io6 THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 



"Mon cher," said one to me, "c'est un cavalier 

 intrepide, effrayant. II est sur de gagner." 



"Wall, I calkerlate, Britishers," said tlie Yan- 

 kee, coming up, " this air an exhibition yer never 

 seed before. It licks all creashun holler, this do. 

 There they air, a-ringing up the play. We'll just 

 git by the stand, and see this amoosement." 



' It certainly was a ludicrous sight. There v^ere 

 one or two Bretons nearly as bad off as our friend 

 of the sabots, but they had saddles of some sort. 

 Amongst them, mounted on a nice gray, was our 

 blue-and- white- stocking friend of the day before ; 

 and as he stopped his horse to speak to us, he 

 said: 



" Ah, it's a farce to let those Bretons go. I 

 must win to-day. I have the best horse in the 

 race." 



" I don't know about that," observed our friend 

 the Irishman to us ; "it is not likely he will. In 

 the first place, these Bretons can ride, which Mossoo 

 can't. They will lick him, to a dead certainty." 



' The bell for starting rings again, and away they 

 streak, the Bretons going to the fore, and cutting 

 out the pace. They are all in a cluster at the brook, 

 which is the first jump. 



" Bravo, Sabots ! " Debenham shouts out, as the 

 Breton, closely followed by the others, takes the 

 water in splendid style. " Now, old Blue Stockings ! 

 By jingo, he is over all safe ! Never mind the day- 



