AFTERWORD 



I HAVE been much criticised for my repre- 

 hensible habit of keeping ponies. I have 

 been told that, as a poor man, it was a criminal 

 waste to spend good money on a number of 

 useless animals. My depravity has been dis- 

 cussed with my friends and relations, and even 

 my sanity has been impeached. Painful 

 visions of the Workhouse have been dangled 

 before me, as my destination here below, 

 precursory to a torrid if not wholly incandescent 

 hereafter. It is a discouraging enough pros- 

 pect to hold out to a person whose fault is that 

 the blood of many generations of horsemen 

 flows through his veins ; but, goodness knows ! 

 Even that sweltering abyss may have its com- 

 pensations. Perhaps it is there that Elijah's 

 horses of fire are still stabled. Surely the 

 charioteer's job, even if a hot one, would be 

 extraordinarily interesting ! 



But the ponies have had their very great 

 uses — at all events to me. It is true that I, 

 like so many other men of late, have had very 

 harassing times to pass through — the closure 

 of a great railway enterprise owing to the chaos 



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