Mr. Frank Gordon 



for my guide, a slim, quiet-looking young fellow in a black 

 hat and coat, white cords and boots, on a young chestnut — 

 never dreaming that my quiet man was Alec Goodman, a 

 farmer truly, but also a provincial celebrity as a steeplechaser." 

 He goes on to describe the dance Alec led him with the 

 hounds in full cry, over almost insurmountable obstacles, and 

 says, " When hounds checked, I thought it well, having so far 

 escaped grief, to look out for a leader who was less of a bruiser, 

 while I took breath." The line having been hit off, he sees 

 " a regular bullfinch," six or seven feet high, with a gate so far 

 away to the right, that to make for it was to lose too much 

 time, as the hounds were running breast-high. ** Ten yards 

 ahead of me was Mr. Frank Gordon on a Stormer colt, 

 evidently with no notion of turning, so I hardened my heart, 

 felt my bay nag full of going, and kept my eye on Mr. Frank, 

 who made for the only practicable place beside an oak tree with 

 low branches, and stooping his head, popped through a place 

 where the hedge showed daylight, with his hand over his eyes, 

 in the neatest possible style. Whilst hesitating a moment, 

 I followed, rather too fast, and too much afraid of the tree, and 

 pulled too much into the hedge. In an instant I found myself 

 torn out of the saddle, balanced on a blackthorn bough (fortu- 

 nately I wore leathers), and deposited on the right side of the 

 hedge on my back. I rose just in time to see Bay Middleton 

 (his horse) disappear over the next fence. Judge my delight 

 as I paced slowly on — running was of no use — at seeing Frank 

 Gordon returning with my truant in hand. Such an action in 

 the middle of a run deserved a Humane Society's medal." 

 The young chestnut hunter Alec Goodman was riding is 

 supposed to have been White Stockings, which Frank Gordon 

 declared was the very best water-jumper in England, while 

 very good at " bullfinches." 



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