i8S 



THE BEST FOURTEEN-HANDER 

 IN ENGLAND. 



It used to be a saying in my day " that there was but one best 

 horse, one best dog, and one best gun in England, and that every- 

 body had them." And as there is a good deal of covert truth in 

 this observation, it may appear a little presumptuous on my part 

 when I make the bold assertion that once in my life (but only for 

 twenty-four hours) I was really the lucky possessor of the best 

 fourteen-hander in England, in the shape of a little one-eyed rat- 

 tailed galloway, who won three races for me in one day, beating 

 what we considered the best ponies in England, after which, for 

 two years, she went through the length and breadth of the land, 

 sweeping away every prize that was run for by horses of her 

 standard ; and the reader will probably inquire wherefore, when I 

 had become possessed of such a treasure, I did not keep it ? This 

 question he will find very satisfactorily answered if he reads on to 

 the end of my story. 



The tale is this. One evening in the end of June, a pretty good 

 many years since, seated on one of the coaches which then ran 

 between Birmingham and Leicester, I entered the little half-town, 

 half-village of HoUerton, on the eve of the annual feast and pony- 

 races. At this time, races for horses under fourteen hands were, I 

 fancy, much more the fashion in England than at the present day ; 

 and, although called '''pony-races," they brought out a very different 

 class of animal from what are generally understood by the word 

 pony J for I have seen perfect racehorses in miniature saddled for a 

 galloway stakes, in as good training and very nearly as well-bred, 

 but deficient only in size, to any of our thoroagh-bred racers. Na 



