GENERAL GRANT AS A LOVER OF HORSES 



lines of foals and attempted to predict their future. 

 In that realm of peace doubtless his thoughts often 

 reverted to the turbulent scenes of war, of which 

 he grew weary when the great Captain of the South, 

 Robert E. Lee, laid down his sword. 



It was in the autumn of the year after General 

 Grant's second term in the White House that a select 

 party was at Stony Ford. The air was bracing, but 

 a trifle crisp for an invalid, and Mr. Backman had 

 a top wagon drawn under the trees at the edge of 

 the training track. In this General Grant took his 

 seat and, well-wrapped up, had a full view of the 

 mile course, and held his watch on the young trotters. 

 When the horses were not in action, the eyes of 

 the General rested upon the banks of the Walkill, 

 where the sumac and thornapple blushed scarlet, 

 and beyond upon the Shawangunk, over which hung 

 a veil as delicate as any ever woven by the looms of 

 man. He was a little weary when assisted from the 

 wagon and walked with hesitating step to the house, 

 and up the broad stairs into the large smoking-room. 

 He took a seat in a big leather-cushioned chair, 

 lighted a strong cigar, and smoked it almost in 

 silence. He looked through the windows out upon 

 the fair fields, while the smoke curled upward, then 

 suddenly threw away the stump of fragrant tobacco, 

 and said : " Backman, that is my last cigar. I shall 

 never smoke another." 



Excessive smoking had injured his health, and he 

 kept his word. In a series of articles which I con- 



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