48 



CHAPTER III. 



" While crowded tlieatros, too fondly proud 

 Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes, 

 The price of manhood, hail thee with a song, 

 And airs soft warbling ; my hoarse- sounding horn 

 Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings ; 

 Image of war, without its guilt." Somebvllle. 



In the stag-hunting days of which I am speaking, 

 among the members of my hunt, the late Colonel 

 Standen, of the Guards, was one of the foremost of the 

 first flight of riders over a country. On " Pilgrim," 

 and on a compact chestnut horse of his, whose name 

 I forget, nothing could beat him. In saving a deer, 

 too, he never spared himself, and he would at any 

 moment go into the water, when a deer had taken 

 soil, and was in danger of being drowned by the 

 hounds. I shall not in a hurry forget his having 

 gone into a pond up to his chin, when a little 

 finnicking man, who had out with him a pocket 

 flask of brandy, came up and tendered him " a sip." 

 My gallant friend thanked him, and applying the 

 small flask to his lips began to turn up the end of 

 it, while the civil little man, who wanted at least 

 a sip for himself,' continued a series of saltations, as 

 male opera-dancers may be seen to do when the 

 sylph coyly holds aloft a flower, in a vain endeavour 

 to recover a timely possession. I remember Colonel 

 Standen, and a Mr. Smith, from Hanwell, then I think 

 both on chestnut horses, going beautifully together, 

 in one of the fastest things I ever knew, over the 



