Sure  enougii,  there  were  Loraine  Smith's  famous  pic-
tures of  the  Quom  Hunt,  the  progenitor  of  the  now
innumerable  race  of  sporting  prints:  "Bagging  the
Fox";  "The  Rendezvous  of  the  Smoking  Hunt  at
Braunstone,"  in  whicli  gentlemen  apjiear  with  great
meerschaums  in  their  mouths;  "Tlie  Loss  of  the  ('liap-
lain,"  exhihitiug  a  reverend  gentleman  somewhat  in
Mr.  JoiTOcks's  pn-dicMTiiont  in  daiigor  of  drowning,  if
he  were  not  in  coual  diingor  of  ImugiTig;  "TIk'  Meeting
at  Grooby  Pool";  "The  Victoi-y  of  ()l.i;iiniiig  the
Bnish,"  &(\,  all  stictched  on  ciiuvas,  Avitli  lnoad  ^ilt
borders,  and  ranged  round  the  room.  Above  the  fire-
place was  tho  j)ortrait  of  an  old  geiitlr-nian  in  a  cocked
hat,  a  gold-]a<('(i  hlne  coat,  with  a  HniifF-hox  in  one  hand,
and  the  othf-r  resting  on  the  }ie;iil  of  a  greyhound,  whose
master  seemed  to  look  ujxtn  Ch.'iiley,  as  he  wat  up  to


262  HANDLEY   CROSS

his  knees  in  hot  water,  in  anytliing  hut  a  patronizing
way.
"  Shoukl  tliis  he  my  host,  or  even  my  host's  father  or
grandfatlier,"  thought  Charley  to  himself,  "perhaps  he
may  not  he  over  glad  to  see  me;  however,"  added  he,
"'enough  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof";  so,  ex-
changing his  damp  shirt  for  a  nice  well-aired  cotton
one,  with  the  initials  "  J.  W.  F. "  on  one  side,  and  reject-
ing both  a  double  and  single  nightcap,  laid  out  for  his
choice,  he  put  out  his  candle,  and  turned  into  bed.
Sound  and  healthy  were  his  slumbers; — day  davraed
without  his  waking,  and  neither  the  daiting  rays  of  a
dazzling  sun,  brightening  the  moreen  curtains  through
the  chinks  of  the  shutters,  nor  the  noisy  tick  of  the
passage  clock,  had  any  influence  on  his  sleep.
