36 A Pretty Sight. 



Patroclus. Not, indeed, that he had a poor seat 

 or needed to " get inside and pull down the 

 blinds," as the London cad might phrase it, for a 

 good or bad seat was all alike to them ; rather at 

 the wholly unusual sight of a man on horseback 

 — outside of politics. 



But the number of good horsemen, and horse- 

 women too, is growing every day. Here comes a 

 couple at a brisk round trot. How can we no- 

 tice the lad, Patroclus, when the lassie looks so 

 sweetly .? In her neat habit, with dainty protrud- 

 ing foot and ankle, sitting her trappy-gaited mount 

 with ease and grace, the bloom of health fairly 

 dazzling you as she rushes by, so that you doubt 

 whether it be her pretty eye and white teeth or 

 her ruddy skin and happy face which has set 

 even your ancient heart a-throbbing, how can a 

 woman look more attractive ? 



But the alluring sight is not long-lived. Fol- 

 lowing hard upon them comes, not the first rider 

 who has chased a petticoat, a young Anglomaniac. 

 He fancies that his hunting-crop, his immaculate 

 rig, and his elbows out-Britishing the worst of 

 British snobs, as he leans far over his pommel, 

 make him a pattern rider. You can see the day- 

 light under his knees. A sudden plunge would 

 send him. Lord knows where ! Haply his dock- 

 tailed plug remembers the shafts full well and 

 steadily plods ahead. But bless his little dudish 



