158 THE HUNTING-FIELD. 



got in front; over his horse went like a flying 

 fish, almost skimming the water ; ditto Fearon 

 one hind leg just, and only just, breaking the 

 opposite bank; young Roberts gave his hat his 

 usual thrust down on his head, his old cripple 

 grinding her teeth, but taking it clear and clean ; 

 by his side went Captain Oliver, his legs almost 

 touching the water. My friend rode at it man- 

 fully, but held his horse too hard; he just and 

 barely did it. Now for a souser, thinks I, on 

 grey ; but I suppose, from some lessons he had 

 had, he went at it racing, and cleared it well, but 

 making it a regular tilter from jumping high and 

 wildly. Never was a finer on tapis for the next 

 twenty minutes, my friend going like a trump ; 

 the grey now began stretching out his neck; 

 and stretching out my legs, I eased him all I 

 could to keep in anything like a place. 



" It^s pretty near u p. White Surrey,^^ said I. 

 Looking towards my friend I saw he was letting 

 his horse make a spread eagle of himself; but he 

 was not near enough to speak to. I had been 

 nursing grey up a firm headland. A post and 

 rail ran across part of the field, which most took. 

 Grey just got over, hitting it hard. My friend, to 

 avoid the timber, had gone out of his way, and 

 was now powdering across a deep and heavy ridge 

 and furrow to make up for lost ground. His 

 horse went slower each stroke, till he got into 



