RACECOURSE AND COYERT SIDE. 



THE NICEST LITTLE HORSE IN 

 THE WORLD. 



"I THINK we. can do another bottle," my friend 

 Greenwood said, more decidedly than interro- 

 gatively, as he emptied the decanter into our 

 glasses. 



''It's uncommonly good claret," I answer, 

 somewhat indefinitely; which, being interpreted, 

 means that I should like another glass but am 

 not sure I ought to have it. Greenwood shares 

 my sentiments, and rings the bell. There in a 

 warm corner is the bottle of Pontet Canet ; it 

 is tapped with the care it merits, and placed on 

 the little table, which, dinner being over, we 

 have drawn up before the fire. A warm, crisp 

 biscuit is also produced — Greenwood's man had 

 less doubt about that other bottle than we had 

 — and our glasses being filled we settle down to 



I 



