126 MEMORIES OF THE SHIRES 



as if it had been a five-furlong scramble in the 

 light. 



I arrived at the fence into the country first, and, 

 I think, before the lamp-holders expected us — I 

 could see the light, but it was not shining on the 

 fence. Here my horse refused, but jumped all 

 right on being put at it again, and in fact cleared 

 everything splendidly afterwards. 



I was able to catch up the others before we 

 reached the turning point, and then commenced to 

 draw ahead. I knew exactly the location of the 

 gateway, and as the finish was uphill I could send 

 my steed along best pace without fear of his " dicky 



leg." 



Although it was impossible to see, I could hear 

 the other horses, and all were well behind me on 

 my right, so that after pulling up on passing through 

 the gateway I naturally imagined I had won. The 

 whole affair was just for the fun of it, and there was 

 no prize except the cup that Count Zbrowski gave, 

 so that, of course, I did not say anything, but must 

 admit was very disappointed. 



Mr. " Algy " Burnaby was the winner, and he 

 is now the Master of the Quorn. I cannot remember 

 all who rode that night, but there was Mr. " Harry " 

 Rawlinson — now a baronet, and one of the most 

 successful generals in this last war. Mr. Gordon 

 Wilson died gallantly at the head of his regiment, 

 of which he was colonel ; but both these men dis- 

 tinguished themselves in the South African War. 

 Then there was Count Zbrowski and Capt. Warner — 

 both since dead. I can recall Mr. " Charlie " McNeill 

 and Mr. " Will " Chaplin ; but there were several 

 others, though at the moment I cannot think of 



