BRITISH SPORT PAST AND PRESENT 



chapter of accidents. A short way in the rear, by no means 

 too much so to enjoy tliis brilliant run, are the rest of the Slite 

 of the field, who had come up at the first check ; and a few 

 who, thanks to the goodness of their steeds, and their determina- 

 tion to be with the hounds, appear as if dropped from the 

 clouds. Some, however, begin to show symptoms of distress. 

 Two horses are seen loose in the distance — a report is flying 

 about that one of the field is badly hurt, and something is 

 heard of a collar-bone being broken, others say it is a leg ; but 

 the pace is too good to inquire. A cracking of rails is now heard, 

 and one gentleman's horse is to be seen resting, nearly balanced, 

 across one of them, his rider being on his back in the ditch, 

 which is on the landing side. " Who is he ? " says Lord 

 Brudenel ^ to Jack Stevens. " Can't tell, my Lord ; but I 

 thought it was a queerish place when I came o'er it before 

 him." It is evidently a case of peril, but the pace is too good 

 to afford help, 



' Up to this time. Snob has gone quite in the first flight ; 

 the " dons " begin to eye him, and when an opportunity offers, 

 the question is asked, " Who is that fellow on the little bay 

 horse ? " " Don't know him," says Mr. Little Gilmour (a 

 foui'teen-stone Scotchman, by-the-by), ganging gallantly to his 

 hounds. " He can ride," exclaims Lord Rancliffe. " A tip- 

 top provincial, depend upon it," added Lord Plymouth, going 

 quite at his ease on a thorough-bred nag, three stone above his 

 weight, and in perfect racing trim. Animal natvu-e, however, 

 will cry " enough," how good soever she may be, if unreason- 

 able man press her beyond the point. The line of scent lies 

 right athwart a large grass ground (as a field is termed in 

 Leicestershire), somewhat on the ascent ; abounding in ant- 

 hills, or hillocks, peculiar to old grazing land, and thrown up 

 by the plough, some hundred years since, into rather high 

 ridges, with deep, holding furrows between each. The fence 

 at the top is impracticable — Meltonice, " a stopper " ; nothing 

 for it but a gate, leading into a broad green lane, high and 



' Afterwards Lord Cardigan. 



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