VALOUR 



moor among the heather. It shoulders a rifle no 

 heavier than a pea-shooter, but levels the toy so 

 straight that, after some cunning stalk, a " stag of 

 ten " goes down before the white hand and taper 

 finger, as becomes his antlers and his sex. Lastly, 

 when it gets upon Bachelor, or Benedict, or 

 Othello, or any other high-flyer with a suggestive 

 name, it sails away close, often too close, to the 

 hounds, leaving brothers, husbands, even admirers, 

 hopelessly in the rear. 



Now, I hope I am not going to express a 

 sentiment that will offend their prejudices, and 

 cause young women to call me an old one, but I 

 do consider that in these days ladies who go out 

 hunting ride a tMrn too hard. Far be it from me to 

 assert that the field is no place for the fair ; on the 

 contrary, I hold that their presence adds in every 

 respect to its charms. Neither would I protest 

 against their jumping, and relegate them to the 

 bridle-roads or lanes. Nothing of the kind. Let 

 the crreatest care be taken in the selection of their 

 horses ; let their saddles and bridles be fitted to 

 such a nicety that sore backs and sore mouths are 

 equally impossible, and let trustworthy servants 

 be told off to attend them during the day. Then, 

 with everything in their favour, over a fair country, 

 fairly fenced, why should they not ride on and 

 take their pleasure ? 



But even if their souls disdain to follow a 



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