John Maunsell Richardson's Father 



beside our mother and grandmother a sense of intimate loss, 

 that had hurt them one and all badly. Then as we grew older 

 we learnt that he had been loved and respected by all who 

 knew him, in a manner that falls to the lot of few men. 



Our eldest brother, William, was the only one of us who 

 could remember his father alive — though the remembrance 

 was not altogether a happy one, being connected with a sound 

 thrashing for telling a lie, which lie was, I really believe, the 

 only one he ever told in his life. Maunsell and I always 

 cherished a slight feeling of jealousy on this point, not as 

 regards the thrashing, which certainly neither of us wished to 

 have experienced, but we thought our mother and grandmother 

 favoured our eldest brother, and considered him a being set 

 apart from us, and especially blessed for this remembrance. 



Our father was by no means an indifferent horseman, and I 

 call to mind one very special instance of his prowess, which 

 was related to us when we were exceedingly small, and being 

 determined riders ourselves, it naturally interested us immensely. 

 Moreover, to make the story more entrancing, a picture hung 

 in the dining-room of a bay horse called Huntsman, with a 

 racing saddle on him, and a groom standing at his head, evi- 

 dently awaiting his rider at the side door of our old home. 

 This picture we had often studied before we knew the story, 

 as our own groom, " Tommy " Rickalls, who taught us all to 

 ride, was there portrayed, and we loved him very much. 



It appeared that one day, not long before his marriage, a 

 guest who was dining, with him had recently won a rather 

 celebrated race, and during dinner had regaled his host ad 

 nauseum with his own prowess as a rider, and his horse's 

 excellence as a chaser. At that time my father had this fine 

 old upstanding bay horse Huntsman in his stables, and one 

 that could be described as a thoroughly safe conveyance,. 



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