Amongst these, lived a man whose name was Homer, a blind or
obscure man (for they are synonimous** terms) who occasionally
published his book of sports, and to him we are obliged also for
the pedigree of many Horses that were esteemed the best in his
time. This man was said to be poor, in little esteem, and to
travel about the country to sell his books; but though his
circumstances were very low, his understanding, it seems, was not,
for he always took care to pay his court to the great personages
wherever he came, and to flatter them in the blood of their
Horses. But though he was little esteemed in his life-time, yet
his book of pedigrees and genealogy of Horses was thought so
useful, that he was greatly honoured for it after his death. And
what is more strange, though the place of his nativity was
unknown, and no country would receive him as a member of their
community when living, yet when dead, many nations contended for
the honour of it; but whatever arguments each country may produce
for the support of its claim, nothing is more evident than that he
was an Englishman; and there is great reason to believe he was
born somewhere in the North, though I do not take upon me to say
it absolutely was so. His partiality however, to that part of the
kingdom, is manifest enough, for he pretended to say, that a good
racer could be bred in no place but the North; whereas, late
experience has proved that to be a very idle notion.
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