Ten o'clock saw us under weigh, and strangely enough the big upstanding bay was on his best behaviour, and walked along by the side of Kitty most sedately--a circumstance which Ventnor, who hoped to monopolise Grace, did not seem particularly thankful for. Arriving at the meet in good time, I found myself in the midst of a host of old friends, who admired my horse, and said he looked all over like going. The first draw from Abbots Hill was a cover called "The Rough," and it was noted for being a very nasty one to get a start from, as there were only two ways to choose, either through a boggy hunting gateway at the corner, which was always kept closed until the fox was away, or over a rasping great fence, with a ditch fully ten feet broad on the far side, which was, to say the least of it, not an inviting object to commence with. Knowing the topography of the land, I slipped down to the gate as the hounds were thrown in, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing a fine old fox steal away and make across the long grass-field on the other side of "The Rough." Giving him a few moments to make good his departure, I holloed, and down came the whole field pounding away for the gate. Directly my uncle's steed heard them coming he began his tricks by shooting up straight on end. A crack between the ears with my crop, and a gentle reminder of both spurs as he came down fully roused his temper, and, placing himself across the gateway, he started to kick in a way I should never have believed possible. With his head (notwithstanding all I could do) nearly touching the ground, he pirouetted round in a circle, lashing out viciously the whole time, and rendering it perfectly impossible for anyone to pass. A few adventurous spirits charged the fence, but the majority of the field were kept back, and seeing that hounds were running hard with a burning scent, blessings (or the reverse) fell fast and thick on my devoted head. At last, after I had thrashed him till my arm ached, and tried everything I could think of to induce him to shift his ground, the brute played his trump card, and down he went as if he had been shot, rolling over into the ditch, where he lay, and sending me flying well into the middle of the boggiest place, but fortunately clear of himself, so that I escaped without personal injury. Covered with mud, and my hat squashed flat, I presented a pretty picture as I picked myself up and scrambled out of the way to allow the more fortunate sportsmen a means of egress, which they were not slow to take advantage of. Grace, riding through, pulled up on the other side, and asked me, with some concern, if I was hurt. "Not a bit," I said; "go on, I am all right, only take care of yourself." "Don't get on that brute's back again, dear boy," shouted Uncle John. "It has frightened me out of my life. I thought you were going to be killed."