Hunting with Hounds 191 



One of the pleasantest days I ever passed 

 in the saddle was after Mr. Wadsworth's 

 hounds. I was staying with him at the time, 

 in company with my friend Senator Cabot 

 Lodge, of Boston. The meet was about 

 twelve miles distant from the house. It was 

 only a small field of some twenty-five riders, 

 but there was not one who did not mean going. 

 I was mounted on a young horse, a powerful, 

 big-boned black, a great jumper, though per- 

 haps a trifle hot-headed. Lodge was on a fine 

 bay, which could both run and jump. There 

 were two or three other New Yorkers and 

 Bostonians present, several men who had come 

 up from Buffalo for the run, a couple of re- 

 tired army officers, a number of farmers from 

 the neighborhood; and finally several mem- 

 bers of a noted local family of hard riders, 

 who formed a class by themselves, all having 

 taken naturally to every variety of horseman- 

 ship from earliest infancy. 



It was a thoroughly democratic assemblage; 

 every one was there for sport, and nobody 

 cared an ounce how he or anybody else was 

 dressed. Slouch hats, brown coats, corduroy 

 breeches, and leggings, or boots, were the 

 order of the day. We cast of! in a thick wood. 

 The dogs struck a trail almost immediately 



