, make a dis-
tinguished sportsman."

' His Lordship did not show me what he had written ; but

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

as we like to heai' what is thought of us by people whose
opinion is worth having, I took a peep into the book next
morning, and was of course flattered by the handsome mention
made of me. I certainly never rode better to hounds than I
did that day over a cramped and difiicult country, but I
chanced to ride Achilles, who is up to all sorts of trap. There
was, however, one fence which I did not attempt, although
many of the Yorkshire horses did not appear to regard it ; this
was a stile in the shape of the letter V, consequently without a
top bar to guide the eye of a horse as to how high he is to
leap. One, not accustomed to this sort of fence, would be
induced to leap through it, in which case he most likely would
be caught.

' You will expect that I shall say sometliing of the liounds.
They are divided into two packs, the large and the small one.
The large hounds are noble animals, and good hunters ; but —
and I saw both packs at work, and in difficulties — I gave the
preference to the small ones, which appeared more handy and
quicker. It is altogether, however, a splendid and truly sports-
manlike establishment.'

The summer succeeding the period which we have now been
detailing the operations of, having been passed in a way, for
the most part, to -the full satisfaction of our hero — namely, in
the enjoyment of the London season up to a certain period, a
trip to Brighton, a visit to his friend Hargrave, Epsom and
Ascot races, Bibury Club meeting, together with his 'parlia-
mentary duties' — although he was getting somewhat out of
conceit with being a member of the British senate, having been
twice obliged to absent himself from a favourite fixture for
hounds to- obey a call of the House, and once had a visit from
the sergeant-at-arms for not obeying it : when all these
momentous affairs were accomplished, he hastened to Farndon
Hall, to spend the rest of the summer in a way more congenial
to his taste. His coaching establishment was now quite
complete by some changes he had effected in London. He
had drafted the kicking wheeler ; as well as a leader tliat would
not stand still when he pulled up his coach on the road, and
he was a bad starter as well. Having witnessed much of the
performances of some of the best gentlemen-coachmen of the
day, during his stay in London, he was become a first-rate
artist himself ; and, after the example of his friend, ' His

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Honour,' by opening the door of his servants' hall to sucli of
the coachmen and guards on his road as required a few days'
rest, together with having their allowance scored up to him
in his village, through which three mails and seven coaches
passed daily, his name was known to nearly all the fraternity
of the whip as a kind-hearted gentleman, and among the best
friends of the road. He was, indeed, universally respected by
all ranks of persons in his neighbourhood ; neither was he
unmindful of the poor; allowing those of his parish, besides
occasional assistance, a bushel of wheat a week throughout
the year, as his father had always done to double that amount.
Then a pleasing circumstance occurred on the anniversary of
his taking up his abode at Farndon Hall. Setting aside the
outlay of his carriages and horses, as likewise the furnishing
of his house, he found himself so far from being in advance
of his annual income, that there was a balance of £1300 in his
favour. To this he was indebted partly to his own sense of
propriety, partly to the excellent advice of his friend Inkleton,
and greatly to his having looked into his affairs at the end of
each month, and paid ready money for all minor wants. The
little estate in Hertfordshire, also, from its beautiful locality,
had been sold for nearly £2000 beyond the calculation of his
agents, which tended further to place him ' on velvet,' that
is to say, with everything in his reach that a man of moderate
views could desire. ' Now,' said he to himself, ' I am qualified
to hunt from Melton.'

360

CHAPTER XVII

Frank Raby becomes a regular Meltonian ; loses his father, and finally settles
down as a master of foxhounds, the point of honour in the Life of a
Sportsman.

It is scarcely necessarj^ to observe, that the first week in the
succeeding November found our hero at Melton Mowbray,
occupying the house which he had already tenanted for
upwards of two j^ears, and with his stud increased to fourteen
hunters and two cover hacks. And his indoors establishment
was this : — at the head of it was his trusty butler, who had
lived nearly all his life with his late uncle, and consequently,
having known him in his childhood, was attached to his person
and interests Ijeyond mercenary views, and who kept all his
accounts ; liis own personal servant, or valet, skilled in the
art of clothes-cleaning, and especially in the department of the
boots, then only in its infancy'; a French cook, with the
highest attestations of his abilities from Lord Edmonston, with
whom he had lived, and who had ' parted with him for
no fault,' as the horse -chaunter says in his puft' of the
patched-up screw ; an English kitchen-maid of no slender
qualifications, without which no man's cuisine is complete;
his housekeeper, having had her education in the Amstead
still-room, under the tuition of Mrs. Jones ; a footman and a
housemaid bringing up the rear. Here it will be perceived is
no wanton prodigality, nor was any such indulged in by our
young sportsman. His practice was to give dinners twice a
week, to parties of eight, and on the evenings on which he had
no engagement, one friend at least would be his guest, to talk
over the events of the day. And at no place, except Melton,
is there such a never-failing succession of events to be dis-
cussed on these occasions, by reason of there being three packs
of hounds within reach, and the certainty that out of a party
of eight, one attendant, at least, upon each pack, would be
found. Having stated all this, there is little room for doubting

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that — although, perhaps, the knowledge of the savoir vivre in
our young sportsman was not quite so complete as in some
of the hoiis vivants of the day, who had more experience than
himself — most of the arts and appliances which render life
agreeable to a man in his twenty-fifth year, were to be found
in his house at Melton.

But we have said nothing of his stud of hunters, selected for
this occasion. By the advice of his friend Somerby, whom he
had met in London during the season, an alteration had been
effected in them.

' The eight hunters you now have,' said Somerby, ' are all
good and useful of their kind ; but three of them are not
suited for Leicestershire. In the first place, they are not well
enough bred for our pace and country ; and, in the next, in
stable language, they are deficient in scale to command and
to cover our large blackthorn hedges, with their wide ditches,
and more especially the ox fences, which require horses to
extend themselves in their leaps over a great space of ground.
Let me recommend you to draft all but those three ; and as
there are two lots of well-known and capital Leicestershire
horses coming to Tattersall's in a fortnight, you can then and
there replace them, as well as complete the number of your
stud. Do not think me conceited in thus characterising the
Leicestershire horse ; depend upon it, before you have hunted
in that country half as long as I have, you will say I have not
overdrawn the picture.'

Space will not admit of our accompanying our hero during
the whole of his residence at Melton, which continued for nine
consecutive years, and where he left behind him a reputation
for all that is desirable in the gentleman, the companion, and
the sportsman ; and the character he gave of it when he
quitted it was, that, ' to a sportsman it was the most delight-
ful place upon earth ; the very centre and rendezvous of all
pleasures, and whatsoever is agreeable to mortals — in truth,
to him, an earthly paradise.' There was, in fact, but one
circumstance during the entire period of his sojourning
there, that produced an unpleasing reflection, but from the
relation of it here some good may arise. An unguarded ex-
pression from a hot-headed young Irishman, but possessing an
equally warm heart — the result, perhaps, of an extra bottle of
claret, and fliat the result of a brilliant run in the morning,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

which, in those days, was too often celebrated with Baccha-
nalian rites in the evening — interrupted the harmony of a
party at w^hich our hero made one; and, as was likewise too
often the custom of those days, for the honour of Tippcrary,
an apology for the offence by the aggressor was declined. A
meeting, then, was necessarily the consequence ; and our hero,
having placed his honour in the hands of an officer of the
Guards with whom he became intimate at Melton, was himself,
the next morning, placed in array to his antagonist at the
distance of twelve paces. On the word 'Fire' being given,
the Irishman fired in the air; and — as was evident to both
seconds — the pistol of his opponent having been so pointed as
to render it impossUde the ball could take effect, it was, of
course, a bloodless affair.

' Now, Mr. Raby,' said the Irishman, ' I am ready to take
your hand, and declare, upon the honour of a gentleman, that
I regret having given you offence.' Anger, like th-^ bee, says
Seneca, should sting but once. Our hero took his hand and
pressed it, adding, emphatically, these words : —

' My good fellow, let us think no more of what has happened ;
you have done and said all that I could desire.'

The conduct of Frank Raby was highly approved of on this
occasion, having shown himself to be a man of courage, tem-
pered with humanity, which, after all, is the only true
courage,^ as possessing that nice sensibility of honour which
weighs the insult, rather than the injury; willing to accept of
the slightest atonement for either, and totally incapable of
revenge. The situation, however, in which he had placed
himself (for his antagonist was a first-rate shot), without the
effort to defend himself, and of course ignorant of the intentions
of his opponent, became a subject of admiration amongst his
associates ; and on the arrival of Hargrave, a few days after-
wards on a visit to him, the following conversation took place,
on their road to meet the hounds : —

' I have heard a good deal said,' observed Hargrave, ' on
the subject of your afiair with the Irishman : the Melton
men — at least many of them — think you let him off too
cheaply ; that is to say, you, who were the aggrieved, ran the

^ The Greeks used tlie word "Aperrj to express both what we call valour and
virtue.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

risk of beino- punished, without the chance of punishing the
aggressor.'

' No punishment which he could have inflicted upon me,'
replied Frank Raby, ' would have been equal to what I should
have suffered had I caused his death. I would not have a
man's blood lie at my door for any consideration whatsoever.
And as for a wish, on my part, to inflict punishment on Fitz-
maurice, nothing was further from my mind. He is a good-
hearted fellow — a man of licence, indeed, in his words and
actions ; and I felt sorry afterwards that I took umbrage at
what he said.'

' But would not your honour have '

' Honour ! ' interrupted our hero ; ' I think there is too
much stress laid upon this said thing called honour ; it appears
to be the darling attribute of the present age ; but I think it
has lost by its acquirements. It is a picture of virtue, perhaps,
finely drawn, but, in my opinion, the lines are not just, and
the colours are too glaring. Tliese bloody maxims of honour
were unknown to the ancients in the best of their times, and
why should not we, who boast of our refinement, be unable to
live correctly in society, unless under fear of being shot, or
compelled to shoot others ? '

' Pardon me,' replied Hargrave ; ' Antony challenged
Augustus ! '

' He may have done so,' said Raby, ' but that does not
prove the custom ; and if it did, custom without reason is but
an ancient error. I know that there were duels fought in old
times, as between the Horatii and the Curatii, and others of
still more importance in the eyes of the world ; but these
duellists were public enemies, a sort of fighting representatives
chosen to decide the controversies of their respective countries ;
there was no cutting of throats to decide private disputes.
And as you have mentioned the name of Augustus, what, may
I ask, was his answer to Antony on being challenged by him
after the battle of Actium ? Wiiy that, if he (Antony) was
tired of life, there were other ways of his ridding himself of
it, and he (Augustus) should not trouble himself to be his
executioner.'

' A capital answer,' observed Hargrave.

'Yes,' rejoined our hero; 'and if some man of well-estab-
lished courage and conduct, in our day, were to return a

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

similar one to another who wished to cut his throat for a mere
lapsus lingtica over a bottle of" wine, or a hasty expression in
the moment of argument, he would deserve well of society.
Then look closer into the system, and observe the incon-
sistency of it. A man inflicts upon you the severest possible
injury to begin with. Well, you call him out, as the phrase
goes, and he finishes by shooting you. Then, although public
opinion may be in favour of this private appeal to arms, the
punishment by law is equal towards the injured and the
injurer: whereas, in strict justice, the latter is the sole insti-
gator, if not perpetrator of the crime. At all events, the laws
should be lenient to the man who accepts the challeno-e,
because he act.s under an opinion of honourable self-defence,
against the evil influence of which the law cannot protect him.'

'Then I perceive,' resumed Hargrave, 'you are a decided
enemy to duelling, which I am, indeed, myself, and I often
think of the question Fielding makes Partridge put to Tom
Jones on the subject : " Is not courage forbidden by Iieaven ? "
said Partridge. " Yes," replied Jones, " but enjoined by the
world." '

' Then,' said our hero, ' which is the greater authority of the
two ? Heaven or the world ? '

' No question on that point,' continued Hargrave. ' " // it
be possible," says St. Paul, " as much as lieth in you, live peace-
ably with all men." '

' Yes,' observed Raby, ' and in the next verse he adds —
" avenge not yourselves ; it is written, vengeance is mine." '

The hounds appearing in sight, the subject was dropped,
and there is good reason to believe that, as this was the first,
so was it the last appearance of our hero on this stao-e. Nemo
debet bis vexari, is not a bad proverb for a man to keep in his
pocket; but despicable as is the character of a quarrelsome
man, and still more so the professed duellist, there is too much
reason to fear that some young men think it a feather in their
cap, with the female sex especially, to have fought a duel. It
is true, Virgil makes Dido fall in love with ^neas, because he
is a fighting man. There is reason to believe, however, that,
ere long, this pernicious rule, by which society in the upper
classes has hitherto been governed, will be made to yield its
sway to a more rational tribunal. This would be a reform
worth}' of an enlightened people.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

Two rather interesting incidents have been overlooked during
the sojourn of Frank Raby at Melton, extending, as has been
observed, over a period of nine years. The first has its origin
in an extraordinary run, in which two celebrated sportsmen of
those times played extraordinary parts. The fox broke from
the Coplow, the hounds getting away close at his brush, and
so straight did he put his head, that those who did not get well
away with them, had no chance to be near them, as there was
nothing to be had from a favourable turn. Those, however,
who did get away well, had great difficulty in living with the
pack, and, dropping off one by one, out of 150 at starting, the
field soon became select. But to what did it come at length ?
Why, to the presence of only two, and even they did not
quite see the finish of this glorious run. And there was no
deceit here. Coming to a momentary check, one said to the
other —

' Look behind you. There is not a living soul in sight ! '
Nor was there. As there were no second horses in those
days, the honours should be recorded to the two who thus
distinguished themselves, as well as to their owners who rode
them. The name of one was the Clapper, ridden by Mr. Ludlow,
of Bibury, as well as of Leicestershire fame ; the other by Mr.
Smith, honoured by Napoleon as the grand chasseur of the day.
And where was our hero in this run ? He was one of the last
lot of five who all pulled up in the same large field, having
been, up to that time, brilliantly carried by Topthorn.

The second incident has somewhat of a contrary bearing,
inasmuch as it produces rather a rare instance of a sportsman
coming at once from a very close and confined country into
the spacious and highly-ridged fields of Leicestershire, and
distinguishing both himself and his horse. This was the
Beverend James Tomlinson, of whom we have before spoken
as having excited the admiration of our hero in Cheshire, and
whose performance on the day alluded to was the cause of
rather a curious eclaircissement. Previously, however, to the
climax, it should be observed that, in those days, no gentle-
man, except in the Cheshire Hunt, was seen in the hunting-
field clad in leather breeches. Thus clad, however, was Mr.
Tomlinson, when the fox broke from his cover, and, moreover,
the gentleman was still further disguised by a coloured silk
neckcloth.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Who is the farmer going so well on the chestnut ? ' asked
one.

' Get his price for nie,' exclaimed another. ' He's mine, if
I give live hundred for hini,' roared a third. 'A thousand
would not purchase him,' exclaimed Frank Raby, who was
within hearing of the trio. ' He belongs to Jemmy Tomlin-
son, a friend of mine, in Cheshire, and he calls him Tlte
Pea:

At the end of the run, how^ever, which * Jemmy ' w'as there
to see, one or two of the field who had not heard the explana-
tion given by our hero, and, mistaking his rider for a yeoman,
asked him to put a price on his horse. The answer may be
anticipated.

We arc now about to notice a great change in the situation
and circumstances of our hero. At the age of thirty-six, he
lost his excellent father, who died after a few hours' illness,
and before his son could reach him, although, of course, sent
for by express. To describe the scene of affliction that
Amstead Abbey presented on this melancholy occasion, would
be productive of no good to the generality of my readers, and,
perhaps, bring to the recollection of some of them hours of
similar distress. The blow to Lady Charlotte was as severe
as it w^as sudden, requiring all the energies of her soul and
body to enable her to withstand its force ; but forasmuch as
the weight of human sorrow, like that of human power, is
broken by being divided, she was not entirely comfortless.
Her two daughters, although married, happened to be within
easy reach of her at the time ; and the presence of her son,
of whom she was justly proud, from the accounts she heard of
him from all quarters, was balm to her wounded spirit. And
we will produce a fact to show that .she had not been deceived
in the representations of him, and that he was worthy of being
the representative of the excellent father of whom he had been
bereaved. On the day subsequent to the funeral, which, in
addition to his own dependants, was attended by the carriages
of all the neighbouring families, and what told more for the
virtues of the deceased, by the bewailings of the poor of the
neighbouring villages, who had partaken of his fostering care
and charity to an unusual degree, slie received from him the
following letter :

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' My ever dear Mother, —

' I should be dead to the common feelings of a man did I
not sympathise acutely with the painful situation in which you
are at this moment'' placed, and still more so to those of a
son, if I did not, to the utmost of my power, endeavour to
mitigate the sufierings of so kind and excellent a mother.
I know not in what manner I can at this moment best endea-
vour to contribute towards this much desired end, than to
assure you, at once, of my earnest wish that you should
remain at the Abbey so long as you may desire to do so,
considering all that is within and without it at your entire
service ; and furtlier, should you find, at the year's end, the
provision my lamented father has made' for you not equal to
the expenses of keeping it ivp, the deficiency shall be made
good by me. Our hearts, I am sure, are at present too full
to discuss such subjects in person, which is the reason of my
thus addressing you by letter ; but let me entreat you, for the
sake of my sisters, myself, and your friends, to bear up with
all your might against the blow which has thus stricken you
unawares and deprived you of (I fear) all that has hitherto
given a relish to the pursuits and pleasures of the greater part
of your life. But be comforted. My reading has informed me
that there are three ways of bearing up against the ills and
misfortunes of life — indifference, philosophy, and religion. The
first forms no feature in your character ; the second is a manly
virtue, but, in the first transports of affliction, of too stern an
aspect to gain admittance to a woman's breast ; it is in the third
and last that yoii will find the healing balm, and next to that
in the affection and gratitude of your daughters, the esteem of
your friends, and in the full assurance of the strict performance,
not only of what is now offered to you, but of every act of love
and duty on the part of

' Your truly affectionate son,

'Francis Raby.

'Amstead, March 10, 18—.'

It is said by a writer whose celebrity, perhaps, does no great
honour to the feelings of human nature, that, let a man die
amidst ever so many lamentations, if he could rise again from
his grave, after the lapse of a short period, his reappearance
upon earth would not be found to be productive of un mingled

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

satisfaction araoiig- his relations and friends \yho liad wept
over liis closing grave. But we are happy to say our hero
was not one of iliis class. With an income already equal to
all his wants, and all his wishes ; with health and spirits, which
gave the highest zest to the enjoyment of them, what more
could he desire ? In fact, he may be said to have had hut
one ivish not tvithin Jiis means to gratify; but, had anybody
imagined that the gratification of that wish, and the life of his
excellent father, bore the most distant reproach to an equality
in his well-balanced mind, he would have found himself
egregiously mistaken. However, the one thing having been
snatched away from him was no reason why he should not avail
himself of the other; so, having become tired of his parlia-
mentary duties, for which he did not consider himself qualified,
he resigned his seat at the end of the second session ; but having,
as he thought, qualified himself by experience in the field for
the principal office of a sportsman, he unhesitatingly accepted
of one of the best of the midland countries, which became
vacant, by the resignation of a noble lord, in the second year
after his father's decease.

The fine income he was now in the possession of rendered
pecuniary assistance unnecessary, and there was nothing wanting
to insure success to the new undertaking but — what must
always operate against that of all undertakings — the benefit of
experience. Frank Raby was a sportsman, and in the truest
acceptation of that term. He loved hunting to his very soul ;
he had studied it in its theory as well as in the practice of it ;
he understood it well in all that related to the field; but he
had never been a master of hounds, still less their huntsman.
Like a sensible man, then, he was anxious for instruction
from the best source, and consequently wrote the following-
letter to the person whom he considered most able to furnish
him with it :

' Melton Mowbray, 18—.

' My dear Sir, —

' I have the following inducements to impose a task upon
you. First — the circumstance of your pack having been the
one with wdiich I made my start in the fox-hunting world ;
secondly — your science and experience in all that relates to
fox-hunting ; thirdly — your good-nature and kind-heartedness ;

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lastly, your zeal for the welfare and credit of all that relates
to the noble science. A country, which you once hunted, is
now offered to me, and I feel disposed to take it ; nor is fJds
all ; I have flattered myself into the belief that I can hunt a
pack of foxhounds, and intend trying my hand at it. What
think you ? Pray give me a candid answer, and, if favourable
to my views, I shall trespass on your kindness for a little advice
and instruction. By following your precepts in part, it is
possible I may succeed ; but, if to the full extent, there would
be little doubt of it. Homer, you know (for you look into books
as well as into kennels), makes Achilles a clever fellow. " No
wonder," says Eustathius, " he had Chiron for his tutor, and a
goddess for his mother." For myself, I cannot claim such high
origin, but I have reason to hope that, te duce, I may, sooner
or later, fulfil the highest object of my ambition — that of keeping
and liunting a pack of foxhounds with credit to myself, and
satisfaction to my field.

' Believe me, dear Sir, faithfully yours, •

' Francis Raby.'

The answer to this letter, received by return of post, ran
thus :

' Dear Raby, —

' I am always glad to hear of young men of fortune wishing
to keep foxhounds, and especially when the^ have been well
educated for the task, which I consider you to have been, by not
merely serving an apprenticeship at Melton, but by having
gone about the country seeing all the best establishments, and,
of course, the best huntsmen. From reports that have reached
me of your performance in the field — I do not mean merely
riding to break your neck — I am proud to acknowledge the
compliment you pay me, of considering me as your tutor, and
it will give me much pleasure to offer you the result of my
experience as far as the management of hounds both in the
field and in the kennel ; but, mind me, oiily as a master of
hounds and a sj^ortsman. I never hunted hounds in my life ;
it was not the fashion, in early days, for gentlemen to fill the
office of huntsman, which was left to servile hands, and I do
not think that, all things considered, the noble science — as you

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

call fox-huntino- — has ^^aiiied much by the change. Gentle-
men have so many other pursuits in view, that I give
the preference to the servant, who, we know, has none other
and is, on that account, if a man of talent, more likely to
succeed. Besides, the situation of a huntsman is very trying
to the temper, and your " gentleman " too often flies out, where
the servant remains passive. However, as I know you to be
a devillslt good-tempered fellow, and, I have reason to believe,
a thorough sportsman, there is no harm in your trying the
experiment of hunting your own hounds ; forasmucli as, if it
do not succeed, you can but fall back on a substitute. All I
will say now, then, is that I will Inush up my memory on
some points, and give you the result of my reminiscences and
reflections at the earliest period within my power. In the
meantime, believe me, yours truly,

'John Warde.

'To Francis Eaby, Esq., etc. etc'

In about a fortnight after the receipt of this friendly letter,
our hero was favoured with the following observations from his
kind friend and preceptor :

' I must start with your start. Do you purchase, or get
together a pack of your own ? I should recommend the former
at a liberal price. It will save you much trouble, and be the
cheapest plan in the end. If 3'ou collect a pack — like
Harlequin's snutF, a pinch out of every man's box — have
nothing to do but with kennels of the highest character, for the
better the hounds are, the less bad, of course, will be the
drafts, and vice versa. For example, who would accept of a

hound drafted from C 's pack ? At all events, if you

determine on forming a pack by drafts from diflerent kennels,
don't fail purchasing twice as many as you may require, for
depend on it, one half of them will be useless. Ask yourself
the question — " Who would draft (juod hounds ? " You are
then purchasing faults, which you may never again get rid
of. And do not trust to your eye ; I have had hundreds of
beautiful hounds, in my time, not worth one day's meal.
Indeed, it sometimes strikes me that, as liounds improve in
beauty, which they certainly do, they lose other more necessary
qualities. This is certainly the case, unless thev aiv bred

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

from the very best blood. I conclude this part of my subject,
then, by assuring you that, if you attempt to form a pack of
foxhounds yourself, you must not, clever fellow as you are,
expect perfection under ten years, and that makes a hole even in
a young man's life. I can only say it cost me that time to form
what I considered a steady and stout pack. Some sorts prove
vicious, however highly bred ; some unsound, some delicate ;
and, forasmuch as it requires three years to find out the results
of any cross, how favourable soever may be the expectation
from it, the breeder of hounds is too often, if not working in
the dark, involved in uncertainties and perplexities to no small
amount. As is the case with breeding horses, faults of gene-
rations back on one side or the other, will appear ; and with
hounds, even should the cross suit the first time, there is
perplexity again ; the produce must be three j^ears old before
their real goodness can be verified ; and their sire must be at
least five or six, as no man would breed from a hound much
under three years' standing in his work. Should the cross
nick, however, spare no pains to continue it, if circumstances
will enable you to do so — that is to say, if the dog and the
bitch are within 500 miles of each other.

' Now the chief questions for your consideration are — what
constitutes a good, and what a faulty hound in his work, and,
afterwards, his shape and make. The properties of a good
hound are soon told. He does his best to find a fox ; throws
his tongue when he is sure he has found him, and not before ;
gets away quickly with the scent so long as it is forward ;
stops and turns quicJdy when it is not forward ; drives it to the
end without dwelling on it, or tiring; is true to the line without
beino- too eager to get to the head and guide the scent; sticks
to his fox when he is sinking in a cover, let the cover be ever
so stronc, which proves his perseverance and stoutness ; quite
steady from riot in the field ; not jealous in his work ; good-
tempered in the kennel, of a vigorous constitution, and sound
from head to foot.

' A friend of mine, speaking of the merits of hounds, has
this curious though not unreasonable notion — " It may appear
paradoxical," he says, " but it is nevertheless true, that the
(query, one) proof of a hound's goodness is, that he is never
remarkable during a run ; and there are many good sportsmen
who would prefer a hound of this nature to one which is

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THE IJFE OF A SPORTSMAN

oftener seen at head than any of the rest. Of course a hound
that is not remarkable is never last, or where he should not be,
but holds the line, and is what is called by some, a good line-
hunter, which is the criterion of all goodness ; that is, if he
drives a scent, too, without dwelling on it." We may certainly
call a hound of this description both good and highly useful in
hunting a fox to his death, but we cannot call him brilliant.
As Beckford says, " It is the dash of the foxhound that dis-
tinguishes him, as it does the hero in the battle." Besides,
this same friend thus defines the line-hunter : — " A hound
which will not go a yard beyond the scent, and keeps the pack
right." Now if a hound, with a superior nose and steadiness,
were to be conspicuous at the head, it strikes me that he
would be more likely to be efficient in driving and scent, and
guiding the pack right.

' Of the faults of hounds, if not the worst, the most
provoking of any is slackness. It reminds you of one man
taking a horse to water, whilst twenty cannot make him drink.
I had rather have to do with a Avild hound than a slack one.
The two most acknowledged faults are running mute and
skirting. The first culprit sneaks away with your fox, and
foils the ground for the rest of the pack should they chance to
get on the line ; and the second — although a proof of intellect,
or rather, running — is often the cause of much mischief, and
always spoils the business-like appearance of things, however
good as to extent or finish your run may be. There are, also,
what are called left-handed hounds — not exactly skirters, but
apt to run wide of the pack, perhaps waiting for a turn in their
favour, but leaving the rest of the pack to do the principal
work of the day. Keep none of these sorts, however good
they may be (and often are they very good) in other respects.
Then in the contrary extreme to the mute is the noisy hound,
which speaks (as iiien sometimes speak) without knowing why,
that is to say, without the scent of a fox, and often without
any scent at all. He is a fit candidate for the halter, as
worthless. I need not, however, tell you, who have so often
seen hounds going their best pace, and over a country which
enables them to hold on that best pace for a longer time than
most others, that there are times when three parts of a pack
run mute. On occasions like these, however, no fault is to be
found. It is not in the power of a man to run and shout at

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

the same time ; at least, he is soon blown if he attempts it.
Merely wild young hounds often turn out well, with proper
discipline and work ; but incurable hare-hunters, dwellers in
the scent, especially in covers after the body are away, — those
of delicate constitutions, together with the failings before
enumerated, ought never to be seen in your kennel ; and, as
these are the sort of hounds that chiefly come under the
denomination of drafts, it shows the difficulty and labour, to
say nothing of the expense, of forming a pack on such a
parent stock ; and, on the other hand, the value of a really
good pack, free from such a host of culprits. Still I do not
mean to condemn the purchasing of drafted hounds, as I know
several packs that have been greatly benefited by a large draft
from a well-established kennel — some of which might have
been put away for very trifling faults ; others for the purpose
of reducing the establishment ; and, now and then, for the
sake of a good price offered by some wealthier person than the
breeder. Let me advise you, if you can accomplish it, to
secure the entire lot of young hounds, not put forward in some
well-established kennel. They are often rejected for a slight
reason, and often for no other than that the entry is large
enough without them.

' As respects shape and make, I need not say much on
those points to you who have been in the habit of seeing so
many good packs, nevertheless you shall have my opinion, as
promised. I have always been partial to rather large hounds,
provided they are free from lumber and well put together,
although I agree with the dogma of the great sportsmen of
the day, that " the height of a hound has nothing to do with
his size," — I should rather say his ])ower. I have found large
hounds suit all countries, which small ones do not, and they
are generally more docile than small ones. But I must have
strength and muscle combined, in proportion to size, with
oblique shoulders, but no flat sides : good loins, weli-let-down
thighs, widely-spread gaskins, well-put-on heads, straight legs,
and, of course, good feet. I have no objection to a little rise
in the loins, approaching to what is called the wheel-back, for
hilly countries, and ploughed ones, that c-AYvy ; nor do I think
much the worse of a hound if he shows a LITTLE inclination
to be what is called throaty. I'll warrant he has a nose, but
if he cannot go the pace the nose is of no avail. I Avill, how-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

ever, transcribe a few lines, which I wrote some time back for
my amusement, on the subject of breeding hounds, and other
matters important to all owners of them :

' The breeding a pack of foxhounds to a pitch bordering
on perfection, is a task of no ordinary difficulty ; the best
proof of which is to be found in the comparatively few sports-
men who have eminently succeeded in it, and w^hose blood is
in high esteem to this day. Not only is every good quality to
be regarded and, if possible, obtained, but every fault or im-
perfection is to be avoided ; and although the good qualities of
foxhounds are very soon reckoned, their faults, in shape and
performance, present a larger catalogue. Independently of
good shape, which combines strength with beauty, the highest
virtue in a foxhound is not merely the exquisiteness of his
nose, but in his being true to the line his game has gone, and
a stout runner to the end of the chase. But he must not
only thus signalise himself in chase, he must also be a patient
hunter with a cold scent, and also with the pack at fault. In
short, to be a hard and stout runner and a good hunter, and
steady on the line, which " a good hunter " implies, constitute
a perfect hound, when combined with good form. Nose and
stoutness, then, nuist be principal objects in the breeder.

' The prevailing faults of hounds, too often innate, can
only be cured by education. The greatest of all are, skirting,
or not being true on the line, and throwing the tongue im-
properly ; first, without a scent ; secondly, not throwing it at
all, or running mute ; and thirdly, on a wrong scent, which is
called running riot ; but the fault of skirting, the greatest of
all, is generally innate, and too often incurable. Thus has
the breeder of the foxhound to guard against propensities as
well as faults; and it has been justly observed that, of late
years, the system of hunting is so much improved — so much
attention paid to the condition of hounds, and their style of
working, that a master of hounds feels it as a reflection on
his judgment if one hound in his pack is detected in a fault.

' The selection of dog and bitch to breed from is a nice
point for a master of hounds or his huntsman to decide upon ;
but if he aim at excellence, he must keep his eye on perfec-
tion. In no animal — not even in the horse — is perfect
symmetry so desirable — I may say necessary — as in the fox-
hound, inasmuch as without it there is no dependence on his

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

services, however good may be his nature. I will describe
him, first, in the words of a very old writer on those subjects,
and afterwards in those of Mr. Beck ford, when it Mall appear
that there is a strong resemblance in the portraits drawn by
each. " His head," says the former, " ought to be of middle
proportion, rather long than round ; his nostrils wide ; his
ears large: his back broad; the fillets great; the haunches
large ; the thighs well trussed ; the ham straight ; the tail
big near the reins, and slender towards the end ; the leg big ;
the sole of the foot dry, and formed like a fox's, with the
claws great." The latter says — " There are necessary points
in the shape of a hound which ought always to be attended
to ; for if he have not perfect symmetry, he will neither run
fast nor bear much work ; he has much to undergo, and
should have strength proportioned to it. Let his legs be as
straight as arrows ; his feet round, and not too large ; his
shoulders back ; his breast rather wide than narrow ; his chest
deep ; his back broad ; his head small ; his neck thin ; his
tail thick and brushy, and if he carry it well, so much the
better." Now the hound that would answer to either of these
descriptions would disgrace no man's kennel, and one re-
sembling the latter would be an ornament to it; but, with
regard to the former, it must be borne in mind that it is from
the pen of a sportsman who wrote a century and a half ago,
when, there is reason to believe, no animal in the form of the
present day was to be found in this or in any other country.
I am, however, disposed to think that there is much of the
real character of the foxhound in the description given by the
older waiter, such as the long, rather than round, head ; the
wide nostrils (Pliny says they should be fat, solid, and blunt),
and the dry, fox-like foot. The " boned back " appears to spoil
all, unless it means that gentle rise in the loins, wdiich man}^
good judges approve of for hilly, and especially ploughed
countries, which " carry," as the term is, after a slight frost,
thereby adding much to the natural w^eight of the hound.
Beckford gives us the modern foxhound, and, in my opinion,
perfect, with the exception of the mention of one or two
material points. " His chest should be deep," he says, " and
his back broad " ; but he has omitted a point much thought of
by modern sportsmen, namely, tJie back ribs, which should also
be deep, as in a strong-bodied horse, of which we say, when

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

so formed, that lie has a good "spur place," a point highly
esteemed in him. Nor is either of these writers sufficiently
descriptive of the hinder legs of the hound ; for, although the
large haunch and well-trussed thigh of the former denote
power and muscle, there is a length of thigh discernible in
hounds of tirst-rate form, which, like the well-let-down hock of
the horse, gives them superiority of speed, and is also a great
security against laming themselves in leaping fences, which
they are more apt to do when they become blown, or tired,
and, consequently, weak. The fore-legs, "straight as arrows,"
is an admirable illustration of perfection in those parts, by
Beckford; for, as in a bow or bandy-legged'man, nothing is so
distio-urincr to a hound as his having his elbows out, and it is
also a great check to speed. In some countries, the round
cat-like foot is indispensable, and it is agreeable to the eye in
all ; but I would not reject a well-shapen puppy in all other
respects, for merely somewhat of an open foot, provided his
ankles or fetlocks were good, a point I consider of the greatest
importance to all quadruped animals. The shoulders of the
foxhound should, especially, resemble those of a horse —
oblique, but, at the same time, strong ; for a narrow-chested
hound is ahnost certain to be shaken by hard work, and, con-
sequently, unlikely to endure beyond his third season.

' As Beckford recommends a small head, it may be pre-
sumed the fashion on this point began to be changed in his
time, and has been since, I think, carried to rather too great
an excess, especially in one or two kennels of high repute, in
which small heads are become one of the leading character-
istics. For my part, I like some length of head in the fox-
hound, not being able to divest myself of the idea of a cross
with the old-fashioned pointer when I see him with a short
head and a snubbed nose. Beckford also says the neck
should be thin. I should say, moderately thin. I dislike a
thin neck in any animal but a milch cow and the stag ; at the
same time, I dislike a short, thick neck in a hound. His
neck should be moderately long and moderately thick, with
the muscles clearl}?- developed ; it should rise gracefully out of
his shoulders, with a slight curve, or crest, and, to completely
satisfy the eye, should be quite free from the exuberances of
flesh and rough hair on the lower side of it, called, by kennel
n}en, "chitterlings," or " ruffles," the hound having them being

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

termed throaty. There are, however, numerous exceptions to
this rule, as some of the best hounds England ever saw have
been throaty; and althouoh I am aware that one individual
instance will prove neither the rule nor its exception, I can
mention Mr. Meynell's famous stallion hound, Guzman, who^
although throaty, was as good a foxhound as ever man
hallooed to, and the sire of many good ones. I agree with
Beckford that the stern of a foxhound should be thick and
moderately brushy ; and, if well carried, it is a great orna-
ment to him ; but there is one part of it which his owner
likes to see nearly deprived of its covering, and that is its tip,
which, when in that state, is an infallible proof of his being
a good and not a slack drawer of covers, nor shy of facing the
strongest of them in chase.

' But to return to breedinof the foxhound. In the breeding:
of some animals, beauty of shape is often dependent on the
caprice of fashion, or the peculiar taste of the breeder ; but in
the breeding of hounds no such latitude can be given ; for here
beauty, or true symmetry of shape, is alone in reference to
utility, and adaptation of parts to the puiyoses to which they are
to he applied. Yet the breeder of foxhounds has one point
further to go ; he must, as I have already said, guard against
propensities which run in the blood of those animals, perhaps
stronger than their good qualities do, and will, sooner or later,
break out in their work, if they really exist. In the election,
then, of a dog for a bitch, or a bitch for a dog, these matters
must be most attentively considered ; and no man should breed
from hounds of either sex that come under any or either of the
following denominations, viz., not of a tolerably docile sort,
but very difficult to be made to enter to their game ; or guilty
of any of the faults I have already enumerated ; and, above
all things, if found evidently deficient in nose. Good constitu-
tion should likewise be looked to carefully ; but I would not
reject a stallion hound, or a brood bitch, merely for being
slack drawers, or for not being always at the head in chase,
provided they were themselves well bred, of good form, and
true to the line in cover and out.

' As to the proper combination of form, that must be self-
evident to the breeder of hounds. If a bitch is a little high
on her legs, or light, she should be put to a short-legged, strong
dog, and, of course, vice versa; if rather light in her tongue,

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

that defect may also be remedied by an opposite property in a
dog. Defects in legs and feet can only be remedied by such
means; and fortunate it' is for the owner of an otherwise
perfect and excellent bitch that such remedies are at hand.
Length and shortness of frame, when in excess, as well as
coarse points, are to be obviated and altered in the same way,
making allowance for the fact, that the laws of nature are not
invariable. Constitution can likewise be remedied by having
recourse to that which is good (and none so easily detected as
the dog's), and colour changed, if wished for. It is, in fact,
the judicious cross, as Beckford saj^s, that makes the pack com-
plete ; and it was the remark of that eminent sportsman of his
day, that he saw no reason why the breeding of hounds may
not improve till improvement can go no further. The question
may be asked, is not his prediction verified ?

' But the act of crossing hounds, as, indeed, all other
animals, although never thoroughly divested of chance, is one
of more difficulty than most people would imagine, and one
which, by its results, would often baffle, if not puzzle, the
profoundest of our modern physiologists. I cannot go at length
into this intricate subject, but I have reason to know that great
mistakes have been made by masters of foxhounds in breeding
too much in-and-in from near affinities, instead of having re-
course to an alien cross. This was peculiarly apparent in two
packs of long standing which I could name, which were bred
too much in-and-in — one from a favourite bitch and her
produce, and the other from a dog hound and his produce. It
is asserted, and with truth, that a pack of foxhounds, to be
perfect, should have the appearance and character of being of
one family : but this expression is not to be taken in its literal
construction. It is in the conformity of their character and
appearance that they should bear a close resemblance to each
other, and not in their close consanguinity. In my own
kennel, indeed, I have been too partial to my own blood ; and
I reluctantly admit that, although I believe I may say my
hounds are unrivalled in fine form, I may trace a certain
degree of slackness to that cause. On the other hand, the rare
but valuable combination of dash and nose which has made
the pack of a certain Duke a match for the cold and somewhat
ungenial hills of Oxfordshire, are to be attributed to his hunts-
man— one of the best breeders of hounds of his day — going

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

from home for his blood, and sending his bitches to the celebrated
stallion hounds of the best kennels within his reach. This,
however, it must be remembered, is not within the command
of every man's purse, the expenses attendant on sending bitches
to a distance, under any circumstances, being heavy ; as they
must not only be placed under the care of a trusty servant,
but there are other occult charges which none but masters of
hounds are aware of. It is, however, a notorious fact, that the
produce of some stallion hounds, if they have but a fair chance
by the bitch, seldom fail in turning out well, and transmitting
their good qualities to many succeeding generations.

' As to the size of hounds, various arguments are made use
of by the advocates of large and small ones. Those of the
former sort, that they get better across a deep and strongly-
fenced country than the smaller ones do ; whilst the admirers
of the latter insist upon their being better climbers of hills,
more active in cover, and quicker out of it, when their fox is
gone; and are oftener found to be more perfect in form and
shape. As to strict uniformity in size, how pleasing soever it
may be to the eye, it is by no means essential to the well-doing
of hounds in the field, and has been disregarded by some of
our first sportsmen — the great Meynell for one, who never
drafted a really good hound for being over or under the general
standard of his kennel. The great object of that eminent
sportsman — and such has been mine — was to breed them with
muscular power and bone, combined with as much symmetry
as could be obtained ; and to be equal in speed and good
qualities, rather than equal in height. For myself, I am
anxious to see my dog hounds rise to twenty-five inches, or
more, and bitches from twenty-three to twenty-four ; but such
a standard is very difficult to maintain ; and, after all, perhaps,
it may be said of hounds, as has been said of horses, that
their height has little to do with their size, as far, at least, as
their powers of action are concerned : and I believe that, in all
animals that labour, a medium height is best.

' The amount of hounds to be bred annually will depend on
the average strength of your kennel, and the number of da^'s'
hunting in the week, which the country they are intended for
requires. From sixty to eighty couples of working hounds are
as many as any man ought to keep, being a complement for
at least four days in the week. This will require the breeding

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of as many couples of puppies eveiy year to allow for the
usual diminution of the entry, by malformation, under size,
and that banc to the kennel, tlie distemper, wliich often takes
oil* a third of them. As the period of gestation in bitches is
somewhat over two calendar months, they should, if they can
be spared, be put to dog in January, as then they will litter in
the spring, when the weatlier is comparatively warm, and the
puppies will come early into kennel, generally be of good size
and powerful, and be entered without loss of time.

'It is said that a dog, in a state of nature, is subject to
few diseases, and for those he finds his cure by an instinctive
faculty : in a domesticated state he is subject to many, and
some of an awful nature, which may be classed amongst the
opiorohria niedicorimi, no certain remedy being discovered for
them. Amongst these is one called " distemper," not known
to our forefathers, but, at present, become a sort of periodical
disorder in kennels of hounds, to the destruction of thousands
of young ones annually. The first symptoms of this disease
are, generally, a dry husky cough, want of appetite, and
consequent loss of flesh ; extreme dulness, and a running from
the eyes and nose. As the disease advances, it is attended
with distressing twitchings of the head and, occasionally, of
the whole frame, while the animal becomes very weak in the
loins and hinder extremities, and is greatly emaciated ; convul-
sive fits, too, often close the scene. For the cure of this
disorder I venture not to prescribe; there is no specific, but
the severity of the disease may be diminished by lowerino- the
system of young hounds by gentle doses of salts when they
first come into kennel, and, to a great extent, successfully
guarded against by very great attention to their diet, cleanli-
ness, and exercise.

' With respect to the age of hounds, few are found in a
kennel after their eighth year, and still fewer after their ninth ;
and not many hard-working hounds can " run up," or keep pace
witli the rest, after their sixth season. Hounds are in their
prime in the third and fourth year, but there are instances,
rare ones, of their hunting in their eleventh and twelfth. I
should place the average at four seasons. Old hounds are
useful in tlie field, but when they cannot run up they sliould be
drafted. The perfection of a pack consists in the great body
of it being composed of hounds quite in tlieir prime.

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' I have always been partial to a good cry in hounds, and
listen to it with feelings not confined to fox-hunting. Sounds,
by association, become the signs of ideas, and the great variety
in the voice of nature must have been designed to meet the
peculiar tastes and purposes of the countless multitudes that
dwell on the face of the earth. That the cry of hounds is a
voluntary noise, proceeding from a powerful organic impulse,
is quite apparent, as is also the purpose for which the impulse
is given, namely, to announce their having discovered the
scent of an animal, either obnoxious to their notice, or desirable
as food ; and also by calling their straggling companions
together and uniting their forces, tlie better to enable them to
secure their prey. On the other hand, here is mercy shown
to the prey they are in pursuit of. The tongue of the hound
gives notice of his approach ; and he does not pounce upon his
victim as the silent greyhound does, which Gratius, in his poem
on coursing, alludes to in the following line :

"Sic canis ilia suos taciturna snpervenit hostes."

' But the cry of hounds, melodious and heart-stirring as it
even now is, has lost much of its poetical interest from the
change man has made in the natural organisation of the
animal from which it proceeds ; and we shall never again hear
of a master of a pack, after the manner of Addison's knight,
returning a hound that had been given to him as an " excellent
bass," whereas the note he wanted was a " counter tenor."
Beckford, however, was something of the worthy knight's
opinion on this point, for he says, " If we attended more than
we do to the variety of the notes frequently to be met with in
the tongues of hounds, it might add greatly to the harmony of
the pack." This is well in theory. The natural organisation
of the dog is musical ; he is, in fact, a victim to musical
sensibility, and we may reasonably suppose that the notes
of his companions in the chase may be as pleasing to himself
as to his huntsman ; but I do not think a huntsman of this
day would draft a highly-bred and beautiful young bitch, as
good too as she looks to be, merely because her light fox-
hunting: tono-ue mio;ht be somewhat drowned, and now and
then lost, in the general chorus of the pack. He would rather
say, " Let every tongue be to a fox, and I leave the rest to
chance." But on a good day for hearing it (there is a wide

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

difference in this respect), Avhat natural sound is more delight-
ful and aniniatino- than that of hounds in full cry, in the deep
recesses of an eclio-giving wood ? Neither would those writers
who have availed themselves of the beauty and sublimity
which allusion to sounds in nature stamp on their various
compositions, have at all descended from their eminence, if
they had, like Shakspeare, delighted as much in bringing the
soul in contact with such a sound as this as with the rolling of
tliunder or the bowlings of the storm.

' The situation of huntsman to a pack of foxhounds is one
of great responsibility, and, if the breeding as well as huntino-
of them be left to him, a very arduous undertaking. Nor does
it end here. There is a great call for judgment in feeding
hounds to answer every purpose, such as long draws, severe
days, and, at the same time, to go tlie pace without showim>-
distress, and to come home at night with their sterns up and
looking fresh. Here variety of constitution increases the
difficulty ; for, to satisfy the eye, hounds should look level in
tlieir condition, as well as even in point of size. One hound
will not bear to ha\'e his belly more than half filled ; another
will not fill his when he may; and still each must be made
equal in strength and wind to the other, to stand hard work,
and go the pace without showing distress. A huntsman must
have a very watchful eye over their condition, which will be
affected by work and weather; and he must be pathologist
enough to foresee and provide against the alterations which
such circumstances produce. He had need also to be a
physiologist to exercise a sound judgment in breedino- his
hounds after a certain form and fashion, which are absolutely
essential to their doing well in their work, and at the same time
pleasing the eye. Then look at him in tlie field witli a hundred
eyes upon him, and a hundred tongues to canvass all his acts !
Here he should be a philosopher, and tlie qualities o-iven to
him, by Beckford, at once make him sucli.^

1 ' " A good liuntsnian," says Beckford, " should l)e youiif;-, strong, .and active
bold and enterprising ; fond of the diversion, and indefatigable in tiie pursuit of
it; he should be sensible and good-tempered; he ought also to be sober- he
should be exact, civil, and cleanly ; he should be a good horseman, and a ^ood
groom ; his voice sho\ild be strong and clear ; and he should have an eye so
quick as to perceive whicli of his hounds carry the scent when all are running' •
and should have so excellent an ear, as always todistinguisli the foremost liounds
when he does not see them. lie should be quiet, patient, and witliout conceit

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

' Without entering into the wide range of hunting, the
following maxims may be observed with advantage by a
huntsman : —

' In drawing for your fox don't be persuaded always to draw
up wind. In the first place you are in danger of chopping
your fox ; secondly, he is almost sure then to go down wind at
starting; and thirdly, you may drive him into the worst part
of your country, or from his point. (I am, of course, sup-
posing your pack to be quite steady, otherwise drawing up
wind is more desirable, as, should any riot be going on down
wind, the voice of the huntsman will better reach the oflenders.)
When found, get after him as quickly as possible, if you have
a body of hounds with you, if not, you will have a better
chance of a run if you wait a little until the body come up.
This is easily done, either by horn or halloo, if hounds are

He should let his hounds alone when they can hunt, and he should have genius
to assist them -when they cannot." Perhaps more than this cannot be expected
from humanity. Can we give a man higher qualifications than a clear head,
nice observation, undaunted courage, an accurate ear, and a lynx's eye, together
with a quick perception, endowed with ready impulses for acting so necessary to
each ? That he should be fond of his profession and indefatigable in tiie pursuit
of it ; sober and exact, sensible and good-tempered. It is not necessary that
either a huntsman or a soldier should be a man of letters ; some of the former
have been scarcely able to read, and there iiave been but few Ca?sars who coiild
both fight and w-rite ; but a good and sound understanding is put to the test both
by the one and the other ; and each requires, in addition to such an undertaking,
a manly exertion of talent. With respect to gentlenien-liuntsmen, there cannot
be a doubt that no man enjoys hunting to perfection equally with him who hunts
his own hounds ; nor can there be any reason assigned why an educated gentle-
man should not excel in any ardent and highly scientific pursuit, which hunting
is allowed to be, an uneducated servant. Nevertheless it does admit of a doubt
whether, throughout the fox-hunting world in general, gentlemen-huntsmen have
been so popular as might have been expected ; and in a few countries that have
been hunted by subscription an exception has been taken against the master of
the pack being the huntsman. That it is a laborious oflice when efficiently per-
formed, both in the kennel and the field, is well known to those who have hlled
it, but, labor ipse voluntas, a painstaking zeal is often disjjlayed by the master,
which has been wanting in the servant ; and it was the remark of a certain noble-
man that, after the first fox, his huntsman was more disposed to find his dinner
than a second. In a well-known ' ' diary " lately published, a perfect huntsman is
thusdescribed : " He should possess the following qualifications : health, memory,
decision, temper, and patience, voice and sight, courage and spirits, perseverance
and activity," which requisites a still later writer on the " noble science " seems
to think are oftener found in the gentleman than the servant. The first -named
writer pithily observes, that, with the attributes he awards to him, a huntsman
will soon make a bad pack a good one. If quick, he will make a slow pack
quick ; if slow, he will make a quick pack slow.'

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

under good command, and the convenient opportunity is seized
upon, and a whipper-in is in his riglit place. Keep near your
hounds in chase, with your eye on the body ot" the pack, as
well as on such as may be leading ; the body are more certain
to be riglit. Next to knowing wdiere a fox is gone, is knowing
where he is not gone ; therefore in your casts always make
good the head. This you will do for your satisfaction ; but
hounds are seldom at fault for the scent ahead, when the
chase has been at all warm, that is, on a fair scenting day ;
for if the fox be gone forward wherefore the fault ? Good
hounds will seldom or never leave a scent ahead unless the
ground be stained by sheep or cattle, or when the chase leads
over dry ploughed land, hard and dry roads, and so forth. It
is high odds that your fox has turned to the right or to the
left ; but, although his point may be back, he cannot well run
his foil from the number of horsemen that are generally in the
rear of hounds. Recollect j'our first check is generally the
most fatal to sport, and for these reasons : your hounds are
fresh, and perhaps a little too eager ; they may have overrun
the scent for some distance, owing to having been pressed upon
by the horses, which are also at this time fresh ; nor will they
always get their heads down so soon as they should do, from
the same exciting causes. Again, your check now generally
arises from a short turn, the fox having been previously forced
from a point which he now resolves to make ; and he will
make it at all hazard at certain times. When your hounds
first throw up, leave them alone if they can hunt ; but, disre-
garding what some of the " old ones " say on this subject, as
inapplicable to these faster times, don't be long before you
take hold of them, and assist them, if they cannot. I w^ould
not go from scent to view ; yet hounds that will not bear
lifting are not worth having, for lifted they must be over stain
of sheep or cattle ; for, as Beckford observes, " it is the judi-
cious encouraging of hounds to hunt, when they cannot run,
and the preventing their losing time by hunting too much,
that distinguish a good huntsman from a bad one." But do
all this quietly as well as quickly. Turn your horse's head
towards the line you think your fox is gone ; and the first
moment you see all their heads up, that is, if they do not hit
him ofi", put 3^our horn to your mouth for one blast or two, and
trot away to still more likely points. If your pack will divide

385 2b

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

when casting, so much the better; but good hounds will be
maknig their own cast to a certain extent, whilst you are
making yours, by not keeping at your liorse's heels, but spread-
ing as they go.

' When you have hit upon his point, if a single hound goes
off with a good scent, get the body to him as quickly as you
can ; but not so if the scent be warm. In the latter case, your
hounds will be in expectation of a fresh fox, and will be in a
hurry ; the hound that is forward will be lifted, and, in all
probability, you will have to seek for the scent again. Go
gently, and your hounds, if steady, will settle to it. Likewise,
if, when at check, you are hallooed to a spot where a fox has
been viewed, stand still, and say nothing at the moment the
first two or three hounds throw their tongues. If you hurry
the body on immediately, the scent will often be lost should
the fox have been a few minutes gone. Again, when a fox has
been viewed, and you go directly to halloo, do not take your
hounds to the extreme distant point at which he was viewed,
but about a hundred yards behind it, and for this reason : if you
take them to the extreme point, and they do not hit off the
scent at once, you have then to make your cast at a venture ;
whereas, if you lay them on at that distance behind it, you have
somewhat of a guide to that extent, as to the line to which you
should draw them.

' The following hints relate to hounds, either at fault, or in
difficulties. In trying back, hounds have this advantage. It
is evident the fox has come the line up to the point where the
check occurred ; and he must be gone either to the right or
the left of it, or back. I make this remark because so much
has been said about the straight running of foxes, which is far
from true ; and the necessity of persevering in the cast ahead
with the fox, and back on the foil with the hare. The more
hounds spread within reason in this backward cast, the better
will be the chance of making the cast a short one. Again, if
at check on a road or footpath (the latter not often run over
by foxes), when you observe some of your best hounds failing
to make it good on one side of cither, it is reasonable to suppose
the fox is gone on the other. If your hounds check in a
cover in the middle of a run, and the fox is viewed away from
it, try and get your hounds together as much as you can in
the short time that can be allowed for it, before you cap them

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

to the scent. It generally insures a good finisli fioni two
obvious causes. First, your hounds get fresli wind ; and,
secondly, they will liave a better chance to carry a good head,
which generally insures blood, and blood well earned ; for the
fox is more likely to stand longer and go straighter for not
having been viewed by hounds when he broke. But the most
difficult point for a huntsman to decide up(m promptly is,
when his pack divides, which lot is on the hunted fox. If it
happen in cover, his ear is his surest guide, as the cry is
louder and stronger on a fresh-found fox than on one which
has been for some time on foot. If, when out of cover, your
pack should divide on two separate scents, you should get as
near as you can to what you imagine to be the chase, giving
view-halloos every yard you go, also sending a whipper-in to
stop the other hounds. Your choice will doubtless be directed
by several circumstances. You will first look for your truest
and best line-hunting hounds, and next, to the points your
first fox would be likely to make for ; and if your choice fall
upon the lot that are going up the wind, the other will be
more likely to hear them running, and, should they come to a
check, to join cry again, perhaps before a whipper-in can get to
stop them.

' Do not be dispirited at a succession of bad sport, for it
is not within your control, good hounds and good sport not
being, as has been before observed, naturally co-existing cir-
cumstances. Be as zealous as you please in the field, but
temper your zeal with judgment, and do not weary your
hounds by long draws on days which bid defiance to sport.
It was once justly observed, that those who seek for pleasure
from the chase must ask permission of Heaven, and the case
still remains the same. Hounds may be improved in their
form and physical powers, but they cannot hunt without scent,
and without it they resemble a man trying to run fast in
the dark ; neither can they make head against such fearful
obstructions ; and, on stormy days, with a very high wind,
you had better go home after the first failure. It is not
generally known what mischief even one such unpropitious
day does to some hounds. Do not set too high a value on
blood, unless it has been well earned by your hounds; it is
the result of want of reflection alone, that has set any value
whatever upon it, when otherwise obtained. Kill a good fox

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

whenever you can ; it will satisfy your hounds, yourself, your
field, and the farmers. Mob a bad one in a corner if you like ;
neither he nor his produce will show you any sport ; but never
dig out a good one, unless your hounds have almost viewed
liim into the spout or drain, which he has got into, and you
can bolt him before the excitement of your hounds subsides.
Never break ground in a country belonging to another pack of
hounds, nor dig for a fox in a main earth in your own. Many
a vixen fox, heavy with young, has been killed by this means,
in the spring, instead of the one that was hunted and marked
into it by the pack ; and be assured that sportsmen do not
estimate the goodness of a pack of foxhounds by the noses
nailed against their kennel-door. Lastly, keep your field back
from pressing on your hounds in chase, and still more so when
in difficulties, as much as in you lies ; but do not suflfer your
zeal to carry you too far on this point. Remember the apos-
tolic precept — Be courteous. Neither approach too near the
hounds yourself, when at fault, as the steam from even one
horse is perplexing to them.

' Beckford says that, " although it is not necessary that a
huntsman should be a man of letters, it is necessary that he
should be a man of understanding." This also applies to a
whipper-in ; and I am bound to say, I never saw a steady
pack of hounds without at least one good and efficient man at
this post ; but I have seen many of those red-coated youths,
who might have been better employed at the plough's tail —
who, after the manner of Cicero's lawyer, belonged to the pro-
fession, but not to the science. Beckford assigns to him the
most important duties, and leaves me but little to add. I
merely recommend him, when his huntsman is casting his
hounds, to turn them to him, when necessary, as gently as he
can, compatible with dispatch, and with little noise ; by which
means they will dratv towards him, trying for the scent as
they go ; whereas loud and repeated rates and cracks of the
whip make hounds tly to their huntsman at this time with
their heads up. When tliey are drawing properly towards
him, not another word need be said ; a whipper-in merely
riding outside of them will, or, at least, ought to be sufficient.

' It is scarcely necessary to observe that a whipper-in to
foxhounds, to be perfect, should be an accomplished horseman,
as nothing requires a nmch nicer and firmer hand than the

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

act of following and overtakinoj a hound over open ground, to
flog him. A good whipper-in, however, will always hit a
hound first, and rate him afterw^ards, and be able to hit him
hard when occasion requires it. I deprecate the very idea of
wanton cruelty towards any animal, but a riotous foxhounc
must not be trifled with, if he is to be cured, without the
halter, of his evil ways : let the lash, then, fall heavily when
necessary, but at no other times. Above all, a whipper-in
must have an eye to skirters ; skirting is the least pardonable
fault hounds can possess, because they are then deviating from
their nature, and have not tlie force of impulse to plead, which
those which run riot after hares or deer have. Great caution,
however, is necessary in the use of the whip to a young hound
when on a scent. He may he 'right, in which case he may
never forget the check he receives, and be slack in his work
for the rest of his life. As study precedes practice, and fits us
for it, let me call your attention to the following essential
points, and remember that we should not be content with
mediocrity when perfection can be obtained :

' You are about to take upon yourself a laborious and
difficult task, that of huntsman to your own pack, in a country
frequented by many of the first sportsmen of the day. I
wish you may acquit yourself well ; but recollect what Smollett
says of historians — '•' that the world has been able to produce
but six good ones ! " and it may be said of a huntsman that,
in all his operations, he has not only to exercise his mental
faculties at every step he goes, when unravelling the intricacies
of the chase, but actually to tread a path nearly unknown to
human reason. Your only chance to shine is, by availing
yourself of your experience of what you have found to be
good in others ; to attend to the suggestions of superior judg-
ment on points on which you are doubtful ; and to abandon
all popular but erroneous notions of the old school. By
doing this, I doubt not but the disciple will soon get beyond
his master.

' I now call your attention to a few essential points. Your
kennel is a sound one ; you need be under no apprehension
respecting kennel lameness, about which so much has been
said and written, and all to little purpose. The whole secret
is this — if the subsoil of the ground on which your kennel is
built is damp, your hounds will be liable to rheumatism, and

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

be lame ; and the more porous the soil is, the more likely will
it be for the damp to ascend, for which reason, sandy soils,
which appear to be the driest, because they dry soonest after
rain, are the worst for the sites of kennels. Some attribute
the malady to several other causes, such as washing, dressing,
etc. I do not believe washing hounds has anything to do with
it; although it is possible the injudicious use of sulphur in
dressing or physicking may. Madness I hope you will never
experience. One thing, however, I think you may assure
yourself of, namely, that your hounds will never go mad spon-
taneously— tliat is to say, U7il('ss from the bite of a rabid dog.
At least such is my opinion ; and it is also the opinion of
several veterinary surgeons, who are now turning their atten-
tion to the diseases of dogs, as well as those of horses. In
case, then, of any hound in your pack being bitten by a dog
of whose state of health you are ignorant, have him separated
from the pack instantly on seeing anything unusual in his
appearance. Of all other diseases, distemper excepted, clean-
liness will be the best preventive. As Somerville says —

"Much does health on cleanliness depend."

' As for distemper, j^ou must take your chance for that.
There appears to be no specific as yet found out; but acting
on the prophylactic system has answered with me. I give
repeated mild doses of salts to my young hounds when they
first come up, and then, should they take the distemper, the
disease is less virulent, and oftener yields to those medicines
which are found to be partly efficacious. Physicking and
bleeding and dressing, after the season is concluded — all of
which are essential to the well doing of your pack — will be
attended to by your kennel huntsman ; all you have to do is,
to see that they are properly performed. During the moving
of the coat is considered the best time to dress.

' Over accident you have no control ; rest is the best
doctor for strains of shoulder, stifle, etc. ; and the sharpest astrin-
gents are to be applied to wounds in the feet, to which hounds
are so liable in their work. The most efficient remedy for
wounds^was supposed to lie in' the dog's own tongue ; but
experience has proved it to be, in man}' cases, injurious.
Spaying bitches is recommended by many ; and it is said that
twenty couples of spayed bitches would do the work of twenty-

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

five or thirty couples of open ones. Be it so ; still I do not
recommend the practice ; first, on account of the severity and
danger of tlio operation ; secondly, in that it deprives the animal
of perpetuating the excellent properties she might possess. It
is altogether a barbarous practice ; neither should an operation
of a similar nature be performed on a dog hound, unless in-
curably quarrelsome in the kennel.

' Hounds, like horses, must be quite fit to go, or good foxes
will beat them. If you are to hunt your hounds yourself, it
must bo yourself that must look to this point, which must be
accomplished long before the season commences. In fact, it
is by your summer work that 3'our hounds will be fitted for
the winter's campaign. But here 3'ou must depend upon your
kennel huntsman, inasmuch as you cannot be expected to be
in the saddle at four o'clock in the morning, at which hour
3^our pack ought to be out, during the hot months, and occa-
sionally kept out for seven or eight hours at a time, especially
towards the approach of cub-hunting. I do not suppose you
will always feed j^our hounds yourself, neither do I think it
absolutely necessary ; but everything depends upon how it
is done. Experience will convince you that, whilst but few
hounds in your kennel can be allowed to eat their fill, there
are many who must be fed to a mouthful, and others enticed
to feed, to render them quite fit. It is on this account that,
unless a gentleman-huntsman always feeds in the hunting
season, he had better entrust it to other hands, guided by the
result of his observation of certain hounds in their work. If
your fixture is beyond ten or twelve miles from your kennel,
let your hounds (and horses) sleep out. They will be fresher
and stouter in their work the following day, and decidedly
better in a very sharp burst with their first fox, as well as
having more left in them for a good afternoon fox, and he
generally proves a good one — that is to say, comparatively
with the powers of his pursuers.

' Get your young hounds into kennel in good time ; kennel
food will improve their shape, and they will be free from
chances of accidents, as also of acquiring loose habits. Re-
member that you will want a large kennel of working hounds,
and do not be in too great a hurry to draft. At all events,
you must put forward thirty couples, which will allow for the
ravages of the distemper, should it attack them, and also admit

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THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

of a second draft. By no means enter your young hounds to
hare. It is a practice not founded in reason ; on the contrary,
it is, by opposing the natural propensities of the animal, after
having encouraged them, an unjustifiable exercise of our
dominion over him.

' You will, of course, go through the process of cub-hunting.
On this subject I have only to observe — begin as soon as you
can, and follow it u]) stoutly. Exclusive of the necessity of
entering and blooding your hounds, by moving young foxes,
you will make them safer from the fox-takers ; and those
which may be left in the country will fly when found by your
pack further on in the season. But don't think too higldy of
blood further on in the season. That it is desirable there
cannot be a question, when obtained by fair means, and
well-deserved ; but that it is essential to sport, I deny.
Weather admitting of good scent is essential, if you please ;
but I can name one of the first packs in England wliich
had the best week's sport they ever had since they were a
pack, after nine days' hunting, without tasting blood. Stag-
hounds rarely taste blood, and what hounds run faster, or
work harder ?

' It has been said that a run with foxhounds should re-
semble a successful battle— that it should be " sharp, short,
and decisive." My idea of a truly good run is not exactl}' this.
I think it should be not less than an hour, and with at least
two checks. I mean to say, there should be difficulties in the
course of it, the overcoming of which proclaims the credit of
both hounds and huntsman. I would divide it thus : — I
would have twenty-five minutes, best pace, witli a right good
scent. Next, a check well recovered, but not until the hounds
and horses had recovered their wind, and, even then, I like
seeing the pack brought to hunting, but at a fair pace, for
about fifteen more minutes. I would now wish to see my
fox well hunted up to, and finish with running into him
at the end of the remaining twenty minutes, at very best
pace. Runs exceeding an hour are liable to two objections ;
they are tiresome to hounds and horses, and are not what is
called business-like. For my own part, I have always seen
more satisfaction expressed by my field, after a smart burst of
half an hour, than at the end of a run which we may call a
journey.

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' There are a few difficult points in hunting hounds, to
which it may not be amiss to call your attention. In drawing
covers, for example, you should observe the parts most likely
to hold a fox ; in fact, you should study your country, as well
as the science of hunting it. Foxes do not generally prefer
the most thick and dense part of a wood for their kennel ; on
the contrary, they often lie near to the outside, and facing the
morning or evening sun, under the rays of which they much
like to bask. The art of distinguishing a fresh from a beaten
fox, as well as having a good eye to a heavy vixen, are requi-
sites in huntsmen, and to be acquired only by experience.
The being able to distinguish what is called a moving
scent — that is, the scent of a disturbed fox — from a drag, is
also to be acquired by the same means — that said thing, called
" experience."

' I like to see a huntsman alive and stirring, as well as his
liounds, when he enters a cover to draw for his fox. Homer
compares hounds cheered by their huntsman, to troops en-
couraged by a general. There certainly is something very
cheering to the field in the " cheering halloo " of a huntsman,
and it is usefvil as well. Should a hound get wide of the
pack, or hang behind in the cover ; or should any of the field
be at a loss, which often happens in woodlands, " the pipe " of
the huntsman is an unerring guide to all. How necessary is
it, then — at all events, how desirable — that, like Ajax, he
should be ^orjv djado'i, renowned for strength of voice, and, we
may add, for the melodiousness of it. He should likewise
blow a horn well ; and if he varies the blast, to make himself
more intelligible to his hounds, he will find his account in it.
I wonder why tliis is not more practised than it is. Inde-
pendently of the common recheat, why not have the " view-
horn, " as well as the " view-halloo " ? Too much horn, how-
ever, is to be condemned, having a tendency to make hounds
disregard it ; still a huntsman would be sadly at a loss
without it, not onlj^ in getting hounds away from cover and
in chase, but in bringing them over to him, when drawing-
large covers.

'As regards the use of the voice, the following hints may
be useful to you : — Never halloo unless you have a good
reason for doing so. A constant and indiscriminate use of
the voice is blamoable in a huntsman, inasmuch as his

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hounds, by constantly hearing it, will pay but little attention
to it. Hallooing to hounds is highly useful when done with
judgment, but it must be done with caution. Never cap your
hounds, with halloos, to a bad scent ; it makes them wild and
eager, and never should be done but when the scent is good.
Hounds cannot be brought up too quietly to a cold scent.
With respect to your field hallooing, I have no objection to a
little of that under certain circumstances. No one should
halloo if he is behind hounds ; but if a man, who knows what
hunting is, happens to be well up with the pack when they are
on good terms with their fox, a cheering halloo may do no
harm ; the hounds will not attend to it, and it is expressive of
the pleasure of the hallooer. The huntsman, however, who is
endowed by nature with a clear, sonorous voice, in a well-
pitched key, and knows how to use it with effect, contributes
to the enthusiasm of fox-hunting, and, consequently, to the
success of it.

' Earth-stopping is best done by at once stopping all main
earths, having first stunk them out, as the term is, by brim-
stone matches, etc., so as to prevent the chance of having
foxes stopped in them. It is by the knowledge of main earths
to fox-stealers that foxes are taken ; and if all main earths in
England and elsewhere were destroyed, there would be more
foxes and better runs.

' If one vixen fox can lay and bring up her litter above
ground, why cannot another ? And is it not proverbial that
what are called stub-bred foxes are generally stoutest runners ?
In the summer, let your whippers-in go about and discover the
mouths of drains, and have them staked. Iron gratings will
be stolen, and stakes will last two years.

' Although I am of opinion that foxes do not destroy game
nearly to the extent which is laid to their charge, still, as the
preservation of it is now become so fashionable, you must
open your purse to the keepers within your country, and a
dinner to them, annually, with your huntsman in the chair,
will go a great way in procuring their respect and good-will.
It is stated, indeed, on good practical authority, that, by
opening the racks in covers, during cub-hunting, and early in
the season, a pack of foxhounds help to preserve game, by
destroying the facility of its being snared in the unopened
racks. A few sovereigns, thrown amongst undcr-keepers in

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the course of the season, have a very good effect in preventing
bWnk days. However, to make assurance doubly sure when
. mer ofcubs is known to be on dangerous^ ground et them
te o -ed by stinking the mouth of the earth, when the vjxen
wil cirry them off. As to purel,asing foxes tha expedient
Teed nolbe resorted to in your country: it .s a l,ad system
altoo-ether the greater part of them benig mangy.

Draw your covers closely, especially those oi gorse. with
l^iavv you ,, T l.nvp seen foxes left m them,

which your country abounds. I have seen lo.xes ,

7re<,ucntly. after hounds have been drawing for at least halt
an lour They lie very close in such places and. even when
L d are ofte^ difficult'to force out of them, by -~;^«
.rround becoming stained, if a ring or two is taken. Be sure
you do not omit drawing your outlying covers -fulaa- y a
stated periods of the season, and always throw oft near the
ptce fix 1. It may not matter to many of your held whether
0 not they may have to trot away four or five miles before
you be'in drawing; but farmers and others, who have v ry
Bhl studs-perhrps only one hunter-are much disconihted
by it A brother master of hounds fixes for three weeks in
Xance. which renders his hunt popular; but it is not every

pountrv that will admit of it.

Should you have occasion to make goi^e covei-s. observe
thes^ hints tLm one who has made many. The ground is all
the bet er for bein<. trenched to the depth of from a foot to a
o t :!^ a half; and it should be made - <?7 -^J"„.-
good condition as if it were to be the seed-bed ȣ -"^P-
The seed should also be minutely examined, "s it often ta^s
from having lost its germinating properties; and it should be
drilled in tlie ground'and hoed after the manner o^ a turn^
crop By keeping it clean by the hoe. it w 11. if the seed be
3 and the'land made dry. often hold a fox in the second
^ear but will seldom fail in the third. A bi-other master of
C^nds recommends sowing broom with goi.e. "" ^^ 's wi^ig
it bein.r decidedly inin.ical to scent. All ar ihc.allj made
cov sdiould be not nearer than half a mile, at the least, to any
house or village; and if on a gently sloping tank, facing the
south or south-west, foxes will like them the better.

Bred up as you have been, it is scarcely necessary to
remim you'of your general conduct towards your held, coin-
poTed, as it will be, of some of the first sportsmen ni the

THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN

world, as well as others of all descriptions. The management of
a held is no easy task, and, in one respect, resembles that of a
community. In reference to the latter, a celebrated Roman
historian, Dion Cassius, says — " The times are bad when men
are not permitted to do what they please, and worse when they
are permitted to do everything they please." Thus it is with
men who attend hounds; they must be kept within some
bounds, and in the mode of doing it lies the difficulty. As " a
soft answer turneth away wrath," so, perhaps, a gentle rebuke
to a too-forward rider, at certain times, has more effect than a
coarser expression. The more popular a master of foxhounds
is, the better sport will he have, because every one will endeavour
to promote it — I should, perhaps, rather have said, no one
will wilfully mar it. As, however, next to destroyers of foxes,
the greatest spoilers of sport are hard but injudicious riders,
if ever you have occasion to address them, you might avail
yourself of the following words, from the pen of an eminent
sportsman : —

' " A good sportsman will, as often as possible, ride parallel
with the pack, not after them, unless, by short turns, he is
obliged to do otherwise ; by these means he can see everything
that is going on, and anticipate the probable cause of the
hounds coming to a fault. For example, a village, a farm-
house, a team at plough, men at work, sheep, and, above all,
cattle, are the things most likely to impede the scent. When
any of these objects present themselves in the face of hounds,
you may then anticipate a check, and by pulling up your
horse, and observing which way the pack inclined before the
check, their huntsman will be able to hold them on in the
most likely direction to hit off the scent again." And you
yourself, as huntsman, will obtain a lesson here. If casting
is necessary, you should be directed by the pace or degree of
scent which you brought to the place where your hounds
threw up ; for if you came quickly, and your hounds are not
blown (be sure attend to that), you make a quick cast in the
direction towards which they were inclining, by forming a
small circle first, and a larger one afterwards, if you are not
successful with the first ; but if your hounds are blown, you
should invariably cast them very quietly, and hold them back,
for when hounds have run hard for a long way, they lose their
noses for want of wind, and run beyond the scent, especially

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if tliero i.s water in their view. In a fair country, and with
hounds in good condition, it is my opinion that, if the fore-
going observations are carried into effect, few foxes would
escape. Patience is a great performer in the chase. All hounds,
in these times, arc well enough bred ; and all hounds have
power enough (if judiciously handled) to kill a good fox.

' Treat your servants well, and, if you have fault to find
with their performance, rebuke them mildly in the field, and
lecture them afterwards in private. The submission of in-
feriors is not enough ; their hearts must be won ; and I had
rather witness human weakness than human insensibility at
any time, which latter propensity every man displays who
wounds the feelings of a servant on every slight occasion, and
this in the presence of his superiors. As has been beautifully
said, " although a servant, the spirit of (O man is in him :
severity and rigour may create fear, but can never command
regard."

' As regards the treatment of your horses, I need not say
much, still less instruct you how to ride them. I would re-
commend you to breed your hunters, and, after the method
adopted by a friend of mine in Devonshire, have them per-
fected in fencing during their colthood. It is owing to the
practice of the young horses of Ireland scampering across the
country in their colthood, that they are such good fencers as
we find them, unless it be at timber,. at which they have no
practice. But my friend's plan is this : he has every de-
scription of fence in a circular space of ground, over which
his colts are driven, being held by a long cord by a man
standing on a stage in the centre, turning as they turn, by
which means they cannot refuse their leaps. Another eminent
sportsman ^ goes a different and perhaps better way to work.
As soon as his colts are weaned, and turned in a paddock, a
slight fence, about the height of their knees, is placed in front
of the shed in which they have their corn. When they are
quite used to walking over this, the fence is raised six inches
or more, sufficient to make them rear up, and get their fore-
legs over, and they will soon find it easier to jump, than to
draw over their hind legs. When they do this freely, the fence
is raised still higher, till they are obliged to make a good

' See iJidvi/ of a HitntsDuoi.

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THE I.IFE OF A SPORTSMAN

standing leap over it every time they go into the shed to be
fed, etc. This last should be a single rail. When they are
perfect at this, which they will be in the course of a month,
let a ditch be digged, with the earth thrown up for a bank,
instead of the rail, or by the side of it, which rail should be
made higher, to prevent his preferring it to the ditch. They
will at first walk into the ditch, then get their forelegs on the
bank, and the hinder legs on the other side of the ditch ; but,
in the course of a day or two, they will quietly jump on the
bank. After being perfect in tliis, another ditch is cut on the
other side of the bank, and they will jump on and off', in a few
days, as well as any hunter.

' The same eminent sportsman has given a useful hint on
riding to hounds, which particularly applies to your country.
" In the grass countries, " he says, " where the fences consist of
live quicks and thorns, you will do well to notice, when a hedge
is cut, which way it is laid down to the top, and put your horse
at it obliquely, with his head from the root of the thorn, and the
top of the thorn being weak will give way to the horse's legs ;
but if he goes straight against it, he stands a good chance of
a fall ; and if he goes obliquely, on the contrary plan, he
reduces his fall to a certainty, should the horse not clear any
strong plasher which rises when the horse's knees are under it,
but not so the other way."

' Take the advice of an old sportsman, and do not trespass
too far on the willing powers of your horses. Rather than
insist upon their coming home, when showing evident signs of
distress, let them remain at some village for the night, leaving
a whipper-in in attendance. Hundreds of good hunters have
been destroyed by the neglect of this mere act of humanity
towards exhausted nature in a noble and willing animal.

' On the subject of scent, I shall say nothing at present.
Few subjects ever excited more speculation, or the exercise of
more reasoning theory, than the one in question ; but, like the
peasant of the Alps, who looked abroad for happiness, we do
not appear to have acquired anything satisfactory by the
search. Harsh, drying winds, or impending storms, appear
to be the greatest obstacles to hounds working, but in the face
of all other apparently unfavourable circumstances, brilliant
runs have been experienced. Of its fleeting nature, perhaps
the most remarkable instance was related to me by a brother

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master of hounds, on whose veracity I can depend. He lost
his fox at eleven o'clock, a.m. At two o'clock, p.m., he passed
the place on his road home, and was told that his fox had
passed a certain (^^ateway.

"'Impossible,' said his huntsman, "for we tried that point."

' " I saw him," said a man at plough.

' " And so did I," added his fellow-servant.

' Sure enough the scent was there, and spoken to by half the
pack, although too weak to carry on the chase beyond the
next field. After this, who can speculate on the certainty or
uncertainty of scent ?

' As regards the strength of your establishment, it may be
considered presumptuous my dictating to you on that point ;
but let me recommend you to have an eye to moderation in
your kennel and stable. I consider four days a week as much
as Siny man should hunt hounds, and it is also the best
arrangement as regards his kennel, inasmuch as he then
divides it into packs which, for the most part, work together.
By thus becoming acquainted with each other, they work
steadier and better, and occasion the death instead of the loss
of many a stout fox. Seventy couples of good working hounds
will suffice ; and, unless some unforeseen, untoward circum-
stances arise, you will never have occasion to add to this
amount. Of horses I would allow you quite a full complement ;
first, on the score of your country, which requires a strong
stable ; secondly, because it also req aires that things should be
done in a first-rate style. I should say, then, that you should
have fourteen horses for your own riding, and twelve for the
use of your whippers-in. Let the latter be horses of power,
but with sufficient breeding for your country ; strong horses not
only last longer than slight ones, but they are not so liable to
being lamed at fences by the superior strength of their muscles,
and the firmer texture of their skin. As to the mixture or
separation of the sexes of the hounds in the field, there are so
many opinions on the subject, that I scarcely like to hazard
mine. There is an objection against all bitches in the pack in
a woodland country, in the inferior powder of their tono-ues ;
but that will not operate witli you ; and it is contended that,
although quicker and readier in their work than dog hounds,
they are not so patient in difficulties. The safer plan, then,
may be to mix the sexes in the field. This will about balance

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the account. I would, however, advise you to have more
bitches than dogs in your kennel, with a view to future pro-
ceedings.'

We must now bring this tale to an end. Our hero estab-
lished himself as a master of foxhounds, in one of the best
countries in England, hunting them himself with the greatest
satisfaction to his field, and being generally considered one of
the most popular of his class. Availing himself of his own
experience as a sportsman, and also of the suggestions of
those who had long preceded him in his calling, he distin-
o-uished himself as a huntsman before tlie closing of his second
season, and the fame and reputation of ' Raby's hounds '
filled all the houses and stables in their country. His private
character, likewise, was in no less esteem. Observant of all
the relations of social life, he gained the approbation of tlie
o'ood ; his example went far towards reclaiming the evil pro-
pensities of the bad ; and in the narrower sphere of private
friendship, society cannot often produce a better specimen of
this princely virtue than that exhibited by Frank Raby. That
he never entered into the married state may excite surprise,
but he had more than once been heard to assign his reasons
for remaining single. In the first place, he was unwilling to
disturb his excellent mother in the enjoyment of Amstead
Abbey as her home, and she lived until he had passed his
fortieth year. Secondly, although he acknowledged the truth
of the assertion, that the heart of man is like a creeping plant,
which withers unless it have something round which it can
entwine, he had imbibed the notion, and much that he had
seen and heard unfortunately tended to confirm it, that a man
devoted, like himself, to the sports of the field, was scarcely
fitted for the married state.

' Not one woman in fifty,' he would say, ' is a suitable wife
for such a man, and that one it might not have been my luck
to find.'

Then, although far from being insensible to female charms,
he was somewhat mistrustful of the duration of their power;
and the following couplet was often on his tongue, when
matrimony and its joys became the subject of discourse :

Love may expire ; tlie gay, the happy (h'eam
May turn to scorn, indifierence, or esteem.'

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At all events, he remains a bachelor, and the question will
be asked ' Who is to inherit the family estates at his
decease ? ' This is answered in a few words. A younger
brother of his father, not hitherto mentioned in these pages,
has three sons, and to the eldest of them will the entail be
continued. But why has he not been mentioned ? For the
simple reason, that his residence has been in India since his
twentieth year, and his reason for having made it such, was
the honourable feeling that an imprudent marriage, as regarded
station in life, had, as he imagined, rendered him somewhat
obnoxious to the rest of his family. Imprudent it might have
been, inasmuch as it dropped him a degree in the nicely-
balanced general scale of refined society, in other words, to a
certain extent he had lost caste ; unhappy, it was not, for a
better wife no man possessed, and it is more than probable
that this very circumstance may have had some weight in the
breast of his kind-hearted nephew, in determining him to
continue in the single state. At all events, a bachelor he
remains, and rather an old one at present ; but his house is
occasionally the resort of all the best families in the neigh-
bourhood ; and, by his general conduct and deportment to all
classes of persons, he shows, beyond the power of refutation,
that it is possible for a gentleman to devote himself, with
enthusiasm, to all the sports of flood and held, simultaneously
with the performance of all the duties imposed upon him, both
by God and man.

FINIS

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