His first successful racing season after his return to this country was 1896. He knew the business thoroughly from A to Z, to which much of his success was due, for it is no use anybody saying in a light-hearted way “I am going to race,” expecting to do wonderful things because they know the points of a horse and have judged the jumping at local agricultural shows; it not only spells disappointment, but often financial disaster. No one unless they have been behind the scenes or learnt by bitter experience can form any idea of how much there is to know before there is even a possibility of success. To begin with, and it is a big beginning, there are the numerous authorities which it is wise and advantageous to keep in a pleasant frame of mind, and under no circumstances bandy words with, or argue; fancy arguing or bandying words with the Jockey Club for instance, the National Hunt Committee, or the Turf Club of Ireland; yet all have to be considered. Many are the rules, regulations, and niceties in the way of etiquettes requiring digestion, all an education in themselves. I had not grasped until Lord William explained it to me that according to the rules of racing geography, Ireland, the Isle of Man, and the Channel Islands are _not_ included in the expression Great Britain, they are _only_ the United Kingdom. Another perplexing thing when you see “owner” in connection with a horse’s name you rather naturally conclude the horse belongs to him, but as a matter of fact it may mean almost anything, the horse may only have been leased for his racing years, or he may be shared by partners when presumably only half the horse belongs to “Owner.” All of this was of course A B C to Lord William, and he knew every race, its dates and distances, stakes and conditions by heart. He considered Newmarket the best course in the world. Liverpool is a terror; if any of my readers are interested in steeplechasing and have not been over the Aintree Course there, I advise them to walk round and look at the jumps in cold blood, they will wonder any horses or men can be found with pluck enough to face them. No Beresford, as far as I know, has ever yet seen his colours carried successfully in that much coveted prize, the Grand National at Liverpool, though Lord Marcus got fairly near once with Chimney Sweep, when he ran second to Captain Machell’s Reugny, ridden by that splendid amateur Mr. J. Maunsell Richardson, in 1874, and again in 1879, when Jackal carried the light blue and black cap, being beaten by Mr. Garry Moore on the Liberator. A Liverpool which will possibly for ever bear the unprecedented mark of four brothers, namely the Beasleys, having mounts in the chase, and they all made the course, “Tommy” Beasley coming home behind Lord Marcus’s horse.