PEEFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. Xlll 



let me come " between the wind and his no- 

 bility," because, forsooth, I did not choose to 

 starve or beg while I could turn my knowledge 

 of horses to account. 



Where I was born is, of course, of as little con- 

 sequence to my readers or the public as who I 

 am ; perhaps many of both may say it matters 

 little whether I had ever been horn at all: the 

 where I should never, therefore, have mentioned, 

 but from its coincidence with my propensities. I 

 shall therefore state the locality. 



Whether these sporting propensities were pre- 

 destined or not, I know not ; but I was born on 

 Enfield Chase, and in a house stated to have been 

 a hunting-lodge of one of our hunting monarchs ; 

 as probably it was, for a farm called the Dog 

 Kennel stood within half-a-mile of the house. A 

 curious old place this said house was, boasting its 

 four rows of eight windows in front, save three on 

 the ground floor, substituted by the entrance to 

 the hall, where deers' horns, rusty pikes, cutlasses, 

 and God knows what, first delighted my boyish 

 eyes. At two years old I made my first debut on 

 the back of an animal; this I did in the following 

 somewhat rude and rustic manner — namely, being 

 daily taken by my nurse to meet the bullocks 

 coming home from labour, on the back of one of 



