.2^^5-^S3^^^^^^£^5J^£^»s;? *^ 
 
 W: 
 
 
 HENRY CORBET, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HOGERSON AND TUXFORD, bifJ, STRAND. 
 
 1864. 
 
 ^ PRICE HALF-A-CROWN. 
 
<^7a^ 
 
 ^ / 
 
3 9090 014 534 990 
 
 Webster Famiiy Library of Veterinary Medicine 
 Cummings Schooi of Veterinary iVieciicine at 
 Tufts University 
 200 VVestboro Road 
 Morth Grafton, MA 01536 
 
 '^^-^is'2'.i • 
 
n^f 
 
 
 HENRY CORBET. 
 
 ASCOT HEATH, 1838. 
 
 A bit of a Character. 
 
TALES AND TRAITS 
 
 OF 
 
 SPORTING LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY CORBET. 
 
 LONDON: 
 EOGERSON AND TUXFORD, 246, STRAND, 
 
 1864. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE PROFIT AND LOSS . 
 
 THE THISTLE DOWX 
 
 JOHN GULLY 
 
 THE FAKMER's STORY 
 
 MODERN HUNTING SONG . 
 
 THE HARD-UP 
 
 OLD JOHN DAY . 
 
 THE PRIVATE PUPIL 
 
 THE FATE OF ACT-EON . 
 
 A coper's CONFESSION . 
 
 FULMTAR CRAVEN "a BIT OF A 
 
 THE GREAT HANDICAP RACE 
 
 GOODWOOD IN THE DAYS OF THE 
 
 THE BANISHED MAID 
 
 A DECEIVING HORSE 
 
 THE GREAT HORSE AND HOUND 
 
 A SECOND FOX . 
 
 A DESPERATE MAN 
 
 THE LOVE BIRD . 
 
 THE BELLES OF SWINDON 
 
 THE FAVOURITE . 
 
 THE LAST OF THE CHIFNEYS 
 
 THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS 
 
 . 
 
 Page 1 
 
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 , 13 
 
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 . 26 
 
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 . U 
 
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 . 44. 
 
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 . 46 
 
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 , 55 
 
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 . 68 
 
 . 
 
 . 76 
 
 . 
 
 , 87 
 
 CHARACTER " . 
 
 . 99 
 
 . 
 
 , 109 
 
 E LATE DUKE . 
 
 , 116 
 
 . 
 
 . 125 
 
 . 
 
 , 128 
 
 SHOW . 
 
 . 133 
 
 . 
 
 . 150 
 
 . 
 
 , 155 
 
 . 
 
 . 163 
 
 . 
 
 . 167 
 
 
 . 170 
 
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 , 176 
 
 SD HACKS 
 
 . 183 
 
TALES AND TRAITS 
 
 SPORTING LIEE. 
 
 THE PROFIT AND LOSS. 
 
 A MAN that's born and bred a sportsman can't Iielp 
 feeling- proud of it. I slionld think it was so all the 
 world over, as I am sure it is here. A man that has " a 
 propensity" must show, and suffer for, it sooner or later. 
 I should think it was so with all, as I am too sure it has 
 been with me. At school it came out, as the M. D.s 
 say, pretty kind on me. Derby winners all off by heart, 
 foxes' brushes always to be found in the play-box, and a 
 tolerably g'ood recollection of last Christmas' equestrian 
 performances, broug'ht'^me a proper share of reverence 
 that a change in the sovereignty of the County Hounds 
 did everything to establish. A new Master for the hoimds 
 brought a new boy for the Doctor. The new boy's father 
 was a friend of my father ; and the next Saint's Day saw 
 a pair of us off for the kennels, big in white cords and 
 cover hacks. That did it outright ; his father kept 
 hounds, mi/ father kept race-horses ; and certainly if ever 
 the proper qualification for a sportsman brought becoming 
 dignity with it, here we enjoyed it in full force. Everybody 
 
 B 
 
*J TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 bowed down l)efbre it ; fellows whose mothers and sisters 
 went to Court every time the Com-t went itself; long- 
 pedigreed gentlemen with uncles in '^ the Lords ;" young- 
 Pluti, with family fortunes in the Indies — all alike sung 
 small before our rather overdone terms and technicalities. 
 The very masters occasionally " opened" on it ; and the 
 action of qaadrupedante putrewj the force of sunt quos 
 curricuh, or anything of that sort, generally ended in 
 coming to us for an authority or an example. We had 
 all the pride of the sportsman here, and, upon my life ! I 
 really believe, without ever having once suifered for the 
 propensity. 
 
 My " hobby dyhoyish" days followed suit about as 
 naturally as could be expected. 'For fidus Achates I won't 
 answer, as he started to stifle his early impressions amongst 
 the Rajahs and tigers. For self, however, the fates were 
 j)ropitious. At nineteen, I subscribed to the '^ Calendar," 
 and studied the *'Stud Book." At two-and-twent}^, I 
 could handicap horses — aye, and weigh them well too. 
 The propensity began to develop itself in earnest ; and as 
 fast and firm as ever came the love of '^ a bit of coaching " 
 across some of us, came the desire for *^ a bit of plating " 
 on me. 
 
 *' Nice, quiet, clean little place this, waiter — market- 
 town, too — isn't it?" 
 
 *^0h! dear, yes, sir; corn and cattle market every 
 Saturday, and butter and e^g market every Wednesday 
 as well." 
 
 *' Ah ! indeed; and any sport too ?" 
 
 ♦^ Beg pardon, sir, — any what?" 
 
 "Any sport— any I'acing?" 
 
 " Racing, sir ! Races every autumn ; two days, sir ; 
 balls and ordinaries held at this house, sir ; very capital 
 
THE PROFIT AND LOSS. 6 
 
 sport indeed^ I'm told, sir. Got the bill in tlie bar, sir; 
 perhaps you'd like to see it ?'' 
 
 And away g'oes the waiter, and back he comes again 
 with what he calls '' the bill of sport" in one hand, and 
 the Tally-ho sauce in the other. Shows what it is to be 
 a sportsman ; how the pride will out, and the propensity 
 ■ — as a bill of another sort will no doubt tell us to-morrow 
 morning — suffer for it. Sportsmen hold a very high, 
 liberal kind of character ; and landlords always do their 
 part to make them work up to it. 
 
 But to g-et back to my individual propensity — the bit 
 of plating" — the start for which was hardly as g-ood as I 
 had counted on. Two legs — or rather, to be correct, as 
 he'd only three when w^e '^ claimed " liim — a leg- and a 
 lialf on the sly in a hurdle jumper was the way it broke 
 out. " To pay half the expenses and have half the 
 profits" — with that most sagacious insertion ^' if any " — 
 was the agreement ; to pay all the expenses, and have no 
 profits, more like my actual part in it. The Co. in the 
 concern, who managed, trained, and rode " Darino* 
 Eanger " himself, had got a name for doing things rather 
 close ', a vulgar notion vrhich our ^' account," I must say, 
 did much to belie. Everything*, from weig'hts and scales, 
 to boots and chambermaid, had been done en prince. So 
 xistounding, indeed, sounded the sum total, that when my 
 friend, in something like a fit of offended dignity, ofi'ered 
 to take my share of the nag for my share of the bill, I 
 jumped at once at the exchange, and let him in, in a 
 moment, as " sole proprietor." Of course the only plan 
 for bettering this was to stop up the propensity altogether, 
 or to have a plater all to myself; and of course everybody 
 can give a tolerably good guess as to which of the two 
 events was the more likely to come off* first. From a 
 
 b2 
 
4 TALES AND TRAITS OF SNORTING LIFE. 
 
 very worthy man— a public trainei'; wlio lived in tlie 
 neig'libourliood, I learnt that nothing- was so likely to 
 answer as a little racing- in a quiet way, in support of 
 which opinion he called my attention to the case of one 
 Captain Sullivan. The Captain, a patron of a little racing- 
 in a quiet way, and my jNIentor's establishment in par- 
 ticulaj', followed it up till it followed him to Dover j and 
 then the same paper which announced his departure for the 
 continent, also contained an intimation to this effect — ^that 
 if a certain Captain S. did not take away his mare " the 
 Mountain Maid," and pay her expenses at the same time, 
 she would be sold forthwith to pay them. Considering' 
 how many there would have been too happy to take the 
 Captain himself, it was by no means extraordinary to find 
 he paid no attention to this piece of courtesy, and as he 
 didn't, I did the expenses. Chang-ing- her colours, but 
 not her quarters, the Mountain Maid commenced her 
 fourth year and second season in my name. 
 
 And an exciting- season we had of it, too ! The way 
 Sam Mane used to sit down and g-rind his teeth at my 
 poor filly was something awful to see, and the heart with 
 which she continued to answer him, something- wondrous 
 to look upon. '^ Game little animal that, sir, as ever was 
 stripped ; " and so she was certainly if you came to tltat ; 
 but that wasn't all. Second, second, and second, without 
 end ; nothing- better, or as some knowing- g-entleman 
 affirmed, nothing- worse. Had there ever been such a 
 thing- in classic story as a female Tantalus, I should cer- 
 tainly have insulted the Captain by changing- her name ; 
 but as I believe there is not, *on we went, day after day, 
 and week after week, running for every heat and every- 
 thing. The round of rather shy meeting's we visited that 
 summer, had they possessed one grain of gratitude, would 
 
THE PROFIT AND LOSS. O 
 
 have clubbed up for a handsome testimonial in return for 
 the vast addition to their sport our presence had occa- 
 sioned. As it really happened, however, thev did'nt ; 
 and SO; with a very spotless, profitless, maiden reputation, 
 we wound up the year with one try more close home. 
 Here, mirahile dictu, amidst the shouts of our friends 
 and relations, and the very audible hisses of Mr. Mane, 
 the Mountain Maid did manage to win — a heat — the first 
 heat — 'and to spring* a sinew — a back sinew — in the 
 second. Having achieved this ag-reeable surprise she 
 hobbled back to nurse, leaving* her *^ worthy owner," as 
 they called him at dinner, with some fearful foreboding-s 
 touching' those travelling- expenses he had already had a 
 taste of. ^^ Entry here— " " stake there— " ''paid to 
 jockey, "&c. &c., with all the entertaining- sundries of 
 " self and lad," over and over again. If they have only 
 had the taste too to do it en prince, the propensity to 
 suffer for will become "all his own " with a vengeance ! 
 
 The fortunes of this day, though, didn't end here, for 
 I had found out another propensity quite as difficult to 
 concpier as even a bit of plating. I was hit hard again ; 
 aye, and by a pair of black eyes that I had passed over a 
 hundred and fifty times before. But then, '' the sweet 
 sympathy " is the very secret of love after all ; and to 
 meet those sparklers all sparkle as the Mountain Maid 
 ran home something like a clever winner in number one, 
 and to mark them shaded over as she crept in something- 
 like a break-down in number two, was more than enough 
 for me. They were so glad, and then so sorry; the 
 gratulation and consolation followed so fervidly, I couldn't 
 but feel it ; and opportunity came so aptly, I couldn't but 
 follow up what I felt. My racing was over, for that 
 year at any rate ; and it would be still some time yet ere 
 
TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 my lialf-liack, lialf-liunter, came into tlie more wortliy 
 half of his work j nothing for it, then, but to indulge the 
 propensity, and so away we went according-Zt/. A fairer 
 mutch-maker, I will say, never was needed j and by the 
 first Monday in November, as they date it at Melton, I 
 fancied we were i^'ettino- to somethino,' like terms. 
 
 Do D 
 
 '*Do you like butter'd toast?" 
 
 '' Butter'd on both sides V 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Will you marry me ?" 
 
 And here, according to all the rules of common delicacy^ 
 our sweet sympathy came to a bit of a check, which was 
 still got tolerably well over with an appeal that must be 
 made to *^my aunt." This, though, was more than I'd 
 prepared for; and good-collar'd one, as I flattered myself 
 to be, I confess I couln't "come again" so early as that; 
 so the end of it was that Emmy must ask herself. Now 
 the idea of a man to a maiden aunt is always dreadful 
 enough anyhow ; but when that man came to be singled 
 out as myself, it was all U. P. in a minute. 
 
 " No, my dear girl — no ! If you have any regard for 
 my good opinion — {i.e. any hopes of the little Pon- 
 tybwnbyllyn estate) — I am sure you'll think no more of 
 him. No chance of happiness to be had with such a 
 husband as that." 
 
 Hearing this wholesale condemnation, Emily naturally 
 began to whimper a little^ and to "know the reason 
 why ?" 
 
 ^* William's very stead}"; aunt : he doesn't drink, you 
 know r 
 
 "No — not yet, perhaps; that's a vice that's more 
 common after than before marriage ; but it isn't that." 
 
THE PROFIT AND LOSS. 7 
 
 *' And lie goes to cliiircli every Sunday morning." 
 '' Oh ! yeS; miss ; I can see people in clmrch as well as 
 you, I liope 5 tlioug-h, perhaps, without looking so con- 
 stantly at them. It isn't that." 
 
 ^' And he doesn't swear, dear aunt." 
 
 *' No ; I really trust he does not dis " 
 
 *' Except, to be sure, when he was very violent in his 
 
 protestations to me, and that " 
 
 ^' Thank Heaven, I know nothing- at all ahout." 
 And then came the cigars, and as it "wasn't that" 
 either — not his drinking, smoking, swearing, nor church- 
 going— Emmy hecame a little more confident, offered to 
 '^ give it up," and at length, pressing the old lady rather 
 closely, got out the grand secret in these words : — 
 
 " Be keeps a race-horse,'' Miss Emma ; and in my 
 opinion a man that keeps a race-horse will very soon find 
 he can't keep a wife." 
 
 That was a stopper certainly ; and the old woman gave 
 it out as if she thought so too. If I'd been ruined by 
 railroads, or found guilty of forgery, there might have 
 been hopes j but ^'he keeps a race-horse " was too much. 
 Poor Emmy shut up shop in half a second, and was as 
 jealous as possible of our mutual acquaintance, the 
 Mountain Maid, the next time she saw me. Evidently 
 it was a '' to be or not to be j" and " deeply engaged " as 
 I was, and somewhat staggered with our summer's run, 
 of second-rate success, no wonder I soon struck imder. 
 The marrying man against the racing man — ^^ heads !" for 
 the turf, and down it came for matrimony in the shape of 
 a woman. A breeder of the forbidden fruit, as if to sup- 
 port me in my good resolution, very politely became 
 "deceased" just at the time, and into his catalogue went 
 " my first love." At the end of the year, with a staring 
 
8 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 coat and a bandaged leg, slie was put up, and knocked 
 down for fifty minus what I had orig-inallj paid over for 
 her on tlie gallant Captain's account. No matter, I was 
 married, and one propensity had to suffer for the other. 
 
 ;rf * * * * * 
 
 "Whether 'twas the want of a race-horse or not, I won't 
 pretend to say ; but certainly, somehow or other, I seemed 
 to run on pretty well as a Benedick. Drank a little, 
 smoked a little, went to church a little, and o-ot the credit 
 for certain other small virtues of the same kind. So 
 well, indeed, did I behave, that, as if in return for the 
 couple of ponies I had sacrificed at the sale, aunty stood 
 " Sam " for a pair of Galloways — fourteen hands, even 
 steppers, swish tales, small heads, and all " commy fow." 
 These went a gTeat way towards pleasing every- 
 bod}^^ made my half- hunter a whole one outright, and 
 gave the ladies a taste for horse-fiesh I hoped might 
 improve. And so it did, for when the autumn came 
 again, and the races came ag-ain, they volunteered at 
 once for a drive to the course, and so of course to the 
 course we went. There's a very fine line to draw with the 
 world between going to a race and keeping a race -horse — 
 
 " I tliougLt so once, but now I know it." 
 
 '' Well, how d'ye do ? What's to win the Handicap ?" 
 Third race on the card, and the race of the day. Two 
 Newmarketers, an eleg-ant extract from Epsom, 
 another from Danebur}^, and, strange enoug-h, my old 
 venture, the Mountain Maid (now the property of a Mr. 
 John Jones), going for it. Even on Newmarket ; three 
 to one against John Day, and anything- you like to ask 
 from a pound of Goold to a pewter-pot about the plater. 
 
THE PROFIT AND LOSS. 9 
 
 She's well in too — 5 yrs. 7st. lib., and just lier distance 
 — two miles and a half— shouldn't wonder to see her wear 
 'em out now, if the leg- don't give. And Sam Mane 
 again, in the old pink and white jacket, going* to ride her ! 
 
 '' How d'ye do, Mr. Mane ?" 
 
 "How do you do, sir? Hope I see you well." 
 
 " Pretty well, thank you. So 3^ou're going to make 
 play with the old mare, I hear?" 
 
 "Why, yes, sir; keep her in front as long as we can." 
 
 And keep her in front he did. First time passed the 
 stand with a clear lead, and going well within 
 hei'self. 
 
 " Ah ! she'll come back to 'em by next time," sneered 
 the even bettors. 
 
 But she didn't, though. "Never reached her at all, 
 sir." Won in a canter by three lengths, and the third 
 beaten half a distance ! 
 
 " Tally-ho !" roared the second Steward as he galloped 
 by our station. "'Tally-ho !" echoed somebody else, 
 quite as loud, though he wasn't a Steward at all ; and then 
 commenced " a scene ' ' round my little carriage, which the 
 Derby homeward reporters would phrase as one "that 
 beggars description." For the first few seconds or so, I 
 felt much inclined to pla}^ Ducrow on the backs of the 
 ponies — y^^ty, I'm sure I can't say. Then I snapt the crop 
 of my whip in endeavouring to send it safe home — how, 
 I'm sure I don't know ; and then up rolled Primeport, 
 the wine merchant, with a couple of champagne bottles in 
 one hand, half-a-dozen glasses neck-and-neck in the other, 
 and the cork-screw "between his teeth. 
 
 "Wish you jo}', old fellow — can't shake hands with 
 you just yet, though. How d'ye do, ladies ? This is 
 pleasant, isn't it ? Happy as queens, I can see." 
 
10 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPOUTING LIFE. 
 
 And after him, over tlie lopes^ came yoimg Bronghton, 
 the doctor, and nearly over tlie heads of the ponies as 
 well. " Took twenty to one to a fiver about her three 
 minutes hefore starting— Vv'on a hundred clear. Ah ! 
 Miss MacRichards, lucky dog, isn't he ? Won't abuse 
 the race-horses now — eh, ladies ?" 
 
 iiut '* the ladies " were evidently nonplussed, and theu* 
 conductor somewhat confused. What could it all be to 
 tlicm ■ 
 
 ' ' vVho is he ?" inquired my wife ; ^' point him oat to us." 
 
 '^Yes^ do show us this fortunate Mr. Jones/' joined in 
 Miss MacRichards. 
 
 "' Show you who ?" said Primeport, who was grinding 
 avray at a bottle between his knees. '' Show you this Mr. 
 Jones. Yes, that I will in a twinkling. Here he stands as 
 large as life, and twice as happy, the husband of that 
 sweet lady, and the real owner of the Mountain 'Maid. 
 Had her on the quiet, you see, all through, and now she's 
 gained him two hundred and twenty-five pounds at one 
 start. Prove it in a minute. Fifteen small forfeits — five 
 times five, seventy-five — then two at fifteen each, that's 
 thirty more, a hundred and five — and fifty ad " 
 
 But just here the enthusiastic ready-reckoner stopped 
 short : there was something going on, he, for one, never 
 bargained for. Miss Mac. had become a body of ice, 
 quite as quick as ever Mrs. Lot took to the pillar of salt ; 
 and my little woman certainly evinced every disposition, 
 as the actors say, to play up to her. Secrets are quite a 
 toss-up in women's hands, and it is all an open question 
 how they will tell, let the premises be ever so promising. 
 In this instance the eftect was never for a moment in 
 doubt. Prime had committed himself, and condemned 
 me ; and when our trusty pilot, Mr. Mane, strolled up for 
 
THE PJROFIT AND LOSS. 11 
 
 a glass of cliampag-ne^ I could plainly see, from Ids coun- 
 tenance, that he was reading' in mine a clear case of 
 having- ^^ taken* a liberty " with my own mare. Put him 
 right I could not ; and so, after agreeing to another taste 
 of the champag-ne, which, for want of customers, poor 
 Prime was turning- to home consumption, the silk-shirted 
 hero made again for the weighing-house, with the point 
 of his whip in his mouth, and evidently deeply engaged 
 in an inward argument as to his pink-and-white patron 
 being more rogue or fool. 
 
 I was thinking of something the same sort myself. 
 
 To him succeeded our Tally-ho friend, all on the look- 
 out, with the word in his mouth, and the book in his 
 hand. " Come now, then, Fortunatus, how many sub- 
 scriptions am I to put you down for?" 
 
 ''Well, I think one must " 
 
 " One I you avaricious rascal ! — one ! after swee^^ing 
 off that pocketful of money ! Come, come, our fair friends 
 here, I know, will make him behave better than that. 
 
 Let's see — 'what's your d d name?' as the man in 
 
 the play says." Ah ! Wilham Alphonzo Oxford, Esq. 
 Ditto ditto to that j and then, of course, 3Irs. William 
 Alphonzo Oxford, Esq. Miss Richards, I'm sure you'll 
 let me chronicle you in such good coaipany ?" 
 
 " Not at present, sir, — that is, if I am permitted to say 
 no," replied that amiable lady, with a irosty-faced smile 
 that passed the gentlemen tout on in less than no time. 
 
 Matters were getting serious indeed, and as a sequitur, 
 some of the scamps began to laugh ; but, egad ! 'twas no 
 laughing' matter either. Pontybwnbyllyn never looked 
 
 " Taking a liberty " -with a liorse stands for laying long odd.s 
 against liim. 
 
12 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 worse ; and I couldn't help saying- to myself, " All this is 
 capital hedg'ing- for a certain dear cousin of ours thrice 
 removed." To be sure he'd been through every step of 
 the Rake's Progress, from strolling playing to methodist 
 preaching, and was now existing in Calais on hopes and 
 post obits ; but, with all his faults, he had never had a 
 race-horse, and , 
 
 *^ Might I trouble you, Mr. Oxford, to put me down at 
 my little cottage, as I fear I shall be quite out of place 
 at your rejoicin2;s this evening? In fact, to tell you the 
 truth, I can't help thinking- that at the best the Profit 
 AND Loss in this racing* are strangel}'" conflicting." 
 
 And ag'ain I was thinkino- of something' the same sort 
 
 O DO 
 
 myself. 
 
 Something must be done, and if 'twere done at all, 
 'twere better it were done quickly. That something*, as 
 it generally does, meant one thing*. The hammer must a 
 second time relieve me, and the Hyde Park Corner corner 
 of the Morning Post speak for itself: — *^ On Monday 
 next, without reserve, the property of a gentleman, the 
 Mountain Maid, five years old, winner of the South 
 Western Handicap, by Muley Moloch, out of the Maid of 
 Llangollen, by Langar." 
 
 She's gone ! — for a hundred and ten more, though, 
 than the Captain was credited for ; and like him, I am 
 happy to sa}^, out of the country. A Mr. Johannisberg'h, 
 or Broenenberg, or some such name, has escorted her to 
 Prussia, so that I shall never be tempted again. I have 
 g'ot a good precedent too. As did poor Lord George, I 
 have stopped my Calendar, and entered on another pro- 
 pensity. At this writing, I have half-a-dozen dahlias in 
 strong work, and am open at any time to an even fiver 
 that I am first, second, or third for the Amateur's Cup. 
 
THE THISTLE DO^VN. 13- 
 
 THE THISTLE DOWN 
 
 A LONG ten miles at last from all tlie bustle of tlie Line^ 
 let us stay for a moment on the brow of this next hill, ta 
 enjoy in quiet the g'lorious view that breaks before us. 
 Ridged in on one of the highest ranges of England^ what 
 an undulat:ing sweep of soft green sward now meets the 
 eye ! There may be some further boundary^ but it is all 
 illimitable in the horizon, and the sweet springy down-land 
 flows on in an ocean of unbroken plain. Little care would 
 the husbandman seem to have hereabouts, although in 
 that hollow to the left you note the comfortable well-to-- 
 do homestead of Thistley Grove. Yet farther away to 
 the right, buried in the clump of trees from which it takes 
 its title, is Elm Down — the high home of the gaze-hound 
 — famous for the Ladies Sylvia, Aurora, and Diana, who 
 manage their prancing palfreys so gracefully, and talk so 
 learnedh^ to the admiring crowd of'' turn," " wrench," and 
 '' go-by." Let j^our glance rest again under that narrow 
 belt of firs just rising from another dip of the wavy open, 
 and tell us what you see there. Nothing but some sheep ? 
 Then the lambs can scarcely keep themselves warm this 
 nipping March morning ; for, look again, and there are 
 some half-dozen of them off, as hard as they can go ! A 
 capital pace it is, too, for now that orderly methodical line 
 is lost. And the lambs, as they draw towards us, while — 
 somewhat scared — we stand aside to make way for them, 
 gradually develop into a string of long-striding, carefully- 
 
til. 
 
 14 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 clothed horses, snorting- Id all the glow of speed and health 
 as they rush past, and coping in their strength with the 
 tiny lads who sit them so close and hold them so hard. 
 They are stopping, however, as they reach the rest of the 
 flock again, and the shepherd might, perhaps, he kind 
 enough to let us have a more composed look at 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Shepherd, who, in his well-cut jacket and rifleman 
 leggings, might he a sporting farmer or fox-hunter in 
 mufti;, will he "only too happy" to show us and tell us 
 all he can. There would really seem to he no secret about 
 it ; and were the laird himself down — the owner of these 
 thirty or forty thorough-breds — he would only join our 
 Mentor in calling them over to us. Let us begin with 
 that company of five — the little lot, by-the-by, being- 
 worth at the very least some twenty thousand pounds. 
 3Iark that lazy, careless, self-satisfied looking " old 
 horse'" as they fondly call him, which leads the string ! 
 See how the bo}^ has actually to kick him along in his 
 lolloping walk, or even to strike at him sharply through 
 the heavy clothing with his ash plant ! But the chesnut, 
 as he honours you with just one sagacious glance through 
 that plaided cowl, says, as plainly as can be, that he 
 knows this is all child's play, and that he can g-o away 
 when he is really wanted to go. He speaks but the 
 simple truth, for Barnoldby is the champion of his order, 
 the best horse in the world at this moment, who has done 
 more, and has done it better, and has worn longer than 
 anything else we should see, were our pilgrimage on the 
 Thistle Down to reach on to its utmost limit. The Derby, 
 the Royal Cup, the Great Two-year-old — even Mr. Shep- 
 herd can scarcely trust his memory to tell of all that low 
 lengthy animal has achieved. So we come on to the next 
 
THE THISTLE DOWN". 15 
 
 in order to him. '' A three-year-old colt, sir^ that we 
 call Aristophanes/' is the simple introduction, given ^Yith 
 an air of indifference, which we attempt so indifferently 
 to echo as to bring* up an involuntary smile on the coun- 
 tenance of our g-uide. And this is Aristophanes ! This 
 resolute powerful bay, who follows on with something- in 
 his air and manner of indolent hauteur, is the great favour- 
 ite for the gTeat race of the year. This is the horse that 
 the papers write about, the clubs talk about, and the world 
 perpetually thinks about. Should he be heard to coug-h, 
 it might make a difference of thousands. Were he to 
 spring' a sinew, or throw a curb, or even to turn up that 
 haugiity nostril of his over the next feed of corn, the 
 knowledg-e of such a calamity would convulse the market. 
 There are g-reat men who would give much for the oppor- 
 tunity to see what we shall now, as Mr. Shepherd sends 
 the illustrious five down to the other end of the planta- 
 tion, with orders to " come along* at a pretty g'ood 
 pace." 
 
 Now keep your eyes open, as old Barnoldby leads oft', 
 almost mechanically, with the lad hustling- and threaten- 
 ing-, to force him out. But he has done his duty ably 
 enoug-h already, and our gaze centres, some few lengths 
 off, on his successor. Mr. Shepherd can bear it^ ^' The 
 crack" is going* sweetly, and the more he extends himself, 
 the more determinedly he pulls at his rider, the more you 
 like him. There is the long, even, stealthy, almost slovr- 
 seeming- stride, like the steady stroke of the accomplished 
 swimmer ; and yet with what liberty he strikes out ! how 
 well his hind-leg's come under him ! and with what courag-e 
 he faces the hill, as old Barnoldby, having* made a pace 
 at last, appears wickedly inclined to find out what the 
 young one can do ! Their Two Thousand na^ is behind 
 
IG TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 liim, a strong* favourite for tlie Spring* Handicap fourth^ 
 and a lop-eared Colonist of liig-li character last. They are 
 all g-ood ; hut we ling-er over Aristophanes as he walks 
 back, only all the better for his breathing-, and close at 
 once with the invitation to see him in his box. By the 
 way, though that bevy of bays and greys yonder are the 
 lambkins we first met with ; and the handsome ag*ed horse, 
 even with so much substance about him, is still good enough 
 to win Royal Plates, though the laird does talk of ridings 
 him in the Park. 
 
 But Mr. Shepherd thinks we had better stroll on to the 
 bouse, that Thistley Grove which looked so comfortable in 
 the distance, and where a biscuit and a glass of Barnoldby 
 sherry await us. The rooks in the long* elm avenues are 
 busy in their preparations for a welcome to the little stran- 
 gers ; while the famous dowagers of high descent, and 
 worth at least a thousand pounds each, are looking to 
 maternal cares of their own, as they group themselves 
 under the grand old trunks, or walk oif, in some disdain 
 that their dishevelled beauties should be made a mark for 
 the sight-seeing stranger. There are yearlings, already 
 of fabulous prices ; an intei-esting invalid. Sweet Blossom, 
 with a refined melancholy about her that is quite catch- 
 ing ; and the prettiest horse in England, who has had the 
 terrible misfortune to " hit his leg," and is in physic as 
 a consequence. That massive door-Belle is a daughter 
 of the rare old Grantley hound, and this shorthorn heifer 
 has a pedigree as long* as that of Aristophanes himself, 
 whose toilet by this time must surely be completed. He 
 lias been brushed and wisped until his brownish hard- 
 coloured coat shines again ; his large flat legs are duly 
 washed and bandaged ; his nostrils spunged out ; his long* 
 thin mane neatly combed and arranged. He is just set 
 
THE THISTLE DOWN. 17 
 
 fail'; in fact, with the liood finally thrown over his qiiarter- 
 piece, when, to his manifest disgust, we are nshered into 
 his box. 
 
 No one hkes to be interfered with at dinner-time, and 
 *' Harry" strikes out rather angrily with his near fore-leg 
 when his valet proceeds once more to strip him. That 
 eye is full of character, as he turns it upon you, but the 
 long' lean head is not so handsome as it is expressive ; 
 yet how finely it is set on to his thin somewhat straight 
 neck, and how beautifully that, again, fits into his magni- 
 ficent sloping shoulders ! There is breadth and freedom 
 of play, supported by long powerful arms and short wiry 
 legs, heavier m the bone than any hairy-heeled John Jolly 
 that ever drew a drayman. Come a little more forward, 
 and glance over that strong muscular back, those drooping 
 quarters, and big clean hocks — and then say if the 
 thorough-bred horse, in high condition, be not a very hero 
 of strength and swiftness ! He would gallop the far- 
 famed Arabian of the desert to death, and you would be 
 but as an infant with him. He would rush off with you 
 in his first canter, docile and sluggish as he was at exer- 
 cise ; and with one lash out of that handsome haunch he 
 would send you far over his head ; or " order " you out of 
 his box in an instant, as you awkwardly attempt to **go 
 up to" him. Somewhat grim is the humour of Aristo- 
 phanes ; and, as we hear as plainly as he does the rattle 
 of his dinner-service, suppose we wish him good morning, 
 and assure Mr. Shepherd confidentially, when once more in 
 the open, that he is the very finest Derby horse we ever 
 saw, and that we shall seriously think about backing him 
 for a '^ stoater," ^^ a monkey," "ahysiena," or — a tvv'o- 
 shilling piece. 
 
 There are nearly forty others to strip and talk over^ 
 
 c 
 
18 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 many of established repute, more of coming* promise, and 
 all, save the handsome Park horse that is to be, of the 
 hig-hest and purest lineage. And now that we have seen 
 them, and when we begin to tire of studying so perfect a 
 picture, let us pause for a minute, to reflect over its pecu- 
 liar tone and treatment, and to ask were you ever over any 
 manufactory — did you ever inspect any gigantic ^' estab- 
 lishment," where the good g-enius of rule and order had 
 a better home than at Thistley? Have you found a 
 stirrup-leather out of place ? Have you noticed the tiniest 
 of those little lads ever flurried or awkward over his work ? 
 Have you heard an oath, or so much as an angr}'" word, 
 since we have been here? ^' Don't speak so sharply to 
 your mare, boy!" was Mr. Sliepherd's mild reproof to 
 the lad who cried out at the white-legged filly when she 
 twisted round suddenly on her way home ; and again : 
 " I say, young gentleman, would'nt you look all the better 
 if you had your hair cut?" to another, much rejoicing in 
 his golden locks. But we will have a word ourselves with a 
 third — this natty youth coming across the yard, with his 
 horse's muzzle packed, as some travellers will their 
 sponge-bags, with all kinds of toilet-traps. Jack Horner 
 is his name, and he was born in London ; but he came 
 down to Mr. Shepherd as an apprentice, some three years 
 since. He looks about twelve years of age, but rather 
 indignantly says he is past fifteen, and that he does not 
 weigh four stone. There is a combination of fortune's 
 and nature's favours, rarely to be met with in this world ! 
 Can any one by any possibility imagine anything more 
 acutely wide-awake than a boy born m London and edu- 
 cated in a racing-stable ! who is unnaturally small for 
 his years, who can sit close, hold his own tongue, and the 
 hardest puller in the stable ? Go on and prosper, little 
 
THE THISTLE DOWxN". 19 
 
 Jack Horner ! And when the days of thy serving'-time 
 are over, 3^011 shall jump into a living- worth double that 
 of the parson of the parish, and end by having- a heavier 
 income-tax than the most famous Q.C. who ever worried 
 a witness or bullied a judge. The nobles of the. land 
 shall send in then* special retainers, humbly asldng* that 
 you will appear for them when you can. The anxious 
 telegram shall seek you out. The best of champagne and 
 the oldest of Havannahs shall court your taste ; and when 
 you g'o a courting* on your own account, you shall woo 
 the dark-eyed daug-hter of The Blue Drag-on, with arm- 
 lets of emeralds and pearls of price ! " Ah, all very fine, 
 sir," says little Jack Horner — though not without a no- 
 tion that it may be all very true, with time and luck to 
 help him. At present Jack gets ten pounds a year and a 
 suit of clothes, with three good meals a day, and, despite 
 his weight, a fair share of beef and beer. His one great 
 mission is to look after his horse, for he is rarely called 
 upon to do more. In the summer he is with him by day- 
 break, if he do not sleep at his heels, in a couch that 
 looks like a corn-bin, but which, with no ^^ double debt to 
 pay," unrols into a bed and nothing more. The attendant 
 sprite of Aristoph-anes sleeps over him ; for that great 
 horse might contrive to cast himself in his box, or the bad 
 fairy might try to come in through the keyhole, or some- 
 thing or other might occur that would need the ready 
 assistance of his body-guard. Dressing his horse lighth' 
 over, and feeding him, are amongst the first of Jack Hor- 
 ner's duties, to be followed immediately by the walking- 
 exercise — the way on to the Down, the gentle canter, the 
 smart gallop, or the long four-miler that has now gene- 
 rally superseded ^^ the sweat. " Horses are no longer 
 loaded with clothes and fagged and scraped, but they get 
 
 c 2 
 
20 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 the same amount of woik without the unnecessary seve- 
 rity once so g-eneral and fatah Common sense has of 
 late years driven out much of the conventional practice of 
 the training'-stahle, and a horse is now treated in accord- 
 ance with his pecuhar temper and constitution. Some 
 horses are so nervous that they hegin to fidget at the mere 
 sig-ht of the muzzle with which a horse was^ as a rule^ 
 '^ set" the night hefore he ran ; and now, not one horse in 
 fifty is ever '^ set " at all. Others know as readily the in- 
 tention with which their manes are plaited into thick^ 
 heavy tresses— a part of the etiquette costume of the 
 course now hy no means so carefully ohserved as of yore 
 — and some hegin to ^^ funk/' as the schoolboys say, so 
 soon as the stranger Yulcan comes to shift their light 
 shoes for the still lighter ^' plates. " Certain horses will 
 almost train themselves, without needing any clothing 
 whatever, while grosser animals require continual work. 
 The late Lord Eglinton's famous Van Tromp w^as a very 
 indolent horse, and took an immense '^preparation," two 
 or three good nags being solely employed to lead him in 
 his gallops ; while his temper w^as so bad, that for the last 
 year he was ridden in a muzzle, to prevent his Hying at 
 the other horses out. His yet more renowned half- 
 brother. The Flying Dutchman, went, on the contrary, so 
 freel}^ and pulled so much, that he never had half tlie 
 work of the other^ and usually galloped by himself. But 
 he was of a most excitable temperament, both in and out 
 of the stable. 
 
 This great business of galloping over, Jack Horner 
 brings his horse back in his own proper place in the string 
 to the stable, where he is dressed again far more elabo- 
 rately, and, when '^ set fair," is fed. A horse in work 
 will eat in a day his six '' quarterns" of corn (of sixteen 
 
THE THISTLE DOWN. 21 
 
 quarterns to tlie bushel), often mixed with a few old 
 beans, and occasionally, as at Thistley Grove, with some 
 sliced carrots ; while he has hay " at discretion," regu- 
 lated either by his own delicate appetite, or meted out to 
 his too eager voracity. Then, with the horse left in quiet 
 to his meal, the boy begins to think of his own, which in 
 the summer is breakfast, and in the winter dinner. We 
 may be satisfied that, unless Jack is to have a n:ount in 
 the next Handicap, there is no use for tli3 muzzle here 
 either; and Mrs. Shepherd has a boy all the way from 
 the North Riding", whose prowess over suet pudding- is 
 something* marvellous to witness. Almost all the lads 
 are from a distance, for the cottager's wife cannot recon- 
 cile it to herself to see her dear Billy crying to come 
 home again ; and so surely as he begins to cry, so surely 
 does he go home. Mrs. Shepherd, however, is a good 
 mother to those who stay with her. They go to the vil- 
 lage church regularly every Sunday, and there is a chapel- 
 room at the Grove, which is a school-room every evening* 
 in the week, and a place of worship on the Sabbath. 
 
 On the other side of the Thistle Down, four of Mr. 
 Dominie the public trainer's lads wear surplices as singers 
 in the church of one of the strictest clergymen in Down- 
 shire. They attend an evening-school, where the train- 
 er's son is a teacher, and Dominie himself is church- 
 warden. Had Holcroft lived in these days, he would 
 never have longed for life in London ; and Thafs your 
 sort ! would have been an echo rather of the green sward 
 ithan of the green room. Mr. Dominie makes it a condi- 
 tion when hiring a lad that he shall regularly attend a 
 place of worship, and some trainers walk in procession to 
 church with their boys, precisely as if the establishment 
 were an academy where the neighbouring youth were 
 
22 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 *^g*enteelly boarded." The economy of a public stable is 
 very similar to that of Mr. Shepherd's. The lads get 
 about the same wages, but seldom with the addition of the 
 suit of clothes ; and some, but not so many as their em- 
 ployers could wish, are bound apprentice for four or five 
 years on first entering. A really clever child, when so 
 articled, may be turned to considerable profit, for there 
 is a continual demand for such light weights, and of 
 coiu'se the master can generally make his own terms as 
 to how they shall share the fees received for riding races 
 for other people. To ''hold his tongue/^ and ^' keep his 
 hands doion^ are the two golden rules of a jockey boy's 
 life, and the height of his ambition to ride in public. 
 Should he be very successful at first, he is apt to lose his 
 head -, and here the indentures do him good service by 
 keeping him in proper control until he has completed his 
 education. Should he then have outgrown the stable in 
 size and weight, he is still qualified to make the best of 
 grooms. To tend on the high-bred horse that is, and not 
 to look after a horse and chaise, clean knives and shoes; 
 dig in the garden, wait at table, and help Mary Anne in 
 her airings with the double-bodied perambulator. Jack 
 Horner's early career has scarcely fitted him for *^a 
 place" like this ; but if you really have need of a 
 groomj the training-stable is as the University for turning 
 out a first-class man. Of late years, private establish- 
 ments have been coming more and more into fashion, and 
 for a gentleman with anything like a stud of his own, 
 there can be no other so satisfactory or legitimate a means 
 of engaging in the sport. Thistley Grove is at this time 
 about the most successful of any stable in the kingdom, 
 either public or private ; and a brother of our Mr. Shep- 
 herd was lately in receipt of the highest salary ever paid to 
 
THE THISTLE DOWN. 23 
 
 a private trainer. He liacl six hundred pounds a year, 
 with a capital house to hve in, and, even heyond this, 
 *^ farmed" the liorses and hoys for his employer at so much 
 a head. This scale, however, is considerahly heyond the 
 average. As a rule, a trainer is now a well-conducted, 
 comparatively well-educated man, witli, of course, the 
 occasional exception we find in every other rank and call- 
 ing*. But the ignorant cunning- sot, once too true a type 
 of his order, is dying- out with the old-fashioned hunts- 
 man, who got drunk as a duty when he had killed his 
 fox. 
 
 Let us suppose that the laird of the Thistle Down, in 
 the pride of his heart, has pi'esented you v^-itli one of those 
 lamoi^s mares we disturbed hut now under the elms — 
 more fatal gift, may he, than that Trojan horse whereof old 
 Homer sung in fine, full flowing hexameter. The Dowager 
 Duchess is your own, and straightway your ambition is 
 fired to win the Derby. With good fortune, the year's 
 keep of the mare and other preliminary expenses, your 
 foal has cost you some seventy pounds by the day he is 
 born. Subsequently when weaned, there will be a year 
 and a-half of the idleness ot infancy, what time he is be- 
 ing* fed with corn, fondled and handled and half broken ; 
 and this will call for a full eighty pounds more. Then, 
 in the September previous to entering on his second year, 
 he goes up to school, where he gets board, lodging, at- 
 tendance, and teaching for somewhere about 50s. a week. 
 The customary charge in a high-class public stable is two 
 guineas a week, including the lad ; while to this must be 
 added the smith, saddler, physic, and other incidental 
 charges, to bring up the total. A year and a-half spent 
 thus with Mr. Dominie will add another item to the 
 account of one hundred and ninety pounds ; and as you 
 
24 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 keep liim specially to win the Derby, liis expenses to and 
 at Epsom will be but some eight pounds more. The 
 stake is one of fifty pounds each, the jockey's fee for a 
 " chance " mount is three pounds — he will expect five 
 hundred if he should win — and so by the time that 
 lilac body and red sleeves is ^^ coloured" on the card 
 — by the time that those three-and-thirty thoroug*h-bred 
 colts have dipped down from the paddock to the post, 
 there is not one among'st them who faces the flag- but has 
 €ost some four hundred pounds to get there. During' the 
 year 1861, between eig-hteen and nineteen hundred horses 
 actually ran in England and Ireland, while there were 
 many others which, from a variety of circumstances, never 
 appeared, although in training*. Beyond these, even, T^e 
 must include the steeple -chasers, whose names rarely 
 appear in the strictly legitimate records of Weatherby. 
 And we may thus guess at the amount of money ex- 
 pended on horse-flesh, living at the rate of from two pounds 
 five shillings to two pounds ten shillings a week each 
 horse. The large breeding establishments, the outrageously 
 heavy travelling expenses, when a horse pays a guinea a 
 night for his box, and other items of outlay, we must not 
 stay to consider, but ^' keeping " them to their work when 
 at home, they have, of course, the very best of oats and 
 hay, all bought in at the best prices ; while a trainer 
 will often pay a farmer more for the privilege to exercise 
 on a down, than the tenant gives for it as a sheep-walk. 
 So far from this being a detriment to the land, " the 
 bite " is nowhere so sweet as where the horses gallop ; 
 and the flock will continue to follow the string, as they 
 change from one side of the hill to the other. 
 
 Let us leave the high-mettled where we first found 
 him, in such good companionship, with the little lambs 
 
THE THISTLE DOWX. 25 
 
 mocking- his long stride, as they run matches against each 
 other to the tinkHng- of the starting-hell with which the 
 wandering ewe will clear the way. How different in its 
 sober, monotonous echo, to that quick, thrilling alarum 
 which proclaims " they're off!'' When, in the noise and 
 turmoil of the crowded course, we are challenged on every 
 side by the hoarse husky Ishmaelite who will '^ lay agen " 
 everything and everybody — when, amidst the din of dis- 
 cord and the wild revelry of such a holiday, we catch a 
 glimpse of the yellow jacket of Aristophanes as he sweeps 
 by in his canter, or struggles home lo a chorus of shouts 
 and yells, of cracking of whips and working of arms — 
 hero, then, though he may be, high though that number 
 7iine be exalted, we see little here of the beauty and poetry 
 of the thorough-bred horse's life. We must seek this 
 rather in the sweet solitude of the downs and by-ways, 
 where the shepherd's hut is the ending-post, and the 
 farmer, thrice happy in his ignorance, will lean carelessly 
 on his stick as they march by, to ask '' What's the name 
 of that un?" 
 
 [This sketch of 'Mr. 3Ierry's racing stable at Russley was written in 
 the spring of the year 1862, when Thormanby, a winner of the Derby, 
 and Buckstone, a first favourite for the Derby, were both in work.] 
 
TALES AND TRAITS OF STORTING LIFE. 
 
 JOHN GULLY. 
 
 In all tlie crowd of " cliaracters " tliat Lave ever made 
 lip the ring' on a race-course there were few more famous, 
 and no one whose career has been so much of a romance, 
 as that of John Gully. He was, indeed, essentially one 
 of the men of his time, and the tyro or stranger-visitor 
 would crave for a look at him long* before his hero-worship 
 centred on the Jockey Club lord or the leviathan leg-. 
 And yet 3L'. Gull}' was by no means a remarkable man 
 in his appearance ; or, rather, in no way noticeable for the 
 mere emphasis of his tone, or the quaint cut of his coat. 
 With a manner singularly quiet, and almost subdued, he 
 associated the air and presence of a gentleman, while his 
 iine frame and commanding figure gave an innate dignity 
 to his deportment that none who knew him would care to 
 question. In fact, as your gaze rested on him, it was 
 almost impossible to identify the man with the earlier 
 stages of his history— the butcher's boy — the prizefighter 
 — the public-house landlord — or the outside betting man. 
 It was easier far to recognise him as a country squire of 
 good estate, the owner of a long- string of race-horses, or 
 the honourable member of a Reformed Parliament. In a 
 new country like America or Australia we can readily 
 imagine that the fighting butcher might in due time 
 develop into the stately senator ; but here, in Old Eng- 
 land, Mr. Gully's success is so far unparalleled. And he 
 owed this not merely to his r>reat wealth, but far more to 
 his keen judgment, his good sense, and a certain straight- 
 forward respectability about everything he did. "The 
 gentlemen," from the veiy first, took kindly to Gully, for 
 they felt they could do so without any of the danger or 
 
JOHX GULLY. 27 
 
 disw-ust but too often resiiltino- from the society of a self- 
 made man. It must be our first business here to trace 
 how be acbieved that trying- ascent in the world before 
 bim. Mr. Gully, then, was born at Wick-and-Abson, 
 between Bath and Bristol, some time in the year 
 1783. He was broug-ht up to the trade of a butcher, 
 but very soon evinced a handiness in taking* care 
 of himself in sundry fistic tourneys with the joskins 
 about home. This led to his visiting- the metropolis, 
 though with no very definite object beyond the 
 practice of his ti'ade, in which, however, he was not 
 very fortunate, for soon after reaching his twenty-first year 
 he was languishing- in one of our London lock-ups as a 
 prisoner for debt. His fellow-townsman, Pearce, better 
 known as " The Chicken," came to see him there, when, 
 to beguile the time, they put on the gloves for a bout or 
 two. Gully did so well in this set-to that it came to be 
 talked about, and ultimately he was liberated by the pa}^- 
 ment of the claims against him, and a match made with 
 the Chicken, the latter staking six hundred to four hun- 
 dred. The fight came off, after a disappointment in the 
 July previous, at Hailsham, in Sussex, on October 8, 1805, 
 when, after a very g-ame battle, in which Gully received 
 some fearful punishment, his friends interfered, and he 
 was taken away in the fifty-ninth round, after one hour 
 and ten minutes' hard fighting-. Although beaten, Gully 
 was by no means disg-raced, and, in fact, he became not 
 only a still g-reater favourite with the public, but on 
 Pearce's retirement was offered the title of Champion of 
 England, which, however, he resolutely declined. Prior 
 to this ofier, Gregson, a Lancashire man of immense size, 
 and Gully's superior in height and weight, was bold 
 enough to dispute the BristoHan's pretensions, and they 
 
128 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 met on October 14, 1807, in Six-mile Bottom, Newmarket, 
 to contend for 200 guineas. Thirty-six rounds were 
 foug-lit with equal g-ameness on either part, and wdth 
 almost equal punishment ; hut Gully got the last rally, 
 and another knock-down blow rendered Gregson totally 
 incapable. It was, however, a very near thing, and natu- 
 2*ally enough the beaten man was anything but satisfied. 
 Another match was consequently made for two hundred a 
 side, which was decided on May 10, in Sir John Sebright's 
 Park, in Hertfordshire, but after nothing like the struggle 
 which signalised the first meeting of the men, as Gully 
 from the first had it all his own way, his science and 
 -coolness completely out-generalling the wild rushes of his 
 adversary. Seldom has any such an event attracted more 
 interest, and on the Monday before the fight the good 
 people of Bedfordshire, when they saw the crowds of 
 strangers invading them, fancied the French had landed, 
 and called out the volunteers ! At the conclusion of this 
 battle Gully publicly announced his intention of never 
 fighting again, his left arm having received a permanent 
 injury in his first and more formidable encounter with 
 Gregson. Boxiana thus sums up his merits as a boxer : 
 '' Gully as a pugilist will long be remembered by the 
 amateurs of pugilism, as peculiarly entitled to their respect 
 and consideration ; and if his battles were not so numerous 
 as many other celebrated professors have been, they were 
 contested with decision, science, and bottom, rarely 
 equalled, and perhaps never excelled, and justly entitled 
 him to the most honourable mention in the records of 
 boxing. His practice in the art, it was well known, had 
 been very confined, and his theoretical knowledge of the 
 science could not have been very extensive, from the short 
 period he had entered the lists as a boxer ; but his genius 
 
JOHN GULLY. S^* 
 
 soared above these difficulties, and with a fortitude equal 
 to any man, he entered the ring' a most consummate 
 pug'iHst. In point of appearance, if his frame does not 
 boast of that eleg:ance of shape from which an artist might 
 model to attain perfect symmetry, yet, nevertheless, it is 
 athletic and prepossessing*. He is about six feet hig'h." 
 
 On leaving the Ring, Mr. Gully, like most successful 
 pugilists, inclined to the public life of a Boniface, and was 
 for some time landlord of ^' The Ploug'h," in Carey-street, 
 Lincoln' s Inn Fields. But another ring found attractions 
 for him, and he very soon devoted himself to the business 
 of a betting- man, thoug-h not always as a bettor round, or 
 layer against horses. Indeed, at the Newmarket Craven 
 Meeting, in 1810, when Lord Foley's Spaniard was got 
 at by some of the Dan Dawson crew for the Claret, Mr. 
 Gully was amongst those who turned round and laid the' 
 long odds on the favourite, upon whose defeat, it is said, 
 his backer burst into tears, and declared he was a ruined 
 man ! However, in only two years subsequently — in 
 1812, that is — Mr. Gully had horses of his own, Cardenio 
 being the first that ever ran in his name. He worked 
 on gradually, still betting- round, and at one period 
 residing at Newmarket, with such tackle as Brutus, Truth, 
 Rigmarole, Forfeit, Cock Robin, and others, until 1827, 
 when he came prominently to the fore by the purchase of 
 Mameluke, a horse that he gave Lord Jersey 4,000 
 guineas for, after his winning the Derby. How his new 
 owner backed Mameluke for immense sums for the St. 
 Leger, and how he was beaten by Matilda, after a fearful 
 scene at the post, where Mr. Gully had himself to flog- 
 his horse off, are now matters of history. But, heavily 
 as he had lost, the first man in the rooms, and the last to 
 leave — never thinking of going, in fact, until every claim 
 
30 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 had been satisfied — was Mr. Gully. Sam Chifney, it will 
 be remembered, rode the crack against Robinson on the 
 mare ; and Sykes had the care of the Derby winner at 
 Hambledon. A year or two subsequent to this, Mr. 
 Gully became the confederate of Mr. Ridsdale ; and they 
 opened well with Little Red Rover, who in 1880 ran 
 second to Priam for the Derby. 'Thirty-two, however, 
 was their great year, when the confederates won the 
 Derby with St. Giles, and Gully the St. Leger with Mar- 
 grave, John Scott having the preparation of the latter. 
 Success, however, did not tend to cement the friendship of 
 the two j and their quarrel came at last to a personal 
 encounter in the hunting field, upon which Mr. Ridsdale 
 brought an action, that terminated in a verdict, with £500 
 damages, against Mr. Gully, for the assault. This was 
 not by any means the only serious altercation the latter 
 was ever engaged in, as Mr. Osbaldeston once faced him 
 with the poker in the Rooms at Doncaster, when *^an 
 explanation" ensued; and the currently- credited *' meeting" 
 was avoided. During this era in his history, Mr. Gully 
 had purchased Upper Hare Park, near Newmarket, of 
 Lord Rivers, where, as we have said, he for some time 
 resided ; but he sold this, in turn, to Sir Mark Wood, 
 and bought Ackworth Park, near Pontefract — an accession 
 which somewhat unexpectedly led to his representing that 
 borough, in the Radical interest, for some sessions, in 
 Parliament. He was twice returned, and on the first 
 occasion without a contest. During- his long sojourn here 
 he also figured as a good man over a country, and as one 
 of the chief supporters of the Badsworth Foxhounds. 
 But the Turf, after all, was his ruling passion ; and in 
 1834 he was heart and soul with the Chifne^^s, in their 
 vain endeavour to win the Derby with Shillelagh, Gully 
 
JOHN GULLY. 31 
 
 ofFering- Mr. Batson an extraordinary sum for Plenipo- 
 tentiary as the horse was beins,- saddled. He shifted later 
 on, and for the last time^ when he sent his horses to Dane- 
 bury, where they did wonders for the rather falling- 
 fortunes of old John Day. There was the Ug-ly Buck to 
 begin, with which they won the Two Thousand in 1844 ; 
 and then, in the next year but one, Pyrrhus the First, 
 and Mendicant, with which 3Ir. Gully won both the Derby 
 and Oaks. Old Sam Day was his jockey ; and we can 
 recollect no more graceful illustration of the poetry of 
 motion than that elegant horseman going up on that sweet 
 mare, Mendicant. Everything was in unison, from the 
 figure and style of the jockey, and the beautiful look of 
 his filly, down to the ver}^ colour of his cap and jacket — 
 the delicate violet, blended or mounted with white. They 
 had brought out Weatherbit and Old England even before 
 this ; and in a few seasons more Mr. Gully matched them 
 with another such a pair in The Hermit and Andover, the 
 one a winner of the Two Thousand, and the other of The 
 Derby. Rarely has any man enjoyed more signal success 
 in his favourite pursuit ; but, as we have said already, 
 Gully owed much of this to his fine judgment, especially 
 noticeable in the way in v/hich he could reckon up a race- 
 horse, or pick out a young one. Latterly, what with 
 increasing years and failing strength, he had gradually 
 declined, and, having sold Ackworth to Mr. Hill, had 
 lived for some years at Marwell Hall, near Winchester, 
 though he had still property in the North, including, we 
 believe, some coal mines ; and hence his death occurring 
 at Durham : but he was buried at Ackworth on Saturday, 
 March 14, 1863. He leaves a family of five sons and five 
 daughters. 
 
 It was the late Mr. J. S. Buckingham, who, if we 
 
32 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 recollect arig-lit, when on a visit to Lord Fitzwilliam, tells 
 of the impression made upon him by the appearance of a 
 iine handsome g-entleman coming* up the staircase, with a 
 beautiful girl in green velvet on either arm — the member 
 for Pontefract, with two of his daughters. But, if we do 
 borrow a sketchy it shall be from the pen of a sportsman ; 
 and to no other could we be so indebted as to Syhanus, 
 who thus pourtrayed Mr. Gully in the very zenith of his 
 career : *^ He had permanent lodgings at Newmarket, 
 well and tastefull}^ furnished, and dispensed his hospitality 
 to his friends with no sparing hand. An excellent cook, 
 claret from Griffiths, with an entertaining, gentlemanlike 
 host, left little to be desired at the dinner awaiting us. 
 Mr. Gull}^ is justly esteemed, having raised himself from 
 the lowest paths of life to the position not merely of 
 wealth, but to that of intimacy amongst gentlemen, 
 whether on or off the Turf, but still gentlemen in taste, 
 which nought but the undeviating good manners and 
 entertaining, unpresuming deportment of Gully could for 
 a moment, or rather for any length of time beyond a 
 moment, suffer them to tolerate. No man ever possessed 
 these quahfications, gained through innate acuteness, 
 great common sense, and a plastic disposition to observe 
 and benefit by the chance rencontres with the courtly 
 patrons of his day to a greater degree, taking the early 
 disadvantages he had to contend with into consideration^ 
 than John Gully. No man could be more above pretence, 
 or less shy at any allusions to his early and not very 
 polished career, than himself. When I dined with him 
 at Newmarket, as well as upon subsequent occasions, I 
 was most gratified by this manly openness and lack of 
 all sensitive, false shame, on any occasional appeal being- 
 made to the bygone. He, on the contrai-y, entered freely 
 
JOHN GULLY. 33 
 
 into many entertaining portions of his history, answered 
 all my questions con amove, and with perfect good nature, 
 as to the mode of trainings hitting- so as not to injure the 
 hand, wrestling, and other minutiae of tlie ring ; passing 
 the claret and slicing the pine, as if foaled at Knowsley 
 or Brethy. He had a quiet, sly way of joking on any 
 turf affair, on which, hear in mind, he was as au fait as 
 Zamiel making a hook for the Derhy. The turhot came 
 from Billingsgate hy express, and the haunch from his 
 own park. Moet purveyed the champagne, Marjoribanks 
 the port, and, as I have before said, Griffiths the Lafitte. 
 We had no skulking host, be assured, but the most enter- 
 taining and liberal one alike." There is a genial tone 
 about this sketch, that tells at once for its truth ; and it 
 would be difficult to give any man a better character. 
 We ourselves have not attempted to blot out the earlier 
 chapters in Mr, Gully's eventful life, feeling as we do that 
 they only add point and force to the effect of his subse- 
 quent career. His position at every turn and phase of 
 fortune was still a trying one ; but no man more fairly 
 earned the respect he gained. There is a very moral of 
 good manners in such a man's history. 
 
34 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE FARMER'S STORY. 
 
 '■^ Second Class to Winchester !" 
 ^^ Ten- and-threepence — there you have it ! " 
 And I said ^^ Thank you !" for the ticket^ and the ahle- 
 handed clerk said nothing- for the money. In most com- 
 mercial transactions the civilities g*enerally come the 
 other way ; hut railways are either exceptions to every- 
 thing', or have started a new code of etiquette. I am 
 inclined to lean to the latter opinion. It is a go-ahead no- 
 time-for-nonsense ag-e we live in. 
 
 I think it rig-ht to say I usually travel second class. 
 I prefer it — that is, on the same terms with the g-entlemaii 
 who can always see and enjoy the play better from the 
 forty-sixth row of the pit than he could from a front seat 
 in the dress-circle ; or, the other kind-hearted man who 
 likes nothing- so well as a mutton-chop dinner, thoug-h he 
 could perhaps manage a hasin of turtle, and the best side 
 of a turbot, by way of a preface, if — they were not on the 
 extras. 
 
 I am one of these — and so, with a stout heart and a 
 small bag, I fight my way for a no-cushioned carriage. 
 And yet, who says you don't meet with civility at a rail- 
 wa,y? Why, here is a zealous porter, finding me a 
 window-seat at the remote end of a box, warranted free 
 from draught, and from all "occasion" to change, and 
 with a most commodious recess for my luggage safe under 
 me. Mark how carefully John adjusts it ! and with what 
 
THE farmer's story. 35 
 
 a strange expression he half-eyes me; just as much as to 
 say— 
 
 ^' Come; now; you know you oug-ht to give me a shiliing\ 
 because you know you oug-ht not !" 
 
 There is no resisting* such logiC; and so I 
 compromise myself and the matter with a four- 
 penny-bit. 
 
 John looks me a thank'ee that I can't write. 
 
 Yes ! of course, there is a gentleman's servant going- to 
 Southampton, and a soldier going- to Gosport. I never 
 saw a second-class carriage yet on this line without them. 
 The contrast; too, is remarkably fine — the very genteel 
 air of the one, and the rough-and-ready out-of-bounds 
 bearing of the other. They are a long way off; though, 
 this time ; and I seem fated to run down with a full- 
 blown old lady; who has spread out her black silk dress 
 on the most unmistakable understanding of '^ there's no 
 room here !" 
 
 But there iS; still —at least, so thinks a fresh-colom'ed 
 happy-visaged youngish gentleman, who tumbles liimself 
 in at the last moment with a bag, a rug*; and a hamper, 
 all at once, to the serious discomposure of the black 
 drapery. He is a good-natured felloW; too ; appears to 
 think nothing of the little annoyance he has caused, but 
 offers me a share of the rug with a ready-handed hearti- 
 ness that might lead a strang*er to think he had rather 
 expected to find me there than not. By looks, and 
 especially by his style of entering, I should say he was 
 one of that doomed race — an agriculturist. 
 
 "Seen Bell, sir?" said the fated one, with a jolly 
 smile running all over his face. It was a Saturday 
 morning, I should say, and I was going to — well, never 
 mind where, and never mind for what. 
 
 d2 
 
30 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 " Seen The Life, sir?" said "be, pulling- it out of Lis 
 pocket, reeking wet with haste and news. 
 
 I had not, and preferred waiting for the usual Sunday 
 morning, but was much obliged to him " all the same." 
 The arrival took this as sociable, and after a very short 
 spell at his paper broke out again — 
 
 ^' Seems to have had a good meeting at York, sir !" 
 
 It is an astonishing thing, certainly ; but four-fifths of 
 the people you meet now — pick them where you will — 
 talk about racing : and I couldn't help saying as much in 
 reply to the York commentary j but my new acquaintance 
 took it good-naturedly enough. 
 
 ^' Why, I had a bit of a race-horse once myself, sir ; 
 and somehow or other I have had a turn for it ever since. 
 A man, you see, who lives in the country, and whose 
 business brings him every hour of liis life amongst dogs 
 and horses, can hardly help being a sportsman — at least, 
 I know I could 'nt, nor you either, I'm sure, by the look 
 ©■f you." 
 
 It seemed there was no use in attempting to deny so 
 flattering an impeachment, and having accordingly at 
 once owned to it, on went my friend faster than ever — 
 
 *' Besides, I think gentlemen Hke to see their tenants 
 with a good horse in their stable, and I always had one 
 or two pretty fair. It was good fun, too, * making ' them, 
 and paid as well when you came to part with them. At 
 last, after I had been going on my own account for some 
 six or seven years, I got hold of a little mare that 
 promised even better than usual. She just could go a bit, 
 and the best of them began to own it — so at last, near the 
 end of the season, the gentlemen said I ought to get her 
 ready for the Farmers' Cup. There were Hunt Races 
 every spring, and a Farmers' Stake, of course; but 
 
THE farmer's story. ^ 
 
 someliow or other this farmers' race never seemed to be 
 fairly won by a farmer. Lots of them tried for it at first, 
 but a thoroiig-h-bred screw of some sort or other wa<; 
 g^enerally smug'g-led into it, and the deuce a bit did the 
 tenant, with the best horse, ever get the Cup to take 
 home with him. Well, the gentlemen g-ot quite as savag'e 
 at this as we did ; and so, when they found I had g-ot a 
 g"ood mare, nearly all came to back me. The young 
 squire — the son of him who kept the hounds — came him- 
 self every other day to lead me a gallop ; .and Sir William, 
 lent me one of his own lads out of the stables ; and so 
 away we went into regular training for it. The littk 
 mare stood it well, and looked, too, better and better every 
 time she was out, so that by the end of the six weeks she 
 was as ^ fit as a fiddle,' as the jockeys say j and we 
 really began to think about keeping the Cup where it was 
 meant to be. There didn't seem much to be afraid of 
 either. There were, to be sure, three of mj own sort 
 against me, but I knew I could run over them anywhere ; 
 and considering the twig we were in, there didn't seem 
 much chance of their wearing us out any other way. 
 There was one more, though, we couldn't say so much 
 about — a great, big, ragged, one-eyed, varmint-looking, 
 old beggar, that a draper in the town had picked up, or 
 had sent him just within the three months. This draper 
 was one of 'em that used to teaze us so much ; held just 
 fifty acres of land, to qualify him, it seemed ; was a. 
 terrible chap for card-playing; and knew all sorts of 
 dodges, and all sorts of people. Well, the gentlemen of 
 course \vas dead against him, and talked of stopping him 
 from running; but he'd got it all squared too well for 
 that : so we had nothing to do but fight it out. I wasn't 
 much afraid even of him either, though he'd got a regular 
 
38 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 deep-file to ride — a little quiet^ civil, tea-drinking" fellow, 
 who called himself a gentleman-rider, but that nobody 
 ever looked on as a gentleman still. He didn't seem to 
 consider it so hisself, except when he had the cap and 
 jacket on. However, you may be sure he was all right 
 too — and so, away we went for the first heat. 
 
 " Well, the gentlemen said I wasn't to run for this, but 
 to wait and see what the others was made oif. The little 
 chap on the one-eye'd-'un was to find this out too, but he 
 went a very different way to work — ramming the spurs 
 into Cheap Jack, as they called him, and going hard at 
 it right away from the post. But I could have caught 
 him still, if I had liked, for the little mare was pulHng 
 my arms off ; and when he looked round at me once, I 
 had a very good mind to go in at him. However, I didn't 
 — and so on he went, and won easy — so they said, though 
 his horse blew a smartish bit when he brought him back. 
 The next heat it was my turn, and away I went, and he 
 waited ; and as one of the others was fairly distanced, 
 another pulled up, and the third quite satisfied, we was 
 left to have the last heat all to ourselves. Well, the 
 gentlemen began to make quite sure now, and kept offer- 
 ing two and three to one against the other one ; but 
 old Cahco and his party weren't half so bumptious as 
 usual, and didn't seem to care about betting at all. So 
 at last I got up for the '* Who shall ?" as proud as a pea- 
 cock almost, for all the people kept saying, as I walked 
 her down, ' Bravo, little May-Flower !' * Well done, 
 Blue Jacket !' and 'Well done. Master Stephen !' There 
 was a goodish way to walk down for the start, and I 
 had'nt got far before Mister comes trotting up to me on 
 Cheap Jack, and smiling, and looking as civil as could be — 
 
 ^' * That's, a neatish mare you have got there,' he says 
 
THE farmer's story. 39 
 
 ^fter a bit, ' and mine ain't a bad bit of stuff either,' a- 
 pattingthe old horse's lanky ribs. 
 
 '^ I didn't say miicli, so on he went again — 
 
 *^*It seems almost a pity to run such a lot of these 
 infernal two-mile heats for twenty or thirty pounds at 
 most, and with a couple of nags, too, that might do a deal 
 better.' 
 
 " ' Ah !' says I, ^ and what then ?' 
 
 <« * Why, just this/ says the little chap, a-coming close 
 lip to me, ' Why should we ride one another's horses' 
 lieads off, when we might come to an understanding, eh ? 
 Have just a bit of finish to please the clods — and 
 what matter who wins, eh? Besides, only keep 
 your mare fresh, and she's worth more over and over 
 again to — ' 
 
 *^ Just then the committee-man, who was to start us, 
 rode up, and so being interrupted, the little man says to 
 him — 
 
 *^ * Come, sir, I don't think we need trouble you ; I 
 .reckon we can get off ourselves this time ! ' 
 
 ^' ^ Oh, do you V says the other, a-boiling up, ' you'll 
 go when I say Qo ! and not before. Be good enough to 
 recollect as I'm the authorized starter, sir !' 
 
 " * Well, I hope you won't forget it, sir,' says he, 
 laughing and winking at me, * and now say Go ! if you 
 please, for we are ready.' 
 
 " ^ Go !' roars out the other, as if he was saying Fire ! 
 to a regiment of soldiers, and Cheap Jack went off in a 
 
 slow stiff canter, and I went after him. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 '^But I'm tiring you, sir," said my communicative 
 friend, as a pull-up at one of the earliest stations rather 
 •checked the thread of his story, and sent the old lady's 
 
40 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Lead out of window to make sure it wasn't ^' Portsmouth 
 already." 
 
 "Not a Lit !" I answered, '' g'o on witL the running' — 
 I'm AvatcLing' it." 
 
 ^^ Well, sir, on Le went, and I after Lim, tLoug-L 111 
 own I didn't know exactly m}^ own mind — wLetLer there 
 was any understanding or wLat I oug-lit to do. At any 
 rate, I said to myself, I don't see wliy we should ride our 
 horses' Leads otfj and wLen Le does g-o fastei', wLy I 
 tliink I can g-o as fast as Le can. So on we kept, Lardly 
 getting" out of tLe canter ; and as we went up tLe ropes 
 tLe first time the folks were all holloing- ' That's right, 
 Blue Jacket ! stick to him !' and I felt it was allrig'ht, too. 
 But confound the fellow ! I didn't stick to him either, 
 as you'll see. Just ahout a quarter of a mile from home, 
 or rather more, was the last turn — a little sLarpisL, into 
 straig-lit running- ; and as we were coming- to it, I tLougLt 
 to myself, it's time to put tLe steam on a little now 
 surely, wLen — Bang I I never see sucL a tiling- in my 
 life ! — Le'd slipped tLe Lord knows Low far away from me, 
 all in a moment, and was working away at tLe one-eyed- 
 'un like winking- to make more of it. TLe old devil ! too, 
 was as g*ame as a flint, and answered every dig like a 
 g'ood-'un, and spite all tLe botlier I made on tlie 
 little mare, I never caug-Lt Lim ag-ain, tliougL we Lad a 
 terrible fliglit for it as it was. A few strides more and I 
 must Lave won. 
 
 ^* Well, I Lardly ever saw sucL a row as tliere was after- 
 wards ; some swearing- I'd sold tlie race, and tLreatening- 
 to duck me ; otLers laug-Ling, saying- Le'd been too mucL 
 for me, and asking- why I didn't ride in a wide- awake, 
 and so on. But the g-entlemen looked precious g-lum ; 
 while, as for me, I could have torn my eyes out, 'specially 
 
THE farmer's story, 41 
 
 at the grand way the little chap took it all. He let the 
 old horse — though he was pumped out as dead as a ham- 
 mer— g-o nearly half round ag*ain before he stopped him^ 
 and then came back at last, patting- his lanky ribs again, 
 as if it was the horse and not the man as had won the 
 race. He didn't say much either, only as he jumped 
 down to weigh, to the people about him — 
 
 •^ ^ Come ! they managed to make a tolerably good 
 finish after all, didn't they V 
 
 " Just as if he'd been cock-sure of winning all along — 
 when he knew, as well as I did, that my mare could have 
 run round him with ftiir play. 
 
 " Somehow or other, I couldn't face the Ordinary, and 
 so, after bolting" something- by myself, I did what a g'ood 
 many men do when they don't know what to do with 
 themselves — went to the play. When it was nearly over 
 I walked back to the inn, and who should be standing at 
 the door but my little friend, smoking- a cigar — the fii-st 
 time I had seen him since the race. There he stood, 
 looking as cool and quiet as ever. He made way for me^ 
 too, as civil as possible, but just as if he had never seen 
 me before in his life. The end of it was, I was obliged 
 to beg-in, and so I says at last — 
 
 '^ ' Well, how about the stake — have you g-ot it?" 
 
 " ' Oh yes I ' says he, as if a little surprised at my 
 speaking- to him. ^ All right, thank'ee ! I must say they 
 pay much readier here than they do at many places 1 
 could name.' 
 
 '' ^ I'm g-lad to hear that anyhow,' I went on, ^ and of 
 course our settling* will be as easy.' 
 
 '^ ' I beg your pardon, but I don't think I quite com- 
 prehend you V 
 
 Why, what you said before running the last heat 
 
 i( i 
 
42 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 about not wearing out our liorses, as it didn't matter 
 which won if we only had a good understanding between 
 ourselves.' 
 
 '' ' Indeed !' says he, a-pulling away at his cigar, and 
 speaking between his teeth, ^ what tlien ? what do you 
 want then ? ' 
 
 " ' Why half, of course/ I answers, a little riled at the 
 way he was going on. 
 
 '^ ^ ! you do, do you ?" says he, bursting out laugh- 
 ing. ^ You are a nice man, you are ! And what for, I 
 should like to know V 
 
 ** ^What for! why hang it, you knovv' I • could have 
 won if I'd liked!" 
 
 i( c "What ! you lost on purpose, eh ? — to get half 
 when you might have had it all, eh? Well, that's a 
 good one certainly, and very well tried on too ; but 
 it won't do here, my friend ! Lost the race on purpose, 
 eh ?' and then he laughed again as if he had never heard 
 of such a thing in his life, and the very notion rather 
 tickled him. 
 
 " Well, I naturally got more savage at this, thi^eatened 
 to pitch into him, show him up, and so on ; when, just as 
 we was getting noisy, he pulls the cigar out of his mouth, 
 and says, as cool as a cucumber, but as fierce as blazes 
 still— 
 
 ^^ ^ Now look here, young gentleman ! if you want a 
 row, /'ve no objection ; but if I understand you correctly 
 your argument is, that you lost a race on purpose, and 
 want to he j)ciid fur doing so — eh? Is this the showing 
 up you talk of ? If so, go on ; but as a man of the world, 
 I shoidd advise you not. It's a very good plant, I admit ; 
 but it won't do, I tell you ; and as you may have a bit of 
 a character here, it may be as well to keep it, eh ? If 
 
THE farmer's story. 43 
 
 :you dorCt say anytliing more about it, IsJiaii't^ because it 
 can't signify a rap to me any way ; and, as a man of the 
 world, I make it a rule to keep out of hot water if there's 
 nothing- to be got by getting into it. I'd advise you to 
 do the same, and I wish you a very good night .' " 
 
 ^^ WiN-CHES-TER — uow then, who's for Win-ches- 
 TER ? No, marm ; Winchester ain't Portsmouth— no, 
 nor Southsea neither !" 
 
44 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE, 
 
 MODERN HUNTING SONG. 
 
 • Bright clianticleer proclaims the morn"- 
 
 By which he means to say 
 That those who do as their fathers did 
 
 Will hunt h}" hreak o'day — 
 But we don't do as our fathers did, 
 
 But quite the other way. 
 
 At early dawn they met the morn/' 
 As we learn from another chime ; 
 
 And to get on the drag' of the hold reyna 
 Was what they voted prime — 
 
 But we look for a little more than that, 
 All in the present time. 
 
 With many a cut at the cold sirloin, 
 
 And a pull at the mig-htiest ale. 
 They hardened their hearts for the good ding-dong- 
 
 Though their doings would hardly pale 
 The shy-fed, soda-watering 3'outh, 
 
 Who now o'er a country sail. 
 
3I0DERN HUNTING SONG, 45 
 
 Then ^^one g-ood horse would cany hnn/' 
 
 As long' as he liked to go ; 
 And how this one would screw and creep, 
 
 We all of us ou^-ht to know. 
 'Twas an amiable kind of thing- no doubt — 
 
 But wasn't it rather slow ? 
 
 *' There never were such times as those/' 
 
 There never can be surely, 
 When a fox was gently simmer'd to death — 
 
 Instead of this slap-bang- fry, 
 That's turnino- him over and doins,- him brown 
 
 Before he can wink his eye. 
 
 *' Late hourSj my lads^ be sure to shim/' 
 They are the root of many a sin ; 
 
 All this cramming and racing- is clearly come 
 Of the time when we beg-in — 
 
 For our dear old dads were Hoiking- home, 
 When we're just ' Hoiking in V 
 
46 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE HARD-UP. 
 
 A RATIONAL EVENING'S AMUSEMENT. 
 
 One hears of so many different notions of liard-up, that 
 it is difficult to say when you are or when you are not. 
 This man is dreadfully hard-up with an over-bodied 
 establishment and a three-thousand poimds butcher's bill ; 
 that one with a washerwoman's monthly reckoning and 
 unrepaired boot-leather. Here is a poor fellow fearfully 
 hard-up for something* to do • there another equally so for 
 somebody to be done ; a tliird owns to be hard-up for 
 somewhere to go ; a fourth yet more so for something to 
 go on. People, in short, are hard-up in most forms, and 
 rarely with grateful stomachs, saving only the philo- 
 sopher who cheerfully declared that he never felt 
 down in the world, as he was always so very hard-up 
 in it. 
 
 But let us look for a case or two in point, and let our 
 iirst draw be over a bit of dinner. To achieve this, let 
 us further lose ourselves in trying a new cut from Covent 
 Garden to Piccadilly, and we may so, very likely, come 
 to anchor at a demi-semi-English-French house that you 
 could never have found by any other contrivance. We 
 don't mean, mind, any popular well-known resort of Mon- 
 sieur himself, w^here, with a wonderful foreknowledge of 
 your coming and choice, they have everything cooked 
 and kept hot for you two days at least before you arrive. 
 
THE HARD-UP. 47 
 
 No;, but a little quiet out-of-the-way house, where you 
 may see some very varmint gentlemen, awfully up to 
 what's what and who's who, and get a fresh bit of fish, 
 and a chop disg-uised any way you like, almost as cheap 
 as at the veriest make-shift in Newgate-street. We 
 will say no more, or the place will get appreciated and 
 crowded — and that, of course, means spoilt — so tumble 
 up-stairs, and " give yom^ orders" at once; for, strange 
 as it may sound, they will keep you waiting here for your 
 dinner while they dress- it. 
 
 Stop ! did'nt I tell you so ! — Table of three on the other 
 side of the room — Youngish, fastish, but still gentlemanly 
 lad of seventeen or eighteen; jolly, stout, dark, curly- 
 haired gentleman of forty; and long-faced, thin, quiet, 
 ^^ I-can-lay-it-yoa ' looking one, of any age from five-and- 
 twenty to seven-and- thirty you may like to set him at. 
 Hark I— 
 
 " Well, but I say, Billy, why did'nt you go to the Mas- 
 querade ?" an inquiry apparently repeated from the jovial 
 one to the juvenile. 
 
 ^' Because I was so jolly hard-up, I tell you. I had'nt 
 enough by three-and-sixpence to pay for a ticket ; and 
 Weyton, who was the only fellow who would lend it me, 
 hadn'.gotit." 
 
 "That was hardish-run, too," said the Hyperion- 
 headed gentleman, with a laugh; ^^but what did you 
 do with yourself ?" 
 
 " I didn't know what to do with m^^self — that was it ; 
 thought about Hungerford Bridge after dinner, and all 
 that sort of thing ; when just as I was in the middle of a 
 debate, and in the middle of a street, I was precious nearly 
 saved the. trouble of all further discussion by being run 
 into, as near as a toucher, by one of the * Royal Blues' 
 
48 T^LI-S AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 — that blessed kind of conveyance whose boast and glory 
 it is to charge yon * only 4d. all the way !' Eg'ad^ says 
 J, I'll be booked for Chester Square." 
 
 " Who's there, Billy /" 
 
 *^ The aunts, you 'know ; elderly maiden ladies, living* 
 in retirement ; two or three hundred dozen of tea-spoons 
 with the famih^ crest; £5,000 in iive-pound each North 
 Riding notes ; butler — an aged elderly man, faithful 
 l)ut unfortunately deaf, sleeping- for safety in a room where 
 nobody can find him, and all that sort of thing*." 
 
 ^* But I say, my young friend," joined in the I-can-lay- 
 it-you looking youth, " j^ou should have gone there be- 
 fore—a wide-awake bird like yoa. too." 
 
 ^* ' Bless your innocent heart,' as Cabby says, I'd been 
 there too often ; tired 'em out; had to ask for something 
 to drink ; was supposed to smell of smoke, and look 
 ^ wild' ; never got a screw out of either of them during 
 the eighteen months I had been in town. Had I not an 
 income of eighty per annum in a government office, with 
 ji fair chance of promotion — perhaps a little assistance from 
 my father, though that could hardl}^ be required— and so 
 forth ? — No, all I ever got to carry away was a pot of 
 marmalade, and The Youiig Mans Best Friend^ 
 
 *'■ Well, that was handsome, too ; and what did you do 
 with them ?" 
 
 *' Why, The Young Maas Best Friend I made a pre- 
 sent of to a young woman I met in Piccadilly, under the 
 notion that he ought to be as good a friend to her os he 
 was to me ; and the marmalade I made a bargain about 
 with a * poor b'y' selling lucifers — namel}^, that he was to 
 set-to and clear out the whole pot at once. lie was 
 awfully hard-up, but I'll be shot if Aunt Mary's.' making' 
 did'nt beat him, for, after forcing very strong running for 
 
THE HARD-UP. 49 
 
 ^bout half way^ lie tlirev/ up his head and cut it. ' It's 
 so sticky, sir,' says he, in a voice that seemed affected by 
 a cold he had caught the winter but one before last, 
 and never quite got rid of again— ^ It's so sticky, sir • I 
 must have a drop of water to finish him oft' with. ' " 
 
 There was a tolerably loud laugh at the ^ poor b'y's' 
 expense ) and another drop of something-and-water being 
 ordered to drink his health, the open-hearted Billy pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 *^ However, down I went again to Chester Square, look- 
 ing deuced old, as you may fancy ; but I'll be shot if 
 that did'nt do it. I was ^looking quite steady' and 
 ^ altered' j and it was, ' William will have some tea V and 
 ' a glass of wine to Mr. William' j till at last, by Jupiter ! 
 the old ladies came to the conclusion that Her Majesty's 
 Government was over-working me, and that I wanted 
 some relaxation." 
 
 '^ Heaven bless them ! " said the stout man, with a sigh ; 
 ^' couldn't you spare such an aunt, Billy — one out of two, 
 you know ?" 
 
 " Not exactly. However, on they went, warming up 
 to the collar, till at last they proposed and seconded it 
 that ^ I ought to be taken somewhere that very evening.' 
 * Bravo ! Billy,' says I to myself, ^ surely the old 
 ladies will never be game enough to take you to the Mas- 
 querade, after all.' I daren't hint it, but there [ sat and 
 hoped. Carriage ordered. On I went with them — at 
 waiting orders, you know — keeping close up to their heads, 
 but never getting right in front ; and where do you think 
 they took me to, after all?" 
 
 ^' Can't say, I'm sure," replied the I-can-lay-it-you, 
 seeming as if he really was calculating what he ought to 
 offer about it. 
 
OO TALES AXD TRAITS 01- SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 ^^To tlie Judg-e-and-Juiy, perhaps?" said the othei'; 
 with his usual grin. 
 
 *^To the Polytechnic !" burst out Billy in a scream ; 
 and the young* reprobate laid his head on the table^ and 
 laug'hed till he cried at the very notion of having- been 
 provided with an evening's amusement at that justly 
 celebrated exhibition of art and science. 
 
 ''They did, by Jupiter!" he Vv^ent on, when his men- 
 tion of the fact would allow him to proceed : '^ Great guns 
 there, too ; regular subscribers ; gave me a personal in- 
 troduction to the Diving Bell, who took off his helmet to 
 show he was mortal, and looked ^ beer' at us ; but I was 
 too hard-up, and Aunties of course did'nt understand 
 him." 
 
 " Many people there, Billy ?" 
 
 *' Oh, lots, of a sort, you know; ladies in spectacles; 
 servant-gals in their second-best shawls and every-day 
 dresses ; and ' well-read' looking men in white ties, which 
 no doubt had been uncommon smart on Sunday," 
 
 ^' See anybody you knew ?" 
 
 ''Yes! I'll be dashed if I did'nt! old 'Punctuality 
 White' in our department, that slow-and-sure-coach, who 
 does everything by rule ; dinner, half-an-hour to eat it ; 
 quarter- of- an-hour to read the paper and chew the cud ; 
 ten minutes to reckon up within himself the score, before 
 he asks the waiter, in an awfully grand way, 'what's to 
 pay?'" 
 
 "By himself?'' 
 
 " Oh, no ! — elderly lady, who somehow or other had 
 managed to ' smug ' in her umbrella, and was hug'ging it 
 for very life ; and young swell of six or seven, in Charles 
 the Second hat, very 'heavy' gTeat coat, and Flying- 
 Dutchman plaid gaiters. And there was Old Punctualit}': 
 
THE HAED-Ur. 51 
 
 doing the polite in tlie most expensive style— explaining- 
 the principles of electricit}^ : If you Want to be * shocked/ 
 touch the conductor ; if you don't, leave him alone ; and 
 if you fancy you are hurt, there's no extra charge for 
 holloaing" — a privilege the Dutchman at once availed him- 
 self of by kicking up a most awful row directly he and 
 the conductor became acquainted/' 
 
 " Well, and was there anything else to see, Billy ?" 
 *' I believe you there was — all sorts of games, only it 
 seems a standing order of the place that you must be 
 *sold.' If you are up-stairs a bell ring-s all in to begin, 
 and you are told to go down ; if down, vice vev&ciy and 
 you go up. But Aunty was up and down to all their 
 schemes. First of all, the Ballad Music of England, with 
 illustrations." 
 
 ^' What ! the ballet, and ballet-girls ! that must have 
 been worth seeing ?" 
 
 ** No, no ! the hallad-Tmx'sh.Q — gentleman talks till he's 
 tired, then sings, then tells a story, then sings again. 
 'Twasn't bad ; only he did it all in such a lackadaisacal, 
 die-away fashion, as if he was going oif for instant execu- 
 tion at the end of the entertainment. Indeed, when he 
 came^to introduce a ballad he'd had the extreme misfor- 
 tune to compose himself, and that had inflicted the fur- 
 ther inexpressible agony on him of becoming rather popu- 
 lar, I thought his dejection would get too much for him, 
 and we should have to stop the piece." 
 
 ^'' No such luck, I reckon, Master WilHam?" 
 ^' No ! so then we toddled off again to the Chemistry 
 — more interesting j which means, a vast deal slower. 
 Lecture on Ancient Agriculture, when they used to make 
 their ploughshares red-hot to get them easier into the 
 ground — at least, so I took it. Red-hot shares intro- 
 
52 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 (luced, and ^mj assistant/ to show that by practice the 
 ancient ploiig-hboys didn't care a rap about 'em, hot or 
 cold, ordered to take his shoes and stocking-s off, and 
 marcli away forthwith. ^ My assistant' — a fat-headed 
 boy, with a very g-roggy, chilblainy pair of pins — takes 
 his ^ walk-over' accordingly, though he looked uncommon 
 like breaking' down at every stride." 
 
 '^ Perhaps that was why thej Jired him ?" said the cal- 
 cnlating g-entleman, in so serious a tone that it was some 
 time before they honoured his joke by taking it. 
 
 And so IMllj went through that wonder to him — a ra- 
 tional evening-'s amusement, winding* up with dissolving- 
 views, and '^ the best sort of a target for a snap shot he 
 ever saw." Previous to this, though, the old ladies had 
 stood some cherry -brandy in the refreshment-room, where 
 *^ we found the Dutchman all alone, cocked up on a chair, 
 and eating- a bath bun at the rate of a mouthful in half- 
 an-hour — evidently discussing' to himself the principles of 
 electricity, and connecting in his own mind the crack h^ 
 got on the fingers with some proceedings under water on 
 the part of my friend in the Castle of Otranto helmet.' ' 
 
 ^' Well," he went on, ^' at last it seemed about all over : 
 the white neckcloths, * as wos,' made a terrible rush for 
 the umbrella-stand, and the servant-gals began to think it 
 was ^past ten o'clock.' Just then Aunt — the longer one 
 in the tooth, that is — began to get rather imeasy, staring' 
 away at the Humbugasoi under the glass cases, and fumb- 
 ling away like mad all the time at her bag. ' In course' 
 we left her to herself; and just then Mary, who alwa^^s 
 seemed like a good 'un, slipped a couple of sovereigns into 
 my hand, with a ' William, don't mention this ; onl}^ mind 
 and be prudent, there's a good boy !' " 
 
 "I'd hardly time to pocket them before up sails the 
 
THE HARD-UP. 5S 
 
 other, looking* two or three sizes larger than life ; and 
 ^ WilHam !' sajs she too." 
 
 '^ What, another couple, eh, Billy ? Eg-ad ! you was 
 in luck for once." 
 
 "No, no, hear me out— and ^William,' says she, ^I 
 have watched you narrowly here to-night, and admired 
 the interest you have taken in everything* — there, William, 
 is a perpetual admission, which will allow you to come 
 and improve yourself as often as you choose.' " 
 
 " My wig- ! whata sell !" said the stout man, with a 
 roar ; " and did you take it?" 
 
 '^Tohe sure I did; handed them into the carriage ; 
 hid them good night ; got all sorts of blessings and ad- 
 vice in return ; and hailing- a Hansom, was at the Albion, 
 in Drury-lane, at a quarter before twelve !" 
 
 " And do you mean to say you went to the Masquerade, 
 after all?" 
 
 " To be sure I did : and let fellows say what they will 
 about the Masquerade being slow — perhaps it is, in some 
 cases — after a jolly night with four or five good fellows, 
 who go there with the may-be mistaken notion of getting 
 something a great deal better ; or, after leaving a lot 
 of nice girls with the same idea ; or, rushing- away from 
 single-handed lodgings, under the plea that you must be 
 delighted forthwith. I would'nt warrant it then exactly 
 — but try it, as I did, my friends ; let it come unhoped 
 for after a first heat at the Polytechnic, or the Rev. Mr. 
 Grind at Exeter Hall — by Jove ! I never had such a night 
 in my life, and I don't think Her Gracious Majesty's 
 Ministers had much out of me the next day." 
 
 *'Melt the two, Billy?" 
 
 *' Rather ! and what d'ye think I did with the Perpetual 
 Order?" 
 
M TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 *^ Don't know, I'm sure." 
 
 *' Made a barg*ain witli a caLLy to take me Lome for 
 that and a shilling* ; and now No. 6,956 can strut in and 
 shake^hands with the Diving- Bell, and inspect the Hum- 
 hugasoi whenever he likes." 
 
 *^ Hang it ! but that was rather a had compliment to 
 Aunt}-, too, Billy V 
 
 *^ Well, perhaps it was ; hut then, what was I to do, 
 you know ? I was so jolly Hard-up !'' 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. 55 
 
 OLD JOHN DAY. 
 
 Another link in Turf history is lost to iis. It would 
 seem^ indeed^ as if the chain were giving way altogether 
 in a place or two. Take ten, or twenty, or even thirty 
 years since, and what a group could we picture, as the 
 hell rang for saddling for the opening race over Bath, 
 Bihury, or Cheltenham ! Here, inside the ropes, waiting 
 for his horse,, is quaint, quiet, Jem Chappie, in the well- 
 worn white body and red sleeves of Isaac Sadler, who in 
 his own favourite body clothes, the blue coat and brass 
 buttons, is finally determining whether they shall ^^ g'o 
 for the heat " or not. Close at their elbow stands his 
 namesake, Isaac Day, of Northleach, amply protected 
 against the Lansdowne breezes in his well-cut drab dread- 
 nought, and the as invariable drab trowsers to match. 
 In earnest converse with him mark the useful ^^ Vicar,"' 
 or dandy Arthur Pavis, come all the way from New- 
 market to ride Caravan for the Cup; while sedately jog- 
 ging up on his hack, hails them '^ Honest John" himself, 
 looking as grave as a pai'^on, and very like one, even when 
 lie was stripped to the strictly clerical habiliments of Mr. 
 Wreford — black jacket and white cap — who is going to 
 win the Two Year Old with Wapiti, Westeria, or to put 
 <ome other such invincible ^^a double" on them. 
 
 And have they all gone from amongst us ? Shall the 
 starting signal summon rhem no more ? The only echo is 
 no more 1 No more shall the one Isaac bustle away on 
 his varmint pony, or the other walk calmly back into tlie 
 
56 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Stand to watch a Delightful or a Designful sweep b}-- 
 under the delicate handling- of careful Jemmy. No more 
 shall '' the Vicar " fairly thrash out his fiver in the secoiid, 
 first, third, and first — that ultimately lands it. No man 
 shall natty Arthur give even Mr. Peyton himself a wrinkle 
 in the way of a good get up^ or "Honest John " save the 
 Two Year Old hy a head, and win the Guineas in a canter 
 en Little Red Rover, with all the staid propriety and 
 decorum so befitting such an occasion. They are gone ! 
 In hut a brief season or so. Chappie^ Wakefield, Isaac 
 Sadler, Isaac Day, and at last *^ Old " John himself, 
 have fallen, as it were like ninepins, one over the 
 other. 
 
 But amongst them all there was no such a remarkable 
 man as the one whose career stands as a heading to this 
 paper. It was not merely as a jockey of local repute that 
 John Day was celebrated, not chiefly from winning on his 
 own horses over his own ground. He could follow Chappie 
 back to Newmarket, and try his head and hand succes^fullj^ 
 against the Buckles, Chifneys, and Robinsons over that 
 classic heath. He could face the howling wilderness of Ep- 
 som, and out-general the canny north-countryman in his 
 own home, and outlast him for the ver}' race of his heart. 
 Perhaps, however, after all, it is not as a rider of horses 
 so much that John Day's name will live. We question 
 greatly whether the majority of sportsmen would not be 
 more inclined to honour him in another branch of the 
 science, and to pit him rather against John Scott the 
 trainer than William Scott the jockey. In point of fact,, 
 he long stood the ordeal of this com])arison, and when 
 Malton began to threaten, people instinctively turned to 
 Danebury lor the answer. The two Johns knew well 
 enough how often the strength of their strings and the 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. [)7 
 
 knowledg-e of their business got them nominations in this 
 forced handicap, 
 
 Let us see how far the Stud Book and Calendars 
 warranted the heavy responsibility with which the world 
 so long- saddled '^ Honest John." Without the one at 
 our elbow we should say he was at his decease, within 
 four or five years or so of the '^ age " of man ; or, in other 
 words, that he had seen somewhere about sixty-six sum- 
 mers. He was very well bred for his profession, as his 
 father was a country trainer of some repute ; but as 
 '^ Nimrod " wrote of him five-and-twenty years since, in 
 his famous Quarterly Review article, '^The endowments 
 of Nature are not alwaj^s hereditary, and well for our hero 
 that they are not, for he is the son of a man who weighed 
 twenty stone, whereas he himself can ride seven stone. '^ 
 The father lived at Houghton Down, where John was 
 born, and his mother, a Miss Barham, came of a ver}^ 
 good family at Stockbridge — as many would say, of a 
 much superior one to that of her husband. Hence the 
 son's second name, John Barham Dayj a title, though, 
 that he never took up in full until his son, again, " Young 
 John," had set up in business on his own account. It 
 would be idle, however, to attempt to identify John Day 
 as the son of his parents, or yet as their son the jockey. 
 Old Mrs. Day, his mother, and herself as good a judge of 
 what a horse could do as one-half the professors, was 
 fond of telHng the story of a race she once saw, in which 
 five of her own boys rode. These were — John Barham ; 
 the far more elegant and accomplished Sam ; Charles, 
 who subsequently went to Russia ; William ; and James, 
 a veterinary surgeon, at one time in practice near Exeter, 
 but latterly living with his nephew William, at Wood- 
 yates. We do not remember that the old lady ever 
 
58 TALES AND TEAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 pointed the story by adding- the name of the winner. It 
 will be seen from this that John beg-an life with all the 
 incentive to excel that even the rivalry of his own family 
 could conduce to. He increased this wholesome stimulus 
 on the first available opportunity by paving the way to a 
 family of his own. In other words, he married at a very 
 early penod in his career. The partner of his choice was 
 also from the neighbourhood of Stockbridge, but the 
 match was terribly against his father's wishes, to whom 
 he was naturally becoming very useful. Of course the 
 lad had been almost altogether home educated, while one 
 of his first engagements ^' out" was encouraging' enough. 
 It was with no less a personage than His Majesty King 
 George the Fourth, at that time Prince of Wales, for 
 whom he rode light weights. The King, indeed, never 
 forgot him, and only two years before the Royal George's 
 decease, that is in 1828, John had the honour of riding 
 his favourite mare, Maria, for the Somersetshire, at Bath, 
 at that time a race of some importance, and which he won. 
 But even under the countenance of Royalty it must not be 
 supposed John Day fell into all these fine doings at once. 
 Like most of the jockeys of those days — ^the provincials 
 especially — he had a hard apprenticeship to serve. There 
 was no winning at York one afternoon, and at Abingdon 
 the next ; but the practitioner methodically went the 
 circuit, with the saddlebags and his hack — riding heat 
 after heat, and taking, perhaps, at best but two or three 
 small fees, strictly a la carte, in a day. Still John's good 
 name and steady, sober conduct served to smoothe the way 
 for him j and the Duke of Grafton, one of his fir ir est 
 patrons, at length sent him a ^^ special retainer " to come 
 to Newmarket. It mig-ht have been difficult for John 
 Day liimself to have dated many of his first successes. 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. 59 
 
 and at the opening' of Iiis liistoiy tlie public records did 
 not deign to do as miicli for him. However, as far back 
 as the autumn of '22, more than forty years since, we 
 find him at Newmarket, in the First October Meeting, 
 winning' the Trial Stakes on Guerilla for his grace of 
 Grafton, beating- amongst others Gustavus, the Derby 
 winner of the year previous. Sam Chifney finishes first 
 for the next thing on; and then, in the Houghton, 
 *' J. Day" again claims a Match on Mystic for Mr. 
 Batson. He gradually got at home here after this, and 
 carried the scarlet livery across the Flat in many a close 
 encounter. With the riding* of such a stable he was 
 naturally up in most of the great races, and after a taste 
 of the Two Thousand, and the Thousand Guineas, which 
 he won in the same year, 1826, on Dervise and Problem, 
 he fairly matriculated at Epsom in 1828, where he carried 
 oif the Oaks for the Duke on Turquoise, with 25 to 1 
 against her. Only three years later he arrived at what 
 must still be considered the acme of his career as a jockey. 
 He again won the Oaks for the Duke on Oxygen, after 
 what was generally admitted to be a most brilliant dis- 
 play of horsemanship. In the same season he landed his 
 first Leger for the then Lord Cleveland, on the outsider 
 Chorister; while he was anything* but idle in his own 
 district. One of his favourite nags, Mr. Bigg-s' Little 
 Red Rover, was just then in full sail, and John was 
 w^inning a Plate at Blandford on him this week, the 
 Guineas and a Purse somewhere handy the next, the Cup 
 at Cheltenham, a handicap at Bath, and so on. He was 
 a terrible teaser to the Day, Dilly, Sadler School, and in 
 his last season, when six years old, John flew the Little 
 Rover at even higher game. He accepted for the Good- 
 wood Stakes with him, and won it on him. By the turn 
 
60 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 of another still succeeding year lie had again carried off 
 his favourite race, the Oaks, for Mr. Coshy, on Pussy ; 
 and this landmark at once leads us to the great era in 
 John Day's life as a jockey and trainer — his connection 
 with Lord George Bentinck. When that grand meteor 
 gradually shone forth upon the hemisphere, John Day 
 was his attendant satellite. It was John who advised, 
 who trained, who rode, who hought, and who hetted. 
 It was John Day who vanned Elis into Doncaster^ and 
 courted Fortune with a hold stroke for success that was 
 fated, alas ! never again to he so realised in such a con- 
 junction. In vain the string was increased. In vain that 
 the nominations swelled the pages of the Calendars, or 
 that investments followed in the hooks of the industrious. 
 Too late was it that simple Mr. Bowe hloomed forth into 
 Lord George himself, or that the good Duke of Portland 
 came to imderstand, in jockey-hoy lingo, ^' who belonged 
 to all these horses." It was a dashing game to play, 
 „oo ! and what a stand they made on the first trumi;) card 
 the}^ drew ! How well we yet remember Grey Momus' 
 race for the Derby ! How the crowd took to him, and 
 cheered him, and singled him out at ^' the corner " and 
 roared ^' the Grey! the Grey !'' till they could roar no 
 more. And while John was rolling about on Ms rolling 
 tired horse, how close and quiet an old acquaintance, one 
 Mr. Chappie sat, knowing he had got the length of him, 
 and knowing — as no one ever did better — that he had 
 only to bide his time to win. And then popularity 
 veered round like tlie weathercock it is, and the poor grey 
 was led off without a soul to sympathise with him, while 
 shouts rent the air again and again for ^*^ Sir Gilbert !*' 
 But Grey Momus was not half a bad horse either. In a 
 week or so we saw him win the Ascot Cup with '^ little 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. 61 
 
 Billy Day " on liim against Epirus and Caravan ; and on 
 Lord Georg-e's own cherished com-se at Goodwood he ran 
 home first, for both the Racing and Drawing-room Stakes. 
 There was yet better to come. There w^as to be one 
 brilliant flash before the display was over, and John 
 worked it np with Crucifix. She did all he asked her, 
 and that was no little— went triumphantly through her 
 two-year-old engageiijents — ^^just saved the Oaks — and 
 then 'Hhe chpper," though she kept her flag flying for a 
 while, was virtually out of commission. But so it ever 
 has been, and ever will be with our modern race-horses, 
 which only do more in a few months than their illus- 
 trious sires ever accomplished in a lifetime. Close a 
 thino- as this was, " Honest John " had a'ot his hand in 
 for the Oaks again the year previous, when Fulwar 
 Craven, being scarcely susceptible of his own trainer's 
 qualifications as a jockey, as evinced in the Derby, 
 changed John Day for him in the Oaks, and Deception 
 w^on as she liked. For a season or two more the tide 
 blew dead against the Bentinck venture, and at length 
 Lord George sat him down in melancholy mood, and said, 
 '- Mv racino- establishment costs me eio-ht thousand a 
 year, and I can't win a fifty." Ill fortune, as usual, led 
 on to disputes and dissensions, and my Lord and John 
 Day parted anything but the friends they should have 
 done. 
 
 There was to be no integratio to the amantium irce. 
 On the contrary, the feud raged with all the proverbial 
 acerbity of a civil war. Lord George declared himself 
 not so much at variance with John as against the w^hole 
 of the Day family. But the father warmly espoused his 
 own people's cause, and the great battle of Gaper, as 
 historians will tell us hereafter, was fought on the downs 
 
62 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTIKG LIFE. 
 
 at Epsom in the summer of 1843. John Day felt ^' the 
 leggy brute '' could not win, and gradually " went on '^ 
 until he was full forty thousand against him. My Lord,, 
 on the other hand resolutely brought his horse to a 
 shorter and shorter price, till there was no " getting out." 
 Often, though, as the story has been told, and much as 
 has been made of it, no one ever told it like poor 
 ^^Sylvanus." 
 
 ^' jN"ow let us take a peep at the Corner on the 
 Sunday. 
 
 ^'* What's Gaper's price?' said a very distinguished 
 handsome-looking fellow of the true English countrified 
 cut of a gentleman — a cut, let me tell you, it is in vain 
 to look for in any other part of the world that I ever saw. 
 Consummate cleanliness, joined to exquisite taste in dress, 
 is the peculiar feature that strikes you j the gentle voice, 
 quiet composed manner, and harmonious natural look, 
 add a charm and a finish to the beauty of cotrntenance 
 that is certainly only found in the higher classes in 
 England. 
 
 ^* However, ^What's Gaper's price?' inquired the tali 
 man in leather trovv'sers, a maroon double-breasted coat, 
 with Club buttons, and large fawn- coloured cravat ; ' I've 
 not quite done yet, and can take the odds to a thousand.' 
 
 "'Beggar my looks,' said a little very anxiously 
 smiling elderly man, in long gaiters, and black frock coat 
 of the old chaise-driver or Sir Tatton's length of flap ; 
 ' this is coming it too strongs to be pleasant. I'm clear 
 forty "thousand agin him !' 
 
 " ' What'll you take, my Lord ?' asked Sunflower j ' I'll 
 lay you five thousand to two that Cotherstone beats him." 
 
 *** Thank ye j it will not suit my purpose. I'll take 
 six thousand to one outright.' 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. 63 
 
 ^^ ^ Beg-o-ar liislono- limbs !' said the little old fellow in 
 
 Do O 
 
 tlie jarvey's coat ; ^ he'll make his spindle-shanked brute 
 first favourite vet. I must get Gullj to see him before 
 he spring's to even betting — though he has no more chance 
 on his merits than a man in boots.' " 
 
 How capital it all is ! What a famous photograph is 
 that of Lord GeorgC; and how good the ^^ anxiously 
 smiling " John ! And somebod}^ does see him, and John 
 is permitted to get part of it ^* off" at last. And '' Black 
 Bill " strips for the grand magnificent Cotherstone, though 
 they have one of the finest horsemen of his age in Sam 
 Rogers against him. The two Johns are right, however. 
 Scott knew "his horse was good enough, and Day felt the 
 other was not. But he finishes well up, and John heaves 
 a heavy sigh of relief as he vows never to take such 
 liberties again. 
 
 There is another era approaching by this, as another 
 leviathan is landed on the short green turf. The brothers 
 John and Alfred are pulling famously together at Dane- 
 bury, while William is developing into a great man all 
 by himself in Wiltshire. And so, when '^Mr. Howard " 
 is announced, " Honest John " readily gives him the inter- 
 view, and has once more a long string in work. He is 
 now only trainer, for John Day is getting on, and to 
 Tiny Wells is entrusted the handling of them. This is 
 too recent a chapter in modern history to require long 
 dwelling on. But Virago, saved to her third year, fairly 
 swept the country, north and south. Then, there were 
 Scythian, and Little Harry, and Queen's Head, and 
 Oulston, and others, all spealdng to the stuff left in old 
 John, and that yet to come on in young Wells. Never- 
 theless, in the summer of '55 John Day withdrew some- 
 what suddenly from Mr. Howard's service, left Findon, 
 
(]4 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPOUTING LIFE. 
 
 and with o comfortable competence settled liimself with 
 his son William at Woodyates. He died here, after 
 having- been indisposed for some time, on Wednesday, 
 March 21, 1860. 
 
 There are few public men in his way of life who had 
 anore peculiarities, or were better known on a race-course. 
 It was, in fact, impossible to mistake ^* Honest John" on 
 his horse. He had a very noticeable hollow in the back, 
 good w^idth of shoulder, and that peculiar cast of counte- 
 nance there was no mistaking. He was altogether a well- 
 made little man, but he was scarcely ever a g-reat horse- 
 man. There are comparatively few brilliant bits associated 
 with his name. He rather wanted style, too, particularly 
 in his set-to ; but he w^as a careful, safe man, and seldom 
 jQade a mistake. Still, we repeat, it is as a trainer that 
 John Day will be remembered. There was no better 
 judge of a young- one, and no one knew better what to do 
 with him, ?/ he could only stay to learn all John coiild 
 teach him. His preparation was proverbially severe, and 
 not many could stand it. 
 
 ^' Well, John," said Isaac Sadler to him one day, 
 as the former was watching* three of his two-year- 
 olds at exercise — " Well, John, what do you think 
 of them?" 
 
 John '' beggared his looks," and hinted something not 
 very complimentary. 
 
 '^ Ah, uevdj n.ind,"' answ-ered Isaac j " I will tell you 
 what they have got, John — they have got twelve sound 
 legs amongst them, and that's more than you can coimt 
 amongst your fifty up there," 
 
 On another occasion, John liimself asked a friend's 
 opinion of five youngsters of Lord George's that had just 
 come up fi-om Doncaster. 
 
OLD JOHX DAY. 65 
 
 " Wliy^ they won't stand your training- a fortnight," 
 binrted ont the other. 
 
 '^ My training- ! what d'ye mean by that, sir?" 
 
 "Well/' said his companion, softening it down a bit, 
 ^- I think the Danebury Hill will be a leetle too much for 
 them." 
 
 And sure enough in a fortnight two of the Velocipedes 
 had thrown out curbs ! But find a clipper to face the 
 ^' Danebuiy Hill," and he was sure to come in the market. 
 Despite the pot that now and then boiled over, people 
 knew this, and treated the stable, even in its most fanci- 
 ful of humours, with a certain degree of respect. John 
 Day was always well backed. '^The gentlemen" gene- 
 rally liked him, and, from our present Premier downward, 
 he held many staunch friends. He won the Cesarewitch for 
 Lord Palmerston with Hiona, a race rendered amusingly 
 remarkable by the controversy over the iota and omega. 
 The colours he looked himself most at home in were the 
 ^' all scarlet" of the Duke of Grafton, the black with the 
 white cap of Mr. Wreford, the green with the red cap of 
 Mr. Biggs, the light blue and white cap of Lord George 
 Bentinck, and it would be hardly right to omit the pink 
 and black stripe of Lord Cleveland. Abraham Cooper, 
 the Royal Academician, had more sittings at him than any 
 other artist, and painted him successively on Elis, Decep- 
 tion, and Crucifix. The most successful portrait, how- 
 ever, was one in a family picture painted by the same 
 artist, by order of Lord George Bentinck, who presented 
 it to John Day with the understanding that it was to de- 
 scend to his eldest son. In this group John stands in his 
 great coat by the side of the mule phaeton, in which are 
 seated his wife and his mother, while his son Sam is 
 mounted on the game Venison, and William on Chapeau 
 
 F 
 
C6 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE, 
 
 d'Espag;ne. The picture was exhibited in the Royal Aca- 
 deni}^, where, as we well remember, it attracted much 
 attention from all classes of visitors. 
 
 " A Family Picture" for John Day woidd have re- 
 quired a much fuller canvas to have done him thorough 
 justice. He had in all, we believe, twelve children b}' 
 his first wife, but none by the second. These included 
 quite another generation of jockeys. There was " Young 
 John/' a powerful, resolute horseman in his time, who- 
 rode in the Grand Steeple Chase over the Vale of Ayles- 
 bury, and whose courage and coolness tackled so'^ success- 
 fully with Grey Momus, a very violent, hard-pulling brute, 
 in the days of his hot youth. Then comes poor Sam, a 
 bo}^ blessed far beyond his fellows with that inestimable 
 virtue called patience. William Day was never quite 
 meant for a jockey, and it is commonly a joke against him 
 whenever he puts himself up ° but he has amply proved 
 his talent as a trainer. The flower of the flock, however, 
 as a horseman, is or was the all-accomplished Alfred, who 
 unites in a smgularly happy degree the graces and the 
 uses of his art. Another brother, Henry, is in the law ; 
 Edward was manager of the Warfield Paddock; while 
 one of the daughters is married to William Sadler, and 
 another to Mr. Dixon, who at one period held rather a 
 prominent position on the Turf. 
 
 Pew men led so generally a steady life as the late John 
 Day. He went to church regularly twice every Sunday, 
 and was somewhat demonstratively devotional in bis^ 
 habits. He was fire-proof against the many temptations 
 of the race-course, the winning money, and the good com- 
 pany ; but he liked his joke eitliei' with or against him ; 
 and BelVs Life has told all the world over how his horse 
 cried '^ per-quavi, " and how the civil gentleman who lost 
 
 mk 
 
OLD JOHN DAY. &T 
 
 the ^'pony" to liim ^^ never came anig'li" afterwards! 
 Still he was always a curious contrast to many of 
 his fellows — gTim Sam Chifney, smart; cheerful Mr. 
 Conolly, or oifdacious Bill Scott. What a time it 
 must have been when he found Coronation satisfied, 
 and half the town and trade of Oxford ruined — with 
 ** Sweet William" slang-ing* him along'side on Satirist, 
 ^' Does he pull you nowy John ?" " Beg-g-ar your looks/' 
 John must have answered if he could have said anything', 
 as he tried to pull the slashing son of Sir Hercules tog-e- 
 ther for a final effort. But they are both gone, and before 
 them how many that might help to tell the story of 
 ^^ Honest John's" eventful and respectable life. Goodison, 
 Arnull, Clift, Wheatley, and Chifney herald him on New- 
 market Heath in an age all but passed away ; while Wells 
 may still talk over his leg up to Virago, or ^'Young- 
 John" dwell on the lingering fondness of the old gentle- - 
 man for giving them "• a spin." 
 
68 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE PRIVATE PUPIL 
 
 (PROM THE DIARY OF A. SOFTUX, ESQ.) 
 
 When I was a very young- man — and that is not such 
 an extraordinary time back either — I had the pecuHarly 
 g'ood fortune to pass my state of transition under the im- 
 mediate care of the very reverend as well as learned Dr. 
 Gradus. This happy era in life's journey every one must 
 have some recollection of — the time when you are not 
 quite responsible for your own acts, but feel cpiite ecpial, 
 nevertheless, to go with the best of them. 
 
 The Doctor's domestic circle was limited, which of course 
 i\"ent to imply that his terms were not. In fact, things 
 were done altogether with rather a high hand ; and so, 
 when my good mother ventured to hint somewhat ner- 
 Tonsly that horse-exercise would tend much to increase 
 mj bodily health, as well as materially add to my appetite 
 ibr Greek Play, not the slightest objection was offered to so 
 reasonable a suggestion. The Doctor had a capital stable, 
 a gi'oom who had lived some years with " Sir Richard/' 
 and perfectly understood his business — in a word, there 
 was every disposition to make us both comfortable ; and 
 on the same night I took possession of my bed-room^ 
 ■jny '* riding-horse" — as he was modestly designated — 
 took possession of his box. 
 
 He was rather an imposing-looking hack, too — fifteen- 
 ihree good; well furnished throughout, legs as clean as a 
 
THE PRIVATE PUPIL. 69 
 
 foars^ and seven off. iMj own experience, too, went to 
 assure me that lie was something- more than a hack ; and 
 after I had cut in once or twice with the harriers, there 
 were plenty of others willing to believe as mnch. Indeed, 
 I heard one oracle, of rather a serious turn of mind, 
 acknowledge the fact with a "what a pity !" kind of 
 commentary — meaning*, of course, what a sad thing- it was 
 that so g'ood a horse should come to be rattled about by a 
 young* gentleman of such primitive notions as myself. 
 I can't say, thoug-h, that I saw the thing- altog-ether in 
 this lig-ht. 
 
 Within a fair walk of the vicarage there had been pro- 
 videntially provided a g'ood-sized country town, whither 
 we went to buy sticks, post letters, have our hair cut, 
 and get throug-h any other trifling business of a b3^e-day« 
 By the end of the first season my horse's reputation was 
 in very strong bloom hercj and when, in accordance 
 with the especial spirit of the times, a steeple-chase fever 
 broke o\it amongst the inhabitants, they registered a half- 
 promise from me that my nag' should "make one." Ivv'as 
 very young' at the time — a fact which any g-entleman who 
 may have the "what a pity !" conclusion again ready for 
 use will please to remember. 
 
 The attempt prospered : the cheque of a decidedk 
 sporting- banker was already good for the " fifty added," 
 and the day of entry drew on. Unfortunatel}', as it 
 would seem, just at this very nick of time a veterinary 
 surgeon, of acknowledged ability, fancied that my " riding 
 horse" had got a little heat in one of the back-sinews, 
 and, with the Doctor's permission, took him off" to his 
 own hospital, the more effectually to put him on his legs 
 again. The way he set about this was certainly rather 
 extraordinary ; but it only shows the great advance we 
 
70 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 have made in the development and practice of veterinary 
 science. The very next morning he gave the g're}^ a stilfish 
 gallop of nearly fonr miles, and within a day or two one 
 yet more severe — a system further persevered with, and 
 only relieved occasionally by a scurry over the country. 
 There appeared, though, no reason to quarrel with the 
 course of treatment adopted, for the horse looked all the 
 better for it ; and as the back-sinew got no worse than it 
 had been, there was little to complain of on that score. 
 
 In fact, I am afraid, my hack from the first was treated 
 more as a priva-te pupil than a hospital patient, and 
 we were in high spirits at the nomination — a little 
 toned-down, however, by a written entry, all the 
 way from London — "' hr. h. The Weaver" — who 
 had won twice already that season, and that we cer- 
 tainly did not suspect would have honoured us with his 
 presence on the occasion. A couple of the Doctor's select 
 circle, I should say, had contrived to reach the Black 
 Lion that evening — myself and a senior pupil, who had 
 proved on one or two opportunities occurring, that he was, 
 as they say, " a few pounds better" on a horse than I 
 could qualify to. It was by his hand, indeed, that the 
 back-sinew recipe had been generally applied ; and, as the 
 Vet. himself confessed it was as good as a sermon to see 
 him screw through a queer place. The Weaver threat set- 
 tled it, and my friend Arch}^ having made up his mind 
 on the matter long before, consented to take my place and 
 ride the chase. 
 
 It is the fashion to say you cannot half enjoy any kind 
 of amusement without you take a very active part in what 
 is going on. I only know that I never relished a farce so 
 little as when I attempted " Robin Rough-head," or felt 
 so thoroughly miserable and disgusted with myself as when, 
 
THE PRIVATE PUPIL. 71 
 
 in the excess of mv happiness and satisfaction, I had to 
 kick over the table, and ^'d — n the doomphng-s !" The 
 •excitement, then, of owning- a race-horse, coupled with the 
 further piece of luck of running- him on the sly, w^as, as 
 may he imagined, quite sufficient for mj young- idea, and 
 I was well content enough to watch Archy get out, and 
 in order, a pair of wonderfully well-cut leathers, with boots 
 almost as g'ood, and a "blue body with red sleeves," that 
 his '^ governor had lost many a hundred on." In short, 
 the old gentleman had spent all he could in supporting 
 the national sport ; and so his son, of course, was very well 
 grounded to take a leading- part in so all-engrossing a sort 
 of manly recreation. 
 
 Thursday niorning found us once more at the Black Lion 
 on another hair-cutting expedition. Here rumour said that 
 the field w^ould not be a strong- one, but the line would ; 
 that the Weaver party were in great force, and that the 
 race was going- all one way. I heard this rather oddly 
 confirmed myself, while waiting in the coffee-room for 
 Archy, who had retired to don the immaculate boots and 
 breeches. For some little time I had it all to myself, but 
 was at length intruded on by a couple of gentlemen who 
 had evidently come in to talk business. At first they 
 seemed half inclined to leave me in undisturbed posses- 
 sion ; but supposing, no doubt, there could be nothing- to 
 fear from a fresh-coloured, good-looking youth in white 
 cord trousers and a blue monkey-jacket, they made good 
 their point, and walktid in, while I went on with my divided 
 occupation of looking out of the window and grinding- a 
 tooth-pick. I did not listen, but I could hardly help 
 gathering something of this from the observations of the 
 shorter man of the two, who spoke in a tone offensively 
 «<3onfident, and looked, in a suit of seedy black, like an 
 
72 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 undertaker's man out for a lioliday : — " The chase was all 
 squared ; The Weaver was meant ; and as for the others 
 in ag'en him" — lang'uage was'nt powerful enough to ex- 
 press the little g-entleman's feeling-s here, and so he g'ave 
 a most expressive and contemptuous snap of his fing-ers ; 
 answered h}' as peculiar a grunt from his companion, a 
 fifteen-stone piece of solidity, with an acre or so of coun- 
 tenance, on which was legibly inscribed this simple re- 
 cord — that he was ever willing- to hear anything- anybody 
 had g'ot to say, but that he should reserve to himself that 
 g-lorious privilege of an Englishman, of beheving- just as 
 much as he liked of it, and no more. The grunt was but 
 an echo of the expression. 
 
 "The thing is all squared, then, is it ?" thought I, as I 
 looked at poor Archy, who was looking at himself, and 
 gradually fitting his neck to a bit of well-folded cambric 
 that ^'the Dean" himself might have taken a notion from. 
 Still I had too much tact to tell him what I had learned, 
 and so on we went to business. Rumour was right on the 
 other tack too ; the line was a stiff" one — not a merely plas- 
 tered and pointed make-up, but a regular home-made 
 rough one, with some very curious doubles — a lane that 
 was neither good to get into or out of — and a brook about 
 a mile from home, with very much the same kind of re- 
 commendation. Of course we weren't going to grumble ; 
 and whatever the Weavers thought, they didn't. In fact, 
 their jockey, a good-tempered, black-whiskered, dark- 
 visaged fellow, whom ever^'body seemed to know, and 
 everybody as regularly hailed as '^ Tom," had a reputation 
 for riding at anything required, while The Weaver himself 
 was a known good-hearted one. I cannot say I troubled 
 myself much about the other four, who, with these two, 
 were taken some way down to fight it out, while I went 
 
THE PRIVATE PUPIL, 73 
 
 into tlie Stand to compose my feeling-s, and see wliat I 
 could of it. 
 
 Tlie fame of Tlie Weaver, or nothing else ^- on," liad 
 Lroug-ht down some of the regular ring-men, conspi- 
 cuous amongst whom was the sable-suited, sallow-faced 
 one I saw in the coffee-room. The offensive tone was 
 stronger than ever. I never heard a man saj what he had 
 to saj in such a disagreeable voice in my life ; and the 
 defiant jarring' way in which he repeated his offer to 
 " Lay agen the grey," almost drove me wild. Hedidn't- 
 appear to deign to know the horse had a name on the 
 card, though he had what we thought a very good as well 
 as a very classic one— ^' Apelles" to icit—\mt round and 
 round he went, with '^ I'll lay agen the grey!'' 
 And whenever he got a taker, which he did occasionally,, 
 out came the defiant stronger than ever, with a sort of 
 sneering ^* Would you like to do it again, sir?" I was 
 positively compelled to take his thirty to five to prevent 
 my doing something yet more outrageous ; though I felt,, 
 as he asked my name and booked the bet, that it was all 
 
 •* squared/' and no mistake. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " They are offV says somebody, who appears to have 
 a peculiar pleasure in being the first to proclaim it ; but 
 it is a long way *^offy and we only get a bird's-eye view 
 now and then. There is a bit of a hitch, though, at the 
 third fence, one of the big doubles already mentionedo 
 White-jacket, leading, turns right away from it — No go.^ 
 sir ; and three are well away again before he jumps into 
 it. A little more coquetting and he is out again ; but 
 white-jacket won't do here. '^Well saved!" at the next 
 fence : the little chesnut mare was on her head, but no- 
 thing worse ; and round the hill they rattle, a good- 
 
74 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 looking" grey horse making- play, witli a great slashing* 
 brown pulling hard on his quarter j three more in a clus- 
 ter, and white-jacket still in the rear. We shan't see any 
 more of them for some time ; not well, indeed, till they 
 top the hill again for the run home ; while here, in the in- 
 terim, the excitement becomes greater than ever. ^' Three 
 to one against miything, ha?' one — " " Til take six to 
 four I name the winner — " and "I'll lay agen the 
 GREY," of course from my vindictive friend in the suit 
 
 of sables. 
 
 * * * * ~ * 
 
 ^^ Here they are again," sings out Sister Anne, from 
 his corner of the Stand ; and Apelles, screwed famously 
 through an unshorn bull -fincher, comes "a stunner" for 
 the brook. There are only three with him, but the black- 
 whiskered hero is one of them, pulling his horse beautifidly 
 together, and certainly looking as well, or better, than 
 anything. Hurrah ! well jumped, by Jupiter ! and Archy 
 is over and away again — " The Weaver's down !" says 
 everybody almost at the same moment : a less interesting- 
 gentleman is nearly out of sight in the full luxury of liis 
 cold bath ; while the chesnut mare is the only other one 
 safely»landed. I hardly dare what to hope ; it is barely 
 a mile from home, and if it is " squared" still 
 
 "The Grey for a Pony !" roars out somebody at my 
 elbow in the voice of a Stentor. "■ The Grey wins, for 
 a Pony. — Bone wi' you. — Yes, I'll do it again — 
 Done wi' you, sir. I'll lay odds on one." 
 
 Conceive my astonishment ! it was my old enemy, the 
 undertaker, who, with an utter disregard for all consis- 
 tency of character and conduct, was now as vehemently 
 supporting my horse as he had just previously been de- 
 crying him. But it is all the way of the world, thought 
 
THE PRIVATE PUPIL. 75 
 
 I to myself^ as I moved from him to watch the race home 
 — a pretty close one between the two, for the chesniit 
 mare showed a turn of speed, and had been very carefully 
 ridden all through. So close, indeed, did they finish, that 
 when an over-excited man in spectacles, who hadn't a 
 shilling- on it, and didn' t know a soul in it, asked me in 
 much trepidation, ^^ What had won?" I really hesitated 
 a bit, as I stammered out I thought that my — I mean 
 the 
 
 *'0, ^Apples' won, safe enough," declared the gentle- 
 man in black once more, in his over-confident way ; " and 
 T loses a hundred on it, s'help me !" 
 
 He was right ; '^ Apples " had won ; and it was past 
 ten o'clock, I'm afraid, before Archy and I reached the 
 vicarage that night. There must have been some suspi- 
 cion, too, I fancy, as to what kept us ; for in addition to 
 the Doctor asking pointedly after the health of the back- 
 sinew, Bessy Gradus remarked, in her quiet way, at break- 
 fast — 
 
 '' What a funny term a steeple-chase is ! I wonder what 
 it is. Wasn't there one near the town, yesterday ? Did 
 you hear who won, Mr. Softun ?" 
 
 She knows all about it now, though ; for the degree 
 was a good one, after all, and somehow — 
 
 But isn't this " immaterial " here ? 
 
76 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE FATE OF A C T JE IS . 
 
 ■ On Monday uestjtlie property of a gentleman without reserve/' kc, &c. 
 
 Those ancients^ take tliem one and all; 
 
 Were certainly as queer a set 
 As ever made romance sing* small, 
 
 Or put a critic on tlie fret. 
 The way tliey laug-lied at every rule 
 
 Of common good, or common sense ; 
 The style in which they played the fool, 
 
 '^Regardless quite of all expense ;" 
 And here 'tis worthy of remark, 
 
 The very first to run in debt, or 
 Make a row, or lush, or lark, 
 
 Were such as should have known better : 
 Just as in later days we see. 
 
 In cases as to breaking lamps 
 The greatest — that's in pedig-ree — 
 
 Are g-enerally the greatest scamps. 
 
 Their laws too, of old, for marauder and felon, 
 Is another strange point just a moment to dwell on. 
 If a chap did anything anj^ways odd. 
 The fashion they had of applying- the rod 
 Was, instead of clapping him into quod. 
 As sure as a gun to make him a God. 
 
THE FATE OF ACTiEO^\ 77 
 
 The moderns, again, have it here as well, 
 As witness our second parallel : — 
 
 If a gentleman much overcome with beer 
 
 Hits out rig-ht and left at everything near, 
 
 And makes up a charge most uncommonly clear, 
 
 The papers report it " the freak of a Peer,'' 
 
 In committing, then, curious sorts of crimes 
 
 The learned alike in this agree — 
 That the ancients quite equalled the present times. 
 
 As vide the pages of his-to-ry. 
 A woman or wine the common cause. 
 
 That led to excesses so very distressing, 
 And sent up, amidst the greatest applause. 
 
 The offender to beg for King Jupiter's blessing. 
 Yet sport, true sport — the Hood and field — 
 
 In those days had their full attractions • ' 
 
 And many a dandy's fate was sealed j 
 
 With '* glory" in these warlike actions. j 
 
 His foot had slipped, or spear had broken, ! 
 
 Down bore the boar with fatal speed, 
 To prove, ere yet a word was spoken, j 
 
 A very horrid bore indeed. i| 
 
 Or the hound had turned, or horse had backed, I! 
 
 And so lost the master's life or game ; ] 
 
 For, as Neio'hbour Constance 2,'ives the fact, 
 
 *' You sportsmen never are to ])lame." 
 
 There are lots of stories of this hue. 
 
 For which to Ovid I'd refer j 
 Or if his " Latin's Greek to 3"ou," 
 
 Consult that useful work, LempiiAre. 
 
78 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE, 
 
 From out the whole, p'raps none so clear- 
 
 Ly impressed^ or widely known is^ 
 As, thanks to William Shakespeare's care, 
 
 The one of Yeniis and Adonis. 
 Still here 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love, 
 
 That spins tlie story round and round — 
 Adonis is hut a "sucking dove," 
 And not the man to cap a hound. 
 But luckily his fate's used up, 
 And so our hungiy muse may sup 
 On stronger fare 
 Than smile or tear, 
 Or locks of hair. 
 Or " duck and dear" — 
 Though at the last few men would growl 
 If reduced to realitv — flesh and fowl. 
 
 You have seen the showman, 'midst awful 
 
 din, 
 Hurry his troop of strollers in ; 
 While hell and gong- 
 Assure the throng 
 ** They're really just a going to hegin." 
 You have seen in the kennel the gallant pack, 
 When there wasn't the need of a whip to crack. 
 To keep the well-trained lot of 'em hack, 
 As, one hy one, they were drafted out : 
 You have seen the huntsman fix his eyes 
 On Nonplus, unequalled for form and size j 
 You at such a hound, too, expressed your sur- 
 prise — 
 Though of hounds you know little ahout. 
 
THE FATE OF ACTION. 7 
 
 I am the showman in the midst of the din^ 
 
 Hurrying- my strolling facts all in ; 
 While line by line, 
 You may well divine, 
 
 I'm really just a g'oing to begin. 
 
 My second simile's yet more clear — 
 
 *' Get back Yenus j what do you do here? 
 
 Hie ! 5W5— Action ! here boy, here." 
 
 Like a well-bred dog- he hears my call — 
 
 The curtain rises, and — attention all. 
 
 Once on a time — when time was young, 
 
 And his chronicles either said or sung, 
 
 But seldom printed — there dw^elt in Thrace, 
 
 Or just on the borders of some such place, 
 
 A gentleman greatly attached to the chase. 
 
 This term, though, '' attached," is rather conventional, 
 
 And if, in this place, not permitted to mention all 
 
 The items and likings that led to the phrase. 
 
 Being thus introduced, I'll still, ^' if you plaze," 
 
 Take a moment or two to make out an invoice 
 
 Of a few leading points in the man of my choice. 
 
 And first — lucusa non — I'll just show you what 
 
 The gentleman was, by what he was not ; 
 
 A course that may sound not a little indicative 
 
 *^ Of proving," as counsel would tell us, "a negative.'' 
 
 He wasn't a satin-tj^ed sweet-scented swell, 
 A London-built buck for a Leamington belle ; 
 Nor did he make hunting for gaming the net. 
 To be wound up with cards, or to bring on a bet ; 
 He wasn't a varmint, 'cute, pattern-slang knave, 
 Whose virtue was linen as clean as his shave— 
 
GO TALES AND TllAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Who nicked in a run, as lie nicked on " tlie main/' 
 To sell man or liorse, if it were but liis g-ain. 
 In short, to adopt Serjeant Goulbourn's expression^ 
 The chase was " the pleasure, and not the profession' 
 Of my hero, whose taste ne'er to dealing* descended. 
 Whose morning-'s delig-ht with ^' the box " never 
 
 ended, 
 Nor ''the leg" with the glad tallj^-ho ever blended. 
 His passion too pure — and thanked be the g-ods ! — 
 To class him with city clerks settling- the odds — 
 Verbiim sap^ from his fellows a man you may ken, 
 His fellows were sportsmen, and not sporting- men. 
 
 And here, as my muse is g-oing- to excess, 
 Your pardon I crave, while I slig'htly digress, 
 
 To keep her from the greater riot ; 
 Just as from ihe cover a fretful steed 
 Is rattled up the adjoining- mead, 
 
 To tone his fire and g-et him quiet ; 
 Soh — now then, off we send the rusher 
 Up, what the lads would call a " brusher." 
 
 Come, gent; thy tastes for once I'll brook -, 
 Come, bearded count, with thy loathsome look ; 
 Come, methodist parson, with nasal whine ; 
 €ome, Jew, with thy rings and chains so fine — 
 Come, snob, come tailor, come one, come all. 
 Every nod I'll honour, return each call, 
 If penance so lieav}' but save me can 
 From the sportsman's bane — tlie sporting man. 
 
 Let me jostle the crowd upon Ludgate's hill. 
 To see aldermen ridinn- to " Eat-and-swill :" 
 
THE FATE OF ACT^^ON. 81 
 
 Or^ oppressed with sliop-bo3's, heat, and spleen, 
 In a half-price pit let me watch the scene ; 
 Or, as iisher^ in vain endeavour to rnle 
 The imps at a thriving- ^' Commercial School ;" 
 Or swallow the speeches^ meats, and creed, 
 Brought out at a g-rand political feed — 
 Come, what you will, anywhere and when, 
 But a sportman's trade with sporting men. 
 
 To resume — friend Action, a plain country squire, 
 
 AVith a love for the rural that nothing could tire ; 
 
 With a nice little income, in money paid down, 
 
 Quite enough for a man not "a man about townj" 
 
 Hung out in a cottage, snug*, cosy, and neat, 
 
 In the market, no doubt, they would call it "a seat;" 
 
 A cottage content to sport some such a label 
 
 As, ^'a o'ood eio'ht-room house, with a sixteen-stall 
 
 stable." 
 Here he shot, hunted, fished, taking season for season, 
 But ne'er marking his game at a price beyond reason ; 
 Made his purse fit his pleasures, his pleasures his purse. 
 Feared no bills overdue, need no property '^ nurse ;" 
 And in short managed all on that capital plan. 
 With his bankers '-a safe," with the sex ^^ a sweet 
 
 man." 
 Aye ! despite dogs and horses, crowds of mothers and 
 
 daughters, 
 Looked at Tally-ho Lodge as " uncommon nice " quarters. 
 Hinted, joking of course, with an eye slightly slanting. 
 There was one piece of furniture sadly yet wanting — 
 And then Jane played the chorus, Emmy sang ^* Chanti- 
 cleer," 
 Or Fan larked her pony — ''such a sweet little dear ;" 
 
 G 
 
82 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 While old mother Gracch — something- had aiv'ays "just 
 
 been" to him, 
 To call, or invite, or — to stick Susan into him. 
 
 Alas ! that pride should have a fall ; 
 
 Alas ! that the envy of 'em all, 
 
 So proof to all their traps and crosses, 
 
 Should yield still more to dog-s and "hosses ;" 
 
 Or, as Glaucopis set the case, 
 
 '^What a pit}^ he's so much attached to the chase. 
 
 Kean's life has started many an actor ; 
 
 Jack Sheppard's, many a malefactor ; 
 
 Childe Harold Byron's, fierce men-haters ; 
 
 Cook's voyages, fresh navigators ; 
 
 The hunting- tours '^took" e'en with Schneiders^ 
 
 And writing- of 'em made " Crack Riders ;" 
 
 Old Izaak's lines have wetted many a line, 
 
 And jocks been formed from " Genius Genume." 
 
 Our instance, thoug-h, is yet more classic a 
 
 One — 'tis the Notitia Venatica — 
 
 A work that a vast deal of merit has, 
 
 And proves the saw, " in Vyner Veritas.^' 
 
 Its point, however, is simply this. 
 
 That to arrive at perfect bliss 
 
 In the true pleasure of the chase, 
 
 You mustn't take a second place ,* 
 
 But having- somehow got the knack. 
 
 Keep, hunt, and feed yourself the pack, 
 
 Showing- an M.F.H. to be, 
 
 The happiest man that ^'you shall see :" 
 
THE FATE OF ACTION. 83 
 
 Actceon read it.* — 
 ***** 
 
 Of all the many means and ways 
 
 That lead a man to proper g'lory^ 
 How few so soon shall '* reach the case," 
 
 Like that great art — to tell a story 5 
 The Attic salt, the fit expression, / 
 
 The rhythm neat — if told in song — 
 And then that crowning nice discretion 
 
 That makes the story not too long. 
 Discretion ! dear, sweet, brown-bread saint ! 
 
 Thou guardian of our love and life ; 
 Who keeps the maiden *' fresh as paint" 
 
 'Till fairly owned and known a wife ; 
 Who hedg'es off the leg's grand '^pot/' 
 
 And makes his book to smell of mint ; 
 Who marks the actor, stays the sot. 
 
 And bows the poet into print — 
 Discretion ! unknown wondrous maid ! 
 
 Stretch forth a hand ere yet too late, 
 For one who now first asks your aid. 
 
 And save him from his hero's fate ! 
 
 That Fate, the text that brims our cup, 
 Is settled in a '^summing* up." 
 
 With smallish means what great effrontery, 
 Notes him who dares to hunt a country — 
 Hounds, horses, servants, open house, 
 Earth-stoppers, keepers — '^ safe " to chouse — 
 
 * We liave liis copy, a veiy curious black lettei* one, of the original 
 edition, wliicli a Great Great ancestor of our own bouglat at the sale iu 
 a lot with some couples and blacking bottles. 
 
84 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTIXG LIFE. 
 
 Balls, banquets, Giinter, Jiillien down, 
 "With hosts of artistes straight from town ; 
 Donations, plates for hunters' stakes, 
 With plenty more in " ducks and drakes ;" 
 Which will, of course, be paid off, one and all, 
 By " the subscription " — qnerify nominal ? 
 
 Actoeon stood it just three years, 
 And then — o'ercome with costs and cares, 
 And duns and bums, and foxes few, 
 *' Short-answering'" slaves with wages due, 
 And " Fields ' ' that looked uncommon blue — 
 At eve, when o'er a poor day's sport. 
 And o'er as poor a glass of port 
 (For out, alas ! '' the favourite sort "), 
 Owned to himself the soft delusion, 
 And, having come to this conclusion. 
 Laid down his horn with half a curse. 
 Hung up his whip, pulled off his spurs. 
 Then, like a cock, his feathers moulted. 
 Packed up his saddle-bags and— bolted. 
 
 Farther than this the fable goes, 
 And in its version boldly shows. 
 How with a cry so full and grim, 
 The houEds set to and hunted him. 
 Ran him at length from scent to view, 
 And '^ broke him up " with small to do ; 
 Yet, though the Musters* case is clear. 
 The other can't pass muster here. 
 
 * The well known anecdote of Mr. Musters and liis liounds, as see 
 the Noiitia. 
 
THE FATE OF ACT.EOX. 84 
 
 The eating- up a man is common 
 
 Enough^ by horse, or hound, or woman -, 
 
 Or even in some situations, 
 
 By his own friends and dear relations ; 
 
 But still the phrase the fact transgresses. 
 
 When in such terms ^' a smash " expressed is— 
 
 Enoug'h to prove on what allegory 
 
 The ancients pitched so strong- a story. 
 
 Be as it may — quite eaten up. 
 
 Or only out of house and home 
 By friends who stop to dine and sup, 
 
 Still to this point at last we come : — 
 Do what you will — fight, drink, or play, 
 
 Your fortune somehow to get through ; 
 Spend it the most immoral wa}'. 
 
 There always is a moral too. 
 
 When in the next new comedy 
 
 The scampish character comes on. 
 With swaggering air and manner free, 
 
 That on the stage must pass for ton ; 
 When the father gives his glad consent 
 
 For Scamp to take Sophia in marriage, 
 And tells to his friend the great event. 
 
 And how the suitor keeps his carriage : 
 Mark, then, that friend with wary eye, 
 
 Give out this well worn, honoured whim — 
 *' Sir David, hark, 'twixt you and I, 
 
 The carriage 'tis that's keeping him." 
 
 So gentlemen all, with incomes but small, 
 Who don't want to fall, or a'o to the wall, 
 
86 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 But weatlier a squall, and keep up the ball ; 
 Attend to my lay, and mind what I say. 
 As to making your play for more than a day, 
 And being- able to pay your share and your way. 
 If twice out a week with the pack within hail, 
 
 And sport in proportion supposed to be shown, 
 Finds you still rather prone to gTumble and rail, 
 
 And, like ISelson, you want '^a Gazette of your ownj" 
 With subscriptions colkctedy 
 And kennels erected, 
 With a nerve to ride screws, 
 " On the fast and the loose," 
 Andjpeople that really come out for the fun ; 
 With lodging's g-ot cheap. 
 Just to breakfast and sleep ; 
 Then a heart for your sport, 
 And on something* this sort 
 Of plan the thing has been, and is to he, done. 
 
 And now, as the poet sig'hs adieu, 
 Remember well his counsel true, 
 And with Actceon's fate in view, 
 // you keep hounds— let hounds heep you. 
 
A coper's confession. 87 
 
 A COPER'S CONFESSION. 
 
 I think, Tester, I've been a very tolerable master to you." 
 ■ Very tolerable indeed, Sir." Old Play, 
 
 There are few men, I feel bound to say, who can have 
 a greater regard for thoroug-h independency of character 
 than myself; and yet it has been my constant aim 
 through life to act up to that beautiful old English axiom 
 which so touchingly develops itself in this simple inquiry 
 — '^ What is the use of having a friend if 3'ou don't make 
 use of him ?" 
 
 By this candid avowal, I would not wish it to be 
 understood that I treat my round of acquaintance just as 
 I should their pheasants and hares — by taking one single 
 shot at, and then have done with them. Far from it. 
 I flatter myself I am too good a judge to commit so 
 monstrous an outrage on their good fellowship or my own 
 good feeling. I would never, for example, gammon a 
 man, with a civil smile and insinuating* address, into 
 standing security for any of my little road-side liabilities ; 
 never wish him to be guilty of perjury in testifying to 
 the morality of my character or the sobriety of my con- 
 duct ; and would as soon think of asking him to lend me 
 his wife for three weeks as his name for three months. 
 No, no ; the very nature of these sort of things has, I am 
 
88 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 convinced, let tliem turn out liow they will, a direct 
 tendency to knocking your name off "the free list j" and 
 consequently I have generally confined my operations to 
 the loan of last numbers of magazines, clean shirts, opera- 
 glasses, half-crowns, umbrellas, and such like trifles, 
 which, as a matter of course, no gentleman is ever 
 expected to recollect or return — without it suits his con- 
 venience so to do. 
 
 Still, any allusion to one grand item I have purposeh^ 
 omitted in the above enumeration — one particularly 
 adapted to my present purpose, and one which, from the 
 experience and success I have enjoyed in pursuing it, I 
 am very much inclined to consider as my own peculiar 
 property. It consists in nothing more or less than an 
 innate and high ability for hor rowing horses. Egad ! 
 the very mention of my secret in such plain language 
 nearly stays me from proceeding ; for the plan hitherto 
 has been so sj^stematically subtle as to have almost at 
 last deceived its author himself Here, by the bye, I 
 would warn the very open-hearted, unsuspecting auditor 
 from supposing my attacks could come in any such shape 
 as the following' : " My dear Williams— got the young 
 ones home for the holidays — like to give 'em a treat- 
 Hampton Court— offer of neighbour's four wheel — venture 
 to hint — your beautiful bro^vn pony — all admire so much 
 — loath to disappoint the ladies — yours ever and ever, (fee, 
 &c." And "dear Williams," picturing to himself his 
 *' beautiful brown pony" toiling through town in the 
 heat of a July noonday sun, with his head loose, and Ma 
 and Pa, and Ben and the baby, in front ; and Jennie and 
 Annie, and aunt Mary and Mr. McCarthy, the medical 
 student, and a rabbit pie, and a fillet of veal, and a York- 
 shire ham, and a rhubarb tart, and a bottle of salad,, 
 
A coper's confession. 8C^ 
 
 beliind — returns in answer either ''^ his compliments, and 
 he's very sorry to say he shall want the pony every day 
 for the next six months ; or, if he has anything* like the 
 heart and humour of ourselves, encloses a post-office order 
 for fifteen shillings ! 
 
 What otherwise should he expected from such "an 
 impudent attempt at robbery ?" And then just compare 
 it with my perfect, actually obliging, style of going* to 
 work. I never wanted to borrow ahorse, but I persuaded 
 his owner I wanted to buy hin. And the troops I have- 
 taken horse exercise on at these terms ! and the provoking^ 
 little defects which prevented my purchasing* — heads a 
 leetle too long*, or tails too short — nice hack, but wouldn't 
 suit me, as he'd not been in harness — or a clever animal,, 
 certainly, but a heavy goer, had him in a minute if he 
 hadn't been in harness — too big*, too small, too fat, too 
 sluggish, too leggy, too punchy. By Jupiter ! if I had 
 only bought one in a hundred of the horses I've tried^ 
 Mr. Collins must lono* since have hid his diminished head, 
 and the lower end of Oxford-street have erected a 
 monument to my memory. 
 
 But few pursuits — I may not say pleasures — are with- 
 out their drawbacks, and a plain statement of one of the 
 heaviest and most unavoidable I ever experienced may 
 tend to the edification of any who feel inclined to adopt 
 my profession. 
 
 The winter before last found me breaking into February 
 with far from the feeling of having had enough of the 
 hunting season. To be sure, I had three days with the 
 Queen on a thorough-bred, sky-scraping tit, which a 
 sucking barrister was very anxious to get out of, and 
 which I fancied at first I rather liked ; had condemned 
 again a couple of machmers for an ex-Jobmaster, after 
 
90 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 trying' their merits with the Surrey — one because he 
 couldn't jump, the other because he wouldn't try ; and 
 had been persuaded also to feel the mouth of a third-rate 
 steeple- chaser in a scurry with the Hertfordshire; during 
 which his owner evinced a very laudable, but I need 
 scarcely add, unavailable ambition, to stick ^^ Young 
 Vivian/' into me. Well, Christmas was passed, and I 
 saw nothing for it, but a line to a friend in a far county 
 explaining my want of horse, j)rice not over a hundred, 
 and age not under six ; this, as I expected, produced an 
 invitation, and away I went without further notice to try 
 his stud and his board. The first morning after my 
 arrival was chosen for the first taste of the string ; but in 
 which my host could not accompany me, being nailed for 
 a special jury cause at the assizes, on the usual conditions 
 of gaining a guinea if he did go, and losing ten if he did 
 not. Previous, however, to setting- forth, he gave me 
 full particulars of the nag I was about to cross : age 
 rising eight, or, by the book, just that age j figure, my 
 maximum — eighty-five guineas, in fact, having already 
 been ofi'ered by an officer quartered in the neighbourhood ; 
 and character as to pace, fencing, and temper, as near 
 perfection as possible. One thing only in the way of 
 command was strongly impressed upon me — that whether 
 I liked my horse or not, I was to go along with him, for 
 the captain was still on the nibble, and one decisive day's 
 work might hook him outright. ^^ In short, sir," concluded 
 my friend, '^the grey, I know, as Sir Charles Bunbury 
 said, will do his duty if you do yours, and consequently 
 I shan't hear of any excuse. Bring home a lame horse 
 if you must, but I can't admit of a lame story." And 
 with that he started to find a verdict, and I a fox. 
 
 The grey certainly, as far as appearances went, was 
 
A coper's confession. 91 
 
 worthy all tliat could be said of liim ; and in the three- 
 mile ride to the meet I had some opportunity of proving 
 his more important accomplishments. I dropped my 
 hand, g-ave him his head, and away he walked with an 
 ease and confidence that quickly imparted itself to his 
 rider : then I jogged him into a trot that finished as sure 
 and as safe as a Welsh pony's ; while, last of all, I sent 
 him at three parts speed up a green bite by the road-side, 
 from which I confess I pulled him up in no little chagrin, 
 not to say dissatisfaction : he went so oily and well — 
 playing* with the plain snaffle in his mouth, arching his 
 neck, and bending to the hand in a manner truly 
 delio'htful. 
 
 o 
 
 ^' Egad !" said I, ^- if Blue Peter (so they called him) 
 only turns out half as well as he promises, I'm fixed at 
 once ; for where the deuce shall I ever find a fault or a 
 reason to give the Squire for not buying him V^ 
 
 But let me get to the cover-side — a large wood, 
 from eighty to a hundred and twenty acres in extent, with 
 plenty of good lying, and, from its situation in the heart 
 of an otherwise open country, worth its length in gold to 
 the man who hunted it. A fox, three or four indeed, 
 were soon a-foot, but, despite plenty of rattling about 
 from one side to another, not much inclined to break; 
 seeming to think that if there was any thing like the 
 sceijt out there was in cover, it could not be much use 
 their having a run for it. Not knowing a yard of my 
 ground, the cover being large and the wind strong, I 
 thought it advisable to keep as near as I could to the 
 pack, and for nearly two hours continued wriggling and 
 twisting up and down the awfully heavy rides, in, I am 
 sorry to say, a good deal of that slack rein, rough- 
 riderish, hard-hearted manner, which men will occasion- 
 
92 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTIXG LIFE. 
 
 ally adopt with horses they either don't own or deserve . 
 During- tliis terribly prolonged prolog'ue^ however, an 
 opportunity was afforded me of looking* over the field ; 
 and I and the soldier gradually deciphered each other. 
 He was a six foot^ fine made fellow, though with rather 
 a ferretish face — larg*e white moustache, and small red eye 
 — mounted on a neat little chesnut mare, certainly not more 
 than fourteen three, wiiich, with his own long- shanks, gave 
 the pair a very jack-a-dandyish a})pearance. His com- 
 panion — the hero or crack man of the hunt — was the only 
 other person I had any particular cause to notice : a thin, 
 light-complexioned young man, in highly polished jack- 
 hoots, with an e3'e-glass stuck in his hat, and a sneering 
 sort of smile on his face j unquestionably under ten stone, 
 but riding a blood bay stallion up to at least fourteen. 
 Now, no sooner was a fox forced to fly — an event which 
 at length did come to pass — than I found this brace of 
 swells had made a dead set at the stranger : every time 
 he made a move, it was ^^eyes right" on him, though 
 for some time without an}^ decided advantage on either 
 side. I had followed King Herod (the stallion) over a 
 cou])le of high new gates, shown him the way at a good 
 drain with a bad take-off, and rather excelled the military 
 man in three or four of his own hop, step, and a jump, 
 or on and off fences, when a low holly-hedge, with a very 
 long drop, which experience enabled them to avoid, struck 
 the balance against me : poor Peter, in sheer surprise, 
 came on his head, and I went over it— a piece of agiHty 
 which I at once saw had the effect of curling the captain's 
 hair-lip, and adding considerably to the broad grin of the 
 hard-riding skeleton. All this put my blood up ; but as 
 soon as ever I got righted again, I luckily had a chance 
 for putting them down : the hounds^ running like mad, 
 
A COPERS CONFESSION. 93 
 
 had crossed a lane, the only exit from which was as nasty 
 a stile as ever I came across in my life : a single stone 
 slab, about four feet hig-h, looking* ominously like a grave- 
 stone, stuck upon rising ground, with two cruelly placed 
 stepping-stones before you reached it, and a cart-load or 
 so more lying loose around them— a very nice, pleasing- 
 impediment, no doubt, to hand a young lady over, but a 
 mightily different affair when you attempted the same 
 piece of politeness with a young horse. Well, King 
 Herod was a hard-pulling, hot-headed beggar, that rushed 
 at everything he attempted j so the eye-glass, with very 
 excellent discretion, was brought into service for some- 
 thing* more inviting. The captain, too, was not in any 
 vast hurry, when at that moment — I do believe they had 
 forgotten me — I touched the crack on one of his jack-boots 
 with the handle of my whip, tipped him a civil and cool 
 ^' By your leave. Sir," and trotted Blue Peter up to it. 
 He picked his way like a cat, measured his ground to an 
 inch, and hopped over with a finished grace that even now 
 makes my heart beat to think of it. Yet, alas for the 
 force of example ! before I could turn my head the bay 
 stallion had chested it in one of his wild charges, and 
 rolled over with a smash that sent the rest of the field 
 down the lane as hard as they could pelt. 
 
 Revenge is a very vile passion, I allow, the indulgence 
 in which is only admitted by bravos and barbarians, yet 
 I think just then I had the happy man's shirt in my 
 possession. 
 
 » * * * ;^ 
 
 It is extraordinary, but no man yet, I believe, was ever 
 found with sufficient candour to acknowledge the advan- 
 tages of a check ; at any rate it was not exactly with a 
 blessing* that I saw the hounds hang fire round some farm 
 
94 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 buildings — of a truth I was not at all in the best of 
 humours, for I was the only man fairly up, had been 
 carried magnificently ; and ergo there was that purchasing* 
 incubus still heavy on me, though in intent wonderfully 
 altered. 
 
 *' My income was not large/' I reasoned ; ^Hhe season 
 was nearly over — a hundred guineas was a great deal of 
 money — and what would my mother say if she heard of 
 it ? But, then a hundred for such a horse ! psliaiv I 
 Quibbler as I was, what excuse could I make to myself 
 if I didn't have him ?" 
 
 After a ten minutes' lull, during which some half- 
 dozen reappeared, including- the King Herod firm, very 
 strongly lithographed, the steed with plenty of skin-deep 
 evidence of his mishap, and his pilot with the loss of the 
 smile and the eye-glass, a head whip — somehow or other 
 head whips, as far as horsemanship goes, always are the 
 head of the establishment — set us going again. 
 
 To follow the fortunes of this second heat in any great 
 detail would, I fear, verge upon the tedious ; sufficient be 
 it, then, to say, that with, if anything, an increasing- 
 pace, I still '* followed the hoimds;" beginning with a 
 terribly stiff rail out of the rick-yard ; that the whip 
 followed me as well as he could ; and that the rest nicked, 
 crept, crawled, and looked on until we arrived at one of 
 those plain-speaking, anti-humbugging contrivances, a 
 brook. A Irooh, be it understood : not one of those ditch- 
 water affairs we hear so much about after dinner, but a 
 real brook, or a river if you like, twent}" feet full in the 
 only practicable place, and deep enough to float a frigate. 
 Well, what with skilful manoeuvring and the fortune of 
 war, the militaire, who exhibited, I must say, a vast deal 
 more of Mac-Adamised mud than proper glory about his 
 
A coper's confession. 95 
 
 equipment, g-ot the first offer at it, and worked away with 
 Lis long legs in a desperate energy, that certainly meant 
 mischief on his part ; but this was the full extent of it — 
 there was none in his little mare, who beat to a stand- 
 still, never even made an effort, but tumbled, utterly 
 powerless, into the middle, and was out of sight in an 
 instant ; while just as the gallant Captain came sputtering- 
 and puffing to the top again, / ice?it slap — ^* clean and 
 clever," over Jiis head ! 
 
 " By the powers !" I exclaimed, in an ecstacy, as I 
 rammed in the spurs and ran up to the very sterns of the 
 pack — '- By the powers, friend Peter, but you're »wme, now 
 
 and for ever !^' 
 
 * * * * •* 
 
 How long or hovv- far we had been running were matters 
 on which I could give but a very vague opinion ; my 
 total ignorance of the country preventing any decent 
 estimate of the one^ and the excitement I was labouring^ 
 under, of the other. Whether, again, the fox would 
 ever evince any sig^ns of sinking' appeared equally 
 dubious. But from these considerations my attention was 
 quickly taken in another quarter. To my great astonish- 
 ment, I really began to fancy I was getting a peep at, 
 what Mr. Green would call, ^^the left-hand" side of my 
 horse : he hit an oak-stile I put him at, with ever}^ leg- 
 he had to his body, only just saving himself from further 
 effects in a listless, Devil-me-care way, that spoke infinite 
 danger ; then he followed this up by refusing, three times 
 in succession, so unequivocally and determinedly, that I 
 felt fain to give in to him. And when, thanks to a burn- 
 ing scent, the pack made one of those beautifully sudden 
 and simultaneous turns right across the point I was 
 steering for, and compelled me to pull him into a trot, he 
 
06 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 liiing" so heavy on my hand, and went in such a 
 mechanical, deadly-hvely manner^ that I was all but 
 <3onYinced I had been judg'ing too hastily : — uncertain at 
 timber, a resolute refuser, want of bottom, and a bad 
 mouth. 
 
 '' Come, come, Peter, my boy !" said I, clapping to him 
 again, on entering one of those doomed domains of the 
 public, an open common — ^^Come, come, it will never do 
 to go and rub out all the fine things we have been per- 
 forming to-da}^ in this fashion !" For a few strides he 
 answered me gallantly enough ; but the roads, cross- 
 a'oads, diggings for turf, and deep cart ruts, soon brought 
 us to the trot again • in which he at length made a mis- 
 take, and, after tottering forward for a few yards, fell, 
 without caring to recover himself, heavily on his side. 
 I was on my legs in an instant, and catching short hold 
 of his bridle, endeavoured, but in vain, to rouse him to a 
 like position. Directly I loosened the rein, his head 
 dropped perfectly inanimate, and, with a deep groan, or 
 rather sigh, he stretched himself out in a way that at 
 once stopt me from any further attempt." 
 
 " He's dead beat, sure enough," thought I aloud, 
 after looking at him for a minute or so in silence. 
 
 ** Hur's dead enough any-hows," responded a country- 
 man at my shoulder ; who seemed, like one of the armed 
 men of old, to have risen from the earth at a moment's 
 notice. " Hur's dead enough anyhow, I reckon." 
 
 *' Good heavens ! d'ye think so ?" 
 
 '' No, I don't; I be sure on't." 
 
 He nas ! and then all the events of the day at once 
 came across me : the two or three hours' work in the 
 sticky rides of the cover, the subsequently terrific pace 
 and distance we had travelled, the indisputable style in 
 
A coper's confession. 97 
 
 whicli I had beaten every thing- else out of sight, and the 
 coui-ag-e and readiness with which my poor horse did go 
 as long- as he coidd go, all rose to reproach me. Under 
 any circumstances, my case was unpleasant in the ex- 
 treme j but what renders it still more so was the unpala- 
 table truth that would force itself upon me — the horse 
 wasn't mine ! 
 
 What followed I need net dilate upon. I had found 
 out his failino- — he wasn't immortal. Let me merely add 
 that, on my way back, I fully sympathized with that 
 unhappy gentleman who, tradition reports, once advertised 
 for " an agreeable companion in a post-chaise." I am 
 afraid indeed just now to name the sum I would have 
 given for any one of any kind — the amiable man who 
 employs his " Kentish fire " in shooting the foxes, or the 
 right reverend gentleman who runs his muck against 
 the race-week providing they promised to rigmarole 
 incessantly on the road, should not have been 
 refused a seat by my side. My friend, who, on first 
 seeing me, imagined I had sold his favourite, an idea on 
 which I was quickly compelled to sell him, bore it like an 
 English-man or a Spartan woman, only remarking on my 
 concluding, '' He died. Sir, the death of a hero, for he 
 died on the field." Offering' consolation at such times is 
 
 o 
 
 always a ticklish affair : some vulgar-minded men would 
 tender it in a pecuniary sense ; but the sufferer, with his 
 mind harassed quite enough already, is very apt to 
 take any such intent as an insult, and I am sure my good 
 tact and consideration will be properly appreciated when 
 I declare I did not. 
 
 That night I went to bed with the full determination of 
 never trying another horse without I actually wanted one ; 
 but maybe the reader has heard the story of '^ the Jolly 
 
 H 
 
98 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Companion" wlio^ on meeting a fellow-spirit at the 
 cover side, inquired when he was drunk last ? To which 
 the other seriously replied that he had left off drinking- ; 
 and, when pressed again as to how long-, ingenuousl}" 
 answered ever since three o'clock that mornino-. This much 
 resembles m j vow ; the next day but one I threw mj 
 leg over a brown mare, which in a sharp thing- of five-and- 
 twenty minutes, went nearly as well as the departed Peter : 
 she had, however, a trick of pricking- her ears and fixing 
 her eye while hounds were running in cover, that to me 
 looked very like vice, and I consequently was reluctantly 
 forced to decline her. On that evening-, too, I bade my 
 friend adieu, returning to town to try a wall-eyed Augur 
 filly, which Harboro' Magna^ Green wrote me word was 
 *^ the very thing forme;" a confident assurance which 
 in my own mind I felt much inclined to doubt. 
 
 By the way, as I hear there is another *^ Blue Peter" 
 about, I must put in a claim to the original title for poor 
 Peter : by which, indeed, he stands registered in the Stud 
 Sooh, for he was as thorough-bred as a Spanish Don or 
 Cheshire Pile. 
 
FULWAR CRAVEN. 99 
 
 FULWAR CRAVEN: 
 
 "A BIT OF. A CHARACTER." 
 
 '^ FuLWAR Craven/' as witli something' more than a 
 contempt for the conventionallfr.he insisted on being called, 
 was a bit of a character it was hard to lose. There was 
 an eccentricity about the man that was all his own. It 
 was in obedience neither to any passing* whim of fashion 
 nor the ^^ fancy" that he chose to be odd and remarkable 
 — and remarkable he always was. He was an orio'inal, 
 no doubt; in a day when there were more of the sort than, 
 there are in our own dull and decorous times ; but even 
 then, he ever stood out from amongst his fellows. Try him 
 by the severest of tests. Take him at Ascot in^ perhaps, the 
 very prime of its history, as that glorious procession was 
 seen rising the New Mile — when youth and beauty, wealth 
 and taste, rank and splendour, did all they could to en- 
 chant one. When D'Orsay the Magnificent displayed 
 his wristbands, threw back his light overcoat, and re- 
 joiced in the enormous spread of his blue satin stock, just 
 as a peacock might in the full effulgence of his plumage. 
 "When good Sir Gilbert, always a bit of a buck in his way, 
 gave us a thorough '^ study" of the Old English Gentle- 
 man, with the silver buttons on his coat, the silver cord to 
 the knees of his breeches, the one or two smart under- 
 waistcoats, and the immaculate white cravat. When 
 
 H 2 
 
100 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 *' the Assassin," witli all the daring* courag-e of yoiitli and 
 genius, started such a collar for a coat as set the heef- 
 eating, short-necked yeomen of Berks half wild with envy 
 and despair of imitation. When her pretty little lad}^- 
 ship treated you to a glim]»se of her pretty little foot, and 
 an inch or so of ankle that the classic sandal clung so 
 lovingly around. When the Marchioness Maria raised 
 her glass and waved her long ringlets in the summer 
 hreeze, to the admiration of all beholders, but evidently to 
 none more so than the dark dandy at her elbow. When 
 the Master of the Buckhounds proclaimed himself, as he 
 passed you, by the silver emblem of his order ; and Davis 
 seeming-, as it were, to bear the very impress of royalty 
 about him, turned the head of his chesnut thorough-bred, 
 and rode back side-by-side with Robinson, who has just 
 saddled for the Swinley. And in the midst of all these — 
 the royal liveries, the Windsor uniforms, the gauzy 
 dresses, the smart bonnets, and the bright eyes flashing- 
 from out of them — from the very horse you are backing- 
 even, you turn for another look at that strange-looking- 
 man. What a slang, defiant, and yet somehow thorough 
 sportsman's air there is about him ! What a deal of 
 devil in his eye, and a life's story, surely, in his very walk 
 and bearing- ! The careless cock of his battered white hat 
 is of itself all *' character," supported, as this is, b}' the 
 wisp tie of his crimson bandana, the half-open striped 
 waistcoat, and the loose cut of his brass-buttoned brown 
 coat, with another fogle flying from the pocket of it. 
 Then his drab breeches and g-aiters are almost equally de- 
 cisive, even if not emphasised, as the}^ are, by the latter 
 being studiously pulled down at the back, to show some 
 inches of a pink silk stocking. Mark, again, the big 
 brooch in his shirt, the purple jacket in his hand, and the 
 
FULWAR CRAVEN. 101 
 
 roving' glance as he goes. " He's a curiosity/' says your 
 country friend with a half smile — ^'and yet he is some- 
 body." Observe with what profound court the great 
 Jerry himself greets him ! What a flourish he gives the 
 cocked hat in the elaboration of his salute ! And how 
 discreet, even in his impudence, he asks so respectfully.^ 
 "Shall I put my trifle on the filly, Mr. Craven?" He has 
 let out our secret, you see, though the trainer comes up 
 with a touch of the hat almost at the moment. That k 
 Fulwar Craven — 
 
 " So prime, so flash, so uutty, and so knowing" — 
 
 the owner of Deception and Longwaist, the swell ex- 
 Captain Craven, the game evergreen, as ready still as 
 any of you for a bout, a lark, or a drink — 
 
 " "Who loves not woman, wine, and son;?. 
 Lives a fool's life his whole life long." 
 
 Ah! that rural beauty in the straw bonnet has driven 
 *^ I-wish-you-may-get it" and the handicap clean out of his 
 head already — only to be recovered, Mr. Treen, by the 
 black-eyed Gipsy, who will "patter" him to his heart's 
 content, and wish him luck in a lingo that it is perhaps 
 quite as well no one else knows a word of. 
 
 With all that innate taste for rural pursuits and pas- 
 times which most country gentlemen inherit with their 
 estates, it is still as a Turfite that Falwar Craven will be 
 remembered. He hunted occasionally, and even at one 
 period had a pack of harriers of his own. He was a good 
 shot, and fond of it, but never a heavy game preserver ; 
 while the famous trout-fishing on his Chilton property 
 early initiated him into the nice art and mystery of 
 
102 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 throwing a fly. But with a commission in the First 
 Royals, our ^' dashing" j^oungster, as they called them in 
 those times, soon rose to higher game than filling a 
 creel or hunting the hare. A turn for racing was then 
 almost as prominent amongst the follies of the day as it is 
 still ; and in 1807, '^ — Craven, Esq.," ran his first horse, 
 Pic-niC; at Reading. By the next season, he was a sub- 
 scriher to the Calendar, and drew first Mood at so impo- 
 sing a place as Newmarket, where he won his maiden race, 
 a match, with the significantly titled " Fly by Night j" 
 and Charles Goodison, a brother of the more fam3us Tom, 
 as his first jockey. Bantam, by Gohanna, was another 
 favourite and a better nag ; while he was fond enough of 
 Jannette to think he could win the Oaks with her. This 
 was in 1810, and the Captain consoled himself for 
 the disappointment by his marriage in the same 
 year ; and for a long period his passion for the turf 
 was put into abeyance. Even, indeed, as a racing man 
 his orbit was eccentric, and for ten or twelve years he had 
 not a horse in w^ork • but in '24 he came to the post again 
 in far greater form than ever. That very clever man, 
 John Dilty, of Littleton, who added a touch of the saint 
 to his other eminent qualifications, was engaged to train^ 
 and the elegant Sam Day, then in his very zenith as a 
 jockey, took the purple jacket and orange cap into his 
 keeping. They brought half-a-dozen out during the sea- 
 son, and amongst them a couple of three-year-olds, pur- 
 chased of Forth, the trainer. With one of these Mr. 
 Craven again believed he could win the Oaks, and amongst 
 his other gi'eat friends he got some of the blood Royal to 
 back her. But the Duke of Gloucester met him only 
 with a pleasant smile and a half shake of the head when 
 it was over — '* Well, Craven, you see we are all ruined by 
 
FULWAR CRAVEX. 103 
 
 this fine Miss Jig'g* of yours !" The Whalebone colt turned 
 out far better, He was christened ^'Long-waist/' and led 
 off well bj winning* what was then the great race of that 
 part of the country, the Gloucestershire Stakes at Chel- 
 tenham. He followed this up with other g'ood things 
 both during that and the next year. In the latter, in 
 fact, he came out a really great horse, carrying off the 
 Craven and Oatlands at Newmarket, with the gold 
 Cups — and they were gold cups in those times — at Win- 
 chester, Cheltenham, Oxford, Burderop, and Warwick. 
 Longwaist also fig-ured, though unsuccessftdly, in two yet 
 more memorable races — for the Cups at Ascot and at 
 Doncaster. In the first of these his opponent was Bi- 
 zarre, ridden by Arnull, while Robinson was on Long- 
 waist. A horse called Streatham was started merely to 
 make play for Lord George Cavendish ; but Boyce, who 
 was on him, forced the running so much that at the last 
 turn he seemed to have the two cracks both safe, and sang 
 out that he was winning ! They managed to catch him, 
 however, and a terribly severe and tiring race finished in 
 favour of Bizarre. At Doncaster — it was in Memnon's 
 Leger year — the set-to between Sam Day on Mr. Craven's 
 horse, and George jNi elson on Lottery, with Cedric, Figaro, 
 and others behind them, was said to have been one of the 
 most magnificent ever seen ; but again the decree was half 
 a neck against Longwaist. Still the performance was 
 good enough to confirm his repute as a race-horse ; and 
 on the strength of it, the renowned John M^'^tton, of Hal- 
 ston, gave three thousand guineas for him. He ran a 
 good stout horse for two or three years after this ; but 
 Mr. Craven himself stuck to it that " Longwaist was not 
 within seven pounds as good a one as the public thought 
 him." He was, though, a neat one to look at ; long and 
 
104 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTIXG LIFE. 
 
 low, standing- not above fifteen-two, with a pleasant 
 "Whalebone head, and altog-ether of just the stamp of a 
 "wearing* Cup horse. Perhaps the best, and certainly the 
 most characteristic picture Ben Marshall ever finished 
 was the Littleton group, as they were caught on is'^ew- 
 market Heath. The sweet-tempered Sam Day sits on his 
 snaffle-bridle, short-tailed, useful-looking- nag-, in that eas}^ 
 ^^ home" fashion that no jockey ever sat in a picture, be- 
 fore or since. Then, at his head stands the sag-acious 
 Mr. Dilly, reading* the list over to Captain Craven, mid 
 calculatino- what Lionel Lincoln can do with them at the 
 
 o 
 
 distance. We recollect the first t'nv.e we saw the print, for 
 there was one published in the Old Sporting 3Io.gazi7ie, 
 was in Beau Shackell's sanctum in Oxford-street ; and 
 we write with one, shamefully used and soiled, before 
 us. 
 
 There were other g-ood performers in the Littleton 
 troop, and among*st them Triumph, by Fyldener, that won 
 the Cup at Abing-don, and the Oxfordshire and Leaming- 
 ton Stakes, all in the year. This was in 1825, when Ful- 
 wdr Craven really oug*ht to have won the race he seemed 
 to have set his heart on — the Oaks at Epsom. There is 
 no cpiestion but his mare Pastime was a long- way the 
 best of those that started for it ; but she went lame to 
 the post, and even then was only beaten by the finest 
 piece of jockej'ship that we have upon record. It is no 
 discredit to say that Sam Day was out-ridden by Chifney 
 on the plater Wing-s, or that the neck he won by was 
 to none a greater surprise than to the old General himself. 
 Another season or so saw our hero once more off the 
 Turf. In 1827, he had only El Dorado ; but with him 
 he again carried off the Gloucestershire against Isaac 
 Sadler's old Jocko, Isaac Day's as well-known Liston, Dr. 
 
FULWAR CRAVEN. 105 
 
 Faiistiis, and tliat useful class of horse. There were a 
 g'ood many of them whose names still live g'oing- at that 
 era, when Mr. Piyse Pryse had Dr. Eady, and Squire 
 West; of Alscott, Claude Loraine ; while John Mytton 
 was teasing* them with the game^ everlasting Euphrates, 
 and old Ynysymaengwyn hothering- the legs and lads at 
 a hit of pronunciation. The Squire of Chilton, however, 
 was once more cutting it. He had only a plater left in 
 '28, and for the next ten years there must have been some 
 new love afloat, for beyond an entry for a hunter's stake 
 or so, the purple and orange was seldom seen. He and 
 Dilly did not part good friends, and a fit of disgust might 
 have taken the keenness off his appetite. 
 
 Still he is not ^^ dr" after all, but comes again like a 
 good one for the third and last heat. Treen now under- 
 takes, not only to train, but ride for him, and Isaac Sad- 
 ler furnishes some of the material to work upon. In 1838', 
 when they ''ring- up'' once more, there is Barnacles 
 (another winner of the Gloucestershire stake), I-wish-you- 
 may-get-it, Carew, Doncaster, and a two-year-old Defence 
 
 fiUy. 
 
 ^' Have you anything- worth backing here. Craven?'' is 
 the hearty hail of an old friend, who chances to spy him 
 from the coach-box at Beckhampton. 
 
 " Yes, I have," is the decisive answer. 
 
 "And what is it.'" 
 
 *' Well, a filly I am going to Vv-in the Oaks with." 
 
 The Squire was as good as his word, too ; while lie 
 might have been better, had not Treen made that fatal 
 and too common mistake with all young* jockeys, of com- 
 ing clean away from his horses — a tack that never has 
 and never will tell over Epsom. And so it fell out, that 
 the high-actioned, round-going- outsider, Bloomsbury, out- 
 
106 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 witted the lady-like Deception for tlie Derby^, and to 
 Blink Bonny was left the fame of breaking' through the 
 Eleanor spell. With ^^ honest John" on her, Deception 
 won the Oaks as she pleased, and thus at length Mr. 
 Craven's great ambition was gratified. It is only right 
 to say that he himself found no fault with the way in 
 which she was ridden for the Derby ; and, as he declared 
 at the time, " I only put John Day up to satisfy the 
 public.'^ The Oaks filly went on to both Stockbridge and 
 Goodwood, with only further favour ; but, despite such 
 signal success, her owner was again declining. In 1840, 
 he had only her and Benedetta, with which he won the 
 Hopeful, in workj and in 1812 his career closed with a 
 couple of platers, whose names were highly emblematic 
 of the man and his tastes just at that period. They were 
 ^' Don't-say-No !" and the still more slangy "That's-the 
 time- o' Day !" 
 
 Like many more gentlemen who have made a noise in 
 the Ring, Fulwar Craven was little hurt by what he did 
 on the Turf. He was a tolerably keen bettor at times, 
 but, with all his "flash," in reality a careful man. It is 
 true, he sold the Chilton estate, but he sold it well to 
 Mr. Popham, and only in order to purchase the Brock- 
 hampton property, which he looked on more as the family 
 place, and where, we believe, his father, the reverend 
 John Craven, and his mother, were buried. Despite the 
 disadvantage to which Mr. Fulwar Craven showed him- 
 self, he had many redeeming qualities. He was a tho- 
 rough gentleman when he cared to throw off the part 
 lie had taken to, had naturally good abilities, and was 
 a very fair scholar. He is spoken yet more highly of in 
 his own neighbourhood as an excellent magistrate and a 
 good landlord. Nothing delighted him more than a day's 
 
FULWAR CRAVEN. 107 
 
 rabbit-shooting' amongst his tenantry, with, of course, a 
 jollification afterwards; and formany years he was a regular 
 attendant at Hungerford Market in Berkshire, where they 
 still tell some quaint stories of all he said and did. How- 
 ever, for the seven or eight last years of his life he had become 
 more and more retired in his habits, and long before he 
 died the evergTeen had fairly faded out. About the last 
 we ever saw of him in public was when, some summers 
 since, he was wont to sit on a good-looking- bay mare at 
 the top of Rotten-row — still, even in the full flow of that 
 high tide, as much a man of mark as ever. But, eheu I 
 quantum mutaius ah illo Eectore, who, as Captain Cra- 
 ven, of the Royals, curvetted down the line on 
 his stalhon charger — or even how altered, in a few 
 short years from ^^the thorough varmint and the real 
 swell," who ^^ stood Sam" for everybody in the booth, 
 and got up a shindy, as a moral duty he owed to 
 himself ! Let us try and sketch him once again, as he 
 sits under the shade of the Achilles, with scarcely a 
 man of his own day left to greet him. There is the 
 white hat, and the brown brass-buttoned coat still, and, 
 above all, the great gold-enamelled horse and jockey 
 brooches in his shirt — the one a memorial of Longwaist, 
 and the other of the Oaks filly. The kerseys, though, 
 are gone, and in their place are a pair of short, broad, 
 banjo-pattern plaid trowsers, and drab half-gaiters. 
 He is yet a '^ character," and the well-dressed mob still 
 stare and whisper as they pass, '^ That's Fuh^'^r Cra- 
 ven." But it is only the wreck of him. Stay a minute, 
 and remember how all the dare-devil audacious look of 
 that dark eye has died away. Watch the nervous, 
 almost imbecile play about the once full, firm, and de- 
 cisive mouth. See how the hair-colour has run off from 
 
108 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 that poor remnant of whisker on to his shrunken cheek. 
 Take heed of this, ye knowing youngsters^ as you swag- 
 ger by in all the pride of health and manhood, with 
 n laugh on your lips at *' the old svv'ell. '' Bear in 
 inind what he was, and what you will be. Think 
 of the pace he has gone, and how, that in his prime 
 there was hardly one of you could have lived along- 
 side of him! 
 
THE GREAT HANDICAP RACE. 10^ 
 
 THE GREAT HANDICAP PtACE. 
 
 (FROM THE FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF A. SOFTUX, ESQ.) 
 
 ^' Well^ but that's very odd, Alfred. You say lie could 
 have won the race ; and yet he didn't !'' . 
 
 ^^He was 'nobbled/ my dear." 
 
 ^'He was w/i«jf ?" 
 
 ^' Oh ! — well, / mean ^ roped.' ' ' 
 
 " And what do you mean, then, pray V 
 
 '• Well, confound it ! — I beg your pardon — why, they" 
 made him ^safe,' of course." 
 
 ^' There now — you say he luas safe ; and yet why didn't 
 he win ? " 
 
 ^' Good g-racious, Mrs. Softun, what an ig-norant girl 
 you must be ! Don't you see they squared him — squared 
 him not to win ; and so, how the deuce could he ?" 
 
 * * * ■* 5iJ 
 
 I didn't go into the Church, after all; for Bessie didn't 
 care much about it : and what with the Doctor's savin as 
 and Mamma's leavings, there was no great occasion for 
 getting *^ japanned ;" and so I left it alone. Turned my 
 bucolics to account in rearing a good shaped Shorthorn 
 or two for Smithfield, and varied their excellence with a 
 few round-sterned Cochin Chinas, of the regular ^' prize- 
 medal" breed. To be sure, when the good Doctor went 
 over the place on his occasional visits to his dear daughter 
 and esteemed son-in-law, he didn't ^'pass " all the stock 
 
110 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 with that word of approval he gave the sheep and cows 
 in particular. There was, for instance, a clean-headed, 
 rag'ged- quartered, old chesnut mare, of exceedingly 
 aristocratic appearance, who walked about the paddocks 
 with the air of everything* else being under her, that com- 
 pletely bothered my worthy pastor and master as to what 
 she was there at all for. I think it even took me some 
 little trouble to explain to him how it was I had picked 
 her up as likely to breed us a good sort of horse for ^^ the 
 phaeton." 
 
 The Gods forgive me for deceiving him ! but if I had 
 thought that mare could breed a buggy-horse, I would 
 have cut her throat. She was by Emilius, foaled at 
 Eiddlesworth, and had run up for the Oaks of her year. 
 And she didn't suit the collar, either j for the more the 
 young one — by Kingston, he was — the more he grew, 
 the less and less did they consider him fit for *' the chaise.'' 
 My wife was sure he was " too delicate ;" and so I had to 
 get rid of him at two years old, a bargain, to a neigh- 
 bouring trainer, who took him — with a quiet understanding* 
 between ourselves that I was to pay so much per week for 
 his "board and education." 
 
 And he turned out as full of promise as I could have 
 hoped — and I had hoped a good deal for him, too, as I 
 used to watch him just learning to strike out at home, 
 when they thought I was estimating how many " stun," 
 perhaps, one of the *^ Duke of Northumberland's" 
 grand-daughters would reach on the block. The reports 
 were all favourable. He was a good doer ; then a good 
 goer ; and when I sneaked up to see him take his first 
 vspin, it was quite as much as ^' Snowy " —for so they 
 called the white-headed lad who looked after him — could 
 do from keeping him getting away with him. After 
 
THE GREAT HANDICAP RACE. Ill 
 
 that, we had *^a taste/' quite as satisfactory j and then 
 my man, who was a terrible fellow for paying the " ex's/' 
 as he termed them, thoug-ht we might g'o in for a maiden 
 plate. As the boy knew him, and I saw no great 
 objection, they let '^ Snowy " have the mount ; and then 
 — like an ass, no doubt, as I was, — when I saw my wife's 
 eye on the right column in the paper a day or two after, 
 where it detailed that, at Such-and-such Spring Meeting, 
 the City Members' Plate of, &c., &c., for horses that 
 never, &c., &c., was won very cleverly by Mr. Smith's 
 b. c. by Kingston, dam by Emilius, beating half-a-dozen 
 others — then, I say, in the fulness of my heart, I con- 
 fessed that I was Mr. Smith, and that the Kingston colt, 
 the winner of the plate, was the little foal she had feared 
 was too delicate to make a " four-wheeler." 
 
 The Messrs. Weatherby and Co. were not too hard on 
 us ; for, despite another plate and a chicken-hazard handi- 
 cap to the credit side of the account, they let us in for one 
 of the autumn events on very fair terms. At least we 
 thought so, and accepted -, and then other people began 
 to think so too. The list- gentlemen named us in their 
 bill of fare, with *^ prices marked against each article." 
 Next, we came to be quoted at the Corner ; and then, 
 with just the matter- of-form understanding that, if be 
 should, I promised something in the way of new-furnishing 
 a drawing-room that made Bessie's eyes sparkle more, 
 perhaps, than I had ever seen them since that eventful 
 evening when I had asked her, with so much accompany- 
 ing expression, ^' whether I might be always helping her 
 over stiles?" 
 
 Ours wasn't what is called "a fashionable stable/' 
 indeed, my trainer — a thin, wretched-looking man, whose 
 own appearance rather went to confirm the idea— had got 
 
IIG TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 tiie credit for giving his horses more work than corn. I 
 will, though, do him the justice to say that my colt 
 thrived under the treatment, whatever it was, and came 
 to the satisfactory * that announced his arrival at the 
 scene of action, looking as bright and seeming as fit as a 
 horse could be. My man, moreover, in that knowing, 
 negative manner the thorough!}' initiated express their 
 opinions, confessed that he thought '^the horse would not 
 disgrace himself;" while one of the paper prophets boldly 
 named him in the three the race was between ; another, 
 with less confidence, making him a '^cock-boat," 
 
 If our "party" really had a failing, it was the 
 unceasing war they, or rather he, waged against the 
 " ex's " aforesaid. I should be afraid to say how many 
 races he had lost by putting up his own lads, instead of 
 experienced jockeys, or the wonderful sacrifices he sub- 
 Riitted to in a variety of ways, to save a sovereign or t?vo. 
 Luckily, however, " Snowy " could hardly get the weight 
 this time ; and so we telegraphed a four-stone-nothing bit 
 of humanity from Newmarket to take his place — a sober, 
 serious child, with the head-piece of a man of fifty, and 
 the bodily frame of a monke3\ It was a great thing to get 
 him ; and the horse sprung a point or two in consequence. 
 If it came to a finish now, we should have our fair chance 
 for it — an assured fact that seemed amply satisfactory to 
 everybody but "Snowy," who took his being passed over 
 with anything but a good grace. 
 
 The last gallop over all right, and I left home on the 
 morning of the race with visions of such curtains and such 
 ])aperings dancing in Bessie's bright eyes, as she bade me 
 good-bye and good luck, that none but Madame Vestris 
 in the great days of the Lyceum could have thoroughly real- 
 ized. I had some distance to go, and was rather late on the 
 
THE GREAT HANDICAP RACE. 113 
 
 course — in time^ thoug'li, to lay out a fifty for tlie stable^ 
 on the best terms I could. To accomplish this, I was 
 introduced to a professional g-entlemanj who appeared 
 to consider laying- and taking the odds but the proper 
 courtesies of civilized life. I never saw a man, in such a 
 scene, so elaborately calm and studiously polite. In 
 place of the restless, hyena-tramp of " the leviathan," the 
 defiant clamour of my former friend the undertaker, or 
 the " mock-auction " air and tone of too many others, he 
 met you with the collected manner and stately attention of 
 a Chesterfield. There was something- all the more grateful 
 in this, from his personal appearance scarcely leading you 
 to expect it ; for you must couple this g-entle breeding 
 with asquaTish, rather coarsely-made man — a little down 
 in one eye, I'm afraid, and looking- altogether like a west- 
 end pubhcan or highly respectable butcher, who had taken 
 to wearing his best clothes until he had at last got 
 thoroughly used to them. He regretted extremely tliat 
 he could not put me on at more than ten to one — about 
 four points, as I afterwards found, under the price at the 
 time ; as sincerely hoped we might have a turn, ^^ for my 
 man realty deserved it ;" and so left me with a bow and 
 a manner that made me feel under a deep obligation for 
 all he had done for me. 
 
 I can't say much about the race myself, for I hardly 
 understand it now ; but something may be gathered from 
 the comments on it as I caught them up. Little Struggles, 
 for instance, as he waddled in to weigh, after it was over, 
 wished to know, in extreme disgust, " why he had been 
 brought all the way from home to ride such a rip as that ?" 
 The Lifcy again, devoted half-a-line to say that the 
 Kingston colt, overpaced all the way, was "absolutely 
 last ;" while my courtl}'" acquaintance, as he received the 
 
 I 
 
114 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 rouleauj observed, with an air of the sincerest sympathy^ 
 
 that he ^^ was afraid the company was a httle too g-ood 
 
 for me." Some few, however, were more explicit in 
 
 their opinions ; one pimply-faced g-entleman, in particular, 
 
 who owned to having- been fool enough to put three 
 
 sovereigns on, denouncing us bodily as '^aset of thieves — " 
 
 that ''the horse was ^pulled/ as anybody could see — " 
 
 that ''he never ran a yard to win;"' and that "it was a 
 
 — (something) — robbery, and nothing else !" 
 
 ***** 
 
 To a certain extent, I must admit, he was right — as 
 far as its being a — (something) — robbery, decidedl}- so. 
 In the exhilaration consequent on three glasses of British 
 b randy- and-water, *' Snowy " was heard to declare that 
 '* he'd settled it. If he couldn't win on him, nobody else 
 should; and they didn't either." A severe cross- 
 examination on this avowal, with a police-court sketched 
 in perspective, resulted in a deal of howhng, and a partial 
 confession. By the means of a worthy man who has 
 since been difficult to trace, the disappointed "Snowy'* 
 g-ot at his horse the night before the race, and so 
 sacrificed our hopes of a good thing- as effectually as he 
 did his own character. As it was, we let him off too 
 easily, with a " caution " in The Calendar ; and he is 
 now, I believe, on the strength of being " intimately con- 
 nected Avith all the great stables," living* comfortably 
 enough on P. 0. orders and postage-stamps, in some 
 street, Lambeth. 
 
 Poor Bessie ! it was a hardish blow for her at first, as 
 women — bless them ! — always think the best ; and she 
 made sure of winning, directly she knew she would win 
 by it. I think it is nearly forgotten now, though some 
 of the phrases acquired by that heartrending explanation 
 
THE GREAT HANDICAP RACE. 115 
 
 turn up oddly enough at times. It was only the other 
 daj, at dinner, that she astonished the old Doctor tre- 
 mendously by declaring' it was her duty to tell me that 
 she strong'ly suspected the new cook ^' stood in " with 
 Evans the g-ardener — who don't live in the house — and 
 that between them they *^ squared " the cold meat and 
 table-beer to an alarming- extent. 
 
IIG TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 GOODWOOD, 
 
 IN THE DAYS OF THE LATE DUIvE. 
 
 If one -wished to impress the stranger with all the natu- 
 ral beauties, and at the same time the full splendour of an 
 English home scene, we should surely take him to 
 Goodwood! There is nothing else in the world like it. 
 The varied features of the landscape — the glorious view 
 that breaks upon the eye at every turn— the fresh breeze 
 that greets you from the upland — the massive woods belt- 
 ing the horizon and offering a grateful shade to the ap- 
 proaching visitor — make up a combination of sylvan gran- 
 deur such as it would be vain to seek elsewhere. And we 
 seek it no7V, not to indulge in the selfish luxury of soli- 
 tude, but rather to share with others its many attractions 
 and delights. It is high holiday once more on that princely 
 domain, and hill and dale — the wide extending verdant 
 sward — the quiet nook — the velvet slope — the pleasant 
 path — and the winding road — are peopled with hurrying 
 wayfarers and dotted with groups of smiling faces. Coun- 
 try neighbours are jogging on or stepping out. Middies 
 from Spitheadand '^jollies" from Portsmouth jostle swells 
 from Brighton, and " knowing" gentlemen from London. 
 Here a lathy-looking lad takes advantage of an opening, 
 and kicks his hack into a canter. There is a knack in that 
 very ^' hustle" w^hich tells tales of the racing stable ; 
 while at the next moment a busy cad has fastened on to 
 
GOODWOOD. 117 
 
 the carriag'e-side, imploring- you as the " noblest, and best, 
 and liicliiest of sportsmen," to have a card ! It is the 
 Cup Day, and another turn brings us well in front of the 
 House, where peers and commoners, noble dames, and as- 
 piring- youths, are g-rouped again upon the lawn. That 
 quiet-looking- lord has his string- of forty hor.ses in work, 
 and a good moiety of them here. This slim scion of 
 nobihty has a purple silk jacket already '^smuggled" 
 under his well-cut frock ; and that honourable and gallant 
 captain is as eagerly '^ engaged" as a belle at a ball, or a 
 Queen's Counsel at an assize. Side-by-side with him 
 saunters a Minister of State, and meeting them there 
 limps up old '^ Dick Tattersall," with his pleasant voice 
 and happy way with him ; while a *' foreigner of distinc- 
 tion" blazes away at a cigar as big as a walking-stick. 
 These are the guests of the week, as indeed we all afe. 
 And no wonder our American cousins return home to talk 
 tall of the days they spent at Goodwood j or that French 
 Counts and German Princes betake themselves to their 
 territories, resolved one day to win the prize here if money 
 or brains, good management or good fortune, can find the 
 horse to do it with. Even the "craving" leg 
 
 " "Witli nought but calculation in his brain, 
 And nought revolving — but the way to gain," 
 
 acknowledges to something- of the enchantment of the 
 scene, as ho lises refreshed from his quiet lodging at 
 Worthing or Bognor, ready and eager for the coming 
 business of thirteen or fourteen '' good betting" races be- 
 fore him ; and, yet still so different does he feel are these 
 in their conduct to the wild revelry of Epsom, the courtly 
 elegance of Ascot, or the sober sameness of Newmarket 
 Heath. We are come to enjoy our sport at the bidding 
 
118 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 of one of England's best of nobles, and so are bound to 
 behave like gentlemen, or, at any rate, to try and pass, for 
 the nonce, as honest men. 
 
 But that bidding- we shall hear no more ! That cour- 
 teous unaffected welcome has at length died out from 
 amongst us. The presiding spirit of the place, whose 
 genial nature and kindly bearing went so far to com- 
 plete the charm of the scene his hospitahty had created, 
 has been called away. It must be our duty to guard 
 such a monument to his memory, and to show how a 
 nobleman may attach himself to the precarious pursuits 
 of the Turf, not only without shame or tarnish, but with 
 ever-increasing honour to himself and to his House. If any 
 instance were wanting to illustrate the condition of an 
 English gentleman, we could scarcely bring a better than 
 that of his Grace the Duke of Richmond, as he lived at 
 Goodwood in the race week, sharing with others the sport 
 he loved so well, and *^ diffusing its pleasures far and wide 
 to thousands upon thousands of the less fortunate of his 
 countrymen." The rise, in fact, of Goodwood as one of 
 the great race meetings of the year* is almost altogether 
 identified with the career of the Duke. His Grace was 
 bom in 1791, and the first day's sport in the park took 
 place in 1802. This was a Hunters' Stake, Farmers' 
 Plate, gentleman-jockey kind of business, associated, no 
 doubt, a good deal with the foxhounds then to be foimd 
 in the famous home kennels. For seven or eight years 
 more the meeting made but little advance, and in 1811 
 there were six races, with a match or two, and about a 
 dozen of horses in all to make out two days of it. In the 
 year following, however, the Duke, then Earl of March, 
 attained his majority, and the Goodwood Cup was first 
 instituted. Not that the heir could have had much to do 
 
GOODWOOD. 119 
 
 with it in those clays, for he was away to the wars with 
 Wellington. On the conclusion of these, Lord March 
 began at once to develop his taste for the Turf, and in 
 1817 came out at Goodwood with two horses in his own 
 name, Princess and Hermes, winning- his maiden race with 
 the latter. By the next meeting* he had a fair class 
 '• hunter-racer" called Roncesvalles, that carried him on 
 for three or four seasons further. In 1819, he succeeded 
 to the dukedom, consequent on the lamentable death of 
 his father in Canada, from either the bite of a tame fox 
 or a favourite dog, the actual cause having- never been 
 very, satisfactorily shown. In two or three years more, 
 the new Duke came gradually more and more to declare 
 himself, and in 1823 boldly faced ]N"ewmarket with Pin- 
 cushion; running' second for the Oaks of the same year 
 with Dandizette. The yellow jacket and scarlet cap were 
 duly "coloured" in the Calendar, and by 1825 his 
 Grace had quite a string- of horses to his name. Good- 
 wood was progressing- proportionately, and the Goodwood 
 Stakes established, the home stable running- second for 
 it. This was, indeed, rather a memorable year for the 
 Park and its fortunes amongst the ^'places of sport." 
 There was the Duke's brother, Lord William, riding- well 
 and riding winners, as we have since seen him do. And 
 then there was a certain young- Lord George Bentinck, 
 making two dead heats of it in a cocked hat, and ulti- 
 mately landing- Olive a clever first for Mr. Poyntz. Good- 
 wood began to look formidable enough by this : and in 
 another season the racing was extended to three days, 
 while the Duke was ^' coming" on his own account in very 
 good form. With Frank Boyce for his favourite jockey, 
 he landed the Stakes with that useful filly, Miss Craven, 
 and took a taste of the great events at Epsom — both in 
 
11?0 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE-. 
 
 "27— with Giilnaie for tlie Oaks, liis neiglibour Fortli run- 
 ning second, and the " beaiitifid Brocard" third. They then 
 got tog-ether such a team as Hindostan, Hindoo, The 
 Alderman, Rough Robin, and Miss Craven, a company that 
 found the Boyces and Httle Mr. Pavis plenty to do. 
 Goodwood, in a word, had reached its glories. The Duke 
 laid out thousands upon thousands in improving the course 
 — the value of the several stakes was increased — and many 
 new races originated. King George the Fourth sent his 
 favourite mare Fleur-de-lis to win the Cup in 1829, 
 which she did, beating the Derb}'^ horse !Mameluke ; and 
 His Majesty won it again the year following with the 
 same good mare, with Zinganee and The Colonel, also 
 both the property of the King, the next to her. Then 
 Priam took his two years' lease of it, and in 1833 the 
 Goodwood week ran out to its four days full of sport. In 
 the year but one after that we saw the Cup day in all its full 
 splendour for the first time, when a white-legged Langar 
 colt they called Elis came striding away for the Lavant ; 
 ?ind James Robinson on the well-furnished Rockingham 
 overcame the young Lord Chesterfield's Glaucus, the 
 north-country St. Giles, and the blood-like Beiram for 
 the Cup. What a scene they made of it ! With the 
 veteran Browne, the Lewes trainer, crying for joy, despite 
 the rumoiu' that the old Stockwell stockinger had gone to 
 his last account before the race was run — with poor Beiram 
 hobbling home through the crowd again — and pic-nic 
 parties in the woods — and rougc-et-noir tables in full play 
 — and high fiishion on the Stand — and the good, brave, 
 courteous duke, with a kind word for everybody, and a 
 heart big enough to ask them all to come and stay with 
 him, if he only had house-room to match it. But there 
 were yet better times in store for Goodwood, when Mr. 
 
GOODWOOD. 121 
 
 Bowe and Grey Momus bloomed forth into *^Lord 
 George/' and even Newmarket began to tremble at the 
 issue. All the great things were going into Sussex, while 
 all the Turf reforms and improvements were traceable to 
 the same quarter. Defaulters were to be banished, mere 
 gambling was to be abolished, time was to be kept, and 
 good conduct to be enforced by all kinds of fines and 
 penalties — and all on the system they had adopted at 
 Goodwood. Even so, that when two noble lords of high 
 degree. Lord Maidstone and Lord George himself, did 
 get to the post to ride their match, they were fined five 
 pounds each for being behindhand ! The Duke of Rich- 
 mond, however, did not confine himself and his horses by 
 any means to their own district, but had just then four or 
 five hard-wearing ones in work that he sent all over the 
 country. There was the ^^ everlasting" Confusionee, with 
 pale, tiny, little Johnny Hewlett on her, going day after 
 day all the year round ; together witli Glenlivat, the 
 King's Plate horses, Mus, and The Currier — and Tambu- 
 rini, that Isaac Da^^ afterwards turned to a good County 
 Plate horse— with Sepoy and Guava, and so on. We 
 have seen that yellow jacket and smart-tasselled cap tra- 
 velling away with nearly all of them, at Egham, Oxford, 
 and Abingdon — while Sam Rogers took the best of the 
 business, and rode himself into repute upon them. There 
 was Beggarman, too, that George Edwards had a fancy 
 for, and transported to France, but only to bring* him 
 back to win the Goodwood Cup for his Royal master, the 
 Duke of Orleans. Still, something like a return came of 
 it when Mus won the Orleans Cup for the Duke the year 
 following. And then Lord George broke with old John 
 Day, and came over bodily ten thousand strong, and the 
 glories of Goodwood get beyond all further record. 
 
122 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Charles XII. and HjUus are running- their " heads" and 
 ^^ heads ;" Sweet Ahce, with her level action, is stealing 
 away from them ; the Milesian O'Brien is flourishing in 
 a perfect blaze of triumph ; while calm, collected Lord 
 George is winning or losing his thousands, all with the 
 same imperturbable high-bred manner and expression. 
 Somehow or other, the Duke rather declines as the other 
 advances, but Kent can do some service for his good 
 master yet: and Refraction wins the Oaksj and Red 
 Deer runs away with the mite Kitchener and the Chester 
 Cup j while Vampire lands the Ascot Stake two years in 
 succession — all, be it understood, on their own account as 
 the Duke's own, and in no sort of confederacy, as we be- 
 lieve, with Lord George and his leviathan establishment. 
 The only partner the Duke of Richmond ever had on the 
 Turf was his old friend Lord Stradbroke, and that was 
 far earlier in his career. This was now gradually draw- 
 ing to a close, with Flatman in the place of Rogers as the 
 jockey of the stable, and Red Hart to win the Welcome, 
 the Gratwicke, and the Duke Michael. The ticklish Red 
 Hind, too, gave poor Nat a deal of trouble, and about 
 the last great race his Grace won at home was the Ches- 
 terfield Cup in 1852 with Harbinger. The next season 
 saw him out, and Pharos was one of the last horses that 
 ever carried his colours to the post. Following the ex- 
 ample of Lord George, the Duke made an offer of his 
 stud in a lot to Messrs. Payne and Greville, but it was 
 not closed with ; and towards the end of 1853 he sold five 
 of his brood mares — Refraction, Cuckoo, Officious, Reel, 
 and another to M. Lupin, for France. The horses in 
 training were brought to the hammer in the succeeding 
 spring, since when the Duke never had a racehorse. Lords 
 Henry and Alexander Lennox occasionally kept a nag or 
 
GOODWOOD. 123 
 
 two with Kent afterwards, but even these are gone, and the 
 stables as empty as the kennels long have been. The 
 elder Kent still lives at the latter, but he has two or three 
 farms in hand, and has taken prizes for his Sonthdowns. 
 
 The Duke himself was equally famous as an agricidtu- 
 rist as a sportsman. He was far away the most popular 
 man in England with the farmers, and deservedly so, too. 
 The same unaffected manner distinguished him amono-st 
 them ; and it was quite a treat to see him preside at the 
 annual Smithfield Club dinner, of which he was the life 
 President. His great opponent here was his neighbour, 
 Mr. Rigden, of Hove, and continual were the challenges 
 they were throwing out to each other, as the award had 
 been for or against them. But the Duke's Downs are by 
 far the most tJiorougJi-hred looking of their kind. They 
 have beauty with substance, but without that evident 
 alloy with which the Southdown has been improved into 
 something big-ger and coarser. ^' Old Charley," the 
 shepherd, is still full of pride for his flock, as the present 
 duchess has always taken a great interest in them. Her 
 noble husband has long put aside the cap and jacket in 
 which, as Lord March, he at one time was wont to per- 
 form so well j but the world looked anxiously to him for 
 the Goodwood week, a hope which has not been disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 The late Duke began life as an active sportsman, in 
 the more direct interpretation of the time. He was a 
 cricketer, an excellent shot, and a good man over a coun- 
 try. His wound, however, interfered with these pursuits, 
 and he never kept hounds himself. It is now nearly fifty 
 years since the cheery note of one has disturbed the echoes 
 of the Goodwood kennel. There was then a very clever 
 pack of hounds at Goodwood, but their fate, according to 
 
124 TALES AXD TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 old Tom Grant, tlieir Imntsman, was, indeed, a sad one. 
 In 1813 tlie then Duke ^' g-ave them to tlie King- to hunt 
 calves, or donkeys, or something* of that sort ; what a pitj 
 they should have come to what they did !" 
 
 On every showing- there is a g-ood man lost to us. As 
 jin honour to his Order, as a landlord, a neighbour, a good 
 soldier, and a good citizen, the Duke of Richmond was alike 
 to be lamented. We have seen him, as we have en- 
 deavoured to picture him, the munificent host of that 
 great Goodwood Carnival. We have heard his character 
 spoken to as we have driven through his estates in North 
 Britain. We have watched him in more recent times 
 wake up at the old war cry, and march through the 
 streets of Edinburgh at the head of his regiment to meet 
 his sovereign. We have joined in when men rose again 
 and again to welcome him as the farmers' friend. And 
 of all we have seen and all we have heard there was but one 
 echo— the Duke of Richmond was .worthy of his rank 
 and of his fortunes, and a ^' noble man"' in the first and 
 best reading of the word. 
 
THE BANISHED MAID. 
 
 THE BAi>[ISHED MAID. 
 
 A LAMENT ON THE GAME OF SKITTLES BEING FUT A STOP TO GY 
 THE AUTHORITIES IN LEICESTERSHIRE, 
 
 The steady rain comes drizzling- down, 
 The swells are haunting- Leicester town, 
 Alas ! that Dian now should frown 
 
 Upon a Banished Maid ! 
 
 Her nag-s in fettle fit to go, 
 
 Her will as good the way to show. 
 
 Ye Gods ! avert the coming blow 
 
 Upon a Banished Maid. 
 
 Or Nimrod ! from thy history dim 
 That fatal day, when, Queen of Whim, 
 They sentenced thee in judgment grim 
 To be a Banished 31aid. 
 
 Forlorn she goes — they find — they fly ! 
 When hark ! how o-rows that thrillino- crv — 
 Once more she'll either do or die, 
 
 Although a Banished Maid. 
 
126 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Shall tliose broad pastures plead in vain ? 
 One 3^awner set lier right ag-ain ; 
 Once more she's mistress of the plain^ 
 
 And not a Banished Maid. 
 
 A moment take, while yet you may, 
 The wonted pleasures of the day, 
 For cruel fate still bids you nay ! 
 
 And be a Banished Maid. 
 
 No more the pounded ask a lead — 
 No more the faithful race for speed — 
 There's many a gallant heart will bleed 
 
 All for the Banished Maid. 
 
 Godiva's self, without her stays, 
 Not half the charms to mortal gaze, 
 When mounted for her ride displays, 
 
 As does the Banished Maid. 
 
 Time was when Theobald o'er " the Vale " 
 In all her pride of place would sail ; 
 No ruthless edict made her quail, 
 
 Or be a Banished Maid. 
 
 Or, when the staggers met at Slough, 
 And Davis gave his welcome bow ; 
 With Gilbert pleasure at the prow 
 
 Was not a Banished Maid. 
 
THE BANISHED MAID. 127 
 
 That stately cliesnut oft would show 
 How she could pace it down the row. 
 While fair- haired Freke could sit her so. 
 Unlike a Banished Maid. 
 
 Still, virtue triumphant will prevail^ 
 Thoug-h Gentle Will would join our bail, 
 And ask, are there no cakes and ale 
 
 E'en for a Banished Maid ? 
 
 Irate, old Christmas strikes the ground, 
 Quick ! in an iron grasp 'tis bound, 
 And lost is life with Horse and Hound, 
 
 When lost the Banished Maid. 
 
 [The long and severe frost of January, 1861, foUowed immediately on 
 the enforcement of this edict. ] 
 
128 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 A DECEIVING HORSE. 
 
 " And wliat are you doing- witli the Oliver horse, sir?" 
 
 '' Well, anything and everything- ; hack him, and hunt 
 him, and so on." 
 
 " And can he jump at all ?" 
 
 ^^Yes, that he can ! He is a g-ood flying'-fencer ; and 
 nothing- I ever put him at yet has either turned him or 
 troubled him." 
 
 '' Come, sir, now I'll tell you what I'll do. He had 
 hardly pace enough over the flat, though he would last 
 for ever. You send him up to my place, sir, for a month 
 or two, and we'll see if he can't pull off a steeplechase 
 handicap, or a hurdle-race. If he does, we'll divide it ; 
 and if he don't, I'll stand you harmless for the wear and 
 tear of his teeth." 
 
 '' So he it. When will you have him ?" 
 
 '* The sooner the better. I suppose there's not a deal 
 to "-et off him, for he never carried much flesh !" 
 
 ^' N-0-0 — he's just in good hard-working- condition." 
 
 The speaker who made this handsome proposal was 
 our old friend Dominie, the trainer; while the other 
 "party " to the dialogue was a country gentleman, who 
 dearly loved a bit of racing, if there wasn't too much to 
 pay for it. The Oliver horse had been rather a sore sub- 
 ject in this wa}^ ; as he had run second, third, and fourth 
 for a year and a-half all over the country, until his very 
 
A DECEIVING HORSE. , 1-29 
 
 travelling bill was something- considerable^ but without 
 even the set-off of a solitary "fifty " to be placed against 
 it. However, another such a chance at no cost was not 
 to be resisted; and the worthy owner, Mr. Wilson, left 
 the Stand inw^hich this conversation took place, determined 
 to start the bay off again for Thistley Downs the ver}' 
 next morning, as he was only ^' eating his head off" athome- 
 
 The Oliver horse certainly did not look in a likely way 
 to accomplish this extraordinary feat; and his ''hard- 
 working condition " had a good deal of literal truth about 
 it, for he was little better than a bag of bones, as he had 
 been by no means pampered on his return from that 
 unprofitable tour in the provinces. Still lie would, of 
 course, be all the readier to go on with ; and the odd maE 
 of the establishment was soon hunted up. 
 
 '^ Here, Jack, I want you to take the bay horse up to 
 Mr. Dominie's again. You had better start the first 
 thing to-morrow morning. How long will it take you ?'* 
 
 " Be I to walk with un?" 
 
 *' 0, yes ; go right across the country, you know." 
 
 " Well, a couple of days — leastways we shall have to 
 be out one night on it." 
 
 " The deuce you will ! Then I'll tell you what you 
 
 •J ^ u 
 
 must do. Get on with him to-morrow as far as Penty- 
 bwywn, and ask my friend, Mr. Carre, to give the horse 
 a berth for the night, while you can put up in the town. 
 You know Mr. Carre ; he keeps the hounds there, and 
 we have got a puppy of his here now. One good turn 
 deserves another." 
 
 ''Yes, sir; and be I to take any clothes for the horse, 
 or anything of that sort ?" 
 
 " No, no; Mr. Dominie will find all that. Only put 
 on an old stable- bridle to lead him with." 
 
130 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 "^Very well, sir," said Jack, who would have preferred 
 a rug to ride him with ; but started next day as directed, 
 and arrived in due course at Pentj'hwywn. Mr. Carre's 
 place was a good two miles out ; and at the close of a 
 dull dark Novemher day Jack led old Oliver up to the 
 stables. 
 
 "Mr. Carre at home ?" 
 
 *^ Well, he has not got home again yet. What ma}^ 
 you want with him ?" 
 
 *' I was to leave this here horse from Mr. Wilson's — 
 Mr. Wilson of the Fogge House." 
 
 '^ Oh, ah ! I know ; him as has got one of our Dori- 
 monts. Well, you can leave him with me, and I shall 
 take precious good care of him you may be certain. 
 Would you like a horn of ale before you start 
 :again?" " 
 
 Naturally Jack would like a horn of ale, or two, or 
 three, if it came to that, before he went in search of his 
 own quarters ; soon after vrhen the squire came in from 
 shooting'. 
 
 "Anything fresh, Evans, since morning ?" 
 
 "Nothing partickler, sirj Mr. Wilson, as has got 
 Harmony at walk, has sent a horse in." 
 
 "That's all right — very much obliged to him, I'm 
 sure; just, too, when you'll know where to put him." 
 
 And the Squire went in to dinner ; and Evans, who was 
 huntsman, and foreman, and all that sort of thing, pro- 
 ceeded to make his arrangements for the morrow before 
 
 it got quite dark. 
 
 « * « * 
 
 The Squire was an early man, and in the kennels by 
 times the next morning, when Jack again turned up. 
 "Morning, sir." 
 
A DECEIVING HORSE. 131 
 
 '' Good morning- to you ; and what may it be you want ?" 
 
 For Jack's " personal " was not very prepossessing- ; and 
 Mr. Carre had too many hangers-on from the town to 
 give much encouragement to any of the sort. 
 
 " If you please, sir, I come from Mr. Wilson with that 
 horse last night, and " — 
 
 '^ Yes, yes, I heard of it. And how is Mr. Wilson, and 
 how is Harmony, eh?" 
 
 *^ Measter is tidy, thank you, sir, and the little bitch as 
 fat as butter.' ' 
 
 "■ That's all right. Well, give my compliments and best 
 thanks to your master, and ' ' — as Jack still hesitated — 
 '* here is something for yourself." 
 
 '^ Thankee, sir," said Jack, with a very marked 
 emphasis on his words ; for he had really got more than 
 he expected, however open he was to handling- a half- 
 <;rown or two. Still he readily put it down to his care of 
 the puppy ; and went on to ask of Evans where he should 
 find his horse ? 
 
 '' Your WHAT ?" said the Squire, utterly eclipsing 
 Jack's own emphasis of expression. 
 
 '' The horse, sir — the horse I brought here last nig-ht." 
 
 '' Yes, yes, we all know that- and what then?" 
 
 " Why then, sir, I be to take 'un on this morning- to 
 Mr. Dominie's, at Thistley." 
 
 ^^ What in the world were you going to take him there 
 for? Dominie has no want for flesh." 
 
 " No, sir, not as I knows on ; but they be going to put 
 'un to work again.'* 
 
 Evans looked hard at the Squire, and the Squire looked 
 as hard at Jack. 
 
 " By Jove ! my man, I'm afraid we've put 'un to work 
 again in a way you hardly bargained for. Here, do you 
 
 k2 
 
132 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE, 
 
 think you slioiild really know 3'onr liorse now if 
 you saw him ?' ' 
 
 *'In course I should, sir," said Jack. 
 
 And the Squire led the road to the boiling-house. He 
 took up a leg* of beef as he got there. The Oliver horse 
 had a white heel, and Jack turned deadly pale. The 
 Squire said nothing", but beckoned him out into the pad- 
 dock, where, under the elms, among'st other relics, was 
 the head of a horse evidently fresh slaughtered. The 
 Squire commented on this in a slow ominous tone of voice. 
 
 ^'Once more, I say, young- man, give my best thanks 
 and compliments to your master. I am afraid there has 
 been rather a serious mistake here ; but we were ver}^ short 
 of flesh, and you were not over explicit as to what you 
 wanted of us. However, it will be a satisfaction to your 
 master to know that he will never drop another tenner 
 over this poor beg-g-ar ; and so, anyhow, we have saved 
 
 him some money, and you some trouble." 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Jack o'ot throuo'h his messa^'e as l)est he mi^-ht ; 
 but he was in want of a situation on Saturda}' ; and H ar- 
 mony, with flve-and-sixpence to pay, was delivered by 
 the carrier in the course of the week, with a parchment 
 label round her neck, embodying- Mr. Wilson's '' best 
 compliments and thanks." 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 133 
 
 THE GREAT HOUSE AND HOUND SHOW, 
 IN YORKSHIRE. 
 
 Agricultural Societies are g-etting- more and more 
 ambitious of their attractions. They are no longer content 
 with the simple essentials of a cattle show proper — the 
 placid Shorthorn, the beefy Hereford, the trim Southdown, 
 or that martyr monster of liog''s flesh, whose continued 
 existence seems to centre on the undisturbed half-hour's 
 repose so necessary after rather too hearty a dinner. With 
 due consideration for our wives and daughters, poultry 
 and flowers have come to a recognised place in the pro- 
 gramme j although one high-born dame will feed her own 
 pork, and another unglove her j ewelled hand to try the 
 touch of a Duchess heifer. Then, have we seen at the 
 Sparkenhoe Club a row of shepherds' dogs ranged side by 
 side with the fleecy Leicesters and towering Cotswolds ; 
 while a handsome coUey put forth his intelligent head, 
 conscious, as it were, of his many personal advantages 
 over his merely useful bob-tailed opponents. At Bir- 
 mingham a counter display of pointers, setters, and Clum- 
 bers has carried us bodily out of Bingley Hall into the 
 Repository ; and at Boston, a few j^ears back, a baby 
 show in the morning, and a round of fireworks in the 
 evening, helped out the anniversary of the North Lincoln- 
 shire Association. Never shall we forget the utter de- 
 spondency, the weary, hope-broken attitude of one unsuc- 
 cessful exhibitor, as she sat in a corner of that dog-hole 
 
131 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 of a cofFee-room with an uncommended ^' kid" in her 
 lap. Her John liimself had long* since deserted her, and 
 was off to hear Pishey Snaith sing- the praises of old 
 Theon, or to see what " the Captain" would pick out in 
 the way of a hunter. 
 
 And here, after all, should he the companion attractions 
 of heeves and flocks. Here^ in fact, is one of the strong- 
 est points of such a gathering. Only mark how the rush 
 of visitors crowd round the '^nags," and hearken how 
 their first question is as to which thorough-hred horse 
 has got the prize ? And yet, strange to say, no section 
 of the show has progressed so slowly. The Royal Agri- 
 cultural Society, indeed, appeared to think it almost a sin 
 to encourage such an exhibition, and got out of it again 
 and again by all sorts of side winds. Let the Mayor 
 here, or the locals there, offer a premium for that Eng- 
 Hshman's boast, a well-bred horse, but the Council would 
 have nothing to do with it. They have at length, to be 
 sui'e, been fairly bullied into re-establishing the class 
 under the direct auspices of the Society ; but, as may be 
 supposed, with such apathetic assistance no great deal has 
 come of it. There has never yet been a thoroughly good 
 entry of hunter stallions, although now and then a horse 
 hke Hobbie Noble or a British Yeoman would offer them 
 the example. The finest field we ever saw was in Ire- 
 land, at Waterford, mainly through the offices of that 
 good sportsman. Captain Croker, who afterwards insti- 
 tuted the Challenge Cup ; but some undue interference 
 upset the award, and the worst horses succeeded to the 
 best places. The West of England does little in this way, 
 and the East for years was content with an annual peep 
 at the same handsome little chesnut — Captain Barlow's 
 Revenge, a horse that had the credit of carrying Sir Tat- 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 135 
 
 ton on many a long journey^ and upon wliicli lie was 
 paiDted. In a word;, if you wish to see ^' a horse show,'^ 
 you mast g'o into Yorkshire. They have not only a better 
 sample, hut they know far better how to display it. With 
 their well-arranged rings, the judges in the centre, and the 
 public on the outside of the rails, there can be no greater 
 treat to a sportsman than to see a dozen or so of thorough- 
 bred ones thus put upon parade. And we have enjoyed it 
 over and over again ; perhaps more at Malton than else- 
 where, when the active, lusty Burgundy beat Galaor, St. 
 Lawrence, Fugleman, Pig-skin, and others. Still, as a 
 rule, the very lirst-class have been kept back, although 
 there is scarcely a district which the Yorkshire Society 
 has visited but that had a really good one or two handy. 
 Either the honour or the stake was not worth having, and 
 so such fairish second-raters as Canute, Spencer, and Dr. 
 Sangrado were fighting their battles over and over 
 again. 
 
 At this juncture, with a spirit eminently characteristic 
 of its conduct, the little Cleveland Society came to the 
 rescue. It boldly broke the egg by associating an entry 
 of foxhounds with its pristine endeavours in the way of 
 encouraging' the breeds of cattle and sheep. So signal a 
 success did this at once become, so readily was the echo 
 taken up, that Cleveland determined to do a little more, 
 and see if it could not be famous for a horse as well as a 
 hound show. The experiment came to an issue, with a 
 result in every way proportionate to the energy and libe- 
 rality with which it was set about. The committee began 
 by offering a premium of one hundred sovereigns — far 
 more than ever was given before — for the best thorough- 
 bred stud horse, having served mares during the season 
 1860, which, in the opinion of the judges, "is best calcu- 
 
136 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 lated to improve and perpetuate tlie breed of tlie sound 
 and stout tlioroug-li-bred horse, not onlj for racing-, but 
 also for g-eneral stud purposes." There was another prize 
 of twenty sovs. for the second-best ; and good accommo- 
 dation promised in the yard, with a roomy box, made 
 perfectly comfortable and secure for each horse. This 
 promise was fully carried out. The boxes alone, either 
 for room or warmth, were worth going- all the way to see, 
 and a horse might have lived as well in them for two or 
 ^three months as for two or three nig-hts. Then the com- 
 mittee announced further that " three g-entlemen of the 
 hig-liest reputation, soundest judgment, and strictest im- 
 partiality, should be selected to make the awards — one 
 being a nobleman or gentleman connected with the Turf, 
 another an experienced trainer of race-horses, and the 
 third a gentleman who has a thorough knowledge of 
 breeding horses for both racing and hunting purposes." 
 Every exhibitor had the privilege of suggesting the names 
 of gentlemen to act as judges ; but the committee of 
 course reserved the right ot selection. On a Thursday 
 morning, then, early in August 1860, the now fiourishing 
 town of Middlesbro'-on-Tees, although not so long since 
 but a few farmhouses, was the scene of some considerable 
 excitement. The entry, to number not fewer than twenty 
 niominations, was known to have filled, while no end of 
 high-mettled horses were rumoured to be in. At a Httle 
 before twelve the yard, or rather the somewhat swampy 
 show ground, was opened, and soon after, having taken a 
 walk through the boxes, their worships '^ stepped into 
 the ring." The gentleman connected with the Turf turned 
 up in Mr. James Weatherby ; Tom Dawson, of Middle- 
 ham, was the experienced trainer; and Mr. Hobson, of 
 Kettleby Thorpe, near Brigg, the breeder of that chance 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 137 
 
 liorse^ North Lincoln, accompanied tliem as a gentleman 
 with a thoroug'h knowledge of breeding horses both for 
 racing and hunting' purposes. The ring- is not large 
 enough to have the eighteen here of the twenty-one 
 entered out at once, even if all their tempers would have 
 stood this, and a very imposing sight is consequently lost 
 to the anxious audience, who, catalogue in hand, are 
 watching the award. The judges themselves, by the ex- 
 ercise of a little moral fiction, are not assumed to know 
 the names of any of the horses that come before them, 
 but are instructed to talk in cypher of what they think 
 of No. 1 when compared with No. 2, and so on. Soon 
 do they ask for that Numher One accordingly, and out 
 there bursts with a flourish, scattering the patient Dob- 
 bins waiting for their prize-shoes, about the very biggest 
 thorough-bred horse in all England. His substance is 
 certainly extraordinary, and he has been a prize horse be- 
 fore to-day. It is Hunting Horn, a high-priced yearling 
 at Doncaster, and the first prize horse for getting hunters 
 at the Warwick meeting of the Royal Agricultural So- 
 ciety. But he has only grown coarser since then, his ac- 
 tion is not taking, and there is altogether a little too much 
 of him. The Tykes will not have him ; but the foreigners, 
 it is thought, may, and they are already nibbling at the 
 thousand or two that Wadlow is asking. Number 
 Two, Ethelbert, said to have grown into a magnificent 
 horse, does not put in an appearance ; and we have, as 
 second out, the pretty Motley, with his blooming coat, his 
 good top, and a head the very image of old Touchstone. 
 But there is rather too little of him ; and the judges pass 
 on to the common-looking, heavy-shouldered, fumbly- 
 ^'oing Tirailleur, a horse that his owner very gamely sent 
 all the way from Kent, where we just previously saw him 
 
138 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 on inspection, altlioug-h, of course, without distinction. 
 However, the Austrians have g-ot him at a long; figure, 
 and one gives a sigh of relief to think he is gone. ''The 
 next lot," as thej say at '' the Corner," is of very differ- 
 ent calibre, and long is he under examination. The con- 
 ditions are for the best stallion to g-et horses, not only for 
 racing' but more g-eneral purposes. A difficult combina- 
 tion of excellence may -be, but surely this is something'* 
 like it. Mr. Weatherby strokes his chin as if he was 
 hard hit at last ; Dawson scans the nag' leerily round, and 
 Mr. Hobson bids the man ''walk him down." He does 
 that well enough, and there is a murmur of approval 
 round the ring at his action. It is a child of old Alice, 
 as they fondly call her — the Lord Fauconberg-, with his 
 bloodlike head, fine forehand, and famous back and quar- 
 ters. He does not look quite so full of flesh as when we saw 
 him in Scotland, but there is quality and substance there 
 if you like, and, but for that Birdcatcher hock, what shall 
 beat him? However, he took the first prize at the 
 Great Yorkshire meeting at Pontefract, and as his Lord- 
 ship leaves the ring it is clear enough he has made an im- 
 pression, with takers of three to one that he is first or 
 second ; and they cannot be far out either, for he must be 
 at all points one of the most "fashionable" of the lot. 
 But he is hardly out ere he is forgotten, for, with a '' hie I 
 hie ! there !" in marches the great horse of the country. 
 And at the first glance we know that our chief fear is 
 groundless. Voltigeur has only fined as he has ag'ed, 
 and he is not nearly so coarse an animal now as when he 
 won the Derby. Every trace of " the Yorkshire coach- 
 horse" is gone, and he stands there in high condition, the 
 very embodiment of the powerful, muscular, and sound 
 blood stallion. 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 139 
 
 *^ Look at them legs and liocks, as clean as when hur 
 was foaled !" 
 
 '^ And think what he done, too !" 
 ^' He beat Dootchman, and won t'Leger." 
 "Aye mon^ and he g'ot Vedette, the best on 'em out for 
 many a long- day." 
 
 '^l^?ijyh\\thurs ahonny horse,'" adds a fom-th, as a 
 climax, grinding- away at the stem of his pipe in that ec- 
 stasy of delight which, perhaps, a Yorkshireman only can 
 can feel to tlie full, when he has all his eyes on a good 
 one. 
 
 And he is a bonny horse, too ; so fresh and so good 
 almost everywhere, that one hardly dares to hint that his 
 head is not quite handsome, or that he may get a trifle 
 light in the girth. The now only remaining- signs of any 
 coarseness are just "fore and aft." He is what a hounds- 
 man would call rather " throaty" in the setting on of the 
 head, and he has a thick dock that does not come well 
 away from his quarters. These are otherwise capital; 
 and anyhow he will leave his legs as an oiFering to his 
 country; whilst, as he lashes out playfully in his light, 
 straight trot, people feel already that it is over — even on 
 Voltigeur against the field ! Still, his stable companion 
 is a neat one, the long, low, and level Fandango, the even- 
 est horse of the lot, and that looks bound to walk away 
 with a loose rein directly you drop your hand to him. 
 He might show a little more blood, but, as it is. Lord Zet- 
 land for first and second is by no means so ii^^possible ; 
 and Number Seven has many a ben^ mark against him. 
 The light, elegant, hollow-backed Backbiter is soon 
 passed; the Wild Huntsman does not show; and The 
 Hadji, a very good-looking horse already, has only to 
 thicken and furnish into something more, and Mr. Groves 
 
140 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 may fix many a white favour on liis bridle.* The stilty 
 Claret is duly presented at this great levee on his return 
 from Ireland ; and then "Windhound, the acknowledged 
 sireof Thormanby^ the Derby winner, immense in his power 
 and blood-like in his appearance, is called. But somehow 
 or other he does not please either judges or jur}^- those 
 -quarters and hind-legs are not liked, and he leaves with 
 the foregone conclusion that we shall see no more of 
 him. Over De Clare there is a far more serious confer- 
 ence, and his merits and drawbacks make out the longest 
 ^' case" of the whole assize. He has grown into a won- 
 derfully grand horse, and seems bound to get weight- 
 carriers, but he has the fatal defect of badlj^-placed 
 shoulders, and these no doubt stopped him. Still De 
 Clare has backers, and their Lordships are strangely loth 
 to let him go again. But what a contrast, as they meet, 
 is he to the corky, varmint, cheerful, hard-wearing Farn- 
 ham, with his frightfully fired fore-legs, the one ^^ slmtter- 
 iip," and not an ounce of flesh on his body. And note 
 how quickl}'- that one eye of his finds the furze fence the 
 hunters are to jump, and how ready he is to face it. He 
 iias topped many a one in his time, but that is scarcely 
 the thing now j and so by him and Dr. Sangrado, the 
 pleasant old-fashioned style of hunter that Marshall might 
 have painted, we hasten on to something of a little higher 
 form. It is here ready served in a moment, like the next 
 ^' remove" at a well-put dinner, when the appetite seems 
 to pall a Jittle at the more substantial dishes. How nicely 
 timed it does come to be sure, and how one does enjoy the 
 -change, after so much of the big, beefy Windhounds and 
 De Clares, to that neat, handsome, sweet bit of a racehorse, 
 
 * The Hadji won the first prize at the All-Yorkshire Show a season 
 Ajr two after this was written. 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 141 
 
 Saunterer — "the black 'im/*' as tlie legs called him, the 
 truest made horse of them all, with his well-knit back^ 
 his fine shoulders, his wicked little head, and thin, blood- 
 like neck. And then those legs, not big- ones, your lord- 
 ships, for he is not a big* one anywhere, but as clean as 
 paint, and as hard as iron. Turn back to your Calendars, 
 erudite Mr. Weatherby, and trace all he • has done. Ga 
 back to memory, Mr. Dawson, or ask your next-door 
 neighbour all he could do ; and you, Squire Jaques — the- 
 " melancholy Jaques" for once, as you stand by him in 
 the box and reflect how readily you ^^ got out" of him^ 
 *' He aint big enough for ^em /" comment the knowing 
 North Ridingers, with a palpable emphasis on the abbre- 
 viated 'em ; while we fear terribly this contemptuous tone 
 is directed especially to the judges. The plain coaching* 
 Neville can never do after that ; and Cavendish, a better 
 nag to show as one would fancy, is kept at home. The 
 Cure, however, an old friend hereabouts, has a heartier 
 welcome, while the trio hang to him nearly as long as they 
 did to De Clare. He is certainly a fine-topped " big little 
 horse,'' wearing wonderfull}^ well for his age and all he 
 has done, and full more of muscle than flesh. Mr. Hob- 
 son is especially struck with him, and gazes on him more 
 as a new love than an old friend. If he had only a prop- 
 under him " to perpetuate the breed of the sound and 
 stout !" — but, alas ! his forelegs absolutely bend and 
 tremble as he tries to stand still ! And as one looks at 
 them, so bad are they now that it is hard to imagine they 
 could ever have been good. Yet The Cure has his party, 
 as he makes way for the lathy Hospitality and the big^ 
 barrelled, short-tailed General WilHams, a good racehorse 
 fashioned into a hunter, but not quite up to the Middles- 
 bro' mark of any such association of excellence. 
 
142 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Half an lioiir is now supposed to elapse for tlie judges 
 to savage tlieir well-earned sandwich, and then half a 
 dozen of the elect are summoned for a second trial. 
 These are — 5. Lord Fauconberg-, 6. Voltig-eur, 7. Fan- 
 dango, 13. De Clare, 16. Saunterer, and 19. The Cure. 
 De Clare and Saunterer are then drafted back to their 
 boxes, and Voltigeur put on one side by himself The 
 public see in a moment what this means, and Mr. Booth 
 begins to collect all the even half crowns he has been 
 laying. Lord Fauconberg, Fandango, and The Cure 
 thus stand in for second, and common opinion seems to 
 rank them as they are here named. But a heavy storm, 
 always due sooner or later at Middlesbro', breaks over the 
 town, when the horses are ordered in, and the note of a 
 hound from an adjoining tent seems all at once to remind 
 people how much they have been neglecting that part of 
 the entertainment. When it clears a little the horse 
 judges are found to have left the ground, solemnly sworn 
 not to divulge their award until after the committee 
 dinner — the only mistake in this otherwise well-managed 
 meeting. Hundreds who have paid the highest price on 
 the best day are thus sent home again without being able 
 to say what has won. The crowning excitement of the 
 thing is utterly spoilt, and all to tempt one to what 
 turned out to be a terribly slow, badly-served dinner. It 
 was not until after another walk through the boxes on 
 the next morning that we were enabled to fashion our list 
 into a really ship-shape return, and here it is : — 
 
 A Plate of 100 sovs., with 20 for the second, given by the Cleveland 
 Agricultural Society for the best thoroughbred stud horse, having served 
 mares during the season 1860, best calculated to improve and perpetuate 
 the breed of the sound and stout thorough-bred horse, not only for 
 racing, but also for general purposes ; entrance 5 sovs. each, 2 of which 
 were returned to every one but the winner ; 21 entries. 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 143 
 
 Lord Zetland's br. Voltigeur, by Voltaire out of IMartha Lynn, by 
 
 Mulatto, 13 yrs. ... ... ... ... 1 
 
 Mr. J. Ashton's b, Tlie Cure, by Physician out of Morsel, by ^Mulatto 
 
 19yi-s. ... ... ... ... ... 2 
 
 Mr. M' Adam's b. Lord Fauconberg, by Irisb Birdcatcher out of 
 
 Alice Hawthorne, by Muley Moloch, 10 yrs. — Highly Com- 
 mended. 
 Lord Zetland's b. Fandango, by Barnton out of Castanette, by Don 
 
 John, 8 yi's. — Highly Commended. 
 Mr. J. Merry's bk. Saunterer, by Irish Bii-dcatcher out of Ennui, by 
 
 Bay Middleton, 6 yrs. 
 Mr. J. Peart's b. De Clare, by Touchstone out of Miss Bowe, by 
 
 Catton, 8 yrs. 
 
 (The two next, though not placed.) 
 Mr. J. Wadlow's br. Hunting Horn, by Surplice out of Ferina, by 
 
 Venison, 6 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. T. M. Hutchinson's b. Motley, by Touchstone, dam by Laner- 
 
 cost, 9 yrs... ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. J. Kitchen's br. Tirailleur, by Voltigeur out of Tally, by Mel- 
 bourne, 5 yrs ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. T. SutcliiFe's br. Backbiter, by Gladiator or Don John out of 
 
 Scandal, by Selim, 15 yrs. ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. T. Groves' b. The Hadji, by Faugh- a-Ballagh out of Athol 
 
 Brose, by Orlando, 5 yrs. ... ... ... 
 
 ;Mr. T. Groves' br. Claret, by Touchstone out of ]Mountain Sylph, 
 
 by Belshazzar, 8 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. T. Groves' br. Windhound, by Pantaloon out of Phryne, by 
 
 Touchstone, 13 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mrs. J. Scott Waring's eh. Farnham, by Ratcatcher out of Lunette, 
 
 by Figaro, 16 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 !Mr. S. Kirby's b. Dr. Sangrado, by Physician out of Sweetbriar, by 
 
 Langar, 19 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. W. Robinson's b, Neville, by Napier out of Sally Snobs, by 
 Sandbeck, 9 yrs. ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. J. Ridley's br. Hospitality, by Malcolm out of Env\-, by Perion, 
 7 yrs. ... ... ... ... ... 
 
 Mr. W. Hudson's b. General Williams, by Womersley out of Lady 
 Elizabeth, by Sleight of Hand, G yrs ... ... 
 
144 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 ;Mr. "\V. Gulliver's ch. Ethelbert, by Faugh-a-Ballagli out of Espoir, 
 by Liverpool, 10 yrs. ; Mr. J. M' Adam's b. "Wild Huntsman, by Hark- 
 away out of Honey Dear, by Plenipotentiary, 9 yrs. ; and Mr. W. 
 Robinson's br. Cavendish, by Yoltigeur out of The Countess of Burlington, 
 by Touchstone, 4 yrs., were entered, but not sent. 
 
 It will be seen that two of the best tried stud horses^ 
 Voltig-eiir, the sire of Vedette and Skirmisher, and The 
 Cure, the sire of Lambton and Underhand, were placed 
 first and second, the onh^ other horse that could cope 
 with them in this way being- Windhound. The younger 
 horses — such as Saunterer, Fandango, or even Lord 
 Fauconberg' — may be rated as almost altogether untried. 
 The judges, however^ had to decide by what they see 
 before them, and to '^ perpetuate the sound and the stout ;" 
 they certainly selected as second best the most infirm 
 horse of the whole entry. There is no disguising- the fact 
 that this award did not give satisfaction, while every one 
 went with Voltigeur as the winner. This is the first time, 
 we believe. Lord Zetland's horse was ever on a show 
 ground ; but we met The Cure some years since at the 
 Eo^^al Societ^^'s meeting at Carlisle, when he and The 
 British Yeoman were both put aside for the lady's-palfry- 
 looking Ravenhill, one of the grossest mistakes ever com- 
 mitted, although by no means the only one. Either 
 Lord Fauconberg or Fandango would have been much 
 more acceptable, but the judges were said to be unani- 
 mous in the opinion they arrived at as to The Cure 
 looking like getting sound and stout stock. 
 
 Another challenge from ^' Noisy," with a scarlet coat 
 or two grouped about the door way, leads us to where 
 the four ex-M.F.H. have had a comparatively quiet morn- 
 Ids on the well-laid fia^'s. 
 
THE H0R3E AND THE HOUND SHOW. 145 
 
 sitting in the " other court " were Mr. Hodg-son,* the 
 '' Tommy Hodgson " of the Holderness, but who tried 
 his hand for a season or two in Leicestershire ; Mr. Lee 
 Steere, from the Horsham ; Mr. WilHamson, of the Dur- 
 ham ', and Mr. Mark Milbank, of the Bedale. There 
 were premiums for puppies, for three season hunters, and 
 for single stallion hounds • while the kennels represented 
 included the Cleveland, the Durham County, the Sinning- 
 ton, Lord Middleton's, the Hon. G. W. Fitzwilliam's, 
 and Mr. Hill's. The Cleveland show of foxhounds was not 
 a great one, but there were some very good hounds 
 amongst them, and one or two especially handsome. We 
 thought we never saw a nicer draft than Lord Middleton's 
 as they left the horse ring on the second day, and if they 
 run pretty well up to this stamp they must be a line 
 kennel of hounds to look over. The dog and bitch pup- 
 pies showed immense power and substance, standing on a 
 short leg, and very handsomely marked. The dog hound 
 Harper, substituted for Royster, is by Hardwicke, who 
 won the prize at Redcar. The bitch, again, in the older 
 class was super-excellent, but her companion in the couples 
 has not equal power, or Morgan might have stood even 
 higher than he did here. The judges were, indeed, much 
 inclined to think that hounds would show better in the 
 absence of any proviso for one of each sex being entered 
 together. Amongst the stalHons Lord Middleton was 
 also in favour, but more with the public generally than 
 the judges, who gave it against him. But his Lordship's 
 was a wonderfully showy hound, as handsome as a pic- 
 ture, and until you went into it closely, altogether a finer 
 dog than the Durham Splendour, with which Harrison 
 
 * Mr. Hodgsoa died siuce this was -writteii. 
 
 L 
 
146 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 pocketed liis flask. Splendour, however, will stand 
 looking into, liis colour, a lig'lit grey and white, being tlie 
 chief thing against him : for although a half- faced hound, 
 the shape and the head itself are altogether perfect. Then, 
 he has famous deep shoulders, with a deal of liberty, 
 while he girths half an inch more than Morgan's, to the 
 surprise of many who thought the latter clearly the bigger 
 round. Splendour stands rather over three-and-twenty 
 inches in height, while he runs out thirty and a-half in 
 *^ circumference.'' But it wants a houndsman to quite 
 appreciate him, and an injury he has received in the stern 
 tends to spoil the 'effect of any "first impression." An 
 old-fashioned white hound from the Cleveland, called 
 Primate, and a famous one in his own country, still did 
 not tell here, and the other two had it all to themselves. 
 But the Cleveland had some fine hounds in their entry ; 
 and Mr. Hill's Dashwood was as good-looking as any- 
 thing, big' in the bone, and of a rare wearing black and 
 tan colour, with a capital dog's head, but the bitch was 
 not quite worthy of him. However, they took the 
 tankard, and Ben Morgan, for Lord Middleton, the horn 
 — a hardish one to blow as it seemed, and although 
 Sebright and two or three more did get a note out of it, 
 Mr. Parrington beat them all for a good long telling blast 
 that proclaimed he was away ! But the Secretary is to 
 hunt the Ilurworth next season, so that he is only getting 
 himself into proper pipe ; • while last year he took the prize 
 whip as the best man over the timber they put up at 
 Redcar. Surely no man was ever so qualified for the 
 official duties of a Horse and a Hound Show. Tom 
 Sebright got his spurs for the second best puppies with a 
 couple of nicely-shaped, handsomely marked young 
 hounds, although not so fine in the shoulder or good in 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHOW. 147 
 
 the neck as " My Lord's" wliicli were all over of a nicer 
 stamp, tlioiigh we fancy Tom himself thought otherwise. 
 But as varmint Jack Parker says, ^^ If w^e were all Lords 
 we should all have prizes of some sort !" and the Sinning-- 
 ton show as much sport as any of them, though they are 
 rather tall, rambling-looking hounds to the eye, with 
 hardly bone enough for their height. But Jack met his 
 fortunes with great philosophy, whether it were with 
 Clinker and Ariel, at Middlesbro', or riding over the 
 furze fences at Helmsley — a kind of amusement he thinks 
 they will go on with in Yorkshire ^' till they have to call 
 in the C'rowner." 
 
 This was enacted in great form at Middlesbro' on the 
 second day, with a grand stand at half-a-crown a head to 
 see the fun from j and a lunch discreetly set an hour or 
 so previous, to steady the nerves of the competitors and 
 their anxious friends and relatives. The fences were 
 very sporting-looking ones — a well built hedge, and then 
 a five-foot rail to get out with ; while the reality of the 
 thing was immensely increased by a wonderfully well got 
 up old Yorkshire farmer, who^ ever}^ time a horse made a 
 mistake, walked up, spud in hand, to see what damage 
 they had done him. The jumping was almost generally 
 good, and two or three awkward horses very well handled. 
 Mr. Parrington, the secretary, took both the prizes for 
 tbe best hunting gelding and mare ] and King Charming, 
 a very clever one, only wanting in a little more " style," 
 was also the winner at Redcar ; while his chief opponent 
 now was a very good-looking chesnut by Dagobert, whose 
 rider and owner, young Mr. Batty, had the word of 
 everybody as the best horseman. In repose, his seat was 
 by no means perfect, but when he set the chesnut going, 
 they were quite at home together, and the way in which 
 
 l2 
 
148 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 lie took the young' one over the rails quite a treat to see. 
 But this jumping* business^ in cold blood, is not altogether 
 a sight for a sportsman, especially on a damp drizzling- 
 day, with men and horses that are or have been about 
 wet throug'h, and that come to their work chilled and 
 starved. Some of them wanted a deal of warming-, and 
 Mr. Jackson's horse, for one, went round, all for the lack 
 of a little more rousing-. 
 
 The Cleveland mares were very excellent, thoug-h they 
 are often crossing these, even for carriage horses, into 
 '^ something- better ;" and the two and three-year-old 
 hunting- stock were almost g-enerally remarkable for their 
 good action. In a word, the horse show, try it where you 
 would, was of that extent and character which no district 
 but one somewhere in Yorkshire could furnish. And the 
 Middlesbro' was essentially a horse show. It was said 
 there were pigs and sheep and cattle on the ground, 
 which we trust their friends were able to find. But nine- 
 tenths of the public came to see the horses and hounds, 
 and looked at, and talked of, and thought of nothing else, 
 save, perhaps, the horse-shoeing, at which some twenty 
 sons of V^ilcan went to work ; but they were capped on a 
 vast deal too fast, and, when only too late, discovered 
 that those who had done iirst had not done best. In the 
 whole art and mystery of farriery more horses have been 
 injured from being- shod in a hurry than from any other 
 cause. The men clearly did not know what was wanted, 
 and for the future they must point out the line a little 
 clearer. 
 
 That a creditable or a really excellent show of thorough- 
 bred stallions can be got together is thus an established 
 fact. Let us make it a precedent. With liberal pre- 
 miums, good management, and efficient judges, there may 
 
THE HORSE AND THE HOUND SHO\y. 149 
 
 be many more siicli. We would, indeed, go so far as to 
 directly siig-gest to the Master of the Horse that one of 
 the most popular steps the Government could take would 
 be the annual offer of a Royal Plate of 100 guineas for 
 the best thorough-bred stallion calculated to get sound 
 and stout stock. Such countenance would tend to do a 
 vast deal of good, and gradually to put the right stamp 
 of merit on the right sort of horses. It would not be the 
 winner only which would be served by such an exhibition, 
 while the great question would be, into whose hands the 
 conduct of the business should be entrusted? If the 
 Jockey Club be not precisely the authority, the Royal 
 Agricultural Society has, we fear, so far shown itself 
 scarcely worthy of the trust. Still, such a hint from high 
 places might stir up the Council to better things. 
 
 " I scoru a patron, though I condescend 
 Sometimes to call a Minister my friend." 
 
 [This was in 1860, and at the meetitig of the Koyal Agricultural Society, 
 in the following sonimer at Leeds, the example here cited was adopted, 
 and £100 premium given for the best thorough-bred horse. It was won 
 by Mr. Wyatt's Nutbourne; in 18G.2, at Battersea, by Mr. Phillips' 
 Ellington; and in 1863, at Worcester, by Mr. Gulliver's Neville.] 
 
150 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 A SECOND FOX. 
 
 *' Well^ g-entlemen^ what do you say? have we had' 
 enough, or shall we try for another ? I am at your service, 
 you know." 
 
 " Try for another,' ' answers the honourahle Mr. Hastie, 
 who has gone a good one already, and would like to do it 
 again — with ^' a second horse" to do it on. 
 
 ^^ Had enough, I think," murmurs good man Yeo- 
 mans, who is rather expecting the butcher to look at the 
 hull-calf, and would like to go home to meet him — if the 
 hounds go home too. 
 
 «^ I am sure there is a fox in ^ the Firs, ' " suggests the 
 gallant Captain Closeshave, R.N., who has been distri- 
 buting a bottle of ^^ very curious" sherry with a most defi- 
 nite regard to such as have the honour of his acquaint- 
 ance. They have managed to kill at the back of the 
 Captain's house, and to bolt him subsequently ; and the 
 worthy host being no foxhunter himself, thinks if he can 
 get rid of the gentleman in " the Firs" by the same coup, 
 there may be some future saving of the ^'very curious" 
 in question. 
 
 The Firs, "standing on a gentle eminence," as the 
 auctioneers have it, look invitingly handy ; the day is cer- 
 tainly not half gone, and old Closeshave stops with the 
 gate in his hand, ready to show the way — 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, as you please, you know," repeats 
 the Master, with the quiet, good-tempered smile of one 
 
A SECOND FOX. 151 
 
 who feels liis hounds have abeady done theu' duty. *^ As 
 you please. There can be no harm, at any rate, in just 
 drawing* these firs the Captain seems so certain about." 
 
 The honourable is ^* quite sure there can't." Even 
 Muster Yeomans agTees '* we may as well draw 'em now 
 we are here" ; and so, with an echo of his master's smile. 
 Will g-ives the Captain a nod, and on we g*o for " the Firs." 
 
 " They are going to find a second fox/' says Prudence, 
 ^^ and my nag* has had quite his fair allowance with the 
 first, and so I'll wish you g-ood afternoon." 
 
 ^^But perhaps they wonH find him," returns some more 
 accommodating' spirit than most men have under their 
 waistcoats. *^ Old Closeshave is a jolly old humbug*, 
 everybody knows ; and he is only too anxious to get us 
 away from his sherry — and I dare say there is no fox 
 there. Besides, the hounds' way home is my way, and 
 society to a g-ood fellow isn't exactly a thing* to be thrown 
 away — and, anyhow, the top of that hill isn't so much 
 out—" 
 
 ^^— Oh, if you come to that," interrupts Prudence, a 
 little roughly, '^ I ain't g'oing* to make a bother about it; 
 let's go home with the hounds, or away with the hounds, 
 as it happens. / don't care, if the mare don't." 
 
 " Well, the mare doesn't seem near so much out of sorts 
 as you do, my friend ; and so we will g*o. Here, give us 
 alight. Squire ; and let us enjoy this view at the top, if 
 we can't get a view of the Captain's fox." 
 
 But Will is ready to do that for us, too, if it is to be 
 done ; so — *^ Loo in there, my lads. Eu I at him ag*ain. 
 Conqueror, my man. Eul push him up there. Get on 
 — g-et on to him again, my merry ones !" 
 
 It is a fine exhilarating scene, at any time — the drawing 
 for a fox in a good country; but it scarcely looks so well 
 
152 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 the second time of asking, particularly if you have had 
 anything- like a run with the first. The half-hour allowed 
 between the heats has just been enough to stiffen the 
 nags, and partially dry the dirt on them and the men's 
 clothes. The ver}^ hounds don't draw with that dash that 
 marked their first '' charge" in the morning-, but ^' hoik- 
 on'' far more methodically and soberly. Everybody, in 
 fact, now it has come to the point, appears to think they 
 might just as well have left the captain and his fox and 
 his ^^very curious" for another day. Still he may not be 
 here, after all, despite the svv'agger with which our ad- 
 viser picks his way up the ride. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The Firs are half drawn, and not a hound yet shows a 
 symptom of improving upon that somew^hat indifferent 
 air with which he entered them. Even Will's cheer be- 
 comes more cheery and confident, as he begins to think 
 his day's w^ork over, and that we shall go quietly home 
 yet, when — hark there! — a challenge deep and strong. 
 ^' Have at him. Conqueror, my man ! Hark to Conqueror, 
 hark!" — and there are twenty ready to back him. There 
 is not much lying in the Firs at any time, and little 
 enough now : he can't stop here long-, that's certain. 
 
 ** Hoik on ! hoik on to him there," urges a whip, with 
 just a cautionary crack to the tail hounds. 
 
 " Tally ho /" sings out the Captain, as a fresh, full- 
 brushed, determined-looking fellow crosses the ride above 
 him. 
 
 ^^ Away I Gone away V is heard from the upper end 
 
 of the cover, hardly a moment afterwards ; and arvay he 
 
 is, and no mistake ! 
 
 • * * * * 
 
 " I thoiglit therrj Vv'as no fox to be found here," says 
 
A SECOND FOX. 153 
 
 Prudence, as you dig- your lieels into Margery's sides ; 
 " but then they may not be able to keep to him, or he'll be 
 headed, perhaps ; and as you only came up here for com- 
 pany, you may as well go on with them, now you have 
 beg'un ag-ain.' ' 
 
 Prudence sugg-ests all this with something' of a sneer, 
 as '^ Who is rig-ht now?" But there is no time to parley 
 with her, for the Captain's friend is threading- a line of 
 pl-antations, with every hound on to him. Their courage 
 is fairly roused again by this ; but Marg-ery scarcely 
 warms up so quickly, and it is all we can do to keep on 
 terms with him. 
 
 ^' D'ye think the mare pulls as hard as she did ?" asks 
 Prudence in that very disag-reeable tone she is occasion- 
 ally in the habit of using-. 
 
 But we haven't either patience or leisure to attend her 
 just now, for Marg-ery comes all but on her head at a bit 
 of a drop, which Mr. Hastie flew like a swallow, and old 
 
 Yeomans dropped into like a duck. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The Captain's fox turned out, in the especial vernacular 
 of that distinguished service, *' a reg-ular clipper." He is 
 known as such still in the three several counties he touched 
 on. It is not my intention to follow him through the 
 whole of ^^ this splendid day's sport" — as they called it 
 in the county paper — for I candidly confess that T did not 
 see it — at least, not right out, from end to end. I went, 
 liowever, as far and as well as I could, and I must do 
 Margery the justice to add that she seconded me most 
 nobly. Unfortunately, the further we went, on a propor- 
 tionately worse understanding did I get with Prudence. 
 It looked, indeed, very like coming to an open rupture, 
 until Margery, herself in a great measure the cause of it, 
 
154 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 ended the dispute at an awkwardish stile^ which she g-ot 
 over^ a leg" at a time — treating me to a terrible cropiDer on 
 the other side. 
 
 This was the last I saw of it ; in which long', lingering 
 gaze the tail of Bob Hastie's grey in full flirt occupied a 
 prominent position. I believe he was the last man left 
 with them. But even he can give no authentic finish to 
 the history of our second fox. He was viewed by a 
 keeper, long after the grey cut it, just on the edge of 
 *^the great woods," with one hound coursing- him, and a 
 few more couple toiling on. If there was a who-whoop, 
 it was Conqueror gave it him. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 It was latish before I reached home, for Margery did 
 not travel ^^ express," and of course we had been running* 
 right away from home. Second foxes always do. When 
 I did get back, the greeting- was not a very warm one. 
 It is astonishing how at times my wife and that Prudence 
 agree in their tones, and the way of putting their questions. 
 
 "Why, good gracious, Mr. Softun, where have you 
 been all this time?"' 
 
 " Been hunting, my dear, of course j where do you 
 think I have been ? " 
 
 " Been hunting ! Why, as I was coming through the 
 village, not a quarter past two, I met young Mr. Choarist, 
 the curate, coming back, sir. He told me the hunt was 
 over early, and that you would be home before I should." 
 
 " Yes, my love, very true. But Choarist left after the 
 first fox." 
 
 *^ The first ! Why you don't mean to say any of you 
 went after another ? A set of hard-hearted wretches ! I 
 think you might have been satisfied with one." 
 
 " I think we miyht, my love." 
 
A DESPERATE MAN. 155 
 
 A DESPERATE MAN. 
 
 They had a very pretty thing- that morning — a quick 
 find; with half-an-hour hard and fast tacked on to it — 
 then a little slow hunting, and at him again for twenty 
 minutes more, ^^ heads up and sterns down/' as the saying- 
 is, wound up with a very handsome kill in the open. 
 Everybody allowed it was a pretty thing, except " the 
 Major/' who having gone rather better than best, put it 
 down at once as '^ an almighty run and nothing else, sir." 
 
 The Major was altogether a model man — an officer and 
 a gentleman — a gentleman and a sportsman — a couple of 
 combinations that, whatever anybody may say to the 
 contrar}^, we hold to contain no little amount of useful 
 and enviable accomplishment. The Major was a hand- 
 some man, too, and a " gallant " Major, moreover, without 
 any humbugacious, or pro forma use of the term ; so 
 that, when he sent up his name to the Squire, to say 
 that he had called for a dinner — boots, spurs, and all — 
 if the ladies would allow him, the said ladies gave three 
 small cheers, as a free pardon and hearty welcome to the 
 unexpected arrival who was showing himself in. 
 
 " It was a most almighty run, sir, said the Major 
 again, as he took the first glass of the second bottle. 
 
 The Squire was in a bit of a fix, for he had got the 
 gout, and couldn't ride or drink either ; so there he sat, 
 hearing how the Major had done one and seeing how he 
 did do the other. Our honourable friend, if anything, 
 
156 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 too, was just a trifle egotistical in liis liistoiyr Like 
 Clii'istoplier North's, liis recreations were nothing- but 
 what self did or self thought. / took a pull at the grej 
 mare here ; and the grey mare hopped over it there ; and 
 /and the grey mare were going just like oil — " 
 
 " Well but^ Major, how did my boy go ?" 
 
 The Major opened his eyes and filled his glass— said 
 nothing, and expressed, in very pretty pantomime, that he 
 knew as much. 
 
 The governor, however, pressed hard for the facts ; the 
 old man must live again in the young one ; and, perhaps, 
 after all, Georgy's horse may have eclipsed the grey mare, 
 though the Major be loth to own it. " Come, tell us how 
 Jie did go ?" 
 
 How could the Major tell about the going of one who 
 didn't go at all .'* 
 
 Patience and the gout are seldom very intimate ; and 
 the Major's mystery anything but added to his host's 
 ease. "D — n it! out with it. What's wrong? What 
 really was the case ?" 
 
 "Well then, old gentleman, it was a case of funk. 
 King Pippin pulled round at Exton-brook." 
 
 ** What ! the old horse refuse it ? Never !" 
 
 ^' No— not the old horse exactly, but the 3'oung jockey . 
 A case of funk, sir. Master Georgy must take a little 
 more wine before he'll take water." 
 
 And the Major helped himself again, with the air and 
 look of a man who never refused one or the other — in 
 their proper places. 
 
 To an old "shelved" sportsman, about the greatest 
 pleasure is to see his son playing a good part in those 
 pursuits at which he himself was once so famous. How- 
 ever good the school reports, or however high the 
 
A DESPERATE MAN. 157 
 
 coUeg'e honours, it is yet a sad disappointment to find 
 the boy has lost all taste for horses and hounds. Our old 
 friend, in prcesenti, felt all this. Master Georgy was 
 clever enough — with a head quite equal to all the trials 
 the professsors had put him through • still the sire had 
 hoped there was some heart left for the old home and 
 old sports. 
 
 *' Confound it, Major," he said, at length, with a deep 
 sig'h, '^all this hurts me very much." 
 
 ** Well, there's one comfort : you may take your oath 
 it will never hurt him." And, with that, the Major 
 agreed to finish oif with the sherry ; and went back to — • 
 ^^ I and the grey mare." 
 
 There is only one excuse for a lad of eighteen not doing 
 or daring to do, anything, and that is that he doesn't know 
 what he's doing at all. The young Squire had this 
 excuse. While he was pointing King Pippin at Exton= 
 brook, he felt he was going right away, with a right- 
 away fox, from Exton vicarage ; to which little paradise 
 he had, on his own nomination, been appointed 
 ambassador extraordinary, on this special purpose — to 
 call, after the run was finished, and bring Miss Merton, 
 willy nilly, over to dinner, and to sta}^ a day or two at 
 the manor house. Now, Nimrod and all the great writers 
 assure you there is always a wonderful sympathy between 
 the horse and his rider, and that the former can tell 
 pretty clearly what the latter is up to. King Pippin felt 
 it on this occasion. Instead of being rammed and 
 crammed at the water, he found he was put at it '^ no- 
 how," and so very politely ^^ turned again," and off they 
 went to the vicarage to lunch ; the Reverend's man then 
 riding him quietly home, and the young master, in due 
 time, driving up with Miss Emmy. 
 
158 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 Would any fierce neck-and-neck set-to with the Major 
 and his grey mare compare, for one moment, with such a 
 tete-a-tete ? 
 
 We undertake to answer, for any young" gentleman 
 from eighteen to eight-and-twenty — '^Unquestionably 
 not j there is a profanity in putting it. " 
 
 '^ Faint heart never won fair lady " is, after all, about 
 one of the truest things that was ever said j for fair lady, 
 however faint-hearted herself, can never forgive the 
 whisper of such a crime in her champion. Poor Georgy 
 who had been encoring '^ 0, Summer Night !" participa- 
 ting in polkas, and getting as happy as could be, was a 
 miserable sinner the moment " the gentlemen" came up- 
 stairs. The old Squire grumbled it out all at once, and 
 tried to sneer at his son and heir the whole evening 
 afterwards ; while the tell-tale Major looked on for half- 
 an-hour, and then " cut " most ignominiously, really 
 sorry for the mischief he had occasioned. As for meek, 
 gentle Miss Emmy, instead of oomfort and consolation 
 for the condemned one, she became amongst the most 
 contemptuous and resolved of the ladies of the jury. 
 *^To make her the excuse for his cowardice, indeed! 
 Why, if he had possessed anything like a spirit, he would 
 have just ridden old Pippin over five or six of the most 
 impracticable parts of the brook, and then turned away 
 from the hounds, after having proved to all the majors 
 and minors out how he could eclipse them, if J' — She 
 didn't say exactly this, but she looked it, which was 
 worse, for there was no answering' such a look ; and so 
 the rejected bowed himself off to bed, to tumble and toss 
 and think over the strength of woman's love, and the 
 pure, imalloyed pleasures of the chase. 
 
A DESPERATE MAN. 159 
 
 " King Pippin is at the door, sir." 
 
 '* What !" said the old gentleman, looking up from his 
 hreakfast with an air of well-assumed surprise, and the 
 sneer " continued,'^ as the magazine men say. '' What ! 
 a horse that did such a terrible hard day's work on the 
 Wednesday, to come again on the Friday ?" 
 
 Sister Mary and Miss Merton " giggled " — the most 
 horrible thing any young woman can do. 
 
 We fancy a hunter never shows to better advantage 
 than when your man is walking him quietly up and down 
 before the hall-door, ready for ^' Master," who is going 
 to ride him himself to a handy fixture. Look at the 
 brown horse now, how his coat shines, and the condition 
 tells through it ! What an air of coolness, resolution, 
 and " up to his business " there is in that long* careless 
 walk ! How the well-made saddle and broad rein, single 
 snaffle too, set him off ! Isn't there a proud pleasure and 
 a good performance foretold in the very look of him ? If 
 we were a horse, that's just the time and place we would 
 choose to have our portrait taken ; or, if we were a horse- 
 painter, that's just the time and place we would take 
 it at. 
 
 It is a happy time altogether, that, to the man '' who 
 loves as he rides away " — when " the Missis " brings the 
 youngest pet out to the door to " bye-bye " Papa j or, 
 in case of uncoupled yet, when the blue eyes come to the 
 drawing-room window, to smile you another " good-luck " 
 as you look round for it. 
 
 Master Georgy didn't look round for what he wouldn't 
 get, but went off with as little eclat as a bottle of bad 
 soda-water. 
 
 '' Hang the Major — the hounds — the hunting ! Hang 
 the little vixen, who " — no, stop. By the God of War ! 
 
160 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 lie'll ride to-daj, if there is anything- to ride at, or, better 
 still, any body to ride over. 
 
 " And so he did, like a man, or ^^ like a madman," as the- 
 Major said, who settled it as temporary insanity at the' 
 second fence, where the 3'oung'-im knocked himself and his 
 horse throug'h the imjumpable park-paling-, and floored 
 some hundred yards of my lord's boundary-line in so 
 doing'. This, moreover, instead of bring-ing on " the case- 
 of funk," as the Major, in very charity, hoped it might, 
 onty had the effect of getting* his blood up the more ; 
 and straightway his majesty was sent, fearfully fast, at a 
 double post and rail, which he took in a most wonderful 
 *'fly;" though, as '^ a matter of business," it ought to 
 have been done at twice. They tell you, no man can 
 count on a run when he wants one, or expect two good 
 ones two days in succession. There is no rule, though, 
 without an exception; and this promised to beat the 
 Major's '^ most almighty" one all to fits. The Major 
 himself, even, may be beat as well j but, fortunately, is 
 still within sight as they come to the willows once more. 
 Fortune be thanked ! it's as wide as the Hellespont ; and 
 one man — the only man handy — has turned away from it 
 already. Not so King Pippin, who is driven straight on 
 b}^ a nerve and a heart as hard as iron. Go he must — but 
 not over ; with a fearful crash he chests the opposite 
 bank, while his imhappy pilot is llung, head over heels, 
 far on to the meadow. 
 
 •' By G — d! the boy's broke his neck," exclaimed the 
 Major, pidling up short. 
 
 " He's broke his horse's back — the young devil" — said 
 a whipper-in, who took a calmer and clearer view of the 
 case. 
 
 It was a case for the kennels, instead of *' the case of 
 
A DESPERATE MAN. 161 
 
 funk/' after all; witli of course, as there always is, a lady 
 in the case, at the bottom of it. Poor Pippin ! may thy 
 manes rest easy, and may thy fate forewarn all who would 
 sacrifice to Venus what belongs to Diana ! 
 
 How Georgy went home in a post-chaise, and his arm 
 went home in a sling- ; how he was pardoned and rein- 
 stated y how he was nursed, watched, and petted ; and 
 how, when he did g'et about again, both the Vicar and 
 the Squire agreed (with a " hereafter " smile though) 
 that they were ^' really too young," hardly enters into 
 this history. Enough be it to add that we'll give odds 
 as to the Squire being a grandfather, and little Emmy a 
 happy mother, long before the Major can again talk of 
 pounding the '^young-un" at Exton-brook. 
 
 >r 
 
162 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE LOVE BIRD. 
 
 " Kara avis in terris." 
 
 "Oil, Willie dear^ before you g-o, I want a 
 favour." 
 
 '' Well, wliat is it now ?" said Willie, in a gTuff good- 
 tempered sort of way, as if he was ratlier used to hearing 
 of these ' favours.' Willie was an officier de Dragons, 
 six foot three, with a great yellow, well-twisted mous- 
 tache, and looking altogether just what he was — " a 
 swell" and a gentleman. 
 
 <'What is it, now?" asked Wilhe. 
 
 *' Oh, please, then, don't be angry, but I've heard 
 so^ much about them — and before you leave town, 
 I shoidd like it so much — you can get them in 
 town, I know ; and I only want one, just one — you 
 know." 
 
 ^' No, but I don't know, you know. Come out with it, 
 Polly— what is it?" 
 
 '^ Well, then — here, ichisper — I want a Cochin China, 
 please, sir." 
 
 Willie's weakness was a little, round-figured, light- 
 
THE LOVE BIRD. 163 
 
 haired, laug-liter-loving beauty, wliose great point 
 was to g-o with the fashion just as far as she could 
 go. Charles Kean, the Crystal Palace Concerts, and 
 the Cochin Chinas, all came in for a turn sooner or 
 later — and Willie, glad, perhaps, to get out so cheap, 
 swore ^* by Jove ! she should have the best chicken in 
 London." 
 
 Willie went on to his club, where he dropped at once on 
 the man who knows everything, from what Lord Palmer- 
 ston is going to do, down to what will really be John 
 Scott's nag for the Leger. There are one or two kept at 
 most of the clubs in town, little or great. 
 
 " Ah, I say, Smith, how are you ? I want to buy a — 
 a — a — Cochin China— -Can you tell me where I can 
 get him?" 
 
 '' Of course I can, my dear fellow," says Smith, de- 
 lighted; *' The Corner for horses, you know." 
 
 ^^ Ah— yes." 
 
 ^^Gunter for ices." 
 
 ''Ah!" 
 
 *' And Bailey for chickens." 
 
 '' Oh— ah ! thank'ee." Where is he to be found ?" 
 
 '^ Close by here — Mount-street ; your cab will take you 
 there in two minutes." 
 
 And to Mount-street Willie went, where he repeated 
 his wants to Mr, Bailey in propria persona. 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; will you walk this way, and allow me 
 to show you some of my stock V 
 
 '^ Well, no thank'ee ! I don't know much about them 
 myself; I'd rather leave it to you ; but I want a good 
 one, you know — one of the best, you know." 
 
 '* Yes, sir, certainly." 
 
 ^' And send it to Thingammy Cottages, Alpha Road, 
 
 M 2 
 
164 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 will ycu ? and I'll settle with you when I come hack to 
 town." 
 
 *' If you please, ma'am, the man has hrought the 
 fowl — such a hig'^ one ! ii.nd please, where shall I put 
 it?" 
 
 *' Where shall you put it ? — why where you always do, 
 you silly girl — in one of your pantries, of course." 
 
 ^' But it's alive, ma'am." 
 
 •^ Dear me, how stupid of the people ! hut is'nt the 
 g-ardener here to-day ? — Well, get him to kill it, for I 
 shall want it for dinner to-morrow, you know, as Miss 
 Montmorency is coming, and I should like to give 
 her a treat." 
 
 ^'Yes, ma'am." 
 
 W^hen Willie got hack to town again, the day after the 
 dinner, matters evidently were not quite '^to rights." 
 Polly was half sulky — ^* he had disappointed her — had'nt 
 done as he promised." 
 
 *'Buthow?'^ 
 
 '^Why, that horrid Cochin China — such a skinny, 
 lank}^, stringy thing, they could'nt eat a bit of it." 
 
 "Why, hang the fellow!" said WiUie, '^I ordered the 
 best in London." 
 
 " Well, you onl}- look at it then ; I have kept it on 
 purpose for you to see." 
 
 And Willie, on inspection, was fain to confess 
 that he rvas " a leggy beggar, and a good deal over- 
 trained ;" and so went onto Mr. Bailey in a frame of 
 mind accordingly. 
 
TPIE LOVE BIRD. 165 
 
 ^' I say, you know, I ordered a Cochin China fowl from 
 here the other day." 
 *^Yes, sir — certainly." 
 
 "And, don't you know, I told you to send a good one, 
 you know — one of the best sort." 
 
 '' Yes, sir, I rememher it perfectly ; and the bird was 
 sent as you wished to — " 
 
 "Ah — yes — but it wasnt a g-ood one." 
 " Indeed, sir, I am sorry to hear tliat ; I only know it 
 was one of the best of mv birds. Where may the fault 
 be r 
 
 "' Well, he wasn't fat you know '?" 
 "' Perhaps not fat, sir, " said Mr. Baile'r, with a 
 deprecatory smile ; " in very fair condition, thoug'h, 
 I'm sure. Anything- more serious than that, sir, may I 
 ask?" 
 
 "Yes, there was, he was tough sir, d — d tough !" 
 " Tough V repeated Mr. Bailey, changing colour. 
 "Tough!" echoed the Giiardsman; "they could 
 hardly eat a bit of him. Why the deuce did'nt you send 
 ti g-ood one, as I told you?" 
 
 "Sir," said Mr. Bailey, in a slow, emphatic tone of 
 voice, " I am very sorry there should be any mistake ; 
 but I did send a g-ood one — a great deal too good, I'm 
 afraid, for your purpose. The bird I sent was one of the 
 best bred in England. He was got by Patriarch, dam 
 by Jerry — great grandam the Yellow Shanghai — great, 
 great — 
 
 " Oh, d — n that !" interrupted the dragoon, " what's 
 that got to do with it?" 
 
 " Just this, sir : six weeks ago I gave sixteen guineas 
 fo]- him at the hammer, and he is entered to you at two- 
 and'twentyy 
 
166 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 *'It was ratlier an expensive feed you know/' said 
 Willie, as he commented over the story ; ^^ and by Jove ! 
 if the Missis g*oes on in this way, I should'nt he at all 
 surprised if I have to give two or three thousand for a 
 Short-horn, to get her a hit of beef for a Christmas 
 dinner." 
 
 ^' The price of provisions has been on the rise for some 
 lime," said Smith — of the Club. 
 
THE BELLES OF SWINDON. 167 
 
 THE BELLES OF SWINDON 
 
 (after ^' the bells of shandon.") 
 
 With fond affection, 
 And recollection, 
 I often think of 
 
 Those Swindon Belles, 
 Whose bright giance chains one, 
 Though not long- detains one, 
 Or to lose tlie train's one 
 
 Of the safest*^ sells." 
 
 Where'er I travel, 
 I can't unravel 
 What makes me cavil 
 
 At all lines but thee ? 
 'Tis thy Belles of Swindon 
 At whom I've grinned, on 
 A pleasant journey 
 
 To the West Countree. 
 
 I've seen Belles starring-, 
 Full many a bar in, 
 When I enter dare in 
 
 ' To your '' Grand Hotels." 
 All with airs so striking". 
 Though to my liking 
 They sing but small to 
 
 Those Swindon Belles. 
 
168 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 For memory fleeting 
 O'er each kind greeting- 
 We took at meeting. 
 
 As we took our tea, 
 Makes tlie Belles of Swindon 
 The best to tind on 
 The traveller — speaking* 
 Hibernice. 
 
 All fashion's mould in 
 I've seen dames strolling, 
 Or in carriage rolling 
 
 By the Serpentine. 
 I've seen these dames, too, 
 As they went St. James through, 
 In silk and satin 
 
 Look might}' fine. 
 
 But your look's more precious 
 Than any Duchess 
 Throws o'er the vulgar. 
 
 Glancing haughtily; 
 Oh ! you Belles of Swindon, 
 Who so kindly tind on 
 An old chap up from 
 
 The West Countree. 
 
 There are Belles in masque go 
 To JuUien's last '* go," 
 When sainted Drury 
 
 Weeps o'er their games ; 
 In turn Cremorne, too, 
 I've seen them borne to. 
 On the pleasant waters 
 
 Of the river Thames. 
 
THE BELLES OF SWINDON. 169 
 
 All these I grant 'em, 
 
 I do not want 'em, 
 
 For there's a quantum — 
 
 Quite enough for me : 
 Tis the Belles of Swindon 
 I've often grinned on, 
 As I rushed for soup, or 
 
 I asked for tea. 
 
170 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE FAVOURITE. 
 
 ^' I'll take twenty to one in hundreds he wins/' said 
 the Commissioner, opening- his hook and his mouth once 
 more. 
 
 ^* Done with you," said the puhHc. 
 
 ^^ And I'll take five to one he's first favourite hefore 
 starting'," continued the initiated. 
 
 *' Done ag-ain,'* said the public. 
 
 But the many g-ot tired first for all that, and the world 
 — the sporting' one, that is, of course — went home to bed 
 with the firm conviction that "there was something up." 
 The King' of the Valley was g'oing' back visible, and the 
 outsider was coming- on quite as palpably : the Iving- of 
 the Valley, who won the Champagne in a canter, and 
 out-paced the Colonel's flying- filly over the T.Y.C. The 
 King' of the Valley, who had been backed all through the 
 winter at under eight to one, and never been one hour 
 amiss in his life, was giving- way — and to what ? To a 
 nomination that nobody had ever heard, seen, or thought 
 of before. It was all " flash," it could be nothing else — • 
 a mere bogy to frighten the considerate out of their calcu- 
 lations — a three days' wonder that must burst like a soap- 
 bubble b}^ Monday. And Monday came again, and the 
 Commissioner came again, and took five to one again 
 *^he's first favourite before startin"-." 
 
 O' 
 
 People began to take it up also — Manchester followed 
 
THE FAVOURITE. 171 
 
 suit, and broiig-lit the premier price down to four. The 
 sporting sweepers went on with it, and bought him up 
 right and left like safe shares from ^'' capital " companies. 
 The picture papers spared no expense, naturally, in 
 gratifying such a taste, and exhibited correct portraits in 
 all positions, from bird's-eye views obtained through 
 quickset hedges, rugs, and quarter-cloths, or, as likely 
 quite, from the mere force of imagination. The prophets 
 went head and head with their brothers of the brush too, 
 and showed in no time he had the finest shoulders and the 
 stoutest blood of any horse in England. Moreover, the 
 touts confirmed it all with curious cries of ^^ curby hocks," 
 "high blowing," '^ queer temper," " sore shins," and so 
 on. That was enough, he'd got the ear of the whole 
 world, and the voice of the majority ; and so the 
 commissioner bet his even hundred at once, just to 
 settle the matter, that '^he's first favourite before 
 startino"." 
 
 And so he was sure enough , and the Honourable 
 Prior William Conqueror, as the happy owner, got more 
 up in his stirrups, and quiet Mr. Make-believe, as the 
 trainer, more mysterious than ever. The breeder, again, 
 in the becoming* pride of his heart, announced an " own 
 brother," for sale for five thousand down, and four 
 thousand more if he w^on the Derby. West- end exquisites 
 went on their knees for '^ orders " to see him, and clever 
 men with no acknowledged authorities or characters be- 
 yond their breeches pockets were equally urgent with 
 orders to buy him. But the tact of Make-believe kept 
 off the former as effectually as the faith of Prior William 
 Conqueror did the latter. He had established an awkward 
 precedent by presenting the horse of his stable to the lady 
 of his heart, and so the grand event became one quite as 
 
172 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 miicli mixed up with love as moneys lionoiir — suhaudito, 
 as the g'liai'dian of both. 
 
 Time, tide, and Derby days, wait for few of us, and the 
 anbehevers felt the crisis creeping* on them with anything* 
 but agreeable sensations. The new wonder was heralded 
 b}' the press as on his way to ilie scene of action, and a 
 few words added on the commendable caution which 
 characterised his transit. A lad inside to take care of the 
 horse, and a policeman inside to take care of the lad. 
 Mr. Make-believe on the box to take care of those under 
 him; and the Honourable Prior as avant courier on his 
 hack half a mile a-head, to order horses on, and shoot the 
 first man dead that dared to ask a question. And then 
 the choice of quarters ag-ain proved no chance thrown 
 away in that item ; none of your Spread Eagies 
 public stables, or anything* of that sort, where the oppo- 
 sition would have a hole ready bored, and a pipe of aqua 
 fortis laid on before the crack had been in an hour. 
 Nothing of that, but a nice lonely farm-house, all under 
 our own command, and everything* submitted to the most 
 trying* ordeal. Blacksmith searched and sworn to at the 
 utmost value of his life before a shoe was moved or a plate 
 fastened. Hay queried again and ag-ain, corn ensured as 
 it came from home, and straw for litter ventured on at a 
 handful a time. While, as for water — every soul with 
 access to the premises drank regularl}^ at every stable 
 time an imperial pint to his own share, in witness of his 
 sincerit}^ ; save and except only C. 99, who having* as 
 usual " unequalled opportunities" for perpetrating* villanies 
 liimself in his official capacity of hindering* other people, 
 took a fair fourth of the bucket, and then passed 
 it on with a clear conscience and small thirst to the 
 noble '^animal" (as some oracles will call a race-horse). 
 
THE FAVOURITE. I?.? 
 
 "vvliose superior capabilities had given rise to tliese 
 attentions. 
 
 If unfortunately in tliese times we liave no ^^ Warren " 
 open, to which by the bye, you had literally to ^^ walk up, " 
 and see the lions, there is given us instead the yet more 
 convenient paddock, and canter before the stand. And 
 one rattled by, and then another — and another — and 
 another, until at last with a warning- " hie ! hie ! hie !" 
 and a twelve or fifteen hundred guinea, useful sort of 
 horse, in his clothes, just to clear the way, comes the 
 crack himself — with a great sweeping stride, a coat shining 
 forth like gilded gold, and a resolute long and strong- 
 pull at his jockey, that makes one half afraid he'll have 
 honest Sim Simpleman over his head. Talk of being 
 untried, or unknown, or trumped up for a purpose ! look 
 at him, only look at him now, as every eye of the tens of 
 thousands is at this minute, and then offer vour ar^'ument 
 and odds against him. Odds, forsooth! half a point over 
 eleven to eight, and you are nailed to your word like a 
 bad shilling to a St. Giles' shop-board. ^^ The gentlemen' ' 
 are in the rig-ht box for once, and the ring will be done 
 to a tinder. '' A thousand even the favourite wins !" and 
 his white jacket is up the hill and round the turn just 
 where it should be — *^the favourite! the favourite; the 
 favourite in a canter !'' And then there's a hustle, and 
 cracking and closing up — and it's No. 3 instead of No. 1, 
 after all — and the King of the Valley has won the Derby, 
 and the favourite's broken down half a distance from 
 home ! 
 
 Of course it was just wheat might have been expected. 
 " Men must have been mad, and nothing" less, to back anv 
 * animal ' alive upon hearsay, to the tune they did : a 
 horse, moreover, with scarcely a good point about him,. 
 
174: TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 wliile even the very fact of liis coming- of tlie ^ Cat-gut ' 
 stock slioulcl liave Avarned tlie world of the fate that 
 awaited him. Was there ever one of them that could 
 have obtained a warrant for tolerable soundness? In 
 short, the favourite of this year affords us in all respects 
 one of the finest specimens of humbug' ever attempted." 
 So said the prophets in their after- conclusions on *^ Sun- 
 day next," with a highness of tone and straightforward- 
 ness of condemnation that must have gone oiF uncom- 
 monly well, if they had not picked him out to a man, 
 on the Sunday previous^ as the only horse that could 
 
 " And so really, Mr. Holdfast, you don't think this 
 death to the corn laws has done you much damage after 
 all ? You employ as many men, keep as much stock, use 
 as many horses — ^by the way, what is this one coming 
 towards us ? — a bit of blood certainly." 
 
 " Aye ! that it is, sir, and good blood they tell 
 me. 
 
 *' Why, however came you to take a fancy to one of 
 that sort?" 
 
 *' Eather he took a fancy to me — a gentleman sent him 
 bere for quiet, just before he was going to win the great 
 race j and here he's been ever since. Cracked his leg, you 
 see, alirost, one might say, as he'd won more money than 
 I likes to think of." 
 
 Wh}^, it is ' the favourite ' — eh ? Prior Conqueror's 
 nag?" 
 
 ** That's him, sir, ruined outright by it, and left his 
 lamed racer here till his head got too big to get him 
 out of the stable, and so in the end 1 took him for ' costs,' 
 as the lawyers say. Stop a bit. Jack, and let the gen- 
 
THE FAVOURITE. 175 
 
 tleman look at him. Poor old fellow ! lie aint a bad 
 servant after all, for odd light jobs of this natiir— is he 
 Jack.?" 
 
 " Bad im, Ziir ! blowed if I don't think he's pretty nigh 
 as good as old Jolly now \ ain't yoii^ Bowler, my man. 
 Gee-Wutr 
 
 Bowler is the name, if you search for him in the Stud 
 Book. 
 
176 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE CHIFNEYS. 
 
 In an ag-e now passed away tlie name of Cliifney was 
 us universally associated with the Turf as that of Kemhle 
 with the Stag-e. The one was a family of jockeys as the 
 other was of actors. There was the Chifney rush, the 
 Chifney hit, the hand of a Chifne}^, and the Chifney 
 ])rinciple of riding a race. The art descended, as it so 
 rarely does, as an heritag-e from the father to the son, 
 and in forcible illustration of the Genius Genuine which 
 they alike possessed. But it was not as jockeys only 
 that the Chifney family were famous, for never, perhaps, 
 was there a better judg-e of a race or a race-horse — no one 
 with a keener or quicker appreciation of what an animal 
 could do than the quiet, almost retiring- brother, who 
 stood by, wliile Sam was electrif^'ing the world with one 
 of his brilliant finishes, and living- in every one's mouth 
 as the g-reat horseman of his time. Still, however, the 
 public could g'o a little below the surface, and it was as 
 ^' the Chifneys " that the brothers flourished in the very 
 hey-day of their success, after standing- so firmly by each 
 other from their early dawn, when their father taug-lit the 
 one how to ride, and the other to train. And how well 
 we remember them in their very zenith ! when the g-reat 
 treat of all that Midsummer holiday was a visit to Royal 
 Ascot, where we were left on the Stand in charge of old 
 
THE LAST OF THE CHIFNEYS, 17/ 
 
 Ben Marshall, the painter, and never could there have 
 heen a better Mentor. Marshall, at that time, was the 
 ^' Observator/' or Turf correspondent of the Sporting 
 Magazine, and g-ot through his reporting just as lie did 
 his painting, in the laziest way possible, only too happy 
 with some one to chat to. Time, alas ! has rubbed many 
 of his sharp telling- remarks from the slate of our memory ', 
 but ^' that, young gentleman, is the famous bettor, Mr. 
 Jem Bland; just behind him stands Gully; there's the. 
 General ; and here " — sinking his voice to something 
 really like a tone of respect, though no mortal had ever 
 much less reverence about him — '^ and here comes William 
 Chifae}'" — that spare, mild, gentlemanly-looking man, 
 with so little '^ horsey " in his appearance, who is leaving 
 the course as they clear it for the first race. There goes 
 old Guildford, with that wondrous string-halt of his ; 
 and "Now my lad, look here!" That lengthy, tallish 
 jockey, sitting so well home on the sweet little chesnut, 
 is Sam Chifney himself, and his horse is their own Row- 
 ton, a Leger winner in his time, and which they are now- 
 backing for the Oatlands. And, despite the neat Saddler 
 and the famous Lucetta, they win it too, and the Chif- 
 neys' horse becomes all the rage for the Cup. This was 
 in 1832, but two years subsequent to Priam's Derby, 
 when William trained, and Sam could only tell his name- 
 sake, Sam Day, how to ride, as Lord Cleveland would 
 not give him upj while but three seasons previous, on 
 this very course, Sam Chifney had won the Cup on their 
 Zinganee, or, rather, Lord Chesterfield's when he started 
 — against the finest field of old horses that ever were 
 saddled — with Mameluke, Cadland, the Colonel, and 
 Green Mantle amongst them. It was then that the 
 Chifneys were omnipotent, with the finest houses in New- 
 
 N 
 
178 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 market, and tlie profuse style of living tliat caused tlieir 
 establishments to vie with those of the nobles of the land. 
 No man ever had higher notions than poor William 
 Chifney, for he was not a gentleman merely in manner 
 or appearance ; and we can well remember when going 
 through the town on our way into Norfolk the following 
 winter, how the very coach passengers talked of the 
 Chifneys and tlieir doings, as the smart mail phaeton 
 rattled by. But even then the fortunes of their house 
 were failing*, though they knew it not, for they thought 
 they had another Priam in Shillelagh ; and they would 
 have it so, as thousand after thousand was sent in to 
 back him. In vain was it that the Jersey party shook 
 their heads in almost mute astonishment and chagrin 
 when they whispered to each other, as they left the heath, 
 how *^ Plenipotentiary has beaten Glencoe !" The latter 
 certainly did drop away in the great Epsom struggle, but 
 with an honest jockey in poor Patrick Conolly, and such 
 an owner as Mr. Batson, who refused any price for his 
 colt, the Chifneys had no chance against Plenipo, perhaps 
 the very best horse that ever ran. He failed, to be sure, 
 as a stallion, but mainly, as we believe, from the injury 
 inflicted on his naturally fine constitution from that fear- 
 ful dose administered to him at Doncaster, when the 
 horse reeled back to his stable in such an agony as no 
 horse ever left a course before or since. There was no 
 mistake about stopping him then. The Chifneys never 
 fairly got over tlieir beating with the Duke of Cleveland's 
 horse, and although a j^ear or two afterwards they had a 
 good two-year-old in The Athenian, who was long a 
 leading favourite for the Derby, he finished nowhere to 
 Bay Middleton, and was out of the betting some time 
 before the race. From this year William Chifney may 
 
THE LAST OF THE CHIFNEYS. 179 
 
 l)e said to have fast sunk into the shade, a beaten man, 
 and perhaps too proud a one to stoop again to conquer. 
 
 This is rather a recollection than a biography, but 
 it may be as well to give an outline of William Chifney's 
 eventful life. He was born, then, at Newmarket in 1784, 
 and the senior by two or three years of his brother Samuel. 
 His father was the first Sam Chifney, the great jockey of 
 his time, and his mother was the daughter of Frank 
 Smallman, once trainer to the Prince Regent, from whom 
 he received a pension up to the time of his death. Surely 
 there never was such a pedigree for a trainer or jockey, 
 and the very maiden name of the senior Chifney's wife 
 was suggestive of her sons' pursuits. She had in all, we 
 believe, six children, Will, Sam, and four daughters ; one 
 of whom married Mr. Weatherby, of Newmarket, and 
 another, the wife of Butler the trainer, was the mother of 
 Prank and William Butler; while a third daughter, 
 unmarried, died a year or two since. We gather from 
 that remarkable work, ^' Genius Genuine, by Samuel 
 Chifney, of Newmarket, published in 1804, and sold for 
 the author at 232, Piccadilly, and nowhere else, price 
 five pounds V* — we learn upon this good authority that 
 Samuel and William Chifney were in the Prince's stable, 
 where they *^ had but eight guineas a year wages, the same 
 as the least boy in the stable, for which they rode exercise 
 the same as other boys." But Genius Genuine is full of 
 the author's troubles, and he complains of both his sons 
 being turned *^ out of stable and house, from board," by 
 Col. Leigh, the Prince's manager. What a wonderful book 
 it is, with the quaint conceit of the very title carried out in 
 every page ! It was said some years since of the second Sam 
 Chifney that he was ^' always funky when leading with a 
 large field in his rear ;" but we believe that his love of 
 
 N 2 
 
180 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 waiting' was born and bred in liim direct from his fethcr, 
 and if the family ever started a coat of arms, as possibly 
 they did, their motto should have been that of the Roman 
 General, Cunctando — free translation, "I'm a coming-!" 
 The father was always in hot water from disobeying or 
 arg-uing- over his orders. He would not make running^ 
 and how terse and telling is his description of one of those 
 notorious races with Escape ! The Prince had wished 
 rather than commanded him to make play, and " Skylark 
 chose to make play, and I waited with Escape, and 
 Escape won." This is a very epigram in its way, while 
 in our refined times he would have " landed the dibs," or 
 have done some dreadful thing* or other of the same kind. 
 William Chifney naturally sided with his father, for 
 the boys had been bred up to "use vengeance, so far as 
 they were able, ag'ainst insulting' injuries ;" and thus 
 '- on the 31st of May, 1803, I was creditably informed 
 Colonel Leigli had represented me to the Prince to be the 
 worst fellow living-. And, in those last October Meeting's, 
 as my son was standing by me on the exercise ground. 
 Colonel Leigh, the Prince's equerry, rode, calling to Air. 
 Christopher Wilson, one of the stewards of the Jockey 
 Club, to give Sam Chifney his stick to lick me with. 
 * * * * Colonel Leig'h was at me the same again on the 
 race ground ; and he knew I had been ill for two years, 
 from losing the use of my limbs." What a picture this 
 offers us of the manners of the age ! although we have 
 heard language almost as coarse upon Newmarket 
 Heath within this year or to. And then " my son 
 William, knowing of those and other insulting injurious 
 usage of Colonel Leigh to me, himself, and his brother, 
 and knowing, also, that I could get no redress from the 
 Prince, nor by law, the boy licked Colonel Leigh." For 
 
THE LAST OF THE CHIFNEYS. 181 
 
 tliis assault William Chifney suffered some months' im- 
 prisonment, but we must bear in mind the habits of the 
 ag'e, and the provocation he received. His father was, no 
 doubt, old and enfeebled ; for, if this was in 1803, he 
 broug-ht out his booL* in 1804, and died w^ithin the rules 
 of the Fleet in December, 1806. 
 
 The son William, who, in addition to his fathers 
 instruction, had, of course, been a deal with his uncle 
 Smallman, went on about Newmarket, until he had 
 liorses running' there in his own name — Pendulum and a 
 smartish filly. Romp, to begin with. Then came "the 
 Chifneys " day with Lord Darlington, and their doing-s 
 with Memnon and other high priced ones, though their 
 success was not o'reat. As-ain, there was Sam's eno'ao-e- 
 ment with Mr. Thornhill, with Will to help him, and 
 Sam, Shoveller, and Sailor, all winners at Epsom in three 
 years following ; but, somehow or other, the jockey g'ets 
 more the credit of these than his able adviser. Fickle 
 fortune, however, gradually turned again ag-ainst Mr. 
 Thornhill, ^nd by 1829, as we have already sketched, the 
 Chifneys were doing more on their own account than for 
 the Squii e of Riddlesworth ; they had Zinganee running*, 
 and the great Priam, for which William g'ave a thousand 
 when a yearling, in work. Still, it was during- this era of 
 otherwise comparative calm in the fortunes of the Chif- 
 neys that William's fine judgment led to perhaps Sam's 
 very finest bit of riding. In 1825 Will claimed Wings on 
 the Wednesday at Epsom after her winning- the Cup, and 
 would only give her up to General Grosvcnor on condition 
 that his brother rode her, and not The Brownie, for the 
 Oaks on the Friday. Wings won after a very close race, 
 and the Brownie was nowhere. William Chifney, how- 
 ever, could ride himself if he so chose, and many is the 
 
183 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 liint he gave Frank Butler, wlio, witli two sucli kinsmen 
 to tutor him, certainly began with something- in favour of 
 his making a jockey. The elder uncle was a good man 
 in many other respects — a capital shot, a crack walker, 
 and a good man with hounds. But it was rather a 
 melancholy sight of late years to meet him creeping 
 about town, so far fi'om the scenes and pastimes he loved 
 so well. 
 
 William Chifney married a Miss Mary Clark, daughter 
 of the well-known Mr. Vauxhall Clark, one of the first men 
 who made betting a science, and did business by commis- 
 sion. By her he leaves two sons, Mr. William Chifney, who 
 took to the study of the Army List as well as the Calendar , 
 and who has held a commission in some branch of the Ser- 
 vice. The other son, who attempted to follow the family pro- 
 fession, but soon outgrew the saddle, married a daughter 
 of William Edwards, the well-known trainer to Lord 
 Jersey — another race of jockeys. His uncle, Sam, left 
 an only daughter, " Miss Salty," who became the wife of 
 one of the Messrs. Isaacson, so that, as far as the Turf is 
 concerned, we may be said to have seen " the last of the 
 Chifneys." 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 183 
 
 THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS 
 AND HACKS. 
 
 In a national point of view the g'ood policy of calling" 
 more attention to this subject cannot for a moment be 
 questioned, while the duty of doing so comes quite as 
 legitimately within the scope of an agricultural association. 
 All the rest of the world is even more inclined than ever 
 to turn to us for their best horses, as for their best cattle 
 or sheep. There is, in fact, no breed of animal that com- 
 mands so ready a market as a good riding-horse ; and yet, 
 strange to say, there is no other branch of business so 
 fortuitously supplied. Saving in Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, 
 and prrts of ^^ the Shires," the breeding of horses is mere 
 chanc3-work ; and the very gentlemen of the district, 
 when they are in want of a promising* hunter or clever 
 hack, have but too often to import him from elsewhere. 
 The mere rumour, indeed, of a smartish four-year-old will 
 bring Mr. Oldacre or Mr. Weston some two or three 
 hundred miles specially to look at him ; and dealers and 
 tLeir agents now attend our great summer shows almost 
 as regularly as they do the autumn fairs, just for a glance 
 over the hunting classes, already so attractive a feature in 
 :he proceedings. 
 
 And yet farmers will tell jou that, as a rule, breeding 
 ^' nags " does not pay ; as, under the circumstances, it 
 would be rather a ciuious thing if it did. As a rule, 
 
184 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 breeding such stock does not answer, because tLej are 
 bred without any rule at all. In these days, if a tenant 
 wishes to rear a good beast, he takes especial care to 
 secure the services of a good bull, as with the same ambi- 
 tion he will bid up for a Cotswold shearling, or a South- 
 down ram. If moreover, he really means to succeed, he 
 will be almost as scrupulous in selecting a dam, and, thus 
 provided, he gives the principle he is testing a fair trial. 
 Jiut take the case of rearing a riding-horse, and how does 
 the self-same man proceed ? In nine times in ten ^^ just 
 anyhow." He puts anything he may happen to have 
 with anything that may happen to come in the way. As 
 often as not he scarcely looks at the horse he uses, but 
 takes the word of some roving blacksmith, or broken-down 
 soper who travels the country with an animal " best cal- 
 culated to perpetuate the breed" of weeds and screws. 
 Then the foal, when he does come, is cultivated much 
 after the same fashion, or, that is, left pretty much to 
 shift for himself. You will see him fio'litino- for hlg own 
 in the farmyard amongst a lot of store bullocks, as likely 
 as not with a hip down, or a hole in his side from the 
 thrust of a playful Hereford, and doing as well as he can 
 on that grand specific, a due allowance of bean-straw. 
 The result of this wonderful system is surely logical enough. 
 At a year old the young nag is a half-starved, sulky- 
 headed, big-bellied, narrow-framed thing, with moBfc 
 probably a blemish or an eyesore of some sort to complete 
 his personal experience, and with a general expression and 
 carriage as lively as that of Rosinante, or Dr. Syntax's 
 Dapple. Very naturally the breeder of such a prodigy 
 is more than anxious to sell him, but quite as naturally 
 <^an find nobody ^yilIing to buy him ; until, without heart, 
 mouth, or action — under-bred, under-fed, and half-broke 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 185 
 
 — the butcher gets him thrown in with his next half-score 
 of beasts, or the villag-e apothecary^ on the spur of some 
 hapless moment, is brought to believe that the colt may 
 suit him ! And thus it happens that breeding nags does 
 not pay— with rather less outlay and attention devoted to 
 such a business than one would bestow on a sitting of 
 Cocliin China eggs, or a litter of terrier puppies. 
 
 It may be argued fairly enough, that a farmer does not 
 and cannot make the same wholesale business of breeding 
 hunters and hacks as he does of producing cattle and 
 sheep. Still anything that is worth doing at all is worth 
 doing well, and this might be put yet more emphatically 
 in a pecuniary point of view. There is scarcely an 
 occupier of any position but who has always a goodish 
 animal or two that he jogs round his farm, drives in his 
 dog-cart, or, to say it out, rides with the hounds. Let 
 these, or some of them in continual succession, be mares 
 that from use, age, or accident, get beyond their 
 work, and what then becomes of them 1 Their owner 
 cannot sell them, and he will not kill them- so that 
 almost as a matter of course and necessity he proceeds to 
 breed from them. Let us not stay here to inquire whether 
 they be just the sort for such a purpose ; but let us, as 
 the initiative, follow out the line ot the Society, and show 
 our friend that he should do, in contradistinction to that 
 he too commonly has done. The great improver, then, 
 of his species is the thorough-bred horse ; and as a maxim, 
 if you expect the produce of the half or even three parts 
 bred mare to be worth rearing-, you must put her to a sire 
 who is as pure-bred as Eclipse himself. There may be 
 occasional exceptions ; but these are not to be trusted nor 
 taken as precedents. A country mare crossed by a cock- 
 tail stallion may now and then throw a good hunter ; but 
 
186 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 we shall generally find tliat such cocktails are as nearly 
 tliorong-li-bred as possible, and after all^ it is safer to keep 
 to the genuine article. When, certainly, we see a fine 
 powerful three-parts bred horse, with plenty of substance 
 and style about him, a good head, fine shoulders, clean 
 hocks, and so forth, we feel willing- enough to have a few 
 more like him. But in this case we have a very forcible 
 illustration of the fallacy of a proverb, for ^^ like does not 
 get like." Put the clever three-parts bred stallion to the 
 equally clever three-parts bred mare, and can we do so 
 with the assurance that they will reproduce anything as 
 good as themselves ? Most decidedly not. The great 
 point, the very foundation of the personal excellence of 
 the animal we have before us, centres on his being by a 
 thorou2:h-bred horse — a recommendation of which his own 
 stock in turn would be as signally wanting. Nothing can 
 be finer, as the experience of our recent Christmas shows 
 went to prove, than the first cross between the Shorthorn 
 bull and the Aberdeen cow ; but what would be the result 
 of crossing these crosses ? Disappointment, uncertainty, 
 and a thorough sacrifice of all purity of type, either from 
 one breed or the other. A man who went on in this way 
 for generations might eventually do something towards 
 establishing a new variety of breed ; but this, with such 
 sorts as the Shorthorn and Polled already at our hand, would 
 be scarcely worth the time and trouble ; and I am not very 
 sanguine of any enterprising individual inventing a better 
 material for making a hunter than that he can get direct 
 from the thorough-bred horse. What are the three great 
 essentials of the modern hunter but speed, power, and 
 courage ? and where shall we get these but direct from 
 the thorough-bred sire ? There is nothing less warranted 
 than the supposition that the English race-horse has 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 187 
 
 deteriorated in streng-tli or endurance. If you begin 
 galloping" him at a year and a-half old, to wear liim out 
 in running and " trying " before be is three years old, and 
 his limbs set and his frame furnished, this is no proof of 
 all he might have been, had his powers been husbanded 
 like those of his ancestors, any of which, imder like cir- 
 cumstances, he would have fairly distanced over a four- 
 mile course. Pace is now the pass-word of the chase, 
 and the best hunters in Leicestershu'e, either for fencing, 
 weight- carrying*, or stoutness, are, and long' have been, 
 purely thorough-bred. These are the horses that make 
 money, and next to these the three-parts bred, by a 
 thorough-bred stallion out of a well-bred mare. 
 
 But Jonas Webb, even at the acme of his success, 
 culled his rams, and many a Shorthorn that we never see 
 has, like Brummel's neckcloths, been fastidiously ' put 
 aside as "a failure." With the thorough-bred horse, 
 however, it is not so : here, unfortunately, there are no 
 failures. Those of the highest degree go to our famous 
 turf studs to serve at their fifty or thirty guineas ; others 
 of almost equal excellence are eagerly bought up for the 
 foreign market, while many of a similar stamp are put 
 at prices varying- from ten to twenty guineas. Such 
 horses are all beyond the farmer's reach ; but instead of 
 lookino' for somethino- in the next deo'ree — and that, 
 without the charge for mere fashion or high performance, 
 might well answer the object — our breeder is too often 
 content with the very worst of cast-oifs. People who live 
 by travelling stallions are not often men of much capital, 
 and they go, as a consequence, more for a cheap horse 
 than a good one. With a flaming card of all a great- 
 grandsire has done, or what this very horse may have 
 accomplished over a short course at a light weight, they 
 
188 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 associate an animal wliose appearance alone should con- 
 demn liim — narrow, weedy, and leggy, with scarcely a 
 point in his favour for getting- liimters, and ver}^ possibly 
 fidl of all sorts of defects, natural and otherwise. The 
 fee still is a small one, and so the mischief is done. A 
 man pays 25 shillings where 5 guineas would have been 
 a saving, and the thorough-bred horse gets a bad name, 
 plainly and very palpably, if a customer would only make 
 use of his eyes, from being unfairly represented. Con- 
 sidering the iniinity of good or evil they are capable of 
 producing, it is really a question whether horses should 
 ever be allowed to travel without a licence, the more par- 
 ticularly when we see how few people take the trouble to 
 judge for themselves. It is said that every Englishman 
 is either a judge of a horse or thinks he is -, but one can 
 scarcely credit this, when we find such a number of weeds 
 and cripples year after year earning incomes for their 
 owners. Although nag-breeding may not pay, it is 
 remarkable how many men still continue the unprofitable 
 
 pursuit. 
 
 And now as to the remedv. Tlie notion of encourac'inp,' 
 
 farmers to breed a better sort of horse is by no means a 
 novel one. The offer comes, in the first instance, by way 
 of some recompence for the privilege of riding over their 
 land, or to ensure their good-will for the Hunt. Hence, 
 we have had Farmers' Plates and Hunters' Stakes, 
 neither of which can be said to have thoroughly answered 
 their object. The so-called hunter just " qualified" by 
 showing at the covert-side a few times, and then went 
 back to lead gallops for a Derby favourite, or to vary his 
 performance in the field by winning a Royal Hundred. 
 Tlie Farmers' Purse, given by the gentlemen of the Hunt, 
 has been often enough still further from its original in- 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 189 
 
 tent. A sporting' innkeeper or a liard-riding* townsman 
 would just "qualify," again, bj taking- the requisite 
 number of acres of ground, and bargaining for a plater 
 in due time previous to the race coming off. Then, by 
 aid of a quasi gentleman-rider, who could sit still and 
 finish^ the " bond fide farmer" Boniface would pocket the 
 purse, as the donors looked on year after year in glum 
 disappointment, murmuring occasionally to each other 
 that this was not exactly what they meant either ! Per- 
 haps, however, next to losing, the most unfortunate thing 
 that could ever happen to a real tenant-farmer was to 
 win one of these same Farmers' Plates. It has given 
 more than one man of my acquaintance his first taste for 
 the turf — another result as little intended by the founders 
 of the prize. Still, let the members of the Hunt not yet 
 altogether despair of what they may do in this way. Of 
 late years the purse has taken a far more popular form,, 
 and in place of being contested as a plate on a race-course, 
 it is now offered as a premium on a show-ground. To 
 the growing interest and success of such a system I have 
 already spoken ; but we have scarcely yet got so far as 
 the show-ground. Before we venture into public, we 
 must see if we cannot set to work, and breed something- 
 fit to place before the judges. And here, too, the Hunt 
 may help us. Let it be admitted that, in a free country 
 like this, the licensing plan would hardly be practicable; 
 and that any man may still " travel" any brute he chooses. 
 Surely the fitting way to meet him will be to start a better 
 horse in opposition. Let the Master and Managing Com- 
 mittee of the County Fox-hounds make it part of their 
 business to see that the district is never without the com- 
 mand of a good sound, thorough-bred stallion '^calculated to 
 get hunters and hacks." Let such a horse, if necessary, b£> 
 
190 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 even the pro])erty of the Hunt, to stand at the kennel 
 stables ; and let him^ moreover, serve farmers' mares at a 
 certain moderate figure. Never, however, under any cir- 
 cumstances, let his favours be given gratis ; for people 
 are very apt to estimate that which they get for nothing 
 at what they pay for it, and such a practice would only 
 tend to make men more careless over a matter which they 
 are only too indifferent about as it is. The principle I 
 would here recommend has already been tried. It was 
 only within the last year or two that I was staying with 
 a friend on the borders of Shropshire, who was tlien look- 
 ing out for another such stud-horse for the country, as 
 they had just lost the one they had been using for some 
 seasons. Baron Rothschild, who hunts the Vale of Ayles- 
 bury so handsomely, takes especial care that a thorough- 
 bred one is ever within the gTaziers' reach at Mentmore ; 
 and the Duke of Beaufort has now always a stallion, 
 which serves mares within the boundaries of Badminton, 
 at a trifle over a merely nominal figure. I had the 
 honour last autumn of awarding his Grace's premiums 
 for the best yearlings by Kingstown, as well as for the 
 best mare with a foal at her foot by the same horse, when 
 the following suggestive incident occurred. The prize 
 for the yearling went to a really blood-like filly, with fine 
 free action to back her appearance. In the course of the 
 morning I was accosted by her owner, a perfect stranger, 
 who, after a word for the young one, added, ^* But you 
 would not give the old mare a prize, sir." I did not 
 know that I had ever had the opportunity of doing so, 
 until my new acquaintance explained to me that she was 
 in the brood mare class, acknowledging at the same time, 
 " I know why she did not get it — she is not quite well- 
 bred enough." And he was right, She was not well-bred 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 191 
 
 enoug'h, nor active enough to be either first or second of 
 her order j and that wonderful nick with the thorough- 
 bred horse had done it all for his fiUj — a fact 
 which even a possibly partial owner saw as plainly 
 as I did. 
 
 This brings me to another branch of my subject. 
 Having secured the use of a good, promising horse, let 
 us as early as possible go on to prove him. The four- 
 year-old hunting' class is the favourite one at our agricul- 
 tural meetings ; but I am not quite sure but that the 
 yearling and two-year-old classes are not more advanta- 
 geous in their effects to the breeders. In the first place, 
 if a man has a tolerably good-looking* foal, he may begin 
 to keep him rather better than I fear many farmers are 
 inclined to, if he thinks of exhibiting him as a yearhng. 
 Then, if he so chooses, this said exhibition may be some- 
 thing of a market. It is not every man who has the time 
 or ability to ^* make" young- horses ; and there is always 
 some risk in breaking, and so forth. A fair offer should 
 consequently seldom be refused, especially if it comes at 
 an early period in the colt's career ; but this is a part of 
 the business, again, that agriculturists are scarcely up in. 
 If they have a good-looking young* one, they are terribly 
 apt to over-stay their time with him, and to keep him 
 about home until he gets thoroughly blown on. A dealer 
 has the opportunity of shifting a staymaker that no farmer 
 can ])ossibly command ; and even further, this " making" 
 of a hunter of a very necessity implies a deal of knocking 
 about. A friend of my own once refused an offer of be- 
 tween two and three hundred guineas for a prize two- 
 year-old from a neighbouring Master of Hounds, only to 
 keep him on until from a series of mishaps the chesnut 
 horse became almost unsaleable, and never afterwards 
 
ld'2 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 woi til a fiftli of what was first bid for liim ! Others will 
 hecome yet more enamoured with their own^ and turn all 
 their g-eese into ganders. Such a man will look at his colt 
 until he finds him to be too good either to ride or to sell-; 
 and the coarse^ fleshy, cocktail country stallion is the 
 consequence. Plis owner's immediate influence in the 
 neighbourhood is sure to g'et him some mares ; and as he 
 has never done a day's work in his life, he is possibly free 
 from any very visible strain or blemish, a point that is 
 equally certain to be made the most of. It is almost 
 needless to say that the presence of such a stallion does 
 infinite injury in a district • and if the weedy thorough- 
 bred should not travel without a licence, it would be ad- 
 visable to put down such an animal as this other one by 
 Act of Parliament. Some gentlemen without any of the 
 direct call of the M. F. H. will ofl'er their friends the ex- 
 ample of a proper model of their own free will. An en- 
 thusiast like Mr. Pishey Snaitli, with a horse so well 
 selected as old. Theon — Captain Barlow, with Robin- 
 son replaced by Middlesex — and, I must add here, 
 Captain Watson, with the Bishop of Romford's 
 Cob, followed by Hungerford — must inculcate a 
 most useful lesson in their several districts. Theon did 
 wonders in this way about Boston ; and, despite their 
 vicinity to the capital of the turf, the farmers of Suffolk, 
 until within a few years back, were quite willing to try 
 and breed a hunter " anyhow," and from anything- that 
 came in their way. The improvement, thanks to the op- 
 portunity at Hasketon, I can say from personal observa- 
 tion in the'|county, is very remarkable ; while the Devo- 
 nians must know better than I can tell them how much 
 they in turn owe to the Dorsley Stud Farm, which I had 
 the pleasure of inspecting" a year or two since. I have 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 193 
 
 also seen tlie Beauties of Mamhead, where, a similar prin- 
 ciple is upheld ; for although the illustrious Gemma di 
 Vergy may he beyond our reach^ I am glad to hear -that 
 since I was there Sir Lydston Newman has provided a 
 second horse with such good stout blood in his veins as 
 The Dupe. 
 
 It will be gathered that the point of this paper is a reli- 
 ance on the use of the thorough-bred horse for improving 
 our breed of hacks and hunters. Other crosses, with the 
 sine qua non of pimty on one side, are of course avail- 
 able, such as putting the cart-stallion on to the blood- 
 mare ; but these extremes rarely meet or " nick," and are 
 not to be recommended. A better plan would naturally 
 be to associate the thorough-bred dam with the cocktail 
 sire ', but this, so far as the tenant-farmer is concerned, is 
 practically impossible. It would require far too large an 
 outlay to buy in the stamp of running mares fit to breed 
 hunters from, and we must be content with what I believe, 
 after all, to be the very best means for the purpose. No 
 animal leaves a stronger im'primatur of himself 
 than the racehorse ; and though he may not be 
 big and bulky, he will often throw back to more size 
 and power. The cross put the other way is not common, 
 neither can I remember any such striking- examples of its 
 success as, even if possible, to warrant its more general 
 adoption. Nearly all our best steeplechase-horses, if not 
 themselves quite thorough-bred, have claimed thoroug-h- 
 bred sires ; and I may cite an example in this way that 
 came personally under my own observation very early in 
 life. My father had for many years in his stud a 
 thorough-bred mare called Pintail, by Pioneer, that, just 
 towards the close of her career, threw that famous steeple- 
 chase horse, The British Yeoman, by Count Porro. Her 
 
194 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 previous produce, liowevei-, had been anjtLing- but supe- 
 rior, and; as a chance for embuing them with a httle more 
 stoutness and substance, she was put one season to a good- 
 looking* three-parts-bred stallion that was travelling in the 
 district, the result being unquestionably the veriest weed 
 of the whole family. As for the Yeoman himself, light 
 wiry horse as he was, nothing but his pure lineage could 
 have carried him through dirt and imder weight in the 
 ■^vay it did. 
 
 We must, then, insist on ^' a thorough-bred stallion to 
 g-et hunters and hacks" as the main principle to go on. 
 Such an animal, as I have already intimated, need by no 
 manner of means have been a famous racehorse — a fact 
 that of itself would go to place him beyond our limit, at 
 the same time that it is anything- but an indispensable 
 item in his qualifications. The chief things we have here 
 to look for are true symmetry, good action, a staying 
 pedigree, and freedom from hereditary taint ; a deep 
 frame, a round barrel, on a short wiry leg ; a sensible 
 rather than a " pretty" head, a well-laid shoulder, a good 
 back, and plenty of bone. Never mind if his powerful 
 quarters do droop a bit, so that they, run down into big- 
 clean hocks and thighs ; and do not care to dwell too 
 much over an accidental blemish, or even a fired fore-leg, 
 so that the leg itself is of the right shape and calibre. 
 Above all, do not mistake mere beef for power ; and in 
 the thorough-bred horse, over all others, go for wire, 
 muscle, and breeding, in preference to what may look like 
 more substantial qualities. In this respect some of the 
 authorities of the show-yard, who are called upon to de- 
 cide over sheep, pigs, chaif-cutters, and hunter-stalHons, 
 still require a little tutoring. In the '^ what to avoid" we 
 must guard against soft flashy strains of blood that are 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 19o 
 
 of no value beyond the T.Y.C., and hereditary infirmities 
 of all kinds. Bad eyes, bad wind, bad hocks, and suspi- 
 cious ring-bone -looking- fetlocks are all very bad things in 
 a stallion, the more especially if you can trace them. A 
 horse may be blind from accident or ill-treatment, and one 
 of our most eminent veterinarians has assured me that he 
 did not think there were half-a-dozen stallions in England 
 that were not roarers. The injudicious manner, however, 
 in which many stud-horses are kept, what with high feed- 
 ing, hot stabling, and little exercise, might account alike 
 for diseases of the eye and the respiratory organ?. Still 
 beyond what you may deduce from actual appearances, it 
 is always as well to look back a little into the genealogy 
 of the thorough-bred horse. Some lines, for instance, are 
 notorious for the noise they make in the world. Hum- 
 phrey Clinker, the sire of the famous Melbourne, was a 
 bad roarer, as was Melbourne himself, and as are many of 
 his sons and grandsons. Another celebrated Newmarket 
 horse was known to get all his stock with a tendency 
 to ringbone ; and weak hocks give way so soon as you try 
 them. There are clearl3'-admitted exceptions : a stone- 
 blind stallion will get animals remarkable for good eyes, 
 and a thick-winded horse may not reproduce this in his 
 progeny j but as a maxim, wind, eyes, and hocks should 
 be three essentials of anything soimd enough to breed 
 from, be it either sire or dam. I would not so much 
 declare for a big horse as a fair-sized one ; and the 
 saying of a good big- horse being better than a good little 
 one is not quite such a truism as it sounds to be. Fifteen 
 two or fifteen three, with bone and substance, is big- 
 enough for anything ; and when we come to bear in mind 
 the sort of mares such a horse is to be put on, it is per- 
 haps preferable to anything higher. For my own part, I 
 
 p 
 
196 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 g'o very miicli witli tlie Cline theory, which says : *' It 
 has generally heen supposed that the breed of animals is 
 improved by the largest males. This opinion has done 
 considerable mischief, and would have done more injury 
 if it had not been counteracted by the desire of selecting 
 animals of the best form and proportions, which are rarely 
 to be met with in those of the largest size. Experience 
 has proved that crossing has only succeeded in an eminent 
 degree in those instances in which the females were larger 
 in the usual proportion of females to males ; and that it 
 has generally failed where the males were disjDroportion- 
 ately large. When the male is much larger than the 
 female, the offspring is generally of an imperfect form." 
 It must have been some such opinion as this which caused 
 that rare sportsman, the late Sir Tatton Sykes, to breed 
 from none but small or moderate-sized sires j and I be- 
 lieve that the cross of the Exmoor pony with the 
 thorough-bred horse would be yet more successful were 
 the latter only a little more proportionate to the size of 
 the mares. It would be pleasant to hear that Lord 
 Exeter had lent them his handsome little Midas for 
 a season or two, when w^e might expect to see in 
 the produce some of the most perfect hacks ever 
 backed. Not the hideous, vulgar, heavy-shouldered, 
 loaded neck Prince Regent kind of cob, but a little pat- 
 tern of beauty and strength, with style, substance, and 
 action really fit to carry a king. Such a hack as this 
 would soon outplace even the Prickwillows and Pheno- 
 mena, already going- out of use for the saddle^ now that 
 men travel to meet hounds in first-class carriages, and the 
 feats of Dick Turpin and ^' The Squire" are fast becoming 
 mere matters of hearsay. Like the modern hynter, the 
 modern hack must be well-bred, and we couple the two in 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 197 
 
 the requirements of our stud-horse. If a country breeder 
 wishes to ascertain for himself the description of riding- 
 horse that is hkelj to make the most money, I would re- 
 commend him to stroll into Eotten Eow, between one and 
 two during- the approaching season^ where he will find here 
 again how *^ blood will tell/' and what Mr. Rice and Mr. 
 Quartermaine have to go in search of. 
 
 Will the man who means to do better and give nag- 
 breeding- a fair trial be good enough to bear in mind that 
 much of all I have said as to the sire applies equally to 
 the dam? Let there be some shape and make, with 
 health and action, and the same warranty as to wind, eyes, 
 and hocks.- With rarely any pedigree to fall back upon, 
 appearance and soundness must be the chief recommenda- 
 tion of the farmer's mare ; and even such a verdict based 
 upon such conclusions must not be too hastily arrived at. 
 Many a comparatively mean-looking one has before now 
 thrown the best of stock, as that peerage of their order, 
 the Stud Booh, would assure us : mares that need care- 
 fully looking into before they are condemned or passed 
 over. To give an illustration, however, direct to our 
 purpose : about the grandest cocktails I ever saw wei'e 
 Mr. Foster's Combat, Challenger, and Nike, all capital 
 runners at welter-weights, and all the children or grand- 
 children of, I am assured, as common-looking an animal 
 as could be. The old mare had, no doubt, much within 
 her '^that passeth show," brought out as this was by the 
 cross to the thorough-bred horse. In fact, if the dam be 
 but clear of hereditary unsoundness, and with good action, 
 I do not think we should be too scrupulous in asking the 
 tenant to send nothing but the great fine slashing mares 
 which they would, as half-bred, be scarcely justified in 
 buying up. A friend in Devonshire has sent me a few 
 
198 TALES AND TRAITS OF SP0RTI:NG LIFE. 
 
 lines on the way in wliicli tlie ^' packhorse' ' answered to 
 the superior cross, that I must give here : " The true pack- 
 horse is extinct, and has been ever since my horse recol- 
 lection, that is, for about the last twenty years. The 
 animals then going, in 184.0, called ^pack,' were out of 
 pack mares, but their sires had crosses of blood or York- 
 shire. Old Gainsborough, the thorough-bred of house- 
 hold notoriety in Devonshire, one who flourished some- 
 where about 1830, is generally credited with 7iever having 
 got a had one. I attribute this to his being the first cross 
 with the true old pack mares ; and I believe that any mo- 
 derately good thorough-bred would have produced a 
 similar result, could he have had a chance with the same 
 sort of mares. The animals resulting from Gainsborough 
 and these pack mares— -and I have several in my mind's 
 eye — were perfection in make, shape, and action, weight- 
 carriers, everlasting, perhaps scarcely speedy enough for 
 tlie present fashion of sjnu'ting across the grass countries, 
 although safe to shine through a severe thing and be in at 
 the finish. This Gainsborouo-h oreneration of ridino- horses 
 has also gone, and no young Gainshorough cocktail stal- 
 lion ever got a good horse. It is a public misfortune that 
 the line of the old packhorse has not been continued in a 
 pure stock, both for his own excellent inherent qualities, 
 and for the value of the first cross with the thorough- 
 bred. The big half-bred mares of this cross put again to 
 a good sound thorough-bred sire produced the animals to 
 go the pace and carry the weight brilliantly in any coun- 
 try, and this is my pet process for a breeding line. " 
 
 Of late years the West Country farmers appear to have 
 been crossing" and re-crossin^' out of allrhvme and reason, 
 until they have nothing left but the horse of all-work, 
 whicl], as was amusingly demonstrated at the Truro 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 199 
 
 sliow, they hardly knew how to class, either as a riding-- 
 horse or as a common draiight-horse. However, as my 
 friend adds, ^^ every Devon farmer, as a rule, breeds or 
 tries to breed riding'-stock, and, as a consequence, in some 
 hole-and-corner holdings a stylish promising- nag colt is 
 often dropped upon where a stranger would think it about 
 as likely to find an elephant." 
 
 So much for a fitting foundation. But let the 
 thorough-bred staUion, under the countenance of the Hunt, 
 be ever so well adapted for his purpose, and the mare 
 really worthy of his caresses, the business of breeding is 
 yet only in the beginning. Better bred stock require 
 better treatment, and pay better for it. Half a horse's 
 goodness, as it is said, goes in at his mouth ; and it will 
 be idle for farmers to attempt rearing riding-horses with- 
 out they do them a deal better than, as a rule, they 
 hitherto have done. A half-starved foal never forgets it j 
 and from the day he is dropped he must be the object of 
 some care and attention. Does the dam g-ive a good sup- 
 ply of milk ? Does the young thing look as if he was 
 doing well ? Let his feet be looked to, as he grows on ^ 
 and, above all, let him be well kept, have a fair supply of 
 corn, comfortable, sheltered quarters, and so forth. I am 
 no advocate for over-coddhng, nor would I wish to see 
 the hunting-colt brought on as if his mission was to win 
 the Derby; but liberal rations, kindly treatment, and 
 g-entle handling will all tell by the time he is first led 
 into the show-ring, or delivered over to the breaker. I 
 confess to having some dread of that same country breaker, 
 with all his wonderful paraphernalia and apparently indis- 
 pensable habit of hanging about public-houses, as a means 
 of making young horses " handy." No man needs more 
 .watching' ; and, as I have just intimated, a vast deal may 
 
200 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 be done towards making the young one temperate before 
 ever he reaches this trying* stage in his career. 
 
 The horse is by natm'e a social animal j and, especially 
 after weaning-, two or three of the foals will do better in 
 company, due care being- taken that any one of them does 
 not become too much of '^ the master-pig-," and get all the 
 good thing's for himself — to correct which they should be 
 separated at feeding time. When together they wilL 
 challenge each other to ^' strike out " a bit ; whereas tW 
 solitary mopes about with but little incentive to try h^i 
 paces, and is much like a boy brought up at his mother's* 
 apron-string, or a young foxhound that has lost his friends. 
 I should hope by this that a duly qualified veterinar}^ 
 surgeon is within hail of most farmers, and I would leave 
 it to this gentleman to throw his eye occasionnlh- over 
 the little stud, arrange the proper period for castration, 
 and other such detail that will necessarily have to be 
 adapted to time and place. On any such minutiae of the 
 matter it is not within my purpose here to enter, even if 
 it would be profitable to do so» This paper rather pro- 
 fesses to deal with the great pinnciples of breeding riding- 
 horses, and in seeing these carried out with a little more 
 heart and judgment than they generally have been. 
 
 One word more for the veterinarian. Nothing can be 
 more wholesome than the regulation which, after consider- 
 able discussion and division, the Council of the Royal 
 Agricultural Society are still able to insist upon as part of 
 their proceedings — viz., that every horse entered for exhi- 
 bition shall be examined and passed by a duly-appointed 
 veterinary surgeon previous to his facing the judges. It 
 is true that the latter should and might be able to reject 
 an unsound animal without such assistance; but their 
 edict wo-'1d^ot carry the same weight, especially with 
 
THE BREEDING OF HUNTERS AND HACKS. 201 
 
 }i8 disappointed owner of a disqualified horse, as the 
 )rofessional opinion of^he College-man. It is scarcely 
 air, in fact/to place gentlemen who give their services 
 the Society in so invidious a position — one that often 
 enders them Jiahle to much gratuitous ahuse. I would 
 iot; however, have the veterinary inspector of the meet- 
 'i.g in any way interfere or intrude upon the judges when 
 
 work. His duty is to see that none but sound horses 
 ""^efore them, and there to limit his responsibility, 
 ietimes it will happen that the jadge will associate the 
 ./o offices in his own proper person ; but as a rule it is 
 tetter that the Society should appoint its own veterinary 
 sitrgeon. Of course, such an examination should not be 
 confined to'the ' stallions', but extended to every class of 
 horses in the entry. It is somewhat significant to reflect 
 jow resolutely this plan has been resisted in certain 
 i]uarters, and by certain exhibitors, not merely at the 
 meetings of the Royal Agricultural Society. I know "at 
 this moment of a country show of some repute where the 
 presence of the veterinary-inspector has been for year& 
 successfully tabooed, imtilthe number of unsound animals 
 exhibited has jnstly come to create some alarin for the 
 character of the breed. I am speaking here rather of 
 cart-horses than riding stock, v/liile I am glad to see that 
 a leading* member of the direction has put himself to 
 reform this too-flattering fashion of making up a show, 
 and that a preliminary veterinary examination is now 
 embodied in the rules and regulations. 
 
 It is very clear that within the last few years the 
 proper stimulus has been" given for breeding a better 
 description of " nag-horse,' ' and I am sanguine of stiU- 
 continued improvement in this way. I have seen most 
 of the famous horse-shov/s, and had the i)leasure of being 
 
^■*- 
 
 202 TALES AND TRAITS OF SPORTING LIFE. 
 
 present at tliat grand meeting- at Middlesborougli, where 
 the first hundred ever offered was won 4)y i©i:dr-Za-'1.a».d's 
 celebrated Voltig-eur ; from the g-reat success of , 
 occasion the national association was induced to inst 
 a similar premium. The Bath and West of Enj : 
 Society is now iollowing- the same course, and 
 every prospect of this very agreeable feature ii 
 business of the farm being- more systematicall}^ deve. ;. 
 with proportionate advantage to the breeder and • 1'"; 
 to the country. % 
 
 The Fanners' Club, London, Jan., 1863. ' 
 
 Printed by Rogerson & Tuxford, 24G, Strand, London. 
 
Vebster Fan- ^ ■ y of Veterinary Medicine 
 
 ; ;i :, . Veterinary Medicine at