“Nothing for a hunter,” says the dissentient, who, seeing that the exploit has to be performed in full view of the ladies in the stand, would have it worse if he could. “Nothing for any horse that is properly ridden;--what do you say, major?” “I agree with Kettering,” replies the Major; for our friend “Charlie” it is, who is now surveying the country on foot, in a huge white great-coat, with a silver-mounted whip under his arm, and _no gloves_. He is quite the “gentleman-rider,” and has fully made up his mind to win the steeple-chase. For this has poor Haphazard been deprived of his usual sport in the field, and trained with such severity as Mr. Snaffles has thought advisable; for this has his young master been shortening his stirrups and riding daily gallops, and running miles up-hill to keep him in wind, till there is little left of his original self save his moustaches, which have grown visibly during the winter; and for this have the ladies of the family been stitching for days at the smartest silk jacket that ever was made (orange and blue, with gold tags), only pausing in their labours to visit Haphazard in the stable, and bring him such numerous offerings in the shape of bread, apples, and lump-sugar, that had Mr. Snaffles not laid an embargo on all “tit-bits,” the horse would ere this have been scarcely fit to run for a saddle! Mrs. Delaval having been as severely bitten with the sporting mania as Blanche, they are even now sitting in the grand-stand perusing the list of the starters as if their lives depended on it--and each lady wears a blue and orange ribbon in her bonnet, the General, who escorts them, appearing in an alarming neckcloth of the same hues.