Draghou7ids 1 1 3 



to you for thus clearing the way. You turn 

 sharply right-handed, over a small piece of 

 fallow, jump a fence, and, not seeing the ditch 

 on the far side of it, your horse blunders on 

 to his knees and nose. Up again, and no 

 fall. Now you gallop along a footpath with 

 a hog-backed stile at its far end. Stiles, we 

 know, must not be played with, so we go at 

 this only after carefully pulling our horses 

 well back on to their hind legs. " By Jove ! 

 he hit that pretty hard ! " exclaims a man, as 

 he narrowly misses getting a crumpler. Then 

 across a village green, almost before the resi- 

 dent yokels have time to open their mouths 

 to their full extent in astonishment. A low 

 gate, jumped in single file, and then we all 

 gallop " hell for leather " across a pretty park, 

 topping some beautiful brush-fences that are 

 positively made to be galloped over en route, 

 and finally pull up our smoking horses at the 

 spot where the drag has been lifted for the 

 check. We get off our steeds, which, with 

 heads down, tails quivering, and flanks heav- 

 ing, are glad enough of the time to "blow." 



H 



