"For a fortnight, I was assiduous in cultivating her good graces, until I flattered myself that I was looked on as by no means an ordinary acquaintance. About this time morning rides were all the rage. Among all the young ladies in the city, residents or visiters, Miss ---- was the only one who could at all manage a steed--but what of that? Young men talked constantly of ----; how deucedly well she sat a horse; trotting, galloping, at full speed, 'twas all one to her; indeed in all, save perhaps one particular, she was a perfect Diana Vernon--and no wonder that fashion and the desire of notoriety should induce many young ladies, who knew as little about riding as they did about the Bible, to try to rival her. Miss ---- was no exception. I was riding one morning with a party of ladies and gentlemen, when the horse of one of the gentlemen took fright at something, and off he started. We rode rapidly after him to see what would be the result. The horse was dashing down the road like the wind--suddenly he stopped short, and his unlucky rider darted from his saddle like a bull-frog in full leap, and plunged head foremost into a pile of brushwood, where his legs alone remained visible, gesticulating vigorously. Up we rode in great horror, thinking the poor fellow's neck was broken to a certainty; but no such thing--his time was not yet come. We hauled him forth, and found, that with the exception of a few digs and scratches about his face, he was a whole, though a miserably crest-fallen man. That evening I related the adventure of our morning ride to Miss ----, and instead of operating as a damper to her desire of riding, she became more resolutely bent on it--nothing would do but I must ride with her next day. Accordingly, next morning we started; she riding a quiet looking pacing nag, and I on that large fiery grey horse that broke my barouche to pieces, the day you rode with me to Fairfield and nearly broke our necks into the bargain.