The trotter. 



123 



j udgmer. t, I rode with plenty of pluck ; and I su])pose this just 

 suited the hot Irish blood of my new purchase. I hunted her for 

 two months, and never was carried better in my life. I rode to 

 a leader, and this leader was one of the best men with the hounds, 

 though I did not at first know it, for I was a perfect stranger as yet 

 in that field. I well recollect that first run 3 we had as sharp a forty- 

 five minutes as I ever rode to ; and though I got three falls, I was 

 one of the nine who saw the fox pulled down. This was on the 

 Monday, and on the Saturday I was out again. I soon recognised 

 my leader, a hard-riding farmer, in a green coat, this day mounted 

 on a powerful black horse, with strength enough to carry a church. 

 As soon as we found I "at him again," and in a very merry burst 

 of twenty minutes, in which I only got one fall, he left me but a field 

 behind. On my third appearance he good-naturedly noticed me, 

 told me to stick to him as close as I could — he was not afraid of my 

 riding over him 3 and seeing I was but a young performer in 

 the saddle, he gave me a few hints as to riding at my fences. A 

 third good run, and the wall-eyed Irish mare again in a good place. 

 I rode home with the farmer to his house that night, where I slept, 

 and, through the instrumentality of the Irish mare, formed a friend- 

 ship which remained unbroken for years. I hunted her for two 

 months, when I had to leave the country. The last day we were 

 out the farmer bid me 60I. for the mare, which I took. The old 

 coachman and I shared the ''''boots," as he called it, and I may 

 reckon I got my first two months' hunting for nothing. But this 

 was not aU : I did not require to buy a horse the next season 3 with 

 tiie old coachman on one side of the country, and the hard-riding 

 farmer on the other, I had a mount whenever I wanted it. I don't 

 say I got the pick of the stud j but, as I was riding to sell for them, 

 they never put me on a very bad one. That was a merry winter for 

 me J and I enjoyed that season much, and not the less because I rode 

 cheaper and better than ever I did in my life, other men's horses 

 with my own spurs. 



I know not whether it was that the constant repetition of the old 

 song of the " Trotting Horse " gave a bias to my tastes, but this I 



