This was, as far as I remember, the only one of my exceedingly rare athletic triumphs which would be worth relating.  I did a good deal of boxing and wrestling in Harvard, but never attained to the first rank in either, even at my own weight.  Once, in the big contests in the Gym, I got either into the finals or semi-finals, I forget which; but aside from this the chief part I played was to act as trial horse for some friend or classmate who did have a chance of distinguishing himself in the championship contests.

I was fond of horseback-riding, but I took to it slowly and with difficulty, exactly as with boxing.  It was a long time before I became even a respectable rider, and I never got much higher.  I mean by this that I never became a first-flight man in the hunting field, and never even approached the bronco-busting class in the West.  Any man, if he chooses, can gradually school himself to the requisite nerve, and gradually learn the requisite seat and hands, that will enable him to do respectably across country, or to perform the average work on a ranch.  Of my ranch experiences I shall speak later.  At intervals after leaving college I hunted on Long Island with the Meadowbrook hounds.  Almost the only experience I ever had in this connection that was of any interest was on one occasion when I broke my arm.  My purse did not permit me to own expensive horses.  On this occasion I was riding an animal, a buggy horse originally, which its owner sold because now and then it insisted on thoughtfully lying down when in harness.  It never did this under the saddle; and when he turned it out to grass it would solemnly hop over the fence and get somewhere where it did not belong.  The last trait was what converted it into a hunter.  It was a natural jumper, although without any speed.  On the hunt in question I got along very well until the pace winded my ex-buggy horse, and it turned a somersault over a fence.  When I got on it after the fall I found I could not use my left arm.  I supposed it was merely a strain.  The buggy horse was a sedate animal which I rode with a snaffle.  So we pounded along at the tail of the hunt, and I did not appreciate that my arm was broken for three or four fences.  Then we came to a big drop, and the jar made the bones slip past one another so as to throw the hand out of position.  It did not hurt me at all, and as the horse was as easy to sit as a rocking-chair, I got in at the death.

I think August Belmont was master of the hunt when the above incident occurred.  I know he was master on another occasion on which I met with a mild adventure.  On one of the hunts when I was out a man was thrown, dragged by one stirrup, and killed.  In consequence I bought a pair of safety stirrups, which I used the next time I went out.  Within five minutes after the run began I found that the stirrups were so very “safe” that they would not stay in at all.  First one went off at one jump, and then the other