“Let’s down,” says I; but he was all the time employed in disengaging Trumpeter, whom he got out of the ditch, trembling and as quiet as possible.  “Let’s down,” says I.  “Presently,” says he; and taking off his coat, he begins whistling and swishing down Trumpeter’s sides and saddle; and when he had finished, what do you think the rascal did?—­he just quietly mounted on Trumpeter’s back, and shouts out, “Git down yourself, old Bearsgrease; you’ve only to drop!  I’ll give your ’oss a hairing arter them ’ounds; and you—­vy, you may ride back my pony to Tuggeridgeweal!” And with this, I’m blest if he didn’t ride away, leaving me holding, as for the dear life, and expecting every minute the branch would break.

It did break too, and down I came into the slush; and when I got out of it, I can tell you I didn’t look much like the Venuses or the Apollor Belvidearis what I used to dress and titivate up for my shop window when I was in the hairdressing line, or smell quite so elegant as our rose-oil.  Faugh! what a figure I was!

I had nothing for it but to mount the dustman’s donkey (which was very quietly cropping grass in the hedge), and to make my way home; and after a weary, weary journey, I arrived at my own gate.

A whole party was assembled there.  Tagrag, who had come back; their Excellencies Mace and Punter, who were on a visit; and a number of horses walking up and down before the whole of the gentlemen of the hunt, who had come in after losing their fox!  “Here’s Squire Coxe!” shouted the grooms.  Out rushed the servants, out poured the gents of the hunt, and on trotted poor me, digging into the donkey, and everybody dying with laughter at me.

Just as I got up to the door, a horse came galloping up, and passed me; a man jumped down, and taking off a fantail hat, came up, very gravely, to help me down.

“Squire,” says he, “how came you by that there hanimal?  Jist git down, will you, and give it to its howner?”

“Rascal!” says I, “didn’t you ride off on my horse?”

“Was there ever sich ingratitude?” says the Spicy.  “I found this year ’oss in a pond, I saves him from drowning, I brings him back to his master, and he calls me a rascal!”

The grooms, the gents, the ladies in the balcony, my own servants, all set up a roar at this; and so would I, only I was so deucedly ashamed, as not to be able to laugh just then.

And so my first day’s hunting ended.  Tagrag and the rest declared I showed great pluck, and wanted me to try again; but “No,” says I, “I have been.”

THE FINISHING TOUCH.

I was always fond of billiards:  and, in former days, at Grogram’s in Greek Street, where a few jolly lads of my acquaintance used to meet twice a week for a game, and a snug pipe and beer, I was generally voted the first man of the club; and could take five from John the marker himself.  I had a genius, in fact, for the game; and now that I was placed in that station of life where I could cultivate my talents, I gave them full play, and improved amazingly.  I do say that I think myself as good a hand as any chap in England.