He drove long-tailed horses, harnessed loose in light American harness, so that the whole rig had no possible resemblance to anything that would be seen now.

My father always excelled in improving every spare half-hour or three-quarters of an hour, whether for work or enjoyment.

Much of his four-in-hand driving was done in the summer afternoons when he would come out on the train from his business in New York.

My mother and one or perhaps two of us children might meet him at the station.

I can see him now getting out of the car in his linen duster, jumping into the wagon, and instantly driving off at a rattling pace, the duster sometimes bagging like a balloon.