VALOUR 



keeping with his whole career. At threescore 

 years and ten he insisted on mounting a dangerous 

 animal that he would not have permitted any 

 friend to ride. What happened is still a mystery. 

 The horse came home without him, and he never 

 spoke again, though he lived till the following 

 day. 



But these are sad reflections for so cheerful a 

 subject as daring in the saddle. Red is our 

 colour, not black, and, happily, in the sport we 

 love, there are few casualties calling forth more 

 valour than is required to sustain a bloody nose, 

 a broken collar-bone, or a sound ducking in a 

 wet ditch. Yet it is extraordinary how many 

 good fellows riding good horses find themselves 

 defeated in a gallop after hounds, from indecision 

 and uncertainty, rather than want of courage, 

 when the emergency actually arises. Though 

 the danger, according to Sir Francis Head, is 

 about a hap'orth, it might possibly be valued at a 

 penny, and nobody wants to discover, in his own 

 person, the exact amount. Therefore are the 

 chivalry of the Midland Counties to be seen 

 on occasion panic - stricken at the downfall or 

 disappearance of a leader. And a dozen feet of 

 dirty water will wholly scatter a field of horsemen 

 who would confront an enemy's fire without the 

 quiver of an eyelash. Except timber, of which 

 the risk is obvious at a glance, nothing frightens 



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