It
was abundantly evident that he was neither one of the "gentlemen
riders" who figure in the somewhat mild Roman steeple-chase races, nor
of those Nimrods from beyond the Alps who, mounted on such steeds as
Jarrett or Rannucci can supply them with, attend the "meets" of the
Roman hunt. The man in question was very unlike any of these; his
horse was quite as unlike any that such persons are wont to ride; and
his seat upon his horse and his mode of riding were yet more unlike
theirs. It was not the seat of a man accustomed to "go across the
country" and ride to hounds; and still less was it the seat of a
cavalry-man, the result of teaching in a military riding-school. It
was more like the seat (if the expression be permissible) of a
centaur. The rider and his steed seemed to be one organization and
governed by one and the same will.
But I must endeavor to give the reader an idea of the outward
appearance of my acquaintance. He wore a long horse-man's cloak of
dark-brown cloth, with a deep fur collar, which hung loosely from his
shoulders, and being entirely open in front displayed a scarlet
waistcoat ornamented with silver buttons beneath it, and thighs clad
in black velveteen breeches.
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