One reason, perhaps, why I do not enjoy racing today is that I
spent so many hours as a child, sitting on the lawn in front of the
Jerome Park Clubhouse, not able to see anything but skirts and
trouser legs.

About this time also came my first acquaintance with an English
peer. He had letters to my father, and was asked to dinner. I re-
member him and his two spinster daughters arriving. The young
ladies took off their walking shoes in the hall, and put on their
slippers which they had been carrying under their arms . . . turned
down their stuff dresses, and showed a little white lace, and entered
the drawing room dressed for the evening.

I saw the daughters of the English chargé d'affaires do the
same thing myself a few years later, in New London.

We were taught whist by our elders much against our will. We
quickly discovered a way to relieve our boredom. We gave the
cards names; the spades were the Gardeners, the diamonds the
Astors, etc., and would say to each other in soft tones: "Is Jack
Gardener in?""Is Mrs. Astor with you?" My grandfather, a little
deaf, would say, "Children, you will never learn to play whist if
you chatter all the time." He must have been puzzled by the fact
that we always won.

We had a small pony, a red bay with a hogged black mane, on
which we all three learned to ride. A most vicious and unde-
pendable animal who kicked, bucked and ran away with us at the
slightest provocation. Yet I cannot remember anyone expressing
any anxiety about us. My grandfather had a habit of coming up
behind me when I was on horseback and poking the pony in the
rump with his sharp ferruled stick, saying that sort of thing gave
you a good seat.

We had two dogs. Vercingetorix, a clumber spaniel who was
supposed to watch over us children, but all tramps and strangers
were especially dear to him; and Tom, a dog of strong likes and
dislikes. He was very fond of beer and ice cream.

My grandfather's brougham, lined with pale gray cloth, piped
with lilac cords, was large and swell-fronted; but my father had
bought himself a smart new brougham from Brewsters, much
smaller, with no room for the little seat to be let down for children.
. . . If the day was fine, he would drive himself in a high flashing
red-wheeled dog-cart, to the ferry. The groom would spring away
from the horse's head, and we would be off while he was scram-
bling up behind--all very well for my father but a little embarrass-

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