DEATH OF MR. RADCLIFFE 305 



man lasted for a minute or two — his old father flung off his 

 coat, waistcoat, and hat, and put them on again, as if he were 

 practising how fast he could undress and dress himself, without 

 stirring a step to help his son. There was an old punt, half- 

 full of water, however, at the bank, and in this my brother 

 Moreton pushed off, and saved the poor fellow's life : the horse, 

 the moment his rider was quit of him, swam ashore, and landed 

 with the utmost ease. 



The only awful event I ever witnessed out hunting was 

 during a run from Shelton Gorse. We had found, and were 

 going beautifully away towards Stanwick Pastures, in Lord 

 Fitzwilliam's country, the hounds settling to the scent, and 

 caiTying a good head, everything looking fair and well. I was 

 on Captain, one of the hoi-ses I bought of Sir George Seymour, 

 in the middle of the gorse when they went away, consequently 

 the field had rather the start of me ; but as he was a splendid 

 horse through dirt, and just at first the hounds had to feel 

 their way, I was coming up with the leading men hand over 

 hand. Just as I gained a good place to " cheer 'em on," and 

 see that the hounds were getting it by degrees all their own 

 way, I cried out to Mr. Radcliffe, the brother of Mr. Delme 

 Radcliffe, who was leading, " Hurra, my boy ! hold you own ; 

 if the scent but holds, we shall soon drop into our places." I 

 had not uttered this a moment, when, as we neared a small fence 

 or young quick, over which we had to go, I just took my eyes 

 from Mr. Radcliffe, then on my right, to look at the fence, and 

 as I did so I was aware, as I thought, of a stumble on the part 

 of his horse ; but as in the commencement of that run, short as 

 the time was over which it had then extended, I had seen a 

 good many stumbles among the field, I took no further notice 

 of it, and continued my course. We had a very good thing, 

 but lost our fox. In the last cast I made for his recovery, 

 in a gateway I met Mr. Montague Ongley, looking as pale as 

 death, who asked " If I knew where there was a surgeon." 

 I said, " No," and asked why ? He replied, " Poor Radcliffe, 

 I fear, is dead." His horse had made no stumble further 



