"That brute, Day Star, is a splendid fencer, and for a brook jumper, it would be heard to best Wild Geranium, though her shoulders are not quite what they ought to be.

Montacute, too, can ride a good thing, and he's got one in Pas de Charge." "I'm not much afraid of Monti, he makes too wild a burst first; he never saves on atom," yawned Cecil, with the coils of his hookah bubbling among the rose-water; "the man I'm afraid of is that fellow from the Tenth; he's as light as a feather and as hard as steel.

I watched him yesterday going over the water, and the horse he'll ride for Trelawney is good enough to beat even the King if he's properly piloted." "You haven't kept yourself in condition, Beauty," growled "Tom," with the chibouque in his mouth, "else nothing could give you the go-by.

It's tempting Providence to go in for the Gilt Vase after such a December and January as you spent in Paris.

Even the week you've been in the Shires you haven't trained a bit; you've been waltzing or playing baccarat till five in the morning, and taking no end of sodas after to bring you right for the meet at nine.