16 HORSE PORTRAITURE. 



boots, a jaunty bonnet, with a stray curl for the wind to 

 toss away from the "cheeks like lilies dipt in wine." You 

 can hardly recall what has been said, but you never will 

 forget the thrill, as the tapering arm was placed on yours, 

 as you let them speed along the smooth road ; and then 

 in the winter the same partner, a "duck of a sleigh"- 

 but hold, I am running away with myself, and have al- 

 ready said enough to convince you that I am as enthusi- 

 astically fond of a dash on the road, as a sail in the 

 pigskin. 



PBECEPTOE. Both are good ; and though I have grown 

 grey and old in the profession, as you may term it, of 

 training horses, yet the same feelings come over me as 

 when young, and I am only kept from showing them, for 

 fear of the invidious remark of "what airs that old fool 

 is putting on." Years are not the true test of age. For 

 instance you will pardon the comparison, but the horse 

 is so intimately blended with my feelings I cannot help 

 it when you see some veteran of the turf whose youth 

 and prime were a series of hard contests, led out of 

 the stable, how hard it is to believe he is what would be 

 termed old. Curving his neck and proudly caracoling, 

 he has more sense than to be ashamed of his youthful 

 feelings, but his master while acknowledging his sense 

 is ashamed of copying from an animal that he stigma- 

 tizes with the name of brute. Without wishing to recall 

 what I said about the smooth running wagon, there are 

 times I would delight in a gallop that would stir the 

 blood. There is enjoyment for me in rapid locomotion 

 that I cannot well explain, and I have often envied the 

 Englishmen their exciting sport of fox-hunting, which 

 young and old follow with so much zest. My only 

 acquaintance with it is from reading, and the enthusi- 

 astic reports of those who have taken part in the di- 

 version. Yet I fancy there is more pleasure in it than 



