FRESH AS IMPORTED.

37

I am not quite clear but that the first suggestion of publishing the result of my experience arose from the following recollection.

He

Hunting with the old Berkley, an old dog-fox in the Clicketting season was found near Beaconsfield, and gave us such a straight twister to the neighbourhood of the good town of Amersham, as left the field "few and far between." A stranger was out, spicy in all his appurtenances, quite correct, but new. He was mounted on a really magnificent chesnut horse, in shape, make, and style of going a hunter all over. evidently knew his business, while it shortly became equally apparent that his master did not. He was a man of perhaps forty, a good-humoured looking soul, and no want of quaintness in his expression of countenance, yet perfectly unassuming in his carriage and manner. I, like others, addressed the stranger, and made my introduction by what seldom fails to meet courteous reception; namely, admiring his horse, who justly merited my encomiums in all things save one, his condition. Fine he was in his coat, fresh on his legs, and in high spirits and vigour, but the condition spoke of the dealer's, not the hunting stable.

The hounds were scarcely in cover before one threw his tongue. The cheer of the huntsman showed the challenge came from one to be

trusted; others flew at the halloo and joined chorus. A minute after Pug showed close to me, broke at once, threw up his brush, and went off at score. Seeing him shortly change his point, go straight up what little wind there was, and taking into consideration the time of year, I felt satisfied he was a stranger, and made up my mind for a rattler, which he gave us, and ran to earth in his own country and home; he did not run up wind for nothing. Now to return to the stranger. He certainly did not, as Beckford represents some gentleman to have done, show any indication of attempting to catch the fox; but the moment the hounds showed they meant such undertaking, away he went, and right merrily he went. The hounds, with noses up, sterns down, and giving themselves no time for talking, went at such a pace that hurry them on as he might, the scent was so good, and Pug went so straight, he could do no harm to them. To do him justice, fear he had none; at all he went, and though sometimes nearly over the pommell of his saddle, at others thrown up till he stood over it like the Colossus at Rhodes, and at others indulging in a little lateral inclination, with a loose rein, his blooming chesnut topped all in gallant style; and though, as we sometimes do on seeing a man much inebriated on horseback, I expected to see the rider grassed, he kept on like a trump.

We had run perhaps three miles without a check enough to take a horse off his stride. "Well," thought I, "neighbour, if in your nag's condition he lasts much longer, I am no prophet." In a field or two further I saw the chesnut make a flounder on landing over a fence. "Oh! you're there, are you, at last," thought I. Our Mazeppa on the not wild, but now tame, horse gave him a cram, and sent him along across part of a deep ploughed field. "Who ho! for a hundred," thought I, "before you reach the next fence." I saw the chesnut stretch his neck out, give a swelling sigh and sob, his stroke shortened, and he stopped, regularly planted.

On the next hunting day neighbour was there, fresh as a four-year old, and looking as goodhumoured as ever. I asked after the chesnut, and really felt much pleasure on learning he had shortly recovered, and was none the worse for his drilling. Neighbour was now on a fine bay, but just in the same condition. His master expressed surprise at his chesnut having come so suddenly to a stand. I perpetrated an execrable pun by telling him, it was because he brought him too suddenly to a fixture; adding, "It does not require my being a witch, my good Sir, to prognosticate that your bay will serve you just the same if you ride him the same, he being in the same condition as your chesnut."

This led to my explaining such effects of the want of condition as I presumed he was unacquainted with; and finding my suspicions correct as to his nags being in dealer's condition, I gave him (on his asking it) my advice, which was in words to this effect:

"You have two remarkably fine horses, one of them a very clever one, as I have seen; but neither can be fit to go with hounds under six weeks. Not to lose your hunting, buy a couple of fifty-pound seasoned hack hunters; sell them when your own are ready. But do not risk four hundred from inflamed lungs, or broken necks or backs, from exhaustion, which you will risk, in all probability realise, if you ride your horses in their present state."

“I wish you would write a book for novices like me," most modestly said neighbour.

"I'll think of it," said I, at that time thinking I never should; but having, since that time, been, like his chesnut (but in another way), a good deal blown, but not, like him, regularly planted, I thought of neighbour's hint and took it.

CHAP. II.

QUALIFICATIONS OF A HUNTER.—AMOUNT OF WORK THAT MAY BE EXPECTED OF HIM.DISCIPLINE OF OLD AND YOUNG HUNTERS.

HAVING now given some of my general ideas of the hunting-field, I shall attempt to offer what I trust may be useful advice to some persons, on more particular points as regards the huntingrider than the many more valuable treatises on the chase afford; and, in doing so, I shall adopt the plan of conversation with a friend, as in my work on "Practical Horsemanship."

Perceiving a gentleman coming across Windsor Great Park at a nice workmanlike hand-gallop, I looked carefully at him as he came towards me. His seat was firm, neat, and gentlemanlike, and his horse one that, seen going, would disgrace no hunting-field, and would be held a fine horse in Hyde Park. Coming to one of the small ditches, of which there are many in Windsor Park, the horse rushed at it, made a kind of stop before he jumped, and then took it at a kind of buck leap, which threw the rider a little out of place.