OLD JEM MORGAN 129 



of evening set in, my friend found himself alone at 

 Tythrope covert, about two miles from Thame, 

 having about seven couple of hounds with him, and 

 the fox lost I — not a soul but himself being in sight. 

 The pace had been so severe, and a stinging brook at 

 Ford, four miles back, with about sixteen feet of 

 naked water, which the mare skimmed over like a 

 swallow, had stopped old Jem Morgan the huntsman, 

 whippers-in, his lordship, and many others, who 

 mostly got a ducking, or had shied it, and then 

 found a bridge. After the fox was lost Mr. Morris 

 returned, getting together such hounds as he could, 

 and when returning for home, about a mile, met 

 poor old Jem, who had the remainder of the pack 

 with him, and was wondering what had become of 

 the fox and the leading hounds. The finish was 

 about nine miles from my home at Aylesbury, and 

 about eighteen from the kennels at Tring, the 

 country run over nearly fourteen miles. The new 

 hunter and her rider returned in triumph to her 

 stable, and was none the worse for the run. A very 

 disagreeable event happened to myself which pre- 

 vented my seeing this extraordinary finish. Whilst 

 lost in admiration at the splendid performance of 

 the new purchase, I was riding in as good a place 

 as I could, and, jumping a fairly big fence, I did not 

 perceive on the landing side that there was a great 

 well-rotted muck-heap of at least fifty tons. My horse 

 landed into it, almost up to her shoulder-blades, 

 which sent me flying over her head, and I fell 

 plump on my back into the soft manure, completely 



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