File:Ancel Williamson - John Paul's book- moral and instructive- consisting of travels, tales, poetry, and like fabrications (1874) (14590826207).jpg

Identifier: johnpaulsbookmor00paul (find matches)
Title: John Paul's book: moral and instructive: consisting of travels, tales, poetry, and like fabrications
Year: 1874 (1870s)
Authors: Paul, John, 1834-1905
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Publisher: Hartford, Conn., Chicago, Ill. : Columbian Book Company
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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inner. I feel encouraged over my chances in life from this result, and shall always hereafter keep on running to the end, no matter what odds are against me. And now they tell me gray Lanty was so much injured in the race—by the breaking of a tendon or something—that the can never run again, may possibly have to be killed.This is to be regretted, for he proved himself a noble horse.The burst of speed he showed after jumping the last hurdle,having run a jumping race then of nearly three miles, was remarkable. Tom Bowling is a fast horse, but in the mile and three-quarter race of the first day, it seemed to me that he did not come in at the end with the speed that Lantyshowed, and poor Lanty had a very heavy track for it. It is hard to be broken down when one has won such a fight. Coming home we drove over to McGraths stables, and I Put my hand on Tom Bowlings coat—the first time that ever I touched a racer; soft and smooth as satin, I had no idea that such polish could be put on horse-flesh.
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UNCLE ANCEL AND HIS CHARGE. INTERVIEW WITH A VETERAN TRAINER. 121 Is he cross ? asked one of our party. A cross, sail ? a cross ? Lord bless you, no, sah, answered Ancel Williamson, the trainer; no cross bout him; why, hes out of— and in a seconds time his pediGree was unrolled from Noah's ark down. It was a natural enough mistake to make, and old Ancel was of course swift to vindicate the blood of Bowling. It seems that about the stables the horse is as kind as a kitten; the temper he shows on the track comins: from a kick he received on his debut here at Saratoga, two years ago, if I remember rightly. His legwas nearly broken on that occasion, and ever since he becomes disturbed and angry when the other horses are brought up. Ancel Williamson, the colored trainer, is a picture to see, gray and grizzled, but with a world of fidelity and sense—horse sense it might be called, perhaps—stamped on his countenance. Before the war he belonged to kean Richards ; during the war he went to t

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