THE 



LIFE OF A RACEHORSE. 



CHAPTEE L 



THE PADDOCK. 



Ay, 'tis long ago since I stood by my dam's side, on a hot and 

 bright May morning ; and yet it seems but yesterday when we 

 were together under the great chestnut tree, with its leafy 

 branches throwing for yards around a deep and sombre shade, 

 in the centre of our paddock. This is the earliest scene I can 

 remember of my life — a life fraught with sorrowful changes of 

 the past. Ay, 'tis long ago when many a man's fate was linked 

 with mine ; when upon my efforts hung success or defeat, joy 

 or sorrow, hope or despair, the dicer's last throw for desperate 

 fortune or irreparable ruin. When the most subtle plots were 

 devised to garnish foul deceit with the semblance of fair 

 honesty ; when conflicting interests rendered human hearts 

 little less callous than those of devils ; when I, a high-mettled 

 and pampered racehorse, ran to win or lose in accordance witli 

 the purpose to be served ; when some eyed me with trust, some 

 with suspicion, some with love, some with hate — but few with- 

 out anxiety and dread. All this, however, was long ago, 

 although it seems but yesterday. 



I can see the old mare now, so gently switching her flanks 

 with the point of her fine and silky tail that it would scarcely 

 have brushed a fly from them. Her small and beautiful head 



