Note 77 — RIDING. (continued 3)

When driving one of the Birmingham fast coaches, just entering the town of Dunstable, my near leader fell with her off hind-leg snapped clean in two, held together merely by the skin. On pulling up to clear her from the coach, I found the cause of the accident; a piece of flint, shaped like a hatchet, and with a blade as keen as a razor, still adhering to the bone, against which it had either been whirled by a kick from one of the other three, or had flown upwards from the tread of the mare herself,—Ed. Fifth Edition.