COLONEL CODSHEAD 315 



delights in their society, would ride a hundred miles 

 in the wet to serve them (on a non-hunting day), but 

 from the greatest beauty of whom the joyous Tally 

 ho ! would draw him like a shot. Women like deeds 

 of daring, and the man who would leap turnpike 

 gates, garden walls, spiked palisades, and such-like 

 trifles, would find favour in their eyes for the madness, 

 while the sportsman would set such a performer down 

 for a fool. 



We need not say that Codshead is a woman's 

 foxhunter, any more than that he is not a likely bird 

 to attempt any eccentricities in the leaping way. He 

 gets out of that scrape by professing to be one of the 

 " has beens " — " used to be a desperate rider — would 

 leap almost anything." He is only a "has been" in 

 the riding way though ; in other respects he looks upon 

 himself as the pink of perfection, and truly it says 

 little for a neighbourhood where such a slushbucket 

 is tolerated. 



Yet he is not only tolerated, but run after. His 

 red coat far oftener appears above a pair of black 

 shorts than above the darned moleskins, while the 

 glorious amplitude of calf now bagging over the too 

 tight top, like an overgrown omelette souffle over a 

 small dish, procures for him the appellation of a 

 "monstrous fine man." Somebody once told him 

 that he was like George the Fourth, and he has 

 dressed the character ever since — puffy, clean shave 

 all round, with a profusion of wiggy-looking curls at 

 the side of his broad-banded, broad-bound, broad- 

 brimmed hat. We wonder how many Princes and 

 George the Fourths we have seen in the course of 

 our time ? 



Codshead is in request among the women, who 

 have a very favourite maxim, "that a man is never 

 too old to marry." Comfortable assurance ! 



To be sure Codshead's age varies a good deal, 

 according to the views and prospects of the speaker. 



