My Racing Adventures 



original sin. Yet, strange to relate, he gave 

 three of us — to say nothing of many of the stable 

 apprentices — our first lessons in the equestrian 

 art, and he taught more jockeys perhaps in all 

 than any quadruped whose lines were cast in 

 such sporting places. He had quite a genius 

 for upsetting us when he grew tired of our 

 society. That was an illuminating educational 

 process ; we often saw a variety of coloured stars. 

 He lived to a great age, and was a warrior to 

 the last. 



Then, at about the age of ten, I was promoted 

 to the dignity of riding a quiet racehorse at 

 exercise — one of the proudest and happiest 

 moments of my life. To take one's place in 

 the string, to canter up Middle Hill with the air 

 of a conqueror before the numbers were hoisted, 

 to feel your mount pulling at you exuberantly 

 as if you were a full-grown monster instead of 

 a youthful bantam — well, such sensations are 

 exquisite enough while they retain their bloom. 

 After a terrible " purler " or two some of the gilt 

 is taken off the gingerbread ; in fact, there is 

 nothing, perhaps, but gingerbread left, and poor 

 at that. One toes the scratch again with a sense 

 of futility. 



What is wanted (amongst other things) in the 



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