Seo, Jineli Mmon. ^c. W.R8palding,Cambridce—W-Kent&C^ London. v^P^C ■o / MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS, AND OTHEE STORIES. MY PORTRAIT IN THE ACADEWY MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS j71 \l K 'S ■^M.fflPl »} v> •A ^ Mt^V Vi' V- // !/' m :3B^3^ ^^^ *l ^^^\ /. ^^j^rgg. MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 31 She drove up here in her victoria one day ; I 'appened to be standing at the entrance to the yard as she arrived. 'Mr. Diddler,' says she, 'my brother tells me you've bought 'is little grey 'oss, "Grey Peter"?' 'I have, my lady,' I says. 'Oh, Mr. Diddler,' she says, *be kind to 'im for my sake,' she says, and the tears came welling up in her pretty v'ilet heyes as she spoke ; it made me feel quite choky," said the soft-hearted Diddler, cough- ing, and giving his neck a grip as he spoke, as if the remembrance of this affecting little episode quite overpowered him. " ' Be kind to 'im for my sake,' says her ladyship ; 'and oh, Mr. Diddler, if you hever shoidd sell 'im, do try and get 'im a good 'ome ; and let me hear from time to time 'ow he is, the dear^ darling little 'oss.' I promised her faithfully, and she shook 'ands with me and drove away quite 'appy. If Lord William had kept 'im he'd have won his regimental steeplechase with 'im to a moral certainty, that he would. 32 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 'Owever, poor young gent, lie was pretty nearly as fast as his little grey 'oss, and was forced to sell ont — more's the pity. " Well, sir, I've told you all about 'im You want an 'ack — there you are, perfect both in looks and manners. You want a hunter — there you are again, he'll never put you down ; and there's nothing you need fear riding at with any hounds in any county. He's good at every description of fence. I should like to sell 'im to you, sir, first, because I always like to accommodate a friend of the Capt'in here ; and secondly, I should feel sure that in handing 'im over to you he would get, what I am so hanxious to procure for 'im, a good comfortable 'ome. Two 'underd and fefty is his price, and dirt cheajD, too. I should ask three 'underd for 'im to any one else, but being a friend of the Capt'in's and all, I don't mind parting with 'im for that." " Dear me! that's a deal of money," say I. " Well, sir," rejoins Diddler, " you've MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 33 described to me the sort of 'oss you require, and 'appening to 'ave that very 'oss, why, I show 'iui alone, without showing you a lot of *osses that I know wouldn't suit you at any price. Now, if you was a bold devil-may- care rider, and you come to me, and you were to say, ' Diddler, I want an 'oss to 'unt this season, I don't care particler about a screw being loose ; he can kick, or rear, or bolt, or anything : it's no odds, as long as he can go ' — why, I could 23robably supply you with one for perhaps sixty or seventy pund, even as low as fefty, very likely ; but such a one as this little grey I'll defy you to get anywhere for less money than I am asking. 'Owever, don't let me press you, sir, don't let me press you ; I am only too 'appy to 'ave shown you Lady Heva's old pet. Shut the door, Thomas ; and come into my office, sir, and take a glass of sherry before you go." So saying, Mr. Diddler leads us back to his sanctum, where he produces some excellent 34 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. brown sherry and a box of cigars, to both of wbicb Coper does full justice. " Excuse me for 'arf a minute, sir,'' says Mr. Diddler, " whilst I go and speak a word to my man ; " and he gracefully retires. " AVell,'' says Captain Coper, directly he is gone, "what' 11 you do about the grey? If you will take my advice, you'll buy him. I really think he's a cheap horse. What say you? If you buy him you must give me a mount on him some fine day. I'll shove him along. Capital cigars these ; I'll pocket a couple." The gallant officer is as good as his word ; rather better, for he j)ockets at least half a dozen. He also helps himself freely to sherry. In the course of ten minutes Mr. Diddler returned, and, to cut a long story short, I offered him two hundred for his horse. But that worthy was firm ; not a halfpenny less than his price woidd he take ; so at last I had to harden my heart, and walked out of MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 35 Mr. Diddler's premises a poorer man by two hundred and fifty golden guineas, and the proud possessor of that j^aragon of per- fection, the little grey nag, " Grey Peter.'' The next thing to be done was to get hold of a groom, and again was the useful Coper consulted. Did he know of a likely servant? Of course he did; Tom Dapper, if he had not got a place, was the very man. At present, he (Coper) believed he was at Latherington's stables, in the Edgware Road, doing odd jobs, such as driving old dowagers about the town, and, in fact, making himself generally useful. As luck would have it, he was going to Latherington's that very after- noon, and if Mr. Dapper was to be had, he would tell him to call on me. We stopped at the corner of Park Lane ; and borrowing a "fiver," as he called it, from me. Coper swaggered off, and I strolled on, meditating on my morning's work, to the club. The next morning, as the clock struck 36 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. ten, a knock was heard at the front door, and Mr. Dapper was ushered into my presence, and, after sundry questions satisfactorily answered, was duly engaged. Two days afterwards saw the redoubtable " Grey Beter '' and himself comfortably settled down at the Plantagenet Arms Hotel, at Whichford, in Crampshire which place I intended to make my starting-point when I hunted with that renowned pack of foxhounds, " The Old Harkaway," or, as they are usually termed, the O.H.H. My next move was to equip myself in a proper manner for the chase. Great was the astonishment of my tailor in the city on my ordering my red coat. "I presoom, sir," said Mr. Snips, "you require it for a fancy ball." ^' Fancy hall!''' I exclaimed, in huge in- dignation. " Certainly not I I want it to hunt in, of course." "0-o-oh!" said Mr. Snips. "I 'umbly MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 37 beg pardon ; I bad no idea, sir, you was in tbe babit of following tbe 'ounds." Boots, breecbes, bat, bat- string, sberry- flask, wbip, spurs, everytbing ordered neces- sary for a votary of Diana, I next proceeded to Mr. Gambado's riding- scbool, in St. Jobn's Wood, to work out tbree guineas' wortb of hunting lessons. I went at it steadily every day for a week, and after several falls, and tbe loss of tbree bats irretrievably smasbed, I tbougbt myself tolerably competent to take tbe field. Tbe first of November was close at band, but, alas ! I could not go out, as my top-boots bad not been sent bome. So I wrote and told Mr. Tom Dapper to take tbe grey out on tbe opening day and sbow bim tbe bounds, and to be sure and ride bim quietly. Tbe O.H.H. were to meet at tbe kennels on tbe 1st, about five miles fi:-om Wbicbford. Wben tbe morning came, I tbougbt to myself, as I lay tossing about in bed, "I wisb to goodness 38 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. I could sport my new clothes to-day. What a nuisance those boots not having come ! Stop. Why shouldn't I run down to Which - ford, and drive over to the meet^ and have a look at the hounds?" No sooner said than done. I jumped out of bed, dressed as quickly as possible, and, swallowing a cup of tea, bustled off to Euston Square, where I just caught the train. Most of the hunting men had come down by the previous train, so on reaching Whichford, I found it would be all I should do to get to the meet in time. My groom had started off on '' Grey Peter" nearly an hour before. I ordered a dogcart and a man to drive, and after a hasty breakfast, off we started. After about three miles' driving, during which my driver beguiled the time by telling me the owners of the numerous country houses we passed, we got more into the open country ; and, turning sharp round a corner, we suddenly dropped upon a knot of about a MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 39 dozen farmers and grooms, wlio were staring intently at something going on the other side of the hedge. We jDulled up to have a look, too ; and, standing up in the dogcart, I beheld in the distance, about three fields off, two horses, a grey and a brown, coming along as hard as ever they can lay legs to the ground. "Oh, he's a clever little 'oss, that grey. Look at that ! My wig, how he jumps ! " says an enthusiastic farmer. " Here they come ! Why, I'm bio wed if he ain't agoin' at the gate ! " says another. Sure enough, the man on the grey, instead of going at the fence, goes out of his line and rides straight at the gate, evidently a brand-new one, painted white. Over they go. Well jumped indeed ! The grey flew at it as if there was I don't know what the other side. His rider now pulls him into a canter, then into a trot, and joins us in the road ; the brown horse, evidently outpaced, and badly ridden into the bargain, labouring behind. 40 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. " Well done, Tommy ! " holloas a groom at my elbow to the breathless rider of the clever grey horse. But — good gracious! what's this? Can it be ? Why, hang me if it is not my own horse, "Grey Peter," and that rascal of a groom, Tom Dapper! Curse his impudence! That worthy, attired, if you please, in a shooting jacket in a particularly loud plaid pattern, and a pair of very neat breeches and boots, does not see me, and having received the congratulations of his friends, proceeds calmly to light a cigar ; and now, dash my buttons if he is not going to refresh himself with a pull from my long sherry-flask, which he has fastened to the saddle. This is too much. ^' Thomas!'^ I shout, frowning as fiercely as I possibly can at him. He looks up and catches my angry eye, and for a moment is evidently much confused. His friends, putting their tongues in their cheeks, slink ofi*. / i J 1 ( ;: _j Q U Q < < MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 41 Mr. Dapper very soon recovers his native impudence, and coming straight up to the dogcart, and touching his hat, proceeds to tell me a perfect avalanche of lies — " 'Ow the little grey 'oss was so very fresh and above hisself, that he thought he had better give 'im a canter afore showing of 'im the 'ounds. Just as he was agoin' along quite quiet, hup comes Joe Gardner, Mr. White's grum. The little grey 'oss, 'earin' Joe come powderin' along behind, kicks hup 'is 'eels, nearly chuckin' 'im, Tom Dapper, hover 'is 'ead" (I wish to heavens he had), " and taking the bit 'tween his teeth, goes horf as 'ard as hever he could split. Joe's 'oss, seeing the little gery 'oss go like that, just does likewise, and follers of 'im ; but. Lor bless yer, sir," said the impudent Dapper, with a self-satisfied grin on his face, '' do you think this little 'oss" (patting his neck as he spoke) "was agoin' to let 'im come anigh 'im? Not he — no, not if they had galloped on for a fortnight 42 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. he wouldn't. Has for me a-tryin' to 'old 'im, it was downright folly." At this point I venture to tell him that I don't believe a word of his story, and that I am perfectly certain he and the other groom were racing for their own amusement. " Him race 'is master's 'osses ! Him ! Well, he was 'urt. He wouldn't do sich a thing, no, not for worlds. He would throw up his situa- tion that werry day ; and has for the trifling amount of celery howin', he wouldn't haccept it on no account : the bare suspicion of doing such a thing was more than he could bear." The end of all this is that I have to eat humble pie and almost beg my conscientious servant to stay on, so very indignant is he at the idea of his integrity being doubted. By this time the reader may imagine it was too late to get to the meet in time to see the fun; so, ordering Mr. Dapper to ride quietly home, I told my grinning Jehu to turn round and drive back to the inn. MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 43 I ascertained on inquiry that in the fol- lowing week the hounds were to meet at " Elderberries," one of their very best meets, so I determined to choose that fixture for my first appearance in the hunting field. Order- ing Mr. Dapper only to exercise "Grey Peter" until then, and on no account to hunt him, I betook myself back to town. That evening my top-boots arrived, so the next morning, after breakfast, I arrayed my- self in full hunting costume, and had a good look at myself in the cheval glass. I was considerably pleased with my appearance, and felt quite the Nimrod. At last the important day arrived. I pre- pared myself for it by going to bed early the night before, only indulging in one brandy- and-soda and one cigar in the course of the evening. Euston Square reached, I dis- covered several brother sportsmen, in various descriptions of greatcoats, all going to the same destination. 44 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. I got into a carriage in whicli were three swells, who, I very soon discovered from their conversation, were in some cavalry regi- ment. In one corner of the carriage sat a particularly crusty-looking old gentleman, evidently not going to hunt, who proceeded to light a huge cigar, then to wrap himself up comfortably in a rug made of some foreign foxes' skins, with the brushes dangling outside; that accomplished, he gave a scowl all round, and settled himself well down to the Times. The three young swells opposite him laughed and chattered like a lot of magpies, making an awful row, much to the crusty old gent's disgust, who kept looking up from his Times and glaring at them most indignantly. It only made them worse, and at last I heard the liveliest of the three whisper to his com- rades, " I'll have such a lark directly with the old buffer." We had not to wait long, for this cheerful MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 45 young man, after staring at the unconscious old gentleman's rug for about three minutes, suddenly said in a loud voice, very slowly and solemnly, " I smell a fox " — as he spoke, throwing up his head and sniffing — " I smell a fox. Tally ho ! " he suddenly shouted, at the top of his voice, nearly making the old gentleman jumjj out of his skin. He then quickly whipped out a knife from his breeches pocket, and in another second had cut off one of the foxes' brushes from the old gent's rug. " Who-hoop ! " shouted he, waving it over his head, "Who-hoop!" Down went the window, and crying, "Worry! worry ! worry ! " away went the brush out of it to imaginary hounds. That feat accomplished he sank back into his seat and roared with laughter, joined by his two friends. I could not help laughing myself. As for the old gentleman, I never saw a man in such a rage ; his face turned per- fectly purple. He shook his fist in the face 46 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. of his enemy, and gasped out — for lie could scarcely articulate with rage — " Your name and address, you — you — you d d young scoundrel?" The mischievous plunger laughed louder than ever, and I really think the old gentle- man would have pitched into him, but luckily just at that moment the train stopped. " Whichford ! Whichford ! Change here for Stackmansworth ! " shouted a porter. Out jumped the old gentleman like a har- lequin ; out got the three plungers. "Now, then, you vagabond," said the old boy collaring his man, and pulling out his note-book and pencil, " I insist on you giving me your name and address." " All right, guv'nor ; pop it down, old chap. Captain " he begins. " Captain," writes the old gentleman. " Well, sir, go on." "I'll tell you the rest another time," re- plies the plunger. And, so saying, he pidls MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 47 the old fellow's trayelling cap well over his eyes, and runs off, followed by his friends ; and is halfway down the station stairs before his victim can extricate himself. When he does, he stamps and raves, and curses like a madman. " Hany more for the Liverpool train?" shouts a porter. " Now, sur, are you going on? Train's just starting." The poor gentleman is going to Liverpool, so he was obliged to go off, after all, without discovering his enemy's name. "Halloo!" exclaims a cheery voice at my elbow. "Fancy seeing you here!" and turning round, I beheld the jolly counte- nance of my friend John Bustleby beaming with good nature from under a velvet cap. John is, like myself, in the city, and hunts regularly, as luck will have it, with the O.H.H. Li fact, he keejDS his three horses at the Plantagenet Arms, so he will be able to put me in the way of things. 48 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. Away we go to our hotel to look after the horses. "Grey Peter" is ready saddled and turned round in his stable. Very bloom- ing and cocky he looks as he is led out ; he seems to like the look of a red coat. John Bustleby expresses his opinion that he looks like going all over ; and he cer- tainly feels like it, moving jauntily along, like a cat on hot bricks. We have got about six miles to ride before we get to the meet, so we jog on a bit. Turning sharp round a corner, we suddenly come upon the hounds, the huntsmen and whips dressed in yellow plush. The grey gets disagreeably excited at the sight of them, turning his head about, and jerking at his bit, until the reins keep slipping through my fingers. "Jezebel! Jezebel!" holloas a whip. Jezebel is close to my horse's heels ; I hope to goodness he won't kick. Jigj jog^ jiggle, joggle, on we go. At MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 49 last we come to a village, the inliabitants of wliich turn out en masse to greet us. "Look at the pretty fox-dogs," the women tell their children. Just out of the village are the park gates of "Elderberries." It has recently been sold, and its new pro]3rietor took the first opportunity of adding on " Park " to its old title of " Elderberries." The natives, however, still call it by the old name, and probably will for years to come. The house is at the top of a hill ; and getting on the grass, the huntsmen and whips put their horses into a canter — an example we follow, the grey testifying his delight at getting on the tm'f by giving a tremendous kick up, sending me well on to his neck. I was as near off as a toucher. Luckily it's uphill now, so I just let him go. The hounds pull up in front of the house, a rather gloomy -looking mansion ; and now comes disaster No. L The hounds stopped 50 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. SO suddenly that I coidd not pull up the grey in time ; the consequence is that he goes yawing and boring, pulling my arms off nearly, straight at the pack ; and, before one can say Jack Robinson, we are bang in the middle of them. The lady pack, too. Barmaid and Termagant run yelping away ; Gay Lass, the best bitch in the pack, gets a hot one in the ribs ; Brilliant is sent flying one way, Dorothy another. There is a regular hullabaloo. The huntsman and master — the latter was on foot, and narrowly escaped being knocked over — abuse me most frightfully, whilst the grey gallops on until he is brought to by a wire fence into a belt running along the side of the park, which, luckily for me, he does not take it into his head to jump. I then sneak back again, good John Bustleby meeting me half way ; and I get him to apologize, for the grey's bad behaviour, to the master who is a friend of his. There is not much damage done, luckily. MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 51 John then proceeds to point out the great guns of the hunt to me. " There, see that tall, thin man, in pink and high jack-boots; his name's Lobb, and he's far and away the best man here — you go where he goes, and you'll be in at the finish, I know. The odd- looking man he's talking to, with a cap and the yellow handkerchief round his neck, is the eccentric William Maple. What a bird he is ! There are hundreds of stories of him and his oddities. I'll tell you one rare good thing he once did. He came down from town by the last train one night to Whichford; his house being about three miles from there, and his carriage not being there to meet him, he hired a fly. When about a mile from home he very quietly opened the door, and, jumping out, got over a fence and reached home by a short cut about a quarter of an houi^ before the fly. Down jumped the flyman and rang the front-door bell. Down comes the butler : says he, ^ What do you want this time of 52 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. night?' 'Wot do I want? that's a good un,' says the flyman. ' Why, I've brought Mr. Maple, to be sure, from the station.' ' Brought Mr. Maple ! Why, you must be dreaming, man alive ; he's been abed long ago.' The flyman opens the door of the carriage, and can scarcely believe his eyes when he finds it empty. To increase his wonder, down comes William Maj)le himself, in his dressing-gown, to know what all the noise is about. However, after a bit, the flyman is told the trick that has been played him ; and, putting his horse up, he and the butler spend a pleasant evening together." The majority of the field seems composed of Londoners. " That fat man there," says John, "is Mr. Pell, the great candlemaker. The party in black, on the good-looking chestnut, is Mr. Varnish, the well-known upholsterer. The man in pink yonder is Barege, the haberdasher, of Eegent Street — subscribes his fifty to the hounds, does MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 53 Barege. The chap in gig-lamps, on the piebald, is Green, the army tailor" — and so on. The hounds now begin to move off, and "Grey Peter" begins to fidget horribly. " Woh ! you brute. Keep still, do." " We'd better jog on," says John. So we follow in their wake, the grey going along sideways and sweating with excitement, the reins slipping through my fingers every minute. "Woh! do." In fiv eminutes' time we arrive at the cover, a beautiful bit of gorse running up the side of a hill. The hounds are in as we get there. "Hoick to Governess! Ho-o-o-i-c-k! " cheers the huntsman. "There he is!" shouts a farmer at my elbow, standing up in his stirrups. What a bustle there is in a second ! The grey quivers with excitement. The farmer is right ; the fox who was probably curled 54 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. up fast asleep, jumps up right under old Priestess's very nose. *' There's music for you!" says an excited old gentleman in scarlet, at my side. Away gallop the field like a charge of cavalry. The grey, mad with excitement, gets his head down, and we are off like a shot out of a gun. Bang we go up against a lady in a velvet cap and grey habit trimmed with black braid, a la hussar. '' Woh ! you infernal brute." I fancy, as we go by like the wind, I hear the words " Confounded mufi"! " issue from the lips of the fair horse- woman. A flight of rails is in view. There is a gate through which the crowd is hust- ling ; I try and guide the grey to it. Not a bit of it. A sporting, black-bearded farmer on a young good-looking chestnut, and a swell in scarlet, go at the rails, and before I can say knife '' Grey Peter" is in the air. I thought we should never come down. Land- ing with a tremendous jolt, both my feet get or ui Ui Ql MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 55 out of the stirrups, my reins are nowhere, and in another second I find myself rolling on the ground on my back. I make a grab at the reins, which "Grey Peter" acknowledges with a hearty kick, curse him ! as he gallops off. The farmer in front of me, looking round and seeing what has hapj)ened, catches the grey as he comes up, and politely holds him until I run up to him, puffing and blowing, for I am quite exhausted. I wish with all my heart he had let him go. " Now, sir, jump up ; hounds are running like smoke," says he, throwing me the reins. I scramble up somehow, and follow my new friend through a hand gate into a small cover and down a ride, the grey going better now he is with another horse. There is a stile out of the wood, and from it we see the backs of the leading division topping the fence out of the field beyond. The farmer's mind is made up on the spot ; he runs his horse best pace at the stile. "It's 56 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. nothing of a place," he shouts, turning round in his saddle as he lands. I daren't brave it ; the more I look the less I like it. I j^ersuade myself very easily that it is a very nasty place ; so I turn the dis- appointed "Grey Peter" down a side ride, hoping to find a friendly gate. Alas ! when I get to the end of the ride I only find a fence, on the other side of which is a cottage, with garden attached, in which latter an old woman in a huge bonnet is digging away like fun. I see that the other side of the cottage is the high-road, along which are no end of red- coated sportsmen pounding along. There is a nice gap in the fence, too, so I take the grey back a few paces preparatory to putting him boldly at it. At this moment the old woman, looking up from her digging, suddenly catches sight of me. She makes gallantly for the gap, three- pronged fork in hand, and stands there in a menacing attitude, like an Amazon of old. y^^^ ^^S ^^^s'.iS^ "^^^^ ^v. ', ^^fl ' ilv^'^'^^ t^^^JV ~~m f vj Ji //fm ^^^i ^t^ :lillJ'MKI MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 57 "No, no, my good man," says she, in a shrill treble voice. " My grandmother to that! You don't come over 'ere, a gallerpin' and tramplin' over my garding — not while I'm here, leastways. Why, what the drowse (deuce) d'ye mean? You go and take yer nasty rid coat away from here." Bother this horrid old creature ! she won't listen to reason. The longer I talk the worse she gets. At last a happy thought strikes me ; I'll try bribery. So I begin with the offer of half-a-crown. No, not a bit of it. Five shillings, then. "Well, five shillin' do I say? Well, perhaps if I give her ^ye shillin', her good man, when he comes home, won't say so much about my tramplin' over the garding stuff." So that bargain concluded, I throw the old lady two half-crowns, and she j^i'omptly removes herself away from the gap in the hedge. I put the grey in the most gallant manner 58 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. at it, and we get over beautifully, and, crossing the " garding," are soon in the road. The grey, catching sight of a red coat pounding along in front, begins to pull once more, and breaks into a canter. Clatter, clatter, clatter we go along the stony road. We soon managed to ]3ass the hindmost sportsmen. I don't care a rap now we are out of those horrid fields — like the highway- man, my song is " Hurrah for the Road!" I don't know where the hounds are, and don't care either ; I can't see them anywhere, and, what is more, don't want to. By-and-bye I pass two more fat sportsmen, very red in the face, and jDcrspiring muchly. "Where are the 'ounds?" cries one fatty, as I pass at a hand canter. I point straight forward with my whip. What a sportsman he no doubt thinks me ! I like this much — nothing to stop us. I hope we may go along the road for miles. Ough ! My horse suddenly shies at a wheelbarrow ; MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 59 in a second I am floundering in the road, my hat smashed, and my clothes all mud, and my horse with his head up and feet out, tugging at the reins, which I luckily have hold of. Oh, I'll never come out hunt- ing again ! Up come the fatties I passed just now, puffing and wheezing like so many grampuses. " 'Ope you're not hurt, sir," says one. "No, all right, thank you;" and on they gp. That brute "Grey Peter" will not stand still. "Woh! you confounded beast!" I make a dive at the stirrup, which I miss. " Will you stand still, sir?'^ " Stop a bit, master, whilst I 'old un for ye," says a grinning ploughman, the other side of the hedge, whom I had not observed. Good-natured Mr. Chawbacon clambers pon- derously over the fence, and jumps down from the bank much in the clumsy sort of way an elephant would ; and with his assistance 60 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. I once more clamber ujd into my saddle, and having endowed my rustic friend with a shilling, again start on my journey. I am so tired I should like to walk, if " Grey Peter" would let me, which he won't. I think I will have a sandwich, also a drop of sherry. I have just unscrewed the top of my flask, and stuffed my mouth with a sandwich, when — what makes my horse suddenly prick up his ears and neigh? It's those confounded hounds again. Twang, twang, twang, goes a horn in the distance, and — what's that ? By Jove ! its a fox. Dead beat, too — even I can see that. He crosses the road, is through the fence, and stealing away across the field beyond. "Tally ho!" I holloa, as well as I can with my mouth full. " Yow, yow, yow ! " I see them now plainly two fields ofi". Here they come, the huntsman close up. A lady next, by Jove ! How well she jumped that fence ! And by the powers, only about four MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 61 other people with them, one of them the man in jack-boots, Mr. Lobb. Over the fence, into the road, scramble the hounds, bristling for blood ; they cross like a flash of lightning. Pretty sight ! pretty sight ! Over goes the huntsman, then Mr. Lobb, then the lady. The grey can stand it no longer, but just takes the bit between his teeth and goes at the fence fifty miles an hour. How I stick on I don't know, and we are half across the pasture beyond before I know where we are. A rustic holds open the gate into the next field, and with some difficulty I manage to steer the grey through it. Mr. Lobb and the lady, who I heard him call Miss Kitty, jump the fence, and are now galloping along side by side. At the end of the next field is a pretty little house, and over the iron railings in front of it the hounds are now clambering. I notice as soon as they are over they turn sharp to the left. My grey, pulling hard. 62 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. puts his resolute head straight for the rails, notwithstanding all my efforts to stop him or turn him. I have often read in the papers of the fearful accidents arising from wire fences ; so, determined not to be killed, if I could help it, I threw myself off as he rose in the air, and rolled over and over like a rabbit on the trim lawn. The grey with a neigh of delight, kicks up his heels and gallops all over the lawn. He then jumps the rails again, nearly landing on old Rosamond, who is rather behindhand. Well, this is a pretty go ! Here am I, in front of a gentleman's house, half stunned, very dirty, and horseless. I was just con- sidering what to do, when I heard some one shout, " Here's another of those trespassing scoundrels! Seize him. Watch! seize him, good dog!" And forth from one of the French windows of the house, opening on to the lawn, bounces a little old gentleman purple with rage, in a green and red MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 63 dressing-gown, and slippers to match, armed with a huge stick, and bounding after him, bark- ing horribly, comes a great black yard-dog. I can't stand this, so I turn tail and make a rush at the rails. Unfortunately, scramb- ling over, my spur catches in one of the bars, and down I go on my face the other side. The beast of a dog comes over with a rush and a bound, right atop of me. If he were a terrier he would probably go straight at my neck ; as it is, he begins at my coat- tails, which he tears off one by one. He then goes at my breeches, and in spite of my kicking, gives me a fearful bite. "Murder! murder!" I shout at the top of my voice. The old gentleman, puffing and blowing, is now getting over the rails, thank good- ness. "Down, Watch! down, sir! — ]^ow sir," begins he, as I slowly rise, " what do you mean by trespassing on my lawn in that 64 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. disgraceful way? Are you aware, sir Good God! wliat ! Samuel?" he suddenly exclaims. " What ! Uncle Joe? " I ejaculate feebly. The old gentleman, in truth, is no other than my uncle Joseph Buzzer. I had heard he had retired from business, and had bought a little place somewhere in Crampshire, but had no idea where. " My dear uncle," I began, penitently, " I am extremely sorry.'' "Oh, Samuel, Samuel!" said Uncle Joe " what would your poor father have said could he have beheld you in this costoom ? I wouldn't have believed it of you, Samuel, unless I had seen it with my own eyes. — Down, Watch, down!" (that redoubtable dog will keep sniffing suspiciously at my legs). — " Come into the house, for goodness sake." So, having gathered up my smashed hat, my whip, and my coat tails, torn of by Watch, I followed Uncle Joe into the house. MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 65 " Hernma ! " he bawls directly we get into the little hall, " Hemina, come and see the trespasser. Who d'ye think it is? " His pretty daughter and only child, Emma, comes running downstairs. " What! Cousin Sam ? Goodness gracious, what a state you are in ! " I am indeed in a state, and without loss of time proceed to Uncle Joe's room, where I not only have a good wash, but borrow some of his clothes, including a pair of trousers, for his biaite of a dog has done for my leather breeches. After a bit down I came, and found a sumptuous luncheon set out, my uncle bringing out some curious brown sheny I foimd out that since he had been settled in Crampshire he had been nearly worried to death by hounds of one kind or another. First, Her Majesty's Staghormds paid him a visit, the stag bucking about all over his kitchen garden, and knocking him (Uncle 66 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. Joe) over on his back. Then came a scratch pack with a bay fox, which wretched animal took refuge in his greenhouse, the hounds after him, playing old gooseberry with the flower-pots. The O.H.H., too, last winter, had paid him several unwelcome visits. I promised him that in future I would eschew the chase ; in fact, on my own account, let alone his, I was thoroughly and completely disgusted with it. " Grey Peter" was brought back with a bad over-reach, and dead lame. It appeared that the hounds ran into their fox in the open, about two miles from my uncle's house, ^'Grrey Peter" well in front; he pulled up when they killed, and the huntsman, recog- nizing him, gave him a cut with his whip and started him off, and he appears to have galloped and jumped himself to a standstill. At Uncle Joseph's earnest solicitation, I telegraphed to town for my things, and paid MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 67 him a fortnight's visit at his little house, " The Myrtles.'^ At the end of that fortnight I discovered that I liked his daughter Emma better than anybody in the world, and was delighted to find that I was anything but indifferent to her — in short, I proposed and was accepted. Uncle Joe was as pleased as Punch, and he testified his delight that evening by producing some extremely curious madeira, that, on the top of a skinful of claret, was too much for the worthy old gentleman, who had to be helped to bed by myself and the man-servant. Emma, I am pleased to say, is now my wife. " Grey Peter" may be seen most days of the week, in the afternoon, waiting for me at my office with the brougham, behaving himself with much more decorum than he did in the hunting field. Watch has become one of my best friends. My wife, who is sitting, as I write, read- 68 MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. ing the last new novel, looks up with one of her cheerful smiles ; and I think, when I look at her, how out of evil often comes good, and what a lucky thing it was I went hunting that day. One of Uncle Joe's standing jokes with me is that, " though werry unsuccessful after the fox, I was werry good in chasing the dear (deer)." I have never troubled the hounds since that day, and don't suppose I ever shall. However, as the great Dr. Cupper insists on my taking plenty of exercise, I have taken a small place a short distance from Uncle Joe's, where my wife and I disport ourselves at lawn tennis. With that healthy amusement, and plenty of country walks, I find that my brain is swept pretty clean of cobwebs. Occasionally, in our walks, my wife and I catch a glimpse of my old friends the O.H.H., yellow coats and all. Good sport to them ! My tale is told. All I have to say in con- clusion is that, though I don't wish for it MY DAY WITH THE HOUNDS. 69 over again, still I shall never regret, as long as I live, " My Day with the Hounds." Says Uncle Joe, "No, more you hought, you dog !" Says my wife — nothing, but squeezes my arm, and gives me a kiss, for all that. **THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS." CHAPTER I. "Never mind old fellow; 'Faint heart never won fair lady/ you know. Take my advice, don't go near the cruel one until after the hunt steeplechase, this day week, is over. In the meantime, ride 'Becky Sharp' in her gallops steadily every day, go to bed early, eschew too much brandy-and-soda and too many cigars, keep cool, and win the big race in a canter. Go to the ball that night, and I'll bet you my commission to a bottle of soda water that, by supper-time, you'll have not THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 71 only won the hunt cup, but the Tayre One with ye Golden Locks' mto the bargain." So spake Cousin Charlie Moore, captain of the 106th Dragoon Guards — qualifying his speech with a huge draught of gin and seltzer, lighting a fresh cigar, and composing himself in the easiest of armchairs for my reply. Before I go any further, I must inform my readers who Cousin Charlie is, who I am, stnd who the young lady designated by him " The Fayre One with ye Golden Locks;" and as the play -writers have it, the whole argument of the piece, and the reason for the afore-given lecture. I, John George Arthur Temple, commonly called, by nearly all those I number amongst my intimate friends, "Johnnie," am the only son of my mother (and she is a widow), am just turned three-and-twenty, and am the proud possessor of £4,000 a year, four hunters (including the fore-mentioned "Becky 72 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Sharp "), two harness horses, a hack, and a clever pony, a brace of pointers, two terriers, and a retriever. I live here all alone with my mother, and my address (for the benefit of the curious) is E-yslip House, Bedbury, Blankshire. Ryslip House, standing in its own grounds, beautifully wooded, and within reach of three packs of foxhounds, as the auctioneers would describe it. I ought to be a happy man, says every one, with all these advantages ; but I am not, un- fortunately — very far from it. I am in love ! Yes, it is too true — cruel, cruel Blanche Dashwood! for the last six months I have been utterly unable to get your wicked blue eyes and wavy golden hair out of my mind. Why do I shoot so badly, day after day, missing rocketer after rocketer, tailoring hares, and letting that sporting bird the woodcock fly gaily by unseen? until the old THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 73 keeper, who has lived here all his life, says he can't make it out at all, what Master Johnnie is up tew with hisself. Why do I, when I take up the paper, find myself sud- denly reading it carefully upside down? Why do I come down looking so seedy in the morning, that I cause my fond mother to exclaim, " Johnnie, Johnnie, I am sure you smoke too much, my dear — you look so dread- fully pale!'' And finally, why do I, when hounds are not running, catch sharp hold of "Becky Sharp's" head, and lark that clever animal over every conceivable thing, making her toss her head about with such strange treatment, and going the right way to make her as irritable as myself? Why do I do all these extraordinary things ? My heart answers for me — Blanche ! Blanche ! The facts of my case are these : I came back from a longish tour abroad about three months ago, and, on my return, found Blanche, whom I had known all my life, 74 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. as affectionate as ever, seemingly ; but, alas ! just at that time there comes down to Oak- over Cottage (a snug hunting-box in the neighbourhood) a new tenant in the shape of a ''Captain Cutway" — a dashing cavalier just sold out of the Queen's Eoans, bringing with him a nice lot of horses, and giving out that, if he likes the country, he will either take the cottage on for some years, or take a larger place in the neighbourhood. Well, this is all very pleasant ; the captain seems a good sort of fellow, has a capital cook and undeniable drinks, and is altogether an acquisition to the county ; but, confound him ! he has not been here very long, before he is as thick as thieves at the Mulberries — old General Dash- wood's place — the father of my Blanche. I happened to be there the first time he dined with the general. It was only a family part}^ — Blanche, her companion, Cutway, and myself, and, of course, the general. He took Blanche in to dinner, and monopolized THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 75 the whole of the conversation. I could not get a word in. After dinner, just the same. He quite ignored me, and fairly collared the general. The latter, by the way, had been formerly in the captain's old regiment — the Roans. The old chief seemed quite charmed with his new neighbour. When Cutway was taking leave, he says, shaking him cordially by the hand, " You're not far off. Captain Cutway, you know ; you'll always find me at home on Sunday. Luncheon, and a cigar afterwards, eh ! And when the frost comes, and you can't hunt, if you don't run up to town, my daughter and I will always be pleased to see you.'' *'Many thanks," says the captain. ^'De- pend upon it, I'll take you at your word, general." This he says with a grin at Blanche, that makes me very angry. After he is gone, Blanche exclaims, "What a nice man!" 76 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. " Such a knowledge of the world," says Miss Budder, her companion or sheep dog. " Seems a very good, pleasant fellow," echoes the general. I am quite glad when my dogcart is announced, and I drive home a great pace, anything but pleased with the new neighbour. A few nights afterwards is the Honour- able Mrs. Clinker's ball. There is this gay captain as impudent as ever ; twirling his moustache, showing his teeth, and chattering like a magpie. How I begin to detest him! Blanche seems much taken with him ; and he not only dances three round dances and a quad- rille with her in the course of the night, but takes her down to supper as well. I have not a chance, evidently. At last, when I do have my one dance with her, I feel so sulky that I can scarcely speak to her, much to her sui^prise. She, like my mother, says she thinks I must be " ill." THE FAYKE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 77 111, indeed ; enough to make a fellow ill, I tliink to myself. After our dance, she gives me a saucy nod every time we pass each other. How pretty she looks! I must say " good night " to her, and make friends ; and, as I think this, as good luck would have it, I heard her ask Captain Cutway, who was having his last dance with her, to go and see after papa, as the carriage is waiting. Off he goes on his errand, so I take his place, and nicely I am teased for my pains. " What not gone yet, Johnnie?" says Blanche: "I thought you were so disgusted with every- thing, you had gone long ago. You've scarcely said a word to me all the evening, and never even asked me to dance until I had my card quite full ; and I wanted to talk to you so muc/i^ too. I wanted to ask you how " Becky Sharp " was, and what coloured jacket you are going to wear in this wonderful steeplechase. You know I am coming to see you win." 78 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. " Coming to see Captain Cutway win, you mean, Blanche/' I retorted, in my grandest manner. " Ah," says that young lady, with a joyous little laugh, "I see now what's the matter with you — you're jealous of the captain, are you? — was he jealous, then, poor boy?" " Oh, Blanche, how unkind you are," I blurted out, and was just going to out with it, and tell her the whole truth, when a horrid voice startled both of us — " Hei^e they are, general ! AVhere have you been. Miss Dash wood! The general and I have been looking everywhere for you." It is Cutway ! What a humbug the fellow is ! We have been sitting down close by the ball-room door — in fact, just where he left Blanche when I came up. " Now, Blanchey, get your cloak on my dear," says the old general ; ^'the horses will be getting cold." So oiF Blanche goes on my arm, to the THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 79 cloak-room, tlie general and Cutway follow- ing. When she comes out again, wrapped up for her journey home, Cutway manages to shove his arm forward, and takes her to the carriage. In she gets, followed by the general, whom the captain helps in, in quite a son-in-law way ; and the old general requires a little help to night, for he is rather unsteady on his pins. " Good night, Johnnie ! " says Blanche, leaning forward in the carriage, and waving her hand to me. Cutway has got hold of the carriage -door, and monojoolizes them completely, so I can't shake hands ; and, just as the carriage is about to drive off, his hoarse voice — hoarser than usual, from the goodly quantity of Mrs. Clinker's not very first-rate champagne he has taken — shouts out, with much unnecessary empressement and a squeeze of her white-gloved little hand, "Good-bye, Miss Dash wood, ^oocZ-^j/e.' The next time you see me it will be winning this big steeplechase in a canter. Mind you back 80 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS- me, to win a fortune in gloves." Off they go ; and lie turns round — " Halloo, old fellow ! not gone yet, eh ? Come and have a glass of sherry before we depart. Good ball, hasn't it been? What a jolly girl that Blanchey Dash wood is, isn't she?" '' Blanchey'' indeed! think I; talking of her as if he was the general himself. I decline his glass of sherry, and bid him good night, and go in search of my hostess to wish her the same ; and ten minutes more sees me driving home through the slushy lanes, in the silence of the dark night, or rather morning, for it is getting on for five o'clock. Twenty minutes more sees me to the house, and, yawning all the way up stairs, I go to bed, and soon am in the land of dreams. And, yes, I think Mrs. Clinker's champagne must certainly be very bad ; for, first, I dreamt that, just as I was winning the hunt steeplechase in a canter, hands down, Blanche suddenly appears, and, shying THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 81 a knock-' em-down stick at me, knocks me off my horse. And next, I dreamt that I was in a church, looking on at Cutway's marriage to Blanche Dashwood, and the ])arson was saying to Blanche, " Wilt thou liave this man to thy wedded husband,'' when — bang ! — smash ! — ' ' the Prussians, by Jove ! " — and, waking up with a start, I am overjoyed to find that the " Battle of Dorking" has not come off this time, and it is only the butler, who has overturned my bath with a crash, and is now pouring in the icy- cold water, which is to freshen me up for another day. Three days later arrives Cousin Charlie, the giver of the lecture, the reasons for which have just been related. Charlie, who is up to anything, from play- ing a fantasia of Thalberg's to making a book on the Two Thousand, has come down here kindly to put me in the way of things for the forthcoming hunt steeplechase, for which I 82 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. have entered my mare, "Becky Sharp." It is the great event of the year in the county. Every one goes, ladies and all ; and it is followed by a ball, which makes it still more popular with the fair sex. There are other races, of course, the same day, but they are of very minor importance. The hunt cup has the usual conditions of such races attached to it. " Gentlemen riders," of com^se. The stakes are 15 sovs. each, five forfeit, and 200 sovs. added ; and the distance about four miles of a fair hunt- ing country, with an artificial water-jimap just in front of the stand. I could not have a better mentor for the forthcoming tournament than the bold Charlie ; for he has won more than one regimental steeplechase, to say nothing of others at regular cross-country meetings. The morning after his arrival we sally forth, after breakfast, en route for ''Becky Sharp's ' ' abode, having, first of all, got under THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 83 weigh a couple of large cigars, the produce of Charlie's well-filled case. '* Good smoke, ain't they ? " remarks that extravagant plunger. "I bought ^ye hundred of 'em the other day, and they onli/ stand me in fom* guineas a pound." When we reach the stables, we find the great Mr. Twister, my stud-groom, waiting for us outside, straw in mouth, of course, and tapping his neat blucher boots with a small ash plant he carries. " Mornin', gen'lemen. Glad to see you lookin' so well, capt'in," is his greeting, as he takes the key of "Becky's" box out of his breeches -pocket, preparatory to letting us in for the inspection of that distinguished animal. But a word about Mr.~ Twister, who is a very great man in his own estimation, and that of his fellow- servants and companions generally. Indeed, from the awe with which one and all of them seem to feel for him, I 84 THE EAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. fancy that in their eyes he is a sort of Bismarck or Yon Moltke. He began life as a Newmarket boy ; but, being rather too fond of beef and beer, and being a very impudent dog besides, he did not get on very well at the head- quarters of the Turf; and one fine day Mr. Sam Welter, the well-known trainer, to whom he was apprenticed, and who at that period had the first favourite for the Derby in his stable, having caught his young friend in close confab with a well- known scamp of a tout, who was evidently after no good with the lad, took the law into his own hands, and administered such a lick- ing, with a ground -ash stick, to Master Twister as thoroughly disgusted that young gentleman with the Turf and everything connected with it for some time afterwards ; so shortly afterwards he took French leave, as the saying is, and took himself off from the Turf metropolis. He next appeared upon the scene as groom THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 85 to a young swell wlio bad just left Oxford, and who was going the pace as hard as ever he could. So good did he make it, that he brought himself to a standstill in rather less than three years, and a very pleasant three years I have no doubt he had, and Mr. Twister, too. Indeed, that worthy, on re- ferring to his late master, would say, with much feeling, " Well, of all the free-handed, liberal gents as hever I set eyes on — and I've seen a many, mind you — I never came across sech an out-an-outer as 'im, ' daggered ' if hever I did." Of course, at the end of three years, Mr Twister had to look out for him- self again. The next thing that was seen of him was riding a steeplechase at Monaco, in the colours of that well-known continental sports- man, Count Alphonse de Leduc, who em- ployed him as private trainer and occasional jockey, a post for which he was well fitted, for he had learnt quite enough at Newmarket 86 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. to know how to make such middling brutes as the Count possessed fit to go ; and, to do him justice, he could ride a good one, quite like a "center" (i.e. Centaur), as he himself would say. However, here again the pace was too good to last. One fresh spring morning the Count was found by his valet with a fearful gash across his throat, and on his gorgeously appointed dressing-table was a bloody razor ; and it was too evident, by the tracks of blood from the table to the bed, that the unfortu- nate man had coolly undressed, gone to the looking-glass, cut his throat, walked to his bed, and there calmly bled to death. Mr. Twister was again a free man. Having saved a little money, he could afford to wait a bit. I happened to see his advertisement in the Field, and, after some correspondence, closed with him ; and, if I were not rather afraid of him, should sav he suited me, to use a slang expression. THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 87 " down to tlie ground. '' He is always "hairin' his French," as he calls it, and is always bringing up the Count's name when I venture to give my opinion on anything connected with his department. " When I trained for the Count," he always begins — the Count's stud, as I have been told, having consisted of five or six weeds, that would scarce have paid for their hay and corn in England. And now for " Becky Sharp." " Take her clothes off, Jim," says Twister, as we enter the box, to the attendant helper. " Becky Sharp," by '' Swindler " out of a hunting mare, is a long, lathy, dark chestnut mare, with a white star on her forehead, and not another speck about her. "Pretty fit, I think you'll say, capt'in," says Twister, as, leaning against the wall in an easy attitude, he scans the mare very complacently. And Twister is right, she does look fit. 88 THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Her dark coat shines like satin ; and as she puts her ears back, and lunges out gently with one of her hind legs, every muscle stands out in bold relief; and I think, if even the bold Dick Turpin were here, and could set eyes on her, he would think her worthy of carrying him in a ride for life or death. THE FAYKE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 89 CHAPTER II. "Not quite class enough to win tlie * Liver- pool," capt'in, but vany near, sir — varry near," says Twister, as he passes his hand caressingly along "Becky Sharp's" hard and shining neck. " 'Owever," he continues, " she's more than class enough to win this 'ere steeplechase, and 'arf a dozen sich the same day ; and I tell Mister John that if he honly keeps 'isself quiet on her, and doesn't let her 'ave 'er 'ead until three-quarter of a mile from 'ome, when it comes to racing, there's not one of the others will be able to live with 'er. Lor' bless you! Capt'in Moore, she can go just as fast as you can clap your 'ands together. You must ride her to-morrow yourself, sir, and then 90 THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. you can judge for yourself what she's made of." '' Certainly," Charlie says, *'the mare looks uncommon like business ; and, I should say, must have a rare chance of pulling this affair off, though I have seen none of the other intended runners." " I 'ave though," says Mr. Twister, "seen 'em hall; and though all the ^Hoi polloi,^ as the hancients call 'em, about 'ere think 'Capt'in Cutway's 'oss is the one to put their pieces on,' the honly one — the honly one, as I'm afraid on — is " La Perichole," a mare of Mr. Becher's — him as lives at Shenstone, you know, sir. I've seen her out 'unting, with Mr. Becher on her, several times, but I've never seen her jump anything ; for Mr. B., though I'm hinformed he's a rare good judge of 'oss-flesh, never rides any, and Joe Black- bird, 'is 'ead man, is one of the most mis- teerous and deepest cards ever I conversed with. Nothing to be got out of him. 'Ow- THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 91 ever, I 'ear, on very good authority, that 'Mr. George,' the well-known gentleman rider, will steer the mare. If this is so, why, Mr. John will have to look to hisself, for it is quite sevin pounds to the good for any horse to 'ave such an A 1 pilot as Mr. George." "Yes, by jingo!" says Charlie, "George is the boy to shove 'em along." "I hope, for your sake, he'll break his mount's back, or his own, the first fence, Master Johnnie." Hang this Mr. George ! I think to myself; what business have such swell riders to come down and put themselves against men who, good across country as they may be, yet have never ridden a race in their lives? I only hope, as Charlie says, he may come to awful grief the very first fence. At last the important day arrives ; "Becky Sharp" is as fine as a star under Mr. Twister's training ; and, as for myself, I never felt so fresh in my life, for Charlie has made me 92 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. ^' knock off my 'baccy," as he calls it, sent me to bed early every night, and looked on at my gallops on "Becky" every day; so, altogether, after all the combined advice and encourage- ment of him and Mr. Twister, I feel remark- ably confident of my prowess. I come down to breakfast on the important day, which is to "make" or to "mar" me, feeling rather seedy, for I have not been blessed with too much sleep in the course of the night. My mother and Charlie have already begun. Notwithstanding their com- bined entreaties, I make an indifferent feed of it ; and I envy Charlie, who has cleared olf no end of devilled kidneys, and is now going in for potted char, ham, oatcake, and marma- lade, as if he had had nothing to eat for a week. I don't feel properly wound uj) until I have taken the plunger's advice, and drunk a glass of curacoa and brandy — not to say two. "Nothing like it, old man," says Charlie, helping himself to the same seductive mixture. THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 93 '* Adieu," to my mother, and then ofF we start in my phaeton for the scene of action. The day is very bright and fresh, and there having been a slight frost in the night, the air is keen and exhilarating ; indeed, my spirits rise to the occasion, and I feel as if I could ride at anything, or with anybody — even the great Mr. George himself. Even the horses shake their heads, and step along as if they enjoyed the fun. " Mornin', sir ; mornin', capt'in." says a jolly voice, the owner of which, cantering along the grass at the side of the road, has overtaken us. It is Dick Whelby, j oiliest and most sporting of farmers. " Eiding over to see Mister John win, capt'in ? I see "Becky " pass our house this morning, and precious well she looked, too. My missis runned out, and had a look too ; she'll be quite off her head, Mister John, if you win the cup, and on tittups." Dick, his cheery red face 94 THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. beaming with broad grins and good bumour generally. Here's Doctor Mackintosh bowling along in his half-gig, half-dogcart, accompanied, as usual, by his man, in the seediest of hats and coats. The worthy doctor generally manages, I notice, to steal a few hours from his numer- ous patients when there is anything in the way of sport going forward. Next we over- take a dingy-looking brougham, drawn along by a Koman-nosed, flea-bitten old grey — Mrs. Eammaquin's, surely? Sm-e enough it is; and that old cat. Mother Eammaquin herself, is inside, for she pops her wizen old head out of the window as we pass, and, as she sees me, nods like a Chinese mandarin. I see her pretty, timid little daughter along with her. Her artful old mother makes a dead set at me always ; for what a catch it would be for darling Lucy, she no doubt thinks to herself They do say she bullies the said Lucy awfully. She would like to pull up now and THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 95 talk, if I gave her the chance, which I don't — " not if I know it." Now we pass Shenstone Priory, Mr. Becher's place, and, as I live, the owner of "La Perichole'' is just turning out of his lodge gates as we pass by. He waves his whip to me ; and I see a sporting-looking man with him in his well-appointed dogcart. Charlie spots him directly. "By Jove! that's the great Mr. George," says he ; " that's the fellow you'll have to keep your eye on to day, old boy." Here we are at Bedbury. That stupidest of towns is all alive O I Carriages, gigs, dogcarts, and nondescript vehicles of all sorts crowd the principal street. Men on horses, men on foot, card sellers and sharpers, and every sort of blackguard, all going to the same destination. Another mile and we reach the course. Jolt, jostle, jig-jog we go over the uneven ground, and at last take up om^ position by the 96 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS- ropes. A dozen cads descend upon us to help take the horses out, and turn the carriage round. As I look about me, I see that close by is General Dash wood's carriage, containing the old soldier himself, his fair daughter, and her faithful sheep-dog. They are placed im- mediately opposite the artificial water-jump, so they ought to see plenty of fun. Just at this moment up comes Twister, big with importance. " Our mare's over there," says he, pointing to the other end of the field, "and I've sent Tom with your dress- ing things to the room in the stand." "All right," I rejDly, "I'll join you directly ; " and ofi* I go to pay my respects to the Dashwoods' carriage. I am very graciously received there, and Blanche blows me up sky-high for never having been near her since the Ball. " I've a good mind not to speak to you all day, sir," says that lively young person. ^ ' But, Johnnie, how horrid, and large, and THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 97 nasty this brook looks ! — it looks like a lot of mud and straw and water, all mashed up together. And I have seen ' Becky/ and how nice and pretty she looks ; and Johnnie, let me tell you, sir, I've backed you for no end of gloves, so you really must win ; and look what I've brought you to pin in your jacket — a little, tiny bunch of purple and white violets. Isn't it a pretty attention on my part? — it's more than you deserve, sir. Will you wear them, Johnnie?" " Wear them, Blanche! " I exclaim. "Oh, how kind of you!'' I forgive her everything from that moment, and am in the seventh heaven of delight. I don't care a button for anyone now. *' But time flies. I must be off; so, good-bye, for the present, Blanche." " Luncheon will be ready for you after the big race, remember," says the general. And as I turn away, I really think Blanche looks a little pale and anxious. 98 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Now for " Becky." I find her walking about looking very smart in her brand-new purple and white clothing (my colours), surrounded by a host of my farmer friends, headed by old Ben Jovey, the farmer who bred her and sold her to me. Old Ben is very red in the face, and, I think, has already had several glasses of brandy and " warrer," as he calls it. "I've got my fi'-pun' note on. Master John," says he ; "I hope you'll pull it off, sir. The mare looks uncommon ; that she do." " Well, Mr. Jovey, if I did'nt know 'ow to turn out an 'oss for sech a game as this, I did ought to be ashamed of myself," remarks Mr. Twister, eyeing old Ben with much contempt. "Becky Sharp" herself takes things with the greatest indifference, staring about her with that wild eye of hers, as if she had been used to the game all her life. But, hark! Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle; there's the bell for the first race. "Come on," says Charlie, collaring my THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 99 arm ; and off we go to the stand, to see what's going on. My own affair is the third on the card, so there is heaps of time to look about one. A "selling handicap steeplechase" this is, of 40 sovs., only three runners, and here they come — and, "my eye," precious groggy- looking runners they are. Mr. Abram's, " The Kinchin," is favourite — a pretty hot one seemingly, but, as far as looks go, there's not much to choose between the three. Tinkle goes the bell ; they are off the first attempt, the redoubtable " Kinchin " shuffling along the last of the trio. They only go once round, so have only two miles to do ; and now they come to the water jump. "Hoosh!" over they go, altogether. The "Kinchin" gives a decided peck on landing, though, which his blackguard-looking jockey reminds him of by giving him a savage wrench of his mouth, and a cut over his head with his whip. Two more fences well over, and then " The \ 100 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Kinchin" suddenly drops back. "And yet he don't look beat either," says Charlie, who has his glasses up. "Why, what the blank's he a-doin' on?" shouts a burly ruffian at my elbow. " There's that blanky feller a-puUin' of the blanky 'orse a' ready ; and there, I've took ten blanky suv'rins to height about 'im ; " and, sui'e enough, his money looks anything but safe, for a regular roar goes up from the stand as the three horses come up to the final hurdle. It is plainly a bond fide case of Captain Arm- strong, for it is very evident "The Kinchin," bad as he is, is far the best of the lot, and could win anyhow, if his jockey chose. But Mr. Sloper's "Light of Other Days " wins in a canter, cooked as he is ; whilst the villainous- looking rider of "The Kinchin" makes a show of a finish with the other brute, amidst a regular howl from his infuriated backers. He makes a straight run of it into the in- closed place, knowing what he may expect if THE PAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 101 he is caught, for the enraged populace would murder him, then and there, if they could. However, under the circumstances, he knows exactly what to do, and he and the owner of "The Kinchin" — a Jew publican, hailing from the Haymarket — will take their departure quietly, whilst the next race is going on. " Come on, old chap, and get your togs on," says Charlie, ''for the next race, they say will be a ' walk over,' and there won't be much time afterwards." So off I go ; and, having duly dressed and weighed, don my great coat, and wait for the important event of the day. 102 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. CHAPTER III. *' Who's that young chap?" I overhear a horsey -looking customer, in a heavy white great coat and a blue bird's-eye tie (the latter article showing off the brilliant crimson colour of his countenance to much advantage), ask his friend. " I niver see 'im afore to my knowledge. Can he ride any ? " I try to look as if it was anything but my first appearance in silk ; but I fear the attempt is rather a failure. " Hang it ; I wish I hadn't smoked those two cigars last night," I think to myself. I wonder if Charlie has got a flask in his pocket ; I feel as if I should like some jumping powder. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, goes the bell again close by. It is the second race ; and Charlie THE EAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 103 was right when he prognosticated a walk over. The dreaded Mr. George rides him, too. Here he comes, and very business-like that gentleman looks — a short stumpy man, with reddish hair and a pair of twinkling eyes that seem to take in everything in one comprehensive glance. Need I say he sports a most elaborate white tie, wears undeniable boots and breeches, and is altogether the perfect model of a gentleman rider. He just trots his horse gently down the course to beyond the gorse -topped hurdles, and then, turning sharp round, sets him going, and jumps them in his stride, canter- ing home again, rising in his stirrups and patting his horse's neck, in all the pride of masterly horsemanship. I think there is no finer sight in this world than to see a real good horse striding along in his canter, with a horseman on his back, the pair seeming made for each other. One can almost fancy the quadruped saying, as he goes sweeping i04 THE PAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. gracefully bj, ^'I am going this pace merely for my own amusement, gentlemen. I like it. By-and-bye you shall see how I really can go when I mean business." But to return to our story : Mr. George having finished his walk over, the fun of the fair is about to commence. "Halloo, Temple!" says a voice behind me. Turning round, I behold the great Cut- way. He, like myself, is ready dressed for the fray, his bright jacket being concealed beneath a huge rough coat, which reaches down to his heels. " How do you feel, my boy ? They are making my nag a favourite over yonder, they tell me," says he, pointing, as he speaks, to Tattersall's ring. "You know your mare's a good 'un. Temple," he goes on; "but not quite enough of her, I don't think^ for this journey. I've the measure of all the others, more or less, and I don't think, I don't really think, between you and me and the post, that it is six to four against my horse." THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 105 I notice Cbarlie, wlio has come, and has been listening to all this, prick up his ears, and when Cutway has had his say, begins very quietly, " I want to back my cousin's mare for a trifle, old fellow. Do you feel inclined to lay me the odds? " "Yes, I will, old man," rejoins the ex- plunger, pulling out an elaborate betting- book, " with pleasure. I don't mind laying you eight ponies^ or fifties, which ever you fancy." " What say you to hundreds ? '* says Charlie. " Very well, I'm equally agreeable," he replies, evidently thinking it real good busi- ness. " Eight hundred to a hundred," he mutters, as he puts it down. " Now, TemjDle, don't you want to back your mount?" he goes on, turning to me. " I'll lay you the same odds to fifty, if you like.'' I feel rather " cock-a-hoop " for a moment at seeing such a clever fellow as Charlie 106 THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. backing me ; so I close with his offer, and immediately afterwards think what an ass I am, as Cutway shuts his book up with a slap of satisfaction, as if the money was already in his pocket. He then swaggers off, to put another century on his own horse, as he says. ^' By Jove ! Johnnie," says Charlie, looking after him, " that fellow will look blue before the day's over, you see if he doesn't. Halloo !" he exclaims, " they are putting the numbers up ; " and, sure enough, up they go, with a slap, to the top of the telegraph -board. Nine runners instead of the expected baker's dozen. All the better for me, I think to myself Let us see who they are. 1. Mr. Becher's "La Perichole" (scarlet and white chevrons). Mr. George. 2. Captain Cutway's *'Lord Lovel" (white, yellow belt and cap). Owner. 3. Mr. Martin's *' Sir Harry" (rose). Owner. 4. Captain Healey's "Lady Jane" (brown and blue cap). Captain Houns'tow. 5. Mr. Temple's ''Becky Sharp" (purple, white belt and cap). Oioner. THE EAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 107 Unliappy thought! No. 5 am I? Hope I shan't be No. 5 at the finish. 6. Mr. Greene's "The Farmer" (mauve, black cap). Oioner. 7. Mr. de Boote's " Sir Eoger de Coverley" (blue). Owner. 8. Captain Scroggin's "Betsy Baker" (orange, blue cap). Captain Jones. 9. Mr. Muffyn's "Jam Tart" (green, black belt and cap). Owner. "Now then, let's be off, and get to the mare," says Charlie, taking my arm. *' There's George going to get up already." We hurry off to find "Becky." " There she is, sir," says an excited farmer, evidently one of my backers, pointing to a small crowd not fifty yards off on the course. Twister has already adjusted the girths, and is giving " Becky " the final polish as we come up, amidst a buzz of admiration from a numerous bevy of acquaintances. " Now then, Johnnie, time's up. Off with your wrap-rascal,'' exclaims Charlie. "By jingo ! though," he adds, with a grin. " we must pin that 'ere bunch of violets in your 108 THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. jacket first ; it would never do to go without them, ell?" He accordingly suits the action to the word, and pins them in for me. " I wonder what gal guv' 'im that booky ? " remarks an observant cad. Off comes my great coat. Another second, and I am in the saddle. ^'By Jove!" says Charlie patting the mare's neck as we move off, "the pair of you look uncommon. I shall be off, and put a bit more on, on my own account. Twister, mind and see him safe to the start, will you ? Bon voyaf^e^ Johnnie," says he, shaking me by the hand ; and off he goes into the ring. We walk quietly pass the stand. Twister marching along at " Becky's " head, big with importance. What a row the *' Genii of the Ring " are making ! " 'Ere's two to one on the field for the 'unt cup," shouts one, at the top of his very powerful voice. " Four to one bar one," bellows another. THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS- 109 " I am very anxioics to bet on the field for this race," shouts a good-looking man, with a pair of wild-looking eyes and a pointed moustache, flourishing his betting-book as he speaks. This is Mr. Charlie Nutt, the well- known leviathan bookmaker. Now a quiet old country gentleman is con- siderably astonished by being pulled short up by a dusty-faced, dirty-fingered betting man, with the stentorian inquiry of, '' Wot do you want to do now?" On due consideration the old gentleman is of opinion that the sooner he is safe in his own carriage the better, and takes himself ofl* as soon as possible. " Hi, hi, hi, ! " *' Becky " pricks her ears. " Make way there ! " It is " Mr. George,^' taking his preliminary canter, ''La Perichole" going like a steam- engine. Then follows a shout of laughter from the crowd. The cause of it is Mr. Greene's horse, " The Farmer," who declines 110 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. to jump the hurdles at any j)rice. He is amusing himself by shaking his head and turning round and round like a teetotum, Mr. Greene the while looking most supremely unhappy. " He wants to go 'ome to the ploo'/' shouts a rustic Joe Miller, amidst a roar of laughter from the company. Just then a farmer comes up, armed with a hunting-whip, and giving the brute a tre- mendous cut behind, sends him over the hurdle as if he was shot, and away the other side, Mr. Greene having his reins all loose, and one foot out of his stirrup. That performance over. Twister takes us down to about fifty yards from the hm^dles, and turning round, away we go. No refuse about " Becky ; '' she jumps them like a cat, and we do our canter in fine style. " That's the winner, for a crown," says a white -coated cattle -drover to his pal as we go by. I only hope he may be right. As we THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Ill go by the Dashwoods' carriage, I just catcli a glimpse of Blanche, sitting on the box seat. She waves her handkerchief to me. I feel duly encouraged, and, by the time I pull up and join the other horses, am ready for any emergency. *'Now, sir, you're all behindhand," says the starter, as I jduII up. " Please get in a line, gentlemen, and don't be in a hurry ; you can't go until I drop my flag, you know." I am on the outside, next to Mr. George, and we are in a beautiful line, like a squadron of cavalry. Twister, who has galloped up on my hack, has barely time to whisper a last word of advice in my ear, when down goes the flag, and we are off. " Becky " gives my arms a good wrench at starting, but soon settles down quietly to her work. George makes the running, at a great pace, being several lengths in front of the rest of us We all get well over the first fence without a mistake, and away over the 112 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. large pasture beyond. The next is a teazer, rather— a wide ditch and bank with a rail on the top and a ditch the other side, and plough to land in. " Woh, you brute! " says a voice close to me. It is Mr. Greene again, whose lively horse, " The Farmer," is galloping with his great head in the air, as if he was star- gazing. I pull ^' Becky ' ' back a little, and it is lucky I did, for " The Farmer," not rising an inch, takes the rail with his knees, and turns a complete somersault, rolling up Mr. Greene in a very uncomfortable way on the other side. The rest of us get well over, Mr. George taking a pull at his horse over the plough, and looking all the while out of the corners of his eyes, as if he knew to an ounce how we were all going. The next four fences are all very easy, and we jump them without a mis- take. Now we cross a wheat field, and over a small fence on to the racecourse, and then THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 113 comes the water-jump. It's a case of harden- ing hearts now in earnest. Cutway suddenly shoots to the front, a deuce of a pace, and soon is quite ten lengths in front of us. He is close to the jump now, and is just pulling Ids horse together for the effort when, '' Yow, yow, yow!" out rushes an excited dog from the crowd, snapping at his horse's legs. "Lord Lovel'' stops as if he were shot, nearly sending Cutway over his head. I am well out of his way, luckily. " Come along, 'Becky,' old girl !" I holloa, driving her at the brook. She pricks up her ears, and over we go, with lots to spare, amidst a shout from the crowd. George jumps it alongside of me. Only five of us in the hunt now, for, looking back, I see that besides Cutway 's horse, " Sir Roger de Coverley" and "Betsy Baker" have both refused. What's the betting now^ I wonder? Scarcely anything of importance to jump, and "Becky "going as strong as a lion. Four 114 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. more fences well over, Mr. George and I both together, five lengths in front of our field. Now for some plough again, and a stiffish fence out of it, with a ditch and drop the other side. De Muifyns, passing us, sends his horse at it fifty miles an hour; but poor "Jam Tart,'' being blown, comes down a burster, breaking his own neck and considerably damaging his rider. I manage to pull " Becky" on one side in time, and only just. As it is, we land badly, and are very nearly down. Mr. George is still in front, and I am close to his heels ; and — can it be ? ' 'La Perichole' ' looks as if she had had enough of it. No more plough now, thank goodness. Crash we go through a small fence into a plantation, which we cross like a flash of lightning, and over a post and rail, and a drop the other side. George is obliged to wake his mare up, and gets over very slovenly. " Lady Jane' ' and " Sir Harry '' cannon in the air, and roll over just behind us. Now for the tug of war! Only three THE FAYEE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 115 more fences. I let "Becky" out a bit; and, by Jove ! George is obliged to ride " La Perichole" to keep near me. She answers the call gamely, and is only just behind at the final hurdle. " Becky ' ' has got lots of go in her, and jumps it quite clean; not so "La Perichole," who smashes it like paper, and nearly comes down. " She's beat ! She's beat! " roars an excited farmer. Whack, crack, smack ! with a running accompaniment with the spurs. Mr. George is making his last effort. The good mare answers as well as she can ; but it's no go. I shake " Becky Sharp " up, and leave her, as BelVs Life afterwards expressed it, just as if she was standing still. I look ' back, and see that George has given up all hopes of catching us, and has eased his mare. Another second or two, and I canter past the judge's box, easiest of winners, a good fifteen lengths in front of " La Perichole.*' Heavens ! what a row the ring make as I pull up! and well they may, for they have 116 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. what is elegantly called " Skinned the Lamb !'' that is to say, scarcely one of them has laid a farthing against " Becky," whilst a heap of money had gone on "La Perichole" and "Lord Lovel." " Well done, sir ! " says Twister, meeting me as I walk back to weigh. He is quite pale with excitement. " I thought you'd do it, old lady," he goes on, addressing " Becky," and patting her neck ; " but I certainly never did think it would be such an 'oiler perform- ance as this." " Hooray ! Three cheers for the young squire ! ' ' shouts out old purple-faced Jovey , former proprietor of "Becky," nearly wring- ing my hand off at the same time. "Hooray!" echo a crowd of admiring countrymen. "Well rode, Johnnie! " says Charlie, who has rushed out to meet me. " Page himself couldn't have ridden better. Why, the mare's not beat at all," he continues: "but 'La THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS- 117 Perichole's ' had her gruel, though. Look at her sides." And as she comes up close to me, I see the great crimson marks where the persuaders have been applied, whilst her drooping head and heaving frame show how done she is. " Becky," on the contrary, though she has had quite enough, is comparatively fresh, and has not a mark about her. I look down at Blanche's violets, and they, too, are all right, and as fresh as when they were given me. Charlie and Twister escort me to the enclosure in triumph ; and, having jumped off, and taken my saddle to the weighing-room, there soon comes forth to the expectant ears of my backers the welcome sound, "All right! " Changing my things as quickly as I can, I walk off to lunch with the Dash woods, having to run the gauntlet of lots of congratulating friends on the way, consequently I am some time getting there. " Here the ' conquering hero ' comes ! " 118 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. exclaims Blanche, clapping her hands, as I walk up. " We're all so pleased you've won, Johnnie — aren't we, papa?" "Well done, boy, well done!" says the jolly old general, shaking me heartily by the hand. " Never saw a thing better done in my life. You ought to be in the cavalry. As for my little Blanchey, there, you've quite turned her head with your horsemanship, eh ? Ha, ha, ha!" Blanche blushes, and good old Miss Budder, her amiable sheepdog, looks at me with a sly twinkle of her eye that very much encourages me in my hopes for the future. " Now, papa," says Blanche, " I am certain Johnnie must be nearly famished, and I am sure I am. Johnnie, sit next papa ; and Captain Moore, I advise you to sit on the box." The luncheon is speedily unpacked, and galantine, pigeon-pie, chicken, and tongue are soon being heavily laid siege to. I never THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 119 sat down to a luncheon with such an appetite in my life, and certainly never enjoyed that cheerful meal so much, for I felt I had really earned it well. *' Yes, I'll have one more glass of cham- pagne, Johnnie," says the " Fayre One," in reply to my request, "if it's only to drink dear ' Becky Sharp's' health. When I saw you galloping up to this horrid, muddy jump, oh ! I was so frightened ; I thought you must break your neck ; and do you know, sir, I saw my violets pinned in your jacket quite plainly when you came over, and I really believe it was wearing them made you jump so prettily." Dear Blanche ! I should like to drop my plate, and hug her on the spot. " And that horrid Captain Cutway, John- nie," she continues; "oh! how I laughed when his stupid horse refused. He got in such a rage, and tried to jump the brook standing, and they both tumbled head over 120 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. heels into the muddy water. You should have heard the people all laughing at him." I really felt so happy when Blanche told me all this, that I quite pitied Cutway. " Blanchey, are you ready to go home, my dear?" says the general. "If you are, we'll have the horses put to." Blanche agrees, and tells me to be sure and be early at the ball. She also tells me that she won't give a dance away until she sees me. I never was so happy in my life ; every- thino; is couleur de rose. " Good-bye, Blanche, and au revoir. Good- bye, general ;" and, lighting a cigar, I walk off in search of Charlie. I soon succeed in finding him, and following the Dash woods' example, we get our horses put to and are soon jolting away from the course, bound homewards. "Well, Johnnie," says the plunger, as we trot along, '• we haven't had a bad day of it altogether, have we? I landed nearly nine THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS, 121 hundred on your race, and a hundred on the next, when you were discoursing your ladye love. Cut way lost the best part of fifteen hundred, laying against you and backing himself. I wish you had seen him when he got out of the brook. You never saw a man in such a beastly mess in your life, and as savage as a bear. One of a lot of cads, who were chaffing him, caught it, for Cutway rushed at him, and gave him such a facer as he never had in his life before, and another chap such a cut over the face with his whip as didn't improve his beauty, I can tell you. I watched the * Fayre Blanche,' too, when he came down, and she laughed immoderately. His chance is out there, depend upon it." We reach home just as it is getting dark, much to the delight of my mother, who had fully expected that a broken neck would be the result of my steeplechase. Charlie and I accept her cup of tea, and while away the time by taking forty winks apiece until the 122 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. gong sounds, telling us to dress for dinner. How I pitcli into it wlien it comes ! I have been living very abstemiously lately to keep myself in proper trim for the race, so I make up for it now by taking a proper allowance of every thing both eatable and drinkable. After dinner, when my mother has retired upstairs, old Binns brings in a bottle of my late father's very best claret, warmed to per- fection ; and as it disappears under our combined attack, I begin to think to myself that if I don't win Blanche Dashwood to- night, I never shall. Charlie buzzes the bottle with an air of satisfaction, and I ring the bell for another. Binns appears as if by magic. ''I thought you'd want another bottle. Master John," says he, " so I had one all ready for you ; and I will bring in some devilled biscuits directly, sir." "Binns is a very sensible fellow," remarks Charlie, helping himself to a bumper. Apropos of this claret, I remember once, THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 123 when I was a small boy, coming in to dessert one night, and there was a cousin of mine, Frank Leicester of the Rifle Brigade, staying in the house, one of the coolest fishes that ever lived. Well, my father and he were sitting by the fire, over their wine, and my parent who was particular to the last degree about his drinks, and also about the temperature of his claret when put on the table, asked Frank how he liked that wine. Master Frank took up his glass, honoured it with a stare and a gulp, and a smack of his lips, and then said, in his drawling way, " Not bad clar't ; doosid ^ood indeed, but wants warming, don't it?" My father jumped up, and gave such a pull at the bell as frightened old Binns out of his life. He said afterwards he really thought my father was in a fit. "Here !" shouted my father, purple with indignation, "here! take this claret out, and, damme, hoil it! D'ye hear me? Boil it for Captain Leicester! " 124 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. Binns stared, as well he might, and, taking up the claret-jug, was leaving the room, when the imperturbable Frank, who all this while had not moved a muscle of his countenance, called out," Oh, by the way, Binns, while you are about it, just put in a lump or two of sugar and a little nutmeg ; it is rather sour." This was too much for my poor governor ; he got up, slammed the door, and retired to his snuggery, growling like a bear, and did not appear again the rest of the evening. Binns, I need scarcely say, did not boil the claret, but brought it in again, and Frank calmly finished it whilst he chatted to me. Just as Charlie and I finish our second bottle, the faithful Binns put his head in, to know what time the carriage is to come round to take us to the ball. In a quarter of an hour's time, I tell him. Just one whitewash of sherry apiece, to wind up and set every- thing straight, and we retire to our rooms to put the finishing touches to our respective THE FAYKE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 125 toilets. "Good-bye, Johnnie!" says my mother,' ''Don't stay too late, for I'm sure you must be dreadfully tired ; " and down- stairs we go, and jump into her comfortable carriage. Bang goes the door, and away we roll to Bedbury, where, in the Town Hall, is annually held what is called by the natives, " The Steeplechase Ball." Notwithstanding Charlie's lively talk, it seems to me we are a dreadful long while getting there. At last we roll over the stones of the little town, and pull up in the rear of a long line of carriages ; after about twenty minutes' slow going we reach the Town Hall, and jump out. We are in capital time, and they are just in the middle of the fourth dance, which happens to be the lively " L'CEil Creve " quadrille, as we enter the ballroom. I look round in search of Blanche, but can't see her anywhere. As I gaze about, old Mrs. Mouser, who is sitting the opposite side of the room, with her three very plain 126 THE FAYKE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. daugliters, spots me with that hawk's eye of hers, and beckons playfully to me with her fan. Not this time old lady, I think to my- self A tap on the elbow rouses me presently, and, turning round, behold Blanche and her father. " We came just behind you," says she, "and you jumped out of your carriage in such a hurry, you did not see us, though I tapped at the window as loud as possible." "Now, Blanche, you must give me this dance, a waltz — won't you?" says I. " Well, I don't know that I will," replies this little bully. " However, as they are just beginning, and I may not get another part- ner directly, perhaps I had better say yes. Good-bye, papa! I shall be at the end of the room with Mrs. Bandoline when you want me." Coote and Tinney's band strike up one of Gung'l's lovely waltzes and away we go. After that is over, I carry off Blanche to have some tea. She promises me two more THE EATRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 127 waltzes and a galop, and before five minutes are over has filled her card completely up with the names of her numerous admirers. She is such a pretty girl, and such a good dancer, that she is always in great request. But hark ! they strike up the first bars of the "Lancers." Young Easper rushes up to claim Blanche, so I betake myself to the doorway and look on, in company with a whole lot of others, all chattering like so many magpies. ''Halloo, Cutway!" says one, as the bold captain lounges up, still looking rather glum. " Why, I never expected to see you here to-night, after that mud bath you indulged in to-day. Weren't hurt, I hope?" "Hurt! no!" growls Cutway. "I'll tell you what, if it had not been for that dog, I must have won, sir — I must have won! Doosed lucky for you. Temple, that brute making my horse refuse in that way ; depend upon it, if he hadn't I should have been level with you at the last hurdle." 128 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. The "Lancers" finishino; at this moment puts a stop to the conversation, and Cutwaj goes off; and by-and-bye I see him go and shake hands with Blanche. She has one dance disengaged, late on in the evening, so she gives it him; only one, thank goodness — quite enough for him, though, I think to myself. The next three dances I dance with other young ladies of my acquaintance, and then comes a galop with Blanche. After that is over, the supper-room is thrown open, and I ask Blanche to come down with me ; she very graciously assents, as, she says, she thinks I ought to be made much of after my feat of winning the hunt cup. We go through the usual routine of chicken and tongue, champagne and seltzer. Just as she is putting on her gloves, she suddenly remem- bers she is engaged for the next dance to young Duffie, a gentleman, son of an enormously rich Brummagem manufacturer, and endowed with considerably more money than brains. THE EAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS, 129 " Oh ! lie's such a stupid man, Johnnie ! " she exclaims, "and such a bad dancer! What shall I do ? How can I avoid him? " "I'll tell you, Blanche. We'll go and sit in the tea-room ; hell never think of looking for you there." " That will do capitally ! " says she. " Let us be off now, or he will be coming in here after me." Off we go, and find the room empty, except a waiter and a maid, who are con- ferring amiably together in a snug corner behind the tea-table. " Well, Blanche," I begin, " are you not sorry poor Cutway did not win to-day?'' " Now, Johnnie, that is too bad of you. You know I wanted nobody to win but you ; and even if I did not care about you yourself, I should not like to have seen ' Becky Sharp ' beaten. Oh ! I am so fond of her, dear old ' Becky ' ! I sometimes think, do you know, she ought 130 THE EAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. to have me for a mistress instead of you for a master." " Ah, Blanche ! dear Blanche ! " I whisper, "won't you say you'll be 'Becky's' mistress for good and all ? You don't know how much I love you — I do indeed ! You have teased me dreadfully ever since I came back from abroad, and I did not know how much I loved you till then. Say, Blanche, yes, or no — will you be my wife? " " Oh, you bad boy ! " replies Blanche, looking down and blushing very prettily. ' What must I say to you ? You seem to think, because you have won this horrid race, 3'ou are to have everything your own way." " Oh, Blanche! please don't tease me. Am I to go abroad again, and leave you for ever? Don't be so cruel : tell me my fate. Do you love me?" " Yes, dear," Blanche replies, her little white -gloved hand which is in mine giving me a squeeze. " I love you dearly, Johnnie, THE FAYRE ONE WITH TE GOLDEN LOCKS. 131 and you have made me very liajDpy, you bad young man ! I could cry. Don't kiss me, sir! — Look! there's that horrid waiter laughing at us." " You have made me so happy, Blanche ! I may come over to-morrow morning and see the general — mayn't I ? " At this juncture, one of Blanche's un- fortunate partners pokes his nose into the tea-room ; several of them have been drawing for her, but he is the only hound who has not drawn blank. "Been looking everywhere for you, Miss Dash wood. Our dance this time, I think ; " and he carries her off. I rush off to find Charlie Moore ; he is not dancing, luckily. '' Halloo ! young man," says he, directly he sees me, " where have you been to, and what have you been a-doin' on? There's some- thing up I can see by your face. Well, has the double event come off?" "Come off! yes. I've won in a canter for 132 THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. the second time to-day. I'm the happiest man in England, and I'm dreadfully thirsty ; come and have some champagne." Off we go ; and after one more dance with Blanche, and a very tender "Good night!" Charlie and I take our departure ; and I fear that my mother's carriage, by the time we get home, smells like a cigar- shop The next day, directly after breakfast, I rode over to the Dash woods', saw the general, who received his future son-in-law with open arms, and had a very delightful Ute-a-Ute with Blanche. My story is finished. Three months after- wards, gentle reader, if you had cast your eye down the marriage column of the Times ^ you might have seen the following : — " On the 17th. June, at St. Anne's Church, Cackleton, by the Eight Eev. the Bishop of Porchester (uncle of the bride), assisted by the Eev. Samuel Slowboy, M.A., John George Arthur, only son of the late John Temple, Esq., of Eyslip House, Bedbury, Blankshire, to Blanche Maud, only daughter of Major-General Dashwood, C.B., of The Mulberries, near Bedbury." THE FAYRE ONE WITH YE GOLDEN LOCKS. 133 Of course Charlie was mj " best man " on the occasion, and a very good one he made. As we were discussing affairs a day or two before, he told me Cutway's horses were all up at Tattersall's to be sold on the following Monday. '' He was very hard hit on the Two Thousand," says Charlie ; and he continues, " I think I shall bid for the brown horse he rode in that steeplechase of yours." To wind up : " Becky Sharp " is never going to be steeplechased again : she has become a perfect lady's horse, and in future is destined for the sole and entire use of the " Fayre One with ye Golden Locks." WON BY A FLUEE. " Now then, Jack, how much longer are you going to be ? Do leave off whistling ' La Fille de Madame Angot,' and look sharp; I'm nearly famished. The fish is getting cold — kidneys too." The speaker, or rather shouter, Charlie Wemyss, captain in Her Majesty's 108th Dragoon Guards, has come to breakfast with his friend and relation, the Hon. Jack Latchford, and, as usual, has found that worthy snug in bed. "Don't wait for me!" shouts back the honourable, who is dressing very leisurely in the adjoining room, whistling all the while WON BY A FLUKE. 135 as loud as he can. *' Don't wait for me ; I'll be with you in a brace of shakes." Charlie groans, and, once more taking up BelVs Life^ awaits his lazy relation. That gentleman does not keep him long, for in two minutes he appears upon the scene in a free-and-easy sort of semi-Turkish costume — -jacket and trousers composed of all the colours of the rainbow, slippers to match — unstudded as to his neck, and looking alto- gether thoroughly comfortable. " How are you, old man?" is his greeting. " Come on, let's set to, I'm awfully peckish." Charlie, nothing loth, sits himself down at the well- spread breakfast-table, and the two begin to peg away, in most workman-like style, at the devilled soles, etc. The " Honourable Jack " is one of those rosy-looking, healthy men who always have an appetite, and always look fresh, no matter how many brandies-and-sodas and cigars they have consumed the night before. Jack 136 WON BY A FLUKE. at this present moment is very hard up. He has just lost a cracker on the " Grand National/' and the colt he has backed for the " Two Thousand " has gone clean to the bad, besides which he is very much in debt; yet, to look at the man, you would think he hadn't a care in the world. Behold him now, what an appetite he has! how steadily he is working away at the kidneys ! The second son of Lord Coxcombe, that well-known patron of the Turf, devotedly addicted to all field sports — more particularly racing — to say nothing of other little expen- sive amusements, it is not to be wondered at that he finds it uncommonly difficult to make both ends meet at the end of the year. A glance round his sitting-room would alone give you an insight into his tastes and pursuits. His "crib," as he calls it, is situated, by the way, in a quiet little street out of St. James's Street. Divers fishing-rods and gun-cases, piled up in a corner, denote WON BY A FLUKE. 137 that their owner may be seen at times scour- ing the moor or stubble, or walking along the banks of a stream, flogging the water sedulously in search of the lovely speckled trout or silvery salmon ; whilst, from divers hunting-whips and a couple of racing-saddles hung against the wall, we may infer that he sports in turn "the silk and the scarlet." The drama, too, evidently enjoys a share of his patronage, for on one side of the mantle- piece is a photograph of Mr. Sothern as " David Garrick," balanced on the other by a ditto of Mr. Toole in one of his well-known characters. Several portraits of past Derby winners, after " Harry Hall," and a series of hunting and steeplechase scenes adorn his walls. His library consists of a few odd volumes of the "Racing Calendar," "Sponge's Sporting Tour," one or two yellow-backed railway novels, and last month's " Baily," the rest of the room being filled up with the usual miscellaneous litter of a bachelor's apartment. 138 WON BY A FLUKE. At last breakfast is over, and. each, sousing himself into the depths of an armchair, pro- ceeds to smoke — Charlie with a huge cigar, Jack with a meerschaum — '^pufF! puff! puff ! " is the order of the day. Charlie is the first to open his mouth. " Have you heard anything from head-quarters this morning?" says he. ''I see in the paper the ' King's' gone back in the betting a j)oint or two. They seem to be backing 'Rasselas,' too, like steam, notwithstanding his weight. It's ridiculous. They think because he won the Derby last year he is to win this race with 9 St. 4 lbs. I don't see it; do you?" " No ! " rejDlied Jack, " 'Rasselas' be blowed ; don't believe he'll get a place even. By Jove ! how riled my governor will be if our horse don't pull it off. I know he hasn't hedged a farthing of his money yet awhile, and I'm sure I haven't; more have you — have you?" At this juncture a tap is heard at the door. "Come in!" shouts Jack, and enter James, WON BY A FLUKE. 139 his well-drilled body-servant. " One of Mr. Napper's boys brought this note, sir." " All right, James, tell him to wait ; I'll let him know if there's an answer directly." "Very good, sir," and exit James, closing the door behind him in a quiet way — peculiarly his own — that would make many a swell cracks- man envious of him for life. Jack tears the letter open in great haste, and proceeds to read. ''Here's a pretty go ! " he exclaims. " What the deuce is to be done ? I don't understand it. Here, read it, Charlie and see what you can make of it ; " and, so saying, he chucks the note over to him and stamps about the room. '' There's something wrong with ' King Pippin,' I'll bet a 'underd," remarks James to himself, in the room beneath ; turning rather pale at the same time, for he has half a year's wages on him. Let us peep over Charlie's shoulder as he reads — 140 WON BY A FLUKE. " Swettering Lodge, Epsom, " Tuesday. "Dear Sir, " I send this by one of my lads, thinking it best not to telegraph. ' King Pippin,' after a gallop this morning, pulled up yery lame. Several somebodies were about, so you won't be surprised if, in the course of the day, you find he has gone to 100 to 1 for the City and Suburban. Sir, don't be afraid. Take all the thousands to ten obtainable, and, if possible, come and see the horse to-morrow, when I will explain matters to you fully. " I remain, sir, " Your obedient servant, "Joseph Napper. " The Honhle. John Latchford," "Well, old boy, what do you think of that ? ' ' says Jack, as Charlie finishes his perusal. " I must light another cigar on top of it," answers his cousin. " It has quite knocked me out of time. By jingo ! how savage your governor will be if there is anything really wrong." Charlie lights his cigar and takes up the letter once more. WON BY A FLUKE. 141 There is a dead pause for two or three minutes. All of a sudden Charlie jumps up ; *' Look here, Jack, I see through it ; I believe Joe knows what he is about bettei* than any man in England. I don't believe there's anything really the matter, after all, with the ^King.' We'll do as he says, and take all the long odds we can get about him, and to-morrow we'll go down and see him." " Agreed ! " exclaims Jack, "I'll write a note at once and say we'll be there." In five minutes the note is written; James again appears and disappears, and the Honourable Jack retires to his bedroom to don his every- day costume. And now let us leave the pair for the present. As I have before mentioned, Jack is the second son of Viscount Coxcombe, and is the son of all others, after his father's own heart. The eldest son, the Hon. Eustace Latchford, is quite a different sort ; Exeter Hall, playing the violoncello, and collecting old china being 142 WON BY A FLUKE. his line of country. His lordship at this present moment is quite as hard up as the Honourable Jack, if not harder. Now just at this time he is the possessor of that good-looking four-year-old, "King Pippin," by " Richard I." out of " Appleblossom." "King Pippin," as all the world knows, ran fourth for the Derby last year, backed for a heap of money by his noble owner and his friends. Several young swells had failed to put in an appearance at Tattersall's on settling-day ; several gallant young soldiers exchanged into regiments going to India, all owing to his majesty " King Pippin." To crown all, when they again backed him for his Leger, he fell lame a week before the race, and let the whole party in once more Since then he had been allowed to be idle. However, he was entered for the City and Suburban, and got in with only 7 st. 4 lbs. to carry. He was once more put into training, and being roughed up one fine morning with KiriG pippii^ gon'e to too 10 I JOHhi T|40MA$ 1$ QUITE NoMPlU$HeD WON BY A FLUKE. 143 one or two others, clearing the lot of them out very easily, they once more backed him to win a small fortune. Lord Coxcombe has backed him to win him £50,000. The Honourable Jack is on well also ; indeed, all the family, from his lordship down to his helpers in the stables, are behind the redoubt- able "King Pippin." Even Lady Coxcombe's maid has a fiver on at 30 to 1, and has pro- mised, should the good thing come off, to make John Thomas, her ladyshi23's tallest and best-looking footman, happy by endow- ing him with her hand and heart. Judge, then, how they are all taken aback one morning when they see, in the betting quotations in the Standard, 100 to 1 against "King Pippin" offered. The establishment down in Hampshire is turned upside down. My lord is nearly frantic ; all his money lost again, and no chance of getting any back. John Thomas, anathematizing the Turf and everything connected with it, proceeds to 144 WON BY A FLUKE. vent his anger on Mary, his sweetheart, who weeps freely when she hears the " 'orrid news." Quilter, the stud-groom — ^master of the horse he calls himself — takes a dogcart and drives furiously over to Winchester, there to soothe his ruffled feelings in caveur dish and brandy-and- water ; and as for poor Mons. Tricochet, the clief^ he gives way to tears and absinthe in his private apartment, and that evening sends uj) the very worst dinner he has ever been known to since he has studied the noble art of gastronomy. It is not to be wondered at that next morning the Viscount Coxcombe woke up with a tremendous attack of gout. The Honourable Jack, as has been seen, took matters much more quietly ; as Charlie Wemyss advised, he drove his cab calmly down to Tattersall's and took all the thou- sands to ten he could lay his hands upon; his cousin betaking himself at the same time to another well-known club further east, and WON BY A FLUKE. 145 doing the same. Bookmakers began to smell a rat, and before the evening the horse had come back to 33 to 1, taken freely. Great was the mystery. " King Pippin's " backers, who numbered legion, couldn't make it out at all. Here at one moment the book- makers were laying against the horse as if he were dead, the next he came back in the betting with a bound to a quarter of the price. The British public were completely puzzled. The faithful James, who always stood in a trifle with his master in any of his good things, was told to send £20 here and £10 there to all the different advertising firms in Scotland, in his own name, of course, giving them all a turn — little and big — as the Honourable Jack remarked. James chuckled respectably to himself (he never indulged in anything so coarse as a laugh), when all the diflerent vouchers from Edinburgh and Glasgow came pouring in, in return for his post-office orders. The next 146 WON BY A FLUKE. morning, soon after nine o'clock, saw our two friends bowling along merrily in a fast-going hansom " en route for the palace of ' King Pippin,' " emitting perfect clouds of cigar- smoke as they spun along. After a pleasant three hours' drive on this bright spring morning, the trainer's snug ivy-covered house is reached, and there, waiting for them at the front door, is Joe Napper himself — " King Pippin's " trainer — Joe looking most uncommonly pleased with himself for some reason or another. He greets the two gentlemen with much cordiality as they alight from their hansom. Good-looking Mrs. Joe runs out too, to say "how d'ye do." The Honourable Jack is evidently a favourite with that lady, and great was the chaffbetween them. They go into the house, and after a brandy-and-soda all round, the two adjourn to the stables. "Let's go straight to the ^King,' Joe," says Jack; "we'll see the rub- bish afterwards." His majesty's box is soon WON BY A FLUKE. 147 reached, and Joe, taking a key from his pocket, unlocks the door and ushers the party in. ' ' King Pippin " is a bright bay, with black points and a white star on his forehead — one of the long, low sort, looking all over like staying ; indeed, as Joe Napper himself ex- presses it, " Lor' bless yer, he can stay as long as a lady in a bonnet shop.' ' Altogether he is a real good-looking one, a little big, perhaps ; but, then, he is not yet thoroughly wound up. " The rogue's only had a walk this morn- ing ; have you, old chap? " says Joe patting the "King" on his quarter, which the horse resents by playfully turning round and pre- tending to bite him. Jack and his cousin are silent ; the boy is there, and they well know Joe won't let out stable secrets until they are alone in the house. Their visit to " King Pippin" being over, they next make an inspection of several other nags, the property of Lord Coxcombe, together with three or 148 WON BY A FLUKE. four others the proj)erty of some one else, and wind up mth some promising looking year- lings ; that over, they adjourn to the house, where a sumptuous lunch is in waiting for them, presided over by comely Mrs. Joe. Full justice having been done to it, Joe gives his "Missus," as he calls her, a wink ; and Mrs. Joe, who is a rare hand at taking a hint, takes her departure. Cigars are pro- duced, and then the trainer proceeds to tell his tale to anxious listeners. It appeared that the "King" was having his usual long gallop the first thing the previous morning, when, on pulling up, it was dis- covered that he had twisted one of his jDlates, and walked a little lame in consequence. Joe, who was on his hack looking on, and who, as usual, was wide awake, proceeded to make a great fuss about the horse, walking him very slowly home, and stopjDing every now and then as if the "King" had broken down badly, as he well knew several touts WON BY A FLUKE. 149 would be safe to be looking on, and in less than an hour it would be equally certain to be wired all over the place that " King Pippin " had broken down. " He ain't been out at all to-day," says Joe, rubbing his hands ; " but he will to-morrow, and if he don't do such a gallop as will bring him to 4 to 1 before the day's out, and frighten 'em all out of their lives, why, I'll eat him, that's all. Why, the horse is as sound as a bell. What a getting out there will be, to be sure. Ha 1 ha ! ha ! " Joe hugs himself at the very idea. " There's just a fortnight to wind him up in, and bar accident, he'll be as ripe as a peach on the day." " Well done, Joe," say we. Fresh cigars are lit, and another short visit paid to "King Pippin," and then the hansom is ordered round ; and bidding adieu to Joe and his wife, off Jack and Charlie go again to town, highly delighted with " King Pippin," Joe, themselves, and the world in general. Jack's 150 WON BY A FLUKE. letter that evening to his noble " parient " speaks volumes : " Noodles, " Wednesday. " My dear Father, " Just come back from Joe's. ' King Pippin's ' as well as ever he was in his life ; to-morrow will be going again like great guns ; the City and Sub. is a gift for him if he keeps well. Sorry to hear about the gout. Hope this will send it away. Love to my mother. " Your affectionate son, "John Latchford." The great day at last arrives, and never was the Epsom Spring Meeting ushered in under better auspices. The morning broke light and clear, and there was every prospect of an enjoyable outing for the sporting Londoners. "King Pippin" has been doing first-rate work the past fortnight, and is as fit as hands can make him. Lord Coxcombe and his friends fear nothing. As Joe Napper WON BY A FLUKE. 151 predicted, the getting out of those who laid heavily against him on the strength of his supposed break=down was a caution. They were glad to back him at any price ; consequently, only 2 to 1 is offered on the field, and "King Pippin" is a hot first favourite. "Rasselas'' with all his weight is next, at 4 to 1. Several minor races are ran before the big event, and as the time draws nigh, and the "King" makes his appearance in the paddock, led by Joe himself, there is a perfect rush to look at him. He certainly looks fit to run for his life ; and well may Lord Coxcombe be proud of him, as he and his son Jack su23er- intend his toilet. Johnnie Prosper — " the Pocket Hercules," as he is called — stands by, ready to ride, and has been put on £500 to nothing if he wins ; and, to all appearance, he is pretty pleased with his mount. Doffing his tiny greatcoat, he appears in a brand-new mauve jacket and white csip. A hoist from 152 WON BY A FLUKE. Joe, and lie is in the saddle in a second. My lord and party then leave the paddock, and make the best of their way to their private box in the Stand, which they reach just as the horses emerge on to the course, led by "Rasselas," with that celebrated horseman Tom Walloper in the saddle. Twenty-five of them walk past in Indian file, then, turning round, they take their canter. '^ King Pippin" looks and goes so well that at last 7 to 4 is the best oflfer on the field. Now they reach the post. Glasses are out in every direction. '' They're ofiP!" "Hatsofi"!" ''No, they're not ; false start ; " and again the hubbub of many tongues goes on. "Hatsofi"!" again. " No ! another false start." " It's that brute Malplaquet won't join his horses, and is kicking like fun." All in line once more. ^^ Now they're ofi*, for a j9072^ .^ " cries Jack. Right this time. Clang goes that dreadful bell. There is a dead silence until they are seen streaming round Tattenham Corner. Xo-ui C^^c^^t,^-^-^ itz;^J^ /^l^ /^^^ /^^^^/kc J\\^ CJITY ecting each favourite with a critical eye ; and take my word for it, if you were to 168 THREE DERBY WEEK SKETCHES. invest your fiver on the liorse he fancies, you would not be very far off the winner of the Derby. POST SCRIPTUM. "Preservative Club, " Wednesday Night, 6th June. "I have just got back from the Derby, true to my word. I had not been in the paddock a quarter of an hour before I ran across my old friend the rector. ' And do you know,' said he, after we had a long dis- cussion concerning all the horses, ^ do you know, I really think ^Sir Joseph' will win. I do indeed y^ ^.' *ThE REV£J\£f;N r.l\istrated by W. B. Redfarn» with an Autotype Frontispiece, •• Old Maps Nicholson." An elegant Gift-book. Price 5/-, cloth extra. ,S;£,-alding's Bijou Time Tailes, give informat-on respecting every Train arriving at or departing from Cambridge Station by all liues of Railway. Price 1/6 per annum (post free). Spalding's Plan of Cambridge, and its environs, suiveyed and compiled by F. S. Craig, includes aU Streets, Laues^ Roads, &rc, within the Parliamentary Borough. PricL 1/3 plain, 2/6 colored. A Reduction from same, for vest nocket, 6d. Spalding's Handbook, "Oiaiy, and Almanack for the Town, University, and County of Cambridge. Published annually. Contains a vast amount of information, carefully collected a^.d edited. Each year some new feature of iaterest is added. Price ed. ; cloth, 1/6. " Old Cambridge." ^'^ series of about 40 original Sketches, ^ith descriptive Letterpress, by W. B. Rkdfarn. 31/6, half-Morocco. ^- " We p'^rdially and emphatically commend " Old Cambridge,^' not only to Cambridge men, but to all ore -^f tLe beautiful."— KEHftuARY. Sporting itketclids, T-yenty-five vigorous sketches of Sporting Incidents and Celebrities, by G Finch Mason^ Price 10/6, "As geod as they can be." -"V^obld. Nonsense Scribbles at Cambridge, by "Naughty Boy." , Thirty droll Sketches, illustrating certain matters of interest to Undergraduate and other members of the Uriversily. Price 3 6. "Hafia.' Tw':lve O^- done i.arall} ,nto En^hsh, together with the corre- sponding po»-* on of th " ? '.irids}: Commen lu y of SuDi, for the first time translated. Also a fev suggestions /na ^e ^,rd to :i.. t inte.^retation of certain passages of the New TcitAn-^.at. By W. 11. ilowr M,A., P ebrew Lecturer at Christ's College, Cambridge. Price 2/6. Shops or Stores ? .'^n answer to Mr. Lawson's Paper, "Co-operative Stores," by HExSTRY J. Matthev.'. Price 6d. Eclectic 1Sedici;^e, ??o. 1. Electricity, its Uses and Abuses ; or the different kiads of Electricity, and <^heir a .plication to the treatment of Neural^a, Rhe imatism, Paralysis, &c. A sliort treatise in plain language. By P. J. MoLONY, B.A., M.D., 1.1 Zh.. &c. Price ed. Menu Cards. A great variety are coadnuaUy being produced. W. P. S. begs to call particular attention to the elegant designs for the present season ; but m addition to his own copyright paltems, W.P.S. has all the best designs of London Makers, with the chief of whom he has made arrangements for novelties as they appear. fN > \?PARATIC:7. Ancieut ".Vood and Iron Work in Cam^xidge. Sketv. es by Mr. W. B. Redfarn (Mfc :ber of the Cambi'...ge Ad tin- avian Society, Autnor of "An Artist's IT.'te • on Dee^ Stalking and Deer Forests," " Old Cambridge," &c.) and Letterpress \v>ittei. with he assistance of Mr. John Willis Clark, ;'!.A. fEdicor of Willis's .cVrchitectu-al History of the Univ^rsiiy,") and the Rev. D. J. S'fJiWA vi, '.I. A. In 12 parts 9t 2/6 each. *^(.* Prospecttis will he furnished *>on application. Highlan;? Sketches. A Series of Pen and Pencil Sketches in Scottish Deer Forestr