HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 85 



with thanks. Grace was just losing all her 

 nasty little tricks — and she had some. I rode 

 her for several seasons, and then she became a 

 victim to rheumatism, and, much to my regret, 

 I was obliged to give up riding her. 



She now lies buried in the gravel pit with 

 several other of my other favourites ; but before 

 she went to her long rest she had several foals. 

 One was a beauty, just like herself; she was 

 broken in at home, as were all our young horses, 

 and when she was supposed to be fit for me to 

 ride, one fine spring morning I went out alone 

 with her into the Bull Woods. I walked up and 

 down path after path, and was just considering 

 how very comfortably we were getting on to- 

 gether, when a bird flew up ; the mare gave a 

 bound, and off came my hat, and, as luck and 

 carelessness would have it, the guard was too 

 long and the hat bumped on her back; off she 

 tore, entirely regardless of paths ; on she went, 

 straight through the high wood, as fast as she 

 could go, with my hat dangling on her back all 

 the way. As long as I live I shall never forget 

 that ride. We got to the edge of the wood at 

 last, and I managed to guide her into a swampy 

 lane, where she was up to her knees in mud and 

 was obliged to come to a standstill. There I 

 found two boys gazing at the spectacle I pre- 

 sented ; from them I borrowed a knife and cut 

 off the hat which had done all the mischief, and 

 proceeded to turn the mare back into the wood, 

 and walked slowly home. All went well till we 

 got into the meadow ; then she took the bit in 

 her teeth, and away she went straight to the 



