by men of pluck,
bred, perhaps, as ploughboys in the country. We could name three--one an
M.P.--under these conditions, who would pass muster in Leicestershire,
if necessary. But a good seat on horseback, pluck, and a love of the
sport, are essential. A few years ago a scientific manufacturer, a very
moderate horseman, was ordered horse exercise as a remedy for mind and
body prostrated by over-anxiety. He found that, riding along the road,
his mind was as busy and wretched as ever. A friend prescribed hunting,
purchased for him a couple of made hunters, and gave him the needful
elementary instruction. The first result was, that he obtained such
sound, refreshing sleep as he had not enjoyed since boyhood; the next,
that in less than two seasons he made himself quite at home with a
provincial pack, and now rides so as to enjoy himself without attracting
any more notice than one who had been a fox-hunter from his youth
upwards."

The illustration at the commencement of this chapter gives a very fair
idea of the seat of good horsemen going at a fence and broad ditch,
where pace is essential. A novice may advantageously study the seats of
the riders in Herring's "Steeplechase Cracks," painted by an artist who
was a sportsman in his day.

A few invaluable hints on riding to hounds are to be found in the
Druid's account of Dick Christian.

The late Marquis of Hastings, father of the present Marquis, was one of
the best and keenest fox-hunters of his day; he died young, and here is
Dick's account of his "first fence," for which all fox-hunters are under
deep obligations to the Druid.

"The Marquis of Hastings was one of my pupils. I was two months at his
place before he came of age. He sent for me to Donnington, and I broke
all his horses. I had never seen him before. He had seven rare nice
horses, and very handy I got them. The first meet I went out with him
was Wartnaby Stone Pits. I rode by his side, and I says, 'My lord, we'll
save a bit of distance if we take this fence.' So he looked at me and he
laughed, and says, 'Why, Christian, I was never over a fence in my
life.' 'God bless me, my lord! you don't say so?' And I seemed quite
took aback at hearing him say it. 'Its true enough, Christian, I really
mean it.' 'Well, my lord,' says I, 'you're on a beautiful fencer, he'll
walk up to it and jump it. Now I'll go over the fence first. _Put your
hands well down on his withers and let him come._' It was a bit of a
low-stak