My Racing Adventures 



has been marked by sundry purple patches ; 

 there are not a few thrills. We find our heroes 

 first in the kitchen, next in the parlour, then 

 in the drawing - room, never up the chimney. 

 They have always maintained their dignity 

 and pride of birth ; there is no slur on their 

 escutcheon, no blot on the caste. 



" Old Buck " once belonged to my father — I 

 believe as a two - year - old — and afterwards he 

 was sold to the late Jesse Wingfield, of Epsom, 

 who subsequently disposed of him to Colonel 

 Hill, of Wollaston Hall, near Grendon, where 

 Mr Bletsoe used to live. Colonel Hill bought 

 the horse to cover hunter mares in the district 

 named, but very few owners cared to use him, 

 and he had more cart mares than anything 

 else. The produce, however, turned out to be 

 very useful hunters. One of them — despite its 

 plebeian origin on the dam's side — won several 

 prizes in the show ring and a good point-to-point 

 steeplechase. Mr Bletsoe happened to see " Old 

 Buck" when he was five years old being led 

 about Wellingborough Market, and asked the 

 man leading him what horse it was. The person 

 in charge handed him a card with the pedigree 

 set out, and he agreed at once to put five mares 

 to him. The fee was then two pounds a mare. 



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