fire after dinner than it does when actually faced while the hounds are
running. On the particular hunt in question we ran about ten miles, at
a rattling pace, with only two checks, crossing somewhat more than sixty
fences, most of them post-and-rails, stiff as steel, the others being of
the kind called "Virginia" or snake, and not more than ten or a dozen in
the whole lot under four feet in height. The highest measured five feet
and half an inch, two others were four feet eleven, and nearly a third
of the number averaged about four and a half. There were also several
rather awkward doubles. When the hounds were cast off some forty riders
were present, but the first fence was a savage one, and stopped all who
did not mean genuine hard going. Twenty-six horses crossed it, one of
them ridden by a lady. A mile or so farther on, before there had been
a chance for much tailing, we came to a five-bar gate, out of a road--a
jump of just four feet five inches from the take-off. Up to this, of
course, we went one at a time, at a trot or hand-gallop, and twenty-five
horses cleared it in succession without a single refusal and with
but one mistake. Owing to the severity of the pace, combined with the
average height of the timber (although no one fence was of phenomenally
noteworthy proportions), a good many falls took place, resulting in an
unusually large percentage of accidents. The master partly dislocated
one knee, another man broke two ribs, and another--the present
writer--broke his arm. However, almost all of us managed to struggle
through to the end in time to see the death.

On this occasion I owed my broken arm to the fact that my horse, a
solemn animal originally taken out of a buggy, though a very clever
fencer, was too coarse to gallop alongside the blooded beasts against
which he was pitted. But he was so easy in his gaits, and so quiet,
being ridden with only a snaffle, that there was no difficulty in
following to the end of the run. I had divers adventures on this horse.
Once I tried a pair of so-called "safety" stirrups, which speedily
fell out, and I had to ride through the run without any, at the cost of
several tumbles. Much the best hunter I ever owned was a sorrel horse
named Sagamore. He was from Geneseo, was fast, a remarkably good jumper,
of great endurance, as quick on his feet as a cat, and with a dauntless
heart. He never gave me a fall, and generally enabled me to see all the
run.

It would be very