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CHAPTER VI. 



THE HORSE. 



MANY stories are told of that facetious nobleman, Lord 

 Barrymore, the ' Cripplegate ' of those three brothers whose 

 eccentricities seem to have so largely delighted the old historians 

 of the turf. Not all of these are particularly interesting to us, 

 or creditable to his lordship's memory, but in the following, 

 related by ' The Druid,' there is a little grain of salt that has 

 sufficed to keep it still sweet enough for our purpose. He 

 walked one fine morning out on to the pavement in front of 

 his stables at Newmarket, and roared at the top of his voice, 

 ' O yes ! O yes ! O yes ! who wants to buy a horse that can 

 walk five miles an hour, trot eighteen, and gallop twenty ? ' 

 Of course a crowd was round my lord in a moment, and on 

 his repeating the flattering tale, there was no lack of aspirants 

 to the possession of this remarkable animal ; but they were 

 forced to content themselves with the assurance that 'When 

 I see such a horse I will be sure to let you know.' There is 

 no recorded reason for believing that such a wonder has yet 

 been found ; perhaps the nearest approach to it was that famous 

 steed of whom the enthusiastic dealer assured a doubting pur- 

 chaser, ' The shadow of him on the wall is worth all the money 

 I axes ; he can pick up his feet, and go, and catch a bird.' 

 But the desire for a good horse is as keen now as in Lord 

 Barrymore's time, and if the prices do not as a rule run quite 

 so high now as they did in the days Dick Christian has waxed 

 so eloquent over, nobody with a good animal to sell need ever 

 look long for a buyer. 



