i8 The Teteott Hunt OUeek. 



head from the gate, mount, face round again, and 

 put him at the rotten timber. But our previous 

 struggle in the water has broken into some drain or 

 soft place. His hind legs sink as he is taking off in 

 his jump. He is unable to clear the gate, and an ash 

 stick, laid across as a support, prevents his going 

 through. We come a cropper into the pool of black 

 water on the other side. My hat is compressed like 

 a gibus, and my garments are made still more black 

 and unsavoury. But such adventures, I am told, 

 add to the excitement and pleasure of the chase. 

 Certainly, a gallop over a mile of springy turf and 

 heath, added to my late accidents, produces the 

 promised effect. My blood is up, I fancy myself 

 leading in the shires. Feel as if nothing could stop 

 me. Ride for a gate in the distance. But the 

 nearer I approach it, the stiffer it looks. And as I 

 am not really leading in the shires — indeed, a forward 

 place would hardly suit the tattered state of my gar- 

 ments — it will be better to open the gate. Ha ! it is 

 padlocked, and the upper hinge reversed. The little 

 bay horse's rider has had enough of pleasure and 

 excitement for one day. And see ! There is wheat on 

 the further side. It is unsportsmanlike to ride over 

 wheat. I will not do mischief to either gate or field. 

 I turn from the wheat field gate and see that 

 others have done the same. I follow their tracks 

 as long as I can, but miss them when I come to 



