PONTINE MARSHES. 165 



laughed and turned his horse, saying, " You go round, 

 and I'll break my neck over this." He rode at the 

 rails ; his horse, which seemed inclined to refuse, hit 

 the top rail, over they came, and he was picked up 

 stone dead with his neck broken. It is somewhat 

 curious that he should have died from actually break- 

 ing his neck, for only a few days before on my alluding 

 to an accident he had riding, in which it was thought 

 he had broken his neck, he said, " Oh ! I am safe 

 enough, I have broken my neck once, and I'm never 

 likely to do it again." He was a very old friend 

 of mine, and we had been at Eton together. He 

 was a harum-scarum kind of fellow, and we used to 

 call him Mad Bertie. He was most popular at Rome, 

 where he lived a great deal, and his death caused 

 quite a gloom there. 



Amongst other diversions there was some hunting. 

 There were plenty of foxes, but seldom much sport, 

 owing to the numerous places in which they could 

 go to ground. There were old caves, old tombs, 

 and old ruins everywhere, and as digging them out 

 was impossible, as soon as one was in an earth of 

 any kind, all that was necessary was to go and draw 

 for another. 



A friend of mine, Captain Henry Turner, had a 

 coach and a team of old hunters of the old stamp, and 



