THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



the bank, and that is suro to be the soundest part, in my view; 

 but Frank will not be up to that trick. I'll wave my hand to 

 him, not to attempt it. Don't come, don't come!' roared 

 the baronet; 'you'll be in it' you do'; and Frank was not 

 out of hearinp; at the time ; l)ut he might as well have made 

 such a request to the waves at the flood of a sprino-tide, and 

 at it he gallantly went. The trick of the blackthorn-bush, 

 however, was beyond Frank's experience in the art of ridino- to 

 hounds ; so puttincy his mare to the left of it, where the f^round 

 was rotten and tender, she fell on her head, on alighting — 

 although she cleared the water — and gave him an easy fall. 



' Bravo, b}^ the heavens ! ' exclaimed Sir John ; ' he is up 

 again, and no harm done ; what a rider will that lad make ! ' 



In the next field but three, the hounds came to a check, 

 when an eclalrci^^semevi took place. 



' Why, Frank,' said the baronet, ' you are a very pretty fellow ; 

 what have you done with old Preston, on Skylark ? ' 



' Oh,' replied Frank, ' I have not seen him since the hounds 

 left the wood. I saw you turn down the left-hand riding, and, 

 as I thought I heard the hounds turn that way too, I followed 

 you.' 



' But, Frank,' incjuired Sir John earnestly, ' are you sure you 

 are not hurt, for you got a devil of a roll at the Stark ? ' 



' Not a bit,' answered Frank : ' it was not the mare's fault, for 

 she cleared the water well.' 



' Yes, Frank,' continued Sir John, ' she fell from the want of 

 a little moi'e support than you could give her when she landed 

 in that soft ground, almost a bog. But, upon my word, you 

 must not ride yet at such places as you have in this run, or 

 you will break your neck some day. And the new leathers, 

 what a pickle they are in, and how they will tell tales when 



you get home ! Lady Charlotte will ' ' Oh ! ' exclaimed 



Frank, ' they will know nothing about it ; they shall not see me 

 till I am dressed for dinner.' 



At this moment the hounds hit off their fox, and went on, 

 but not at best pace. In fact, they were brought to slow 

 hunting, at which Mr. Warde's hounds ever have been so con- 

 spicuous ; and the attention of Frank was riveted to them. 



At the end of an hour and thirty-five minutes, the scent 

 mending towards the finish, and the hounds running from 

 scent to view, the fox was in Bob Forfeit's hand, and his brush 



85 



