DEATH OF MR. RADCLtFFE 305 



man lasted for a minute or two his old father flung off his 

 coat, waistcoat, and hat, and put them on again, as if he were 

 practising how fast he could undress and dress himself, without 

 stirring a step to help his son. There was an old punt, half- 

 full of water, however, at the bank, and in this my brother 

 Moreton pushed off, and saved the poor fellow's life : the horse, 

 the moment his rider was quit of him, swam ashore, and landed 

 with the utmost ease. 



The only awful event I ever witnessed out hunting was 

 during a run from Shelton Gorse. We had found, and were 

 going beautifully away towards Stanwick Pastures, in Lord 

 Fitzwilliam's country, the hounds settling to the scent, and 

 carrying a good head, everything looking fair and well. I was 

 on Captain, one of the horses I bought of Sir George Seymour, 

 in the middle of the gorse when they went away, consequently 

 the field had rather the start of me ; but as he was a splendid 

 horse through dirt, and just at first the hounds had to feel 

 their way, I was coming up with the leading men hand over 

 hand. Just as I gained a good place to " cheer 'em on," and 

 see that the hounds were getting it by degrees all their own 

 way, I cried out to Mr. Radcliffe, the brother of Mr. Delme 

 Radcliffe, who was leading, " Hurra, my boy ! hold you own ; 

 if the scent but holds, we shall soon drop into our places." I 

 had not uttered this a moment, when, as we neared a small fence 

 or young quick, over which we had to go, I just took my eyes 

 from Mr. Radcliffe, then on my right, to look at the fence, and 

 as I did so I was aware, as I thought, of a stumble on the part 

 of his horse ; but as in the commencement of that run, short as 

 the time was over which it had then extended, I had seen a 

 good many stumbles among the field, I took no further notice 

 of it, and continued my course. We had a very good thing, 

 but lost our fox. In the last cast I made for his recovery, 

 in a gateway I met Mr. Montague Ongley, looking as pale as 

 death, who asked " If I knew where there was a surgeon." 

 I said, "No," and asked why? He replied, "Poor Radcliffe, 

 I fear, is dead." His horse had made no stumble further 



