My Racing Adventures 



adventure of his at Barnet Fail*, where he won 

 a couple of races worth thirteen sovereigns each, 

 run in heats of about 2 miles, and as he walked 

 his horse to the meeting — a journey of 15 miles 

 — and back again at night, the work which he 

 accomplished to win twenty - six pounds was 

 sufficiently meritorious. " Little fish are sweet," 

 he remarked pertinently, " when the big ones 

 won't bite ; and when they do bite, it is just as 

 well to be prepared for hauling them in." He, 

 too, was never short of verbiage, as may be said, 

 when his ideas were worth communication. If 

 one's first barrel misses, the second may surprise 

 us by the extent of its slaughter. 



At an early stage of his career, my grand- 

 father was a farmer in Hertfordshire under Lord 

 Temple, not far from Brocket Hall. He always 

 had a few useful horses in training that could hold 

 their own and a bit more at such old-fashioned 

 meetings as Gorhambury, The Hoo, Barnet, 

 Hertford, and St Albans, all of which are, I 

 believe, now defunct. He also trained for Lord 

 Melbourne and Lord Palmerston, riding fre- 

 quently with success for his own stable. His 

 noble patrons were delighted. Lord Palmerston 

 — so the legend runs — once said to him : " Night- 

 ingall, you have ridden very well in this last 



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