I have often been asked whether I am nervous out hunting, and my answer in the affirmative has been frequently discredited. I cannot recall the time when I have not been for the first few fences, but so far as I know my mind, my nervousness does not affect my riding, as is shown by the following story of the early sixties. I was riding frequently with the Essex Stag Hounds horses hired from the farmer horse-dealer who acted as huntsman to the pack. He was driving me from Ingatestone to the meet one Tuesday morning, when I observed, “What sort of a mount have I got to-day?” “Well, Major, I cannot say I know very much about him, but I believe he is a very good one.” It was a low, strong, cob-like horse, with great power and breeding. The deer having been uncarted, as we rode down at the first fence my teeth were chattering so as to be painful, and I crossed the first two holding my jaw with my left hand. We had a brilliant thirty-five minutes, in which the horse performed well, making only one mistake, in which although we got down we did not part company, and when we had secured the deer the owner of the horse said, “Major, will you get off, and ride this gentleman’s horse? for he may be a customer.” When we were driving home from the public-house where we regained the cart, the huntsman said to me, “I owe you a good turn, Major, to-day.” “Why?” “Oh, you have sold that horse for me.” “Done well?” “Oh, I haven’t made a heap of money, but I like quick returns.” “Then you have not had the horse long?” “No, I only bought him yesterday afternoon at Tattersall’s.” I stayed at Reading for the Ascot week with a cousin, and on the Thursday accidentally met the Southwells. My former General, William Napier, accosted me in the enclosure, asking whether I could get him some lunch, and I replied, “Oh yes, come across the drag enclosure, and you can have what you like; I am sure to know many men there.” Threading our way through the coaches, I looked up, and saw Miss Paulina Southwell. The General, to whose wife I had confided my feelings, said, “Oh, don’t mind my lunch; stop here, and talk to your friends.” I said, “No, sir,” and went on until we got to the Guards’ tent, where a friend made us welcome. I am not a lunch-eater, but the General had a hearty appetite, and asked me if I could get him a chair. That lunch appeared to be about the longest I ever attended, but I waited patiently, and insisted on piloting my former General across the course before I left him, when I returned to Lord Southwell’s coach, and saw the lady whom I had not met for a long time, and with whom I never corresponded until, two months later, I wrote and asked her to marry me.