All my life I have loved animals, especially horses and dogs; and all field sports, especially hunting and racing.  But I went on the turf with as much simplicity as a girl possesses at her first ball, knowing nothing about public form or the way to calculate odds, to hedge, or do anything but wonder at the number of fools there were in the world.  I did not know “a thing or two,” like the knowing ones who lose all they possess.  Who could believe that men go about philanthropically to inform the innocent how to “put their money on,” while they carefully avoid putting on their own?  Tipsters, in short, were no part of my racing creed.  I was not so ignorant as that.  I believed in a good horse quite as much as Lord Rosebery does, and much more than I believed in a good rider.  But there were even then honest jockeys, as well as unimpeachable owners.  All you can say is, honesty is honesty everywhere, and you will find a good deal of it on the turf, if you know where to look for it; and its value is in proportion to its quantity.  The moment you depart a hair’s-breadth from its immaculate principle there is no medium state between that and roguery.

However, be that as it may, I was once the owner of a pedigree thoroughbred called Dreadnought, which was presented to me when a colt.  Dreadnought’s dam Collingwood was by Muley Moloch out of Barbelle.  Dreadnought was good for nothing as a racer, and had broken down in training.  As a castaway he was offered to me, and I gladly accepted the present.

As he was too young to work, I sent him down to ——­ Park, to be kept till he was fit for use.  He was there for a considerable time, and was then sent back in a neglected and miserable condition.

I rode him for some time, until one day he took me to Richmond Park, and on going up the hill fell and cut both his knees to pieces and mine as well.  This was a sad mishap, and, of course, I could have no further confidence in poor Dreadnought, fond of him as I was; so he was placed under the care of a skilful veterinary surgeon, who gave him every attention.  His bill was by no means heavy, and he brought him quite round again.

In the course of time he acquired a respectable appearance, although his broken knees, to say nothing of his “past,” prevented his becoming valuable so far as I was concerned.  Certainly I had no expectation of his ever going on to the turf.  How could one believe that any owner would think of entering him for a race?

One morning my groom came to me and said, “I think, sir, I can find a purchaser for Dreadnought, if you have no objection to selling him; he’s a gentleman, sir, who would take great care of him and give him a good home.”

“Sell him!” said I.  “Well, I should not object if he found a good master.  I cannot ride him, and he is practically useless.  What price does he seem inclined to offer?”

“Well, he ain’t made any offer, sir; but he seems a good deal took with him and to like the look of him.  Perhaps, sir, he might come and see you.  I told him that I thought a matter o’ fifteen pun might buy un.  I dunnow whether I did right, sir, but I told un you would never take a farden less.  I stuck to that.”