LETTER XXVII. 293 



The best man in our bunt was a sporting baronet, 

 who had been in the Light Dragoons, but on taking to 

 fox-hunting he had abandoned his mib'tary seat, and rode 

 rather short in his stirrups. He was well mounted, 

 knew his business, and rode well to hounds, but I never 

 knew him pretend to interfere with them. No fence 

 ever stopped him, and the falls he got were few. I have 

 known him ride over the lock of a canal, where his horse 

 had to take oflf on bricks, and land on bricks on the 

 other side. He did it cleverly, but no one followed his 

 example. Upon the hounds crossing a deep and rapid 

 river one day, we rode down together to the bank, where 

 I expected to find a ford ; the river was so swollen to 

 the brink that fording was out of the question. " This 

 won't do," I exclaimed ; " we must ride higher up for 

 the bridge." " You may do as you like," he said, " but 

 I shall go at it." Seeing a countryman watching us, he 

 hallooed to him to know what sort of bottom there was. 

 " Very good," was the reply. " Well then," he said, 

 ** here goes. I shall jump as much of it as I can." So, 

 putting his horse round, he went at it in a canter, and 

 horse and rider disappeared in the middle of the stream. 

 Knowing he could not swim, I watched with anxiety his 

 re-appearance above water. He soon emerged all right 

 in his saddle, and guiding his horse's head by his whip 

 into a small stream which emptied itself into the river, to 

 my great relief, soon stood once more on terra firma. 

 " Good bye, old fellow," he cried, " I will keep with 

 them till you come up, but don't be long about it." 

 Unluckily the hounds took a different turn to what I 

 expected, and when I reached the bridge they were 

 nowhere to be seen or heard. 



