78 Tally ho. 



George Percival ; and Mr. Harrison, mounted on a 

 noble chestnut. 



Percival, many old sportsmen will be glad to hear, 

 was sufficiently recovered to be able to mount his 

 favourite pony and to acknowledge the friendly greet- 

 ings which hailed him on all sides. Then I find I am 

 expected to ride Clonmel — a six-year-old, temperate, 

 weight -carrier, full of spirit, a flying jumper, as clever 

 as a kitten, not pulling an ounce — and I accept the 

 responsibility without fear or mistrust. Away we 

 trot to Cotterstock Wood, where the hounds are 

 thrown in; soon a whimper is heard, then a view 

 halloo denotes that a fox has gone away. George 

 Carter gallops up, blowing his horn loudly, and cheer- 

 ing on his hounds to the halloo, and on we go ; at the 

 very first moment I have to endure a baptism of mud, 

 for an eager sportsman dashes by me, his horse dis- 

 charging a hoof-full into my mouth. The mental 

 verdict I returned was, " Serves me right for allowing 

 any other man to go by me, mounted as I am.^' But 

 then I plead that the ground is so extraordinarily 

 heavy and holding that it behoves a man of 16 or 17 

 stone to nurse his horse. For a few minutes we go at 

 a racing pace, and Clonmel carries me well to the 

 fore, and somehow I am on extremely good terms 

 with myself in consequence. 



Narrowly escaping jumping, however, on to a 

 hound — a practice much to be deprecated, but a 

 mishap which will occasionally happen, even to a 

 cautious rider — we come to a check in a heavy 

 ploughed field, where Lord Carysfort^s horse played 

 him a scurvy trick by lying down and rolling over, 

 regardless of his rider — a bad habit, and especially in- 



