My Racing Adventures 



When sportsmen of a genial type foregather, they 

 do not care to pull a long face ; but after the 

 gratification of a legitimate thirst, they cherish 

 no further aspirations in that direction, least of 

 all when they have just enjoyed a good gallop 

 over a beautiful natural country. Were they 

 chaste as snow, pure as ice, sober as a judge, 

 somebody would have a " rap " at them without 

 a doubt. 



Falling over a flight of high black timber in 

 the Tadworth district when the drag was in full 

 cry, I shattered a new hat (my head was in it), 

 and also fell on a nose which has been regarded 

 by connoisseurs as my distinctive feature. The 

 Master — good old Phil J — exhorted me to be 

 more careful. " A new hat," he said, " yes, you 

 may easily buy one, but a new nose like that " — 

 he waved his arms frantically — " why, they're not 

 kept in stock." My response was inadequate and 

 belated. One does not care to have a pet pro- 

 tuberance treated with contumely : it spoils one's 

 quickness of rude repartee. 



After all, however, the full delights of hunt- 

 ing were not enjoyed by me till " Ilex " broke 

 down in the "National," and I used him as a 

 hunter. We got his legs sound enough to stand 

 in that capacity, though it was impossible to 



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