_Aunt Deborah_ (reprovingly).--"Instructive, Kate, not amusing; certainly not ludicrous. If you'll shut the door we'll begin." _Kate_.--"Can't we put it off for an hour? I must get my ride, you know, aunt. What's the use of horses if one don't ride?" _Aunt Deborah_.--"Kate, you ride too much; I don't object to the afternoons with John Jones, but these morning scampers are really quite uncalled for; they're spoiling your figure and complexion; it's improper--more, it's unfeminine; but as you seem determined upon it, go and get your ride, and come back a little sobered;" and Kate--that's me--disappears into the boudoir, from which she emerges in about five minutes with the neatest habit and the nicest hat, and her hair done in two such killing plaits--John Jones says I never look so well as when I've got my hair dressed for riding. I always go out for these morning excursions quite alone. Aunt Deborah fought for a long time, and insisted on my taking the coachman; but he is an old family servant, and I soon knocked him up completely. In the first place, the ride is always soft, and I hate going _slow_, so he used to get a dreadful stitch in his side trying to keep up with me on one of the high-actioned coach-horses; then he didn't see the fun of having two horses to clean when he got home instead of one; so when he found he couldn't get another helper, we begged him off between us, and I go out now unencumbered by that excellent and pursy old man. After all, I ought to be able to take care of myself. I have ridden ever since I was five years old; and if habit is second nature, as Aunt Deborah says, I'm sure my habit ought to be natural enough to me. I recollect as well as if it was yesterday, when poor papa put me on a shaggy Shetland pony, and telling me not to be frightened, gave it a thump, and started me off by myself. I wasn't the least bit afraid, I know that. It was a new sensation, and delightful; round and round the field we went, I shaking my reins with one hand, and holding on a great flapping straw hat with the other; the pony grunting and squeaking, with his mane and tail floating on the breeze, and papa standing in the middle, waving his hat and applauding with all his might. After that I was qualified to ride anything; and by the time I was twelve, there wasn't a hunter in the stables that I wouldn't get on at a moment's notice. I am ashamed to confess that I have even caught the loose cart-horses in a field, and ridden them without saddle or bridle. I never was beat but once, and that was at Uncle Horsingham's when I was about fifteen. He had bought a mare at Tattersall's for his daughter to ride, and brought her down to Dangerfield, thinking she would conduct herself like the rest of her species. How well I remember my governess's face when she gave me leave to go to the stable with Sir Harry and look over the new purchase. I was a great pet of Uncle Horsingham; and as Cousin Amelia