The Sport of Our Ancestors 



stop a little ; how is it that /, weighing but eleven stone four 

 pounds with my saddle, and upon my best horse, an acknow- 

 ledged good one in my own country, could neither go so 

 fast nor so long as that heavy fellow Maxse ; that still heavier 

 Lord Alvanley ; and that monster Tom Edge, who, they tell 

 me, weighs eighteen stone, at least, in the scales ? ' At this 

 moment a bridle-gate opens in the land, and a gentleman in 

 scarlet appears, with his countenance pale and wan, and 

 expressive of severe pain. It is he who had been dug out 

 of the ditch in which Jack Stevens had left him, his horse 

 having fallen upon him, after being suspended on the rail, 

 and broken three of his ribs. Feeling extremely unwell, 

 he is glad to meet with Snob, who is going his road — to 

 Melton — and who offers him all the assistance in his power. 

 Snob also repeats to him his soliloquy, at least the sum and 

 substance of it, on which the gentleman — recovering a little 

 from his faintness by the help of a glass of brandy and 

 water at the village — thus makes his comment : * I think, 

 sir, you are a stranger to this part of the world.' ' Certainly,' 

 replied Snob, ' it is my first appearance in Leicestershire.* 

 * I observed you in the run,' continued the wounded sports- 

 man ; ' and very well you went up to the time I fell, but 

 particularly so to the first check. You then rode to a leader, 

 and made an excellent choice ; but after that period, I saw 

 you not only attempting a line of your own, but taking 

 liberties with your horse, and anticipated the fate you have 

 met with. If you remain with us long, you will be sure to 

 find out that riding to hounds in Leicestershire is different 

 i;8 



