CHAPTER III. 



'Twas merry in the glowing morn, among the gleaming 



grass, 

 To wander as we've wandered many a mile, 

 And blow the cool tobacco cloud and watch the white 



wreaths pass, 

 Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while. 



LINDSAY GORDON. 



I had just returned from the Argentine, where I 

 had fairly lived in the saddle, parting cattle, train- 

 ing horses, riding races, and playing polo, so I was in 

 good riding trim, and keen to get a hunter; but owing 

 to the state of my finances paying for one was a 

 difficulty. 



One day, having to go into a house-agent's yard at 

 Epsom, though not the sort of place one expects to find 

 a horse, I saw a chestnut cob. I asked the man about 

 it, who told me he had seized it for debt, and expected 

 soon to get leave from the Court to sell it. I made 

 a few more inquiries, and was almost certain it was the 

 same cob of which John Jones, who then trained the 

 Prince of Wales's chasers, had spoken, telling me it 

 was a "rum 'un" to ride, but a great jumper. A few 

 days after that the house-agent led it up to my house 

 and asked me to buy it. I said I must have a ride 

 first, and got a saddle. As soon as I got near her 

 the cob gave a squeal and went for me. The owner was 

 terrified, but luckily there was a gardener on the 

 premises who had been a groom, and between us we got on 

 a saddle, and at last, seizing my chance, I got up. 

 She was not really bad to sit — in fact, squealing was 

 her forte — but there was a short and very steep 

 avenue down from the house, and on that she fairly let 

 herself go, and kicked her best, ending up by giving 

 the gate-post one resounding bang that left a mark which 



