Nowadays most of the entries are trained to some extent, though not many go to regular training establishments.  To have a reasonable chance of running well in the longer races, however, it is necessary to have your mounts in stable exercised regularly and fed on corn.  It is only quite lately, however, that even so much training has been adopted at all generally.  In the old pioneer days of English estancias, when these clubs were formed, they raced ponies taken straight off grass and kept fit by riding the regular rounds of camp and stock.

There are many tales of the great “rags” that happened in those days, and curious incidents of racing, too.  On one occasion a winner of a polo pony race was objected to as over height.  The measurement was to be taken after the end of the meeting; and it must be remembered that all ponies out in the camp are unshod.  The man who had come in second went round to the stables before the measuring and noticed in the winner’s stall a number of large pieces of hoof recently chopped off.  The pony passed with an inch off his forefeet and nothing was said, though it had been obviously over height.  That evening at bridge the owner happened to win considerably from the man who had lodged the complaint, who, when the score was to be settled, threw down some pieces of hoof on the table saying, “Take back your dirty chips.”

Nowadays, of course, things are not quite so rough and ready, and most of the clubs are affiliated, and run under Hurlingham or the Jockey Club rules, so that good sport and good feeling prevail.  In fact the camp man looks forward to these occasions as the best bits of sport and amusement that he will get during the year.

SUNDAYS IN CAMP.

SUNDAYS IN CAMP.

In no place is Sunday more looked forward to and enjoyed than in camp.  Holidays on the estancia come but seldom, and were it not for the welcome break that gives the campman a day of rest every week, his life would be a round of work, and probably make him the proverbial “dull boy.”  All the busy working-days are so filled with the various duties that when evening comes and dinner is over the tired worker has little inclination for reading or any other relaxation, the thought of that early bell which rouses him before sunrise makes him take advantage of every hour’s sleep he can.  At an hour when the townman is thinking of beginning the evening’s amusement at theatre or concert, the campman is sleeping the sound sleep that fresh air combined with hard work never denies.  But on one evening an exception is made to these early hours, and that is Saturday.  With the pleasant feeling of a week’s work completed and the morrow’s rest before them, our campmen begin their weekly holiday by an extra hour or two at billiards or music, or perhaps a rubber of bridge, turning in with a fervid “Thank goodness, to-morrow’s Sunday.”  Then the pleasure of waking at