A SPORTING TRIP TO FRANCE. 165 



the immediate vicinity. The pace was hot. 'I 

 lift my horse at the first hurdle, and pop him 

 over, and turn my head to see how it is with 

 the others. All over safe ; but one horse has 

 got the better of his rider, and is taking him 

 down to the sea as fast as he can. It is my 

 friend in the scarlet jacket. The rest are com- 

 ing along close behind me, Debenham holding 

 hard in the rear, Toprail pulling double. As I 

 eased my horse, and steadied him for the second 

 .jump, the Mossoo with the large amount of 

 scarlet stocking rushes past me ; over he goes, 

 lands on his horse's ears, then again back on his 

 tail, and finally finds himself in the pigskin 

 again. During this little performance I had 

 swept by him. 



" Vous ne pouvez pas gagner, mon cher" he 

 -shouts, as he rushes past me again. 



" Nous verrons" I muttered, as I took another 

 pull at my horse, and eased him again at the 

 third hurdle. " No use trying to cut you 

 down," I thought, as I saw him whipping and 

 spurring away. " You'll do that yourself, my 

 boy, and pretty soon too." He would have 

 pumped a steam engine. 



