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famished with some prints of running horses for imitation, and being a great admirer of that noble animal, I suddenly turned my whole attention to this subject, in which I soon became a pretty good proficient, considering my youth and that I never had any master, and it appears to have been my forte. These prints having always the pedigree and performances of the animal subjoined, insensibly gave me a passion for racing, which became my next hobby-horse. I tow eagerly perused the Racing Calendar, took in the Sporting Magazine, purchased a Stud-Book[1]; and was so indefatigable in my researches, that, before I was fourteen, I could repeat the pedigree of any celebrated horse, and could discourse of handicaps, and give-and-take plates, of the Beacon Course, and the Devil's Ditch[2], with the fluency of a veteran jockey—and I actually stole a march from London to Newmarket in hopes of obtaining a situation in the racing stables; flattering myself that I might, like the great Dennis O'Kelly[3], whose life I had read, become in time a shining character on the turf; but I failed in this attempt to disgrace my friends, and degrade myself, as my youth and genteel appearance deterred the persons to whom I applied from listening to my request.
I shall now resume the thread of my narrative.
