*' Ladies Habits." 17 



all ; liei* horse covered with mud, and herself not enth'ely 

 free from a participation in the same defilements ; her 

 beautiful face flushed with something more than the 

 rudest glow of health, not far removed from perspiration ; 

 her lips stern and compressed, and her forehead wrinkled 

 with the determination to ' do or die ; ' that graceful 

 cutting w'hip with golden handle, exchanged for a more 

 manly hunting crop, wielded W'ith considerably less 

 elegance, and with an energy always misapplied. And 

 here it must be admitted that I have taken the most 

 lenient view of the case ; here are no broken bones, no 

 tumbles, no torn habits, and discomforted head-dresses 

 to repair. The entire picture is one of every day's 

 occurrence, and as faithful an account as the Amazonian 

 tactics of the present generation w411 permit. Have we 

 returned, then, or are w^e returning, to the days of Mrs. 

 Flint and Mr. Thornton ? — I beg pardon, I should have 

 written Mrs. Thornton and Mr. Flint. Who is there 

 •amongst us who is ignorant of that dashing performance 

 which took place in 1804 at the end of the York Meeting, 

 when one-hundred thousandpersons assembled on Knaves- 

 mire to see Mrs. Thornton ride a four mile match against 

 Mr. Flint ? Verily, they were matches in those days ; but 

 they were not w^omen. It is, still, the only match I should 

 have felt inclined to make wibh the lady. It is not enough 

 that women be pretty, let them be women. Et quocunque 

 volent aniinum auditor is agunto. Indeed they then may 

 lead the mind of the hearer in any direction : then they 

 may act the part I have attributed to them above, and 

 curb that licentiousness of thought and freedom of 

 manner so characteristic of a certain class of our yourg 

 Englishmen. But wdiere in the world is the happy 

 influence of a woman in a leopard body and blue sleeves 

 exhibiting herself amid the excitement and applause of 

 a Yorkshire mob ? Who would like to be driven instead 

 of led by a young lady in buckskins, be she never so lovely, 

 wdiose only object in married life is to hangup her husband 

 over a hog-backed stile, and to be laming his horses, when 

 she ought to be at home rocking the cradle? This 

 material adaptation of male attire to feminine recreation 

 should be reserved for Us esprits les'plus forts, and though 

 I am unwilling to admit that the metaphorical wearing 



