They play at billiards in the morning, they absorb pale ale for breakfast, and 'top up' with glasses of strong waters.

They read BELL'S LIFE (and a very pleasant paper too, with a great deal of erudition in the answers to correspondents).

They go down to Tattersall's, and swagger in the Park, with their hands plunged in the pockets of their paletots.
What strikes me especially in the outward demeanour of sporting youth is their amazing gravity, their conciseness of speech, and careworn and moody air.

In the smoking-room at the 'Regent,' when Joe Millerson will be setting the whole room in a roar with laughter, you hear young Messrs.

Spavin and Cockspur grumbling together in a corner.