1 88 SKETCHES IN THE HUNTING FIELD. 



Now the horse is an animal which I have always 

 been taught to admire. A " noble animal " he is termed 

 by zoologists, and I am perfectly willing to admit his 

 nobility when he conducts himself with reticence and 

 moderation ; but when he gyrates like a teetotum on his 

 hind-legs, and wildly spars at the groom he ought to 

 respect, I cease to recognise any qualities in him but 

 the lowest and most degrading. 



Laura hastened to the window, and I rose from the 

 table and followed her. 



"You pretty darlings!" she rapturously exclaimed, 

 "Oh ! are you going to ride The Sultan, Mr. Smoothley ? 

 How nice ! I do so want to, but papa won't let me." 



" No, my dear, he's not the sort of horse for little girls 

 to ride ; but he'll suit you, Smoothley ; he'll suit you, 

 I know." 



Without expressing a like confidence, I asked, "Is 

 that The Sultan ? " pointing to a large chestnut animal 

 at that moment in the attitude which, in a dog, is termed 

 " begging." 



" Yes ; a picture, isn't he ? Look at his legs. Clean 

 as a foal's ! Good quarters — well ribbed up — not like 

 one of the waspy greyhounds they call thoroughbred 

 horses nowadays. Look at his condition, too ; I've 

 kept that up pretty well, though he's been out of train- 

 ing for some time," cried the Major. 



" He's not a racehorse, is he r " I nervously asked. 



"He's done a good deal of steeplechasing, and ran 

 once or twice in the early part of this season. It makes 



