The Sport of Our Ancestors 



fiddle, as neat as a pink, and worth all the money to carry 

 in your eye when you go out to buy hunters. But what 's 

 the use of talking about it to a judge like you ? Lay your 

 leg over him — only just lay your leg over him, Mr. Sawyer. 

 I don't want you to buy him ! but get on him and feel his 

 action, just as a favour to me.' 



Our friend had made up his mind he would do so from 

 the first. There was no mistaking the appearance of the 

 animal ; so good was it, that he had but two misgivings — some 

 rank unsoundness, to account for its being there, or so high 

 a price as to be beyond his means ; for Mr. Sawyer was 

 too fond of the sport to give a sum that he could not replace 

 for so perishable an article as a hunter. 



He was no mean equestrian, our friend, and quite at 

 home on a strange horse. As he drew the curb-rein gently 

 through his fingers, the roan dropped his long, lean head, 

 and champed the bit playfully, tossing a speck of froth back 

 on his rider's boots. 



' You 've got a mouth, at any rate,' quoth Mr. Sawyer, 

 and trotted him gently down the hard road, the animal 

 stepping freely and gaily under him, full of life and spirits. 

 The customer liked his mount, and couldn't help showing 

 it. ' May I lark him } ' said he, pulling up after a short 

 canter to and fro on the turf by the wayside, during 

 which Job Sloper had been exercising his mental arith- 

 metic in what we may term a sum of problematical 

 addition. 



* Take him into the close, sir/ was the generous reply ; 

 74 



