His Grace — page 132: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

126 HIS GRACE. sports and pastimes worthy to be so called, is that, while the excitement of it lasts, nothing else signifies one farthing : and there was excitement enough in our second run that day to content the most insatiable of fox-hunters. I am not going to describe that historic run. To begin with, I couldn’t possibly do justice to its incidents unless I were to ascend or descend into rhyme (a practice which I have abandoned): added to which, I am sorry to say that I only saw a portion of it. However, I thoroughly enjoyed that portion of it in which I was privileged to take part, and a man whose bones are as big as mine are, knows only too well that he must be a Rothschild into the bargain if he wants his horse to stay forever. My poor old gray floundered into a ditch at last, and gave me to understand, after I had got him on his legs again, that he had shot his bolt. I had not spared him, as perhaps I ought to have done, and I was not even sure that he would be able to carry me home. One thing was beyond all question, and that was that homeward we must set our faces. So, aftersa brief breathing space, we started at a foot’s pace, threading our way through the sinuous and miry lanes, until we arrived at a public-house, where I thought I had better halt and gruel my exhausted mount. It was almost dark when I hoisted myself once more into the saddle and, catching the sound of approaching hoofs, paused in the hope that some other belated horseman might be able to inform me of the result of the day’s sport or at least to direct me as to the shortest way to Hurst- bourne Castle. However, it was a horsewoman, not a horseman, who presently showed up black against the red glow Eomichbooks co