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Updated: May 26, 2025
I bought a beautiful hack for myself at Tattersalls, 15.2, bright bay with black points and so well-balanced that if I had ridden it with my face to its tail I should hardly have known the difference. I called it Tatts; it was bold as a lion, vain as a peacock and extremely moody.
Unluckily, after a somewhat cautious approach by Tatts up the last step into the marble hall, he caught his reflection in a mirror. At this he instantly stood erect upon his hind legs, crashing my tall hat into the crystal chandelier.
One day, when I was mounted to ride in the Row, my papa kept me waiting so long at the door of 40 Grosvenor Square that I thought I would ride Tatts into the front hall and give him a call; it only meant going up one step from the pavement to the porch and another through the double doors held open by the footman.
His four legs all gave way on the polished floor and down we went with a noise like thunder, the pony on the top of me, the chandelier on the top of him and my father and the footman helpless spectators. I was up and on Tatts' head in a moment, but not before he had kicked a fine old English chest into a jelly.
"Oh, werry well uncommon, I may say a thoroughbred, bang tail down to the hocks, by Phantom, out of Baron Munchausen's dam gave a hatful of money for him at Tatts'. five fives a deal of tin as times go. But he's a perfect 'oss, I assure you bright bay with four black legs, and never a white hair upon him. He's touched in the vind, but that's nothing I'm not a fox-hunter, you know, Mr.
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