You see we just look for pace and strength in the shoulders; we don't much want anything else--except good jumping power.

What a lot of fellows--even in the crack packs--will always funk water! Horses will fly, but they can't swim.

Now, to my fancy, a clever beast ought to take even a swelling bit of water like a duck.

How poor Standard breasted rivers till that fool staked him!" He dropped more walnuts into his wine, wistfully recalling a mighty hero of Leicestershire fame, that had given him many a magnificent day out, and had been the idol of his stables, till in his twelfth year the noble old sorrel had been killed by a groom's recklessness; recklessness that met with such chastisement as told how and why the hill-tribes' sobriquet had been given to the hand that would lie so long in indolent rest, to strike with such fearful force when once raised.
"Well," he went on once more, "we were all of us scattered; scarcely two kept together anywhere; where the pack was, where the boar was, where the huntsmen were, nobody knew.

Now and then I heard the hounds giving tongue at the distance, and I rode after that to the best of my science; and uncommonly bad was the best.