> ‘4 Presented to The Dibrary of the University of Toronto by Fort William Public Library \ . \ ~) int ‘ NY is » iS wo ip SN BS) S \ . \ yy ca? © . X \ SA wR) ) S \ \) N) v }\ \ \ ay « © YW SY Ni X » at \ ) g8tB AND Sizy ’ E> OR Lip IN GILLIS al FAIR M AN D SPORTING WORTHIES, Y THE DRUID. Lngraved By asexh Brower “JOHN GREY OF DILSTON” { PART NORTH } LONDON, FREDERICK WARNE & C° BEDFORD STREET COVENT GARDEN _ irs 8 ds i << inlaeions 7 Spee See) LH, AND olen LE On] N. BY Relies RaW LD: AUTHOR OF ‘‘SCOTT AND SEBRIGHT,” ‘‘SILK AND SCARLET,” ETC. REVISED AND RE-EDITED. WITH STEEL ENGRAVINGS. > e LONDON AND NEW YORK: Pero eRPCK WARNE AND C0. er Sas a - a % m= : a Ricnarp Cray & Sons, ~ Le We ene BREAD STREFT HILL, LONDON, E.C. And at Bungay, Suffolk. ‘ | oa o A! y = ~ tan - = £ . toll Ss ae > = “ z . ae wut tate S243 2 . 4 ~ . . . | oo . . re 7 =}: ~ § ° » : - : ASS > Sereseog “eo oH 4 ~~? fF ¢ = mS eet ee ee - P ~ are . PREPAC LE: HE title of this work should pretty well explain its nature. “Sirloin” speaks with ponderous emphasis for itself, and “ Saddle” has a triple bear- ing on horses, sheep, and pigs. It is, in fact, simply the record of what I have seen and heard during the last eleven years in the course of my summer rambles from Cumberland to Cornwall. My business among the leading breeders was in connexion with The Herds and Flocks of Great Britain for The Mark Lane Express, and sundry Prize Essays in Zhe Royal Agricultural Societys Fournal, the main points of which are briefly reproduced. A large share of attention has been given to coursing ; but racing and foxhunting have been passed somewhat lightly over, as I have already devoted three books to them. Looking back on the friendships of the last eighteen years, I remember sadly that hardly three of the older generation with whom I then began to take counsel as to “the brave days of old” are left among the living. To have known them, and to have in a measure travelled over their minds, is no iv Preface. slight pleasure now that I can have no more “ quiet evenings,” listening to and noting down their ex- periences. In compiling this book I have endeavoured to relieve the general reader by throwing mere matters of flock and herd detail into the notes. I could do no more than touch on what appear to be leading points in a county, and as these matters are appreci- ated differently by different minds, I shall no doubt be found guilty of many dreadful acts of omission. It is, however, a comfort to think that one enthusiastic purveyor, who painted “Saddle and Sirloin” over his sign as soon as the title was announced, and has amused himself ever since by listening to the com- ments of the passers-by, is bound to stand by me and my selection for better for worse; and I trust that those who have not committed themselves after this fashion may not find much to condemn. H. H. DIxon., TAGLE- OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER. I, Over the Border—Professor Dick—Mr. Hall Maxwell—Mr. Ivie Campbell—John Benzies, the Herdsman—John White, the Gamekeeper—The Master of the Teviotdale—The Earl of PCN? Maltiat mee Va Ns Posse age Set 2 I 32 CHAPTER II. The late Sir James Graham, his farming tastes—Recollections of Carlisle—Meeting the Judges—Old Posting Times—Loyal Tom King—Jack Ainslie and his Gretna-green tactics 32—46 CHAPTER Ii. The Mail and Coach Days—Shap Fells—Drivers, Regular and Amateur—Guards—Horses—Carlisle Races; the late Mr. Daley—The hea Sirs eat Wrestling Cham- pions. . Per OY Y Geshe CHAPTER IV. Whitehall—Killhow Sale of Shorthorns—Scaleby Castle—The Western Plain of Cumberland—Mr. Watson’s and the late Mr. Brown’s Pigs—Mr. Curwen’s Agricultural Gathering at the Schooze Farm—Champion Bulls—The late Captain meeNcers Greyhounds. .. . 2 3 «8 «le .79=93 vi Contents. CHAPTER: V- Mr. Unthank—Old Cherry and Captain Shaftoe—Nunwick Hall—Among the Herdwicks—Mr. Crozier’s Hounds— Wetheral—Farlam Hall and its Greyhounds—The Bramp- ton Coursing Meeting . . .'2 2% = cies (94, eo CHAPTER VI Visit to Mr. John Grey—Recollections of the Booths and Mary of Buttermere—Sir John Sinclair and his Merino Wool—The Turbulent Bull— Lord Althorp and his Shorthorns—A Downing-street Interview—Newcastle Races, the Slipping Race—Sir Charles Monck—Woodhorn—A Felton Festival —From Morpeth to Belford—The Wild Cattle of Chilling- ham—The Border Leicesters . . ... . . I20—I40 CHAPTER VII. Bakewell’s Longhorns—The Holderness and Teeswater—Great Shorthorn Breeders—Mr. Bates—Mr. Fawcett’s Recollections of him—Show of Terriers at Yarm—Shoeing Contest— Hound Show at Redcar—Photographing the Huntsmen— The Neasham Hall Stud—Sparkler of the Hurworth—Mr. Wetherellis'‘Herds = . 2%. 6 = «. @ aay CHAPTER VIII. Eccentric Sporting Characters—Mr. Bruere’s Herd—His Booth Tree—John Osborne—Mr. Anthony Maynard—Killerby and Warlaby Recollections—Mr. John Jackson—Lord Fever- sham’s Herd—“ Old Anna”—Mr. Samuel Wiley—Mr. Bor- ton’s/Leicesters: s. s: je0 3 Rs ee GP eee -CHAPTER 1X. The late Sir Tatton Sykes—Life at Sledmere—Old Bob Rams- den—Market Weighton Trotters—A Visit to Givendale—The late Mr. Etty, RAA.—A oat ate on ee Wold—Blair 7A 0] Ses : Be - «6 =22I-—=358 Contents. Vil CHAPTER °X. A Word on Knavesmire—Sir William Milner—The Hunting Tragedy on the Ure—Drax Abbey—Warping—Harrogate— Yorkshire Stock and Hound Show at Wetherby—Captain Gunter Herd—Farnley Hall . . . .. . . 259—291 CHAPTER XI. The Pig Show at Keighley—Celebrating a Victory—Mr. Wain- man’s Pigs—Pig Scenes Abroad—Mr. Waterton at Home— Mr. Gully, “ The Squire,” and Mr. Tom Hodgson—Doncas- ter Moor—Purity’s Five Heats—“ Martingale” . 291—327 CHAPTER XU. The Towneley Herd—The Sale—Great Sales of the Century— Old Favourites—Mr. Eastwood’s Herd—Mr. Peel’s Herd — Bienes ira oe ft! oe aie a aE ee ey B28 BES GHAPTER XIII. Manchester Race Courses—Heaton Park—Thomas Godwin— Mr. Atherton’s Farm—Mr. Dickenson’s Farm—Great Cours- ing Grounds—A Visit to Chloe—The late Mr. Nightingale— The Duke of Devonshire’s Herd — Mr. Bolden’s — The Duchesses and Grand Duchesses—Sketches of Great Grey- hounds—A Waterloo Cup Day. . . . . . . 356—403 CHAPTER XIV. Cheese-making in Cheshire—The late Captain White and Dr. Bellyse—Mr. D. R. Davies’ Herd—Cattle Plague in Cheshire —Penrhyn Castle—Sir Watkin Wynn’s Hounds—Mr. Nay- MARS PEMEECMGIIS Sys is as ee sh 5, wt « 403434 Vill Contents. CHAPTER XV. Shropshire Sheep—Lord Berwick’s Herefords—Sir Bellingham Graham—Coursing at Sundorne—Mr. Corbet--Old Bob BSGEH EE oe) ws ee Sse (Spey, <.-2* 4ek 1s CHAPTER XVI. Clayton and Shuttleworth’s Works at Lincoln—Lincoln Flocks —Tom Brooks and John Thompson—Ayiesby Manor—Tux- ford and Sons’ Works at Boston . « 2» « e » 452—47! SADDLE 4x> SIRLOIN: OR, PNGLISN COUNTRY LIFE. CHAPTER I. ** At Doncaster, at York, and Leeds, And merry Carlisle had he been ; And all along the lowlands fair, All through the bonny shire of Ayr ; And far as Aberdeen. ** And he had seen Caernarvon’s towers, And well he knew the spire of Sarum, And he had been where Lincoln’s bell Flings o’er the fen that ponderous knell— His far renowned alarum !” Wordsworth. Over the Border—Professor Dick—Mr. Hall Maxwell—Mr. Ivie Camp- bell—John Benzies, the Herdsman—John White, the Gamekeeper —The Master of the Teviotdale—The Earl of Glasgow. LLMAN OF GLYNDE loved a day with his lemon-and-white beagles. If a hare beat him at nightfall he would mark with a stick the spot where they last spoke to her, and return there first thing next morning. How he dealt with “the situ- ation” in the early dews we know not. This we do know, that when another summer found us in cannie Cumberland, to take up our “ field and fern” tale for England, our first impulse was to cast back over the Border. B Saddle and Sirloin. Some good friends live only in memory. Professor Dick, “the old white lion,” as his pupils called him, sleeps in Glasnevin cemetery. We always found him as kind as he was quaint. Ask him what we might about Clydesdales or anything else, and he never grudged us oil from his cruise. Write to him, and five or six words were our portion in reply, He liked to be paid off in his own coin; hence our joint correspondence about his photograph comprised some thirteen words on four square inches of note paper. You saw the man best when he was trying a roarer on “ Dick’s Constitution Hill,” or when he admitted you by the side-door on to the stage of his theatre, and placed you in shadow during a lecture. He would then grasp the thigh-bone of a horse, or whatever else he was about to illustrate, and speak in the same tone, with- out check or cadence for an hour. If he did pause, it was only to rebuke with a stony British stare some foolish “interruption and laughter.” We are told that he rather prided himself on quelling such offenders by the unaided power of his eye. He was in truth, a fine, rugged, old fellow, with to ** A skin of copper, Quite professional and proper,” a rambling, half-corpulent figure, shaggy white tresses, and thoughts full of marrow He had a large stock of spare activities, whereon to use them ; as public matters, both political and civic, had always a great charm for him. A more sturdy Liberal never drew breath, and in 1852 his friends thought of putting him up for Edinburgh. He never entered very heartily into the idea, but it suited his humour to put out an elaborate and searching analysis of the great questions, which “ must be considered settled,” and those which belonged to the future. Among the latter he gave special prominence to the Irish Church and a Second Reform Bill. He: never married, and Mr, Hall Maxwell. 3 he left the whole of his money, subject to the life- interest of Miss Dick, who had been to him a sister indeed, to endow the Veterinary College, where he had lived and laboured for two-and-forty years, Edinburgh seems still stranger to us without Mr. Hall Maxwell, of Dargavel, and those pleasant half- hour chats at Albyn Place, where he was quite the moving spirit of the Highland and Agricultural Society. His object, as he once said to us, was “to hold Scotland in one great Society’s network, and never let a mesh be out of order.” In this he was most ably backed up by his confidential clerk, Mr. Duncan, and they both seemed to have the power of laying their finger in an instant on the most minute spring of the vast system they had reared. None were kinder and more ready to assist us on every point within their range. No matter how intricate the search for it might seem in prospective, Mr. Maxwell would ring his bell: “ Mr. Duncan, would you please find me, &c. ?” and in five or six minutes his fidus Achates would return with all the particu- lars tabulated, as if by magic. In 1846 Mr. Maxwell succeeded Sir Charles Gordon, who died at his post, and he held office until the 9th of May, 1866. His first meeting was at Inverness, in 1846; and there, nineteen years after, he made his farewell speech. He was pressed not to resign ; but Glasgow, where the business of the meeting is always unusually heavy, stood next on the list, and his heart-symptoms had long given him no uncertain warning that he must seek rest. But for the ill-health of his successor, Mr. Macduff (who died without taking office), his connexion with the Society would have ceased some months earlier, He was bred to the law, and practised regularly, previous to his acceptance of office; and those in the profession who knew his powers and remembered his speaking, more especially in a great murder-defence, believed Be2 4 Saddle and Sirlotn. that he would have infallibly risen to be a Lord of Session. With commanding sense and marvellous shrewdness he combined a perfect mastery of tongue- fence, and he was as quick as lightning in his thrust or parry. No one was more jealous of his own or his Society’s dignity, and his eye would flash and the colour would mount to his cheek at a word. He delighted most in marshalling statistics and annexing districts at his desk, but still he was supremely happy in the show- yard. Everything was done there with great dignity and order, and the Scottish bench would sometimes chaff their coadjutors from England overnight, aud tell them that Hall Maxwell never admitted a judge into the show yard unless he presented himself in full court-dress. On the opening morning he might be found in the pay-box for a few minutes, helping to gather the crowns, and exchanging a word or a nod with each member as he came in ; but he soon retired, and for the rest of the week the saddle was his throne. He would be galloping here, there, and everywhere, as field-marshal, on his bay cob, setting lords, baro- nets, and lairds to work as “attending members” to the different sets of judges; and he was a plainish speaker, sometimes, if things did not go just to his mind, _-In short, both there and at Albyn Place, he was quite the autocrat of the Society ; but, although they somewhat felt the bondage, they were very proud ol him, and quite content to set off the marvels he had wrought for them against what many thought, and some termed “ dictation.” If any of the latter were unduly captious, he caught them without more ado and made directors of them, and they soon ceased from troubling. This mode of bland absorption was very transparent, but was never known to fail. Public business often took him to London, and no one could take charge of a Parliamentary bill better. Mr Hall Maxwell. 5 If he appeared in a Committee-room to support or oppose on behalf of the Society, it was with such a well-marshalled and serried mass of facts and wit- nesses that it was always odds on him. At Battersea and Paris he was quite in his element, looking after Scottish interests. When in 61 he led the hundred- and-twenty herdsmen and shepherds to Battersea- fields, he lodged them in Edgington tents, and fur- nished them with beds borrowed expressly from the Tower. They had regular night-watches like soldiers ; certain detachments of them made holiday at the Exhibition or the Crystal Palace, and on Sunday they were marched to Westminster Abbey. This was the only time that we ever saw him in complete sympathy with the stock classes. He seemed to care nothing about the very finest show animals or their points, and to merely regard them as necessary links in his system. Neither Belville, nor old Charlotte, nor Colly Hill, nor Loudon Tam, “that very Blair Athole among Clydesdales,” had made any impression on him. He only wished to see the classes worthily filled ; the cracks he left to his friend, Mr. Gourlay Steell, “to be translated.” As a private companion none could exceed him, and to us his stories were all the more salient, when they turned on his recollections of his own Society. He loved to recount the Parisian speculations and observations of “ Boghall,” who did him such yeoman service as cattle manager on that famous international trip ; and he unconsciously gave us a delightful speci- men of his best official manner in his recital of “Duncan’s Arrest at Perth.” It seems that the late Duke of Athole, who was then president of the Society, went to Mr. Duncan the night before the show opened at Perth and demanded a stock cata- logue. With unswerving fidelity to his chief, who had given express orders to the contrary, Mr. Duncan re- spectfully declined to hand over, and the Duke (whose 6 Saddle and Sirloin. Highland blood was very easily roused) ordered him forthwith into a cab, and taking his seat beside him, drove straight off to Mr. Maxwell’s inn. The latter was summoned from dinner, and, on going into the lobby, heard the indictment which the Duke delivered with immense emphasis, holding the accused by the collar. Then Mr. Maxwell struck in, appealing to the Duke as one who had been in the army, and knew the value of rigid discipline, and showing his Grace that ‘““my orders are only your orders—even a president cannot break his own rules ;” and so the upshot of it was that the Duke doffed his bonnet, and made a most gracious bbw— Mr. Duncan, I humbly beg your pardon.” Such was Hall Maxwell; and Scotland did not let one who had served her so well and so long retire without a substantial reward. On January 17th, 1866, he was presented with 1000 guineas and a handsome service of plate, and was also requested by the direc- tors of the Society to sit to Mr. Gourlay Steell for his portrait. They little thought how soon that portrait (which is hung, among the few that have attained. such honour, in their council-chamber) would be all they could look upon. WHe was still in the very prime of his mental vigour ; and, if health had been granted to him, he might have reasonably looked for- ward to another twenty years of usefulness in his county. It was not tobe He held up just so long as the connexion between him and the Society was unbroken, and then his friends saw with sorrow that Edinburgh would soon know him no more. About the middle of May he quitted it, in very feeble health ; his fainting-fits became more frequent as the summer sped on, and on August 25th he died, at his own house, Torr Hall, Renfrewshire, in the 55th year of his age. A quiet evening with some really good coursers is no light privilege, especially if the kettle is singing a Mr. Lvie Canepbell. 7 pleasant winter tune, and a greyhound that has “ done the state some service” lies stretched in dreams on the hearth-rug. We have listened with delight as Mr. Nightingale recounted the points of each crack course at the meetings where he wore the scarlet; and though the cold February wind whistled loud and shrill round the Ayrshire barn-tops, and away to the moors behind, what cared we as the servant lassie brought in tea, and fresh logs to the fire, and the late Mr. Campbell, with Canaradzo at his feet, dwelt fondly on the race of Scotland Yet. In his build Mr. Campbell would remind us of the late Mr. Kirby of York—a man of burly frame, in a capacious black tail coat from which he had rather shrunk. He was good- tempered, but always able to hold his own, with in- cisive Quaker-like retorts, against a host, when he was chaffed. He sold all his greyhounds, save Coodareena, in the spring of ’65, Canaradzo for 100/. to Mr. Knowles, and Calabaroono for 200/, to the late Lord Uffington, with a view to the Waterloo Cup, for which he came, after the frost, far too fat to the slips. Few men began coursing so late,and none have made such prices; but his dogs were always well placed, and well trained by his son and “ Jock 0’ Dalgig.” He was much “exercised” in the manufacture of greyhound names, and was wont to say that it often relieved him from severe fits of toothache. The pursuit had its origin as follows. He had a red dog, “ Crom- well,” winner of the Biggar (Open) Cup of sixty-four dogs, in 1853 ; and shortly after another “ Cromwell,” to his intense disgust, started up in the English entries. Then he called a brace “ Scotland Yet” and “ High- land Home” after favourite Scottish songs, and when the Ridgway Club entries came out, Mr. Sharpe had a Scotland Yet as well. After that he would have “no common names,” and followed up a limited use of Ossian, by making them for himself. His first-born was “ Coomerango,” of which Boomerang was the key- 8 Saddle and Sirloin. note. “Crested Lochiel” and “Cam Ye by Athol,” were the only names he would ever accept from his son. He said that his dogs had no luck unless they were named by himself, and as the above two died from in- juries at a fence, he had some grounds for his prejudice. His son really began the family coursing in 1841, when Mr. McTurk gave him a puppy. After that “Young Dalgig” always kept one ; but his father took no notice whatever of the sport until 1847, when he saw him with Kenmore, the dam of Dido, and con- ceived a violent admiration for her. He then learnt to love coursing at private meetings round home, and his maiden win was a farmer’s stake at Closeburn— five shillings entrance and thirty runners. Dido won, and followed suit at Closeburn public meeting the next year. He first tried Canaradzo in the Dalgig meadows with Mr. Hyslop’s Forty-Six. If he was anxious for a trial he would walk from morning till evening to have one. On one occasion he and his son walked all Monday and Tuesday on the hills, and did not find a hare. On Wednesday they began again, and at two o'clock: those plucky pilgrims at last “spied her sitting.” He did not feel it a martyrdom, and no amount of wet would make him put back. The only alloy, in his mind, to these private trials was when “ Jock” pro- claimed the death of a doe hare. Occasionally, he took an odd fit, and would run a dog three or four trials in aday. Much as he loved Coodareena, he would sometimes try the whole team with her, and he was “as deaf as Ailsa Craig” to every expostulation on the point. She was the stoutest hearted of all the Scotland Yets—-a sort which is either very game or very soft ; and but for these severe trials she would have won more than she did. As it was, she was left in among the last eight with Meg in Mr. Campbell’s last Waterloo Cup essay; and she ran well at Kyle in the winter, after having had three litters. Mr. [vie Campbetl. 9 Dalgig* was not far from the springs of Nith, and every Edie Ochiltree and Madge Wildfire who wan- dered among those moors was sure of a night’s shelter and plenty of porridge and milk. Mr. Campbell was a great student of human nature, and he loved a bit of character wherever he could find it, especially if it indulged in unshackelled Scotch. He made a point of asking every tramp their name, and they invariably said ‘‘ Campbell.” The outlying members of the clan seemed to increase in a most marvellous manner, but still he was content to ask no more questions. “Campbell” was not the only key to his heart. On one occasion he had some words with a vagrant, and denied him bed and board, but when the cunning fellow told him that his name was “ Bruce,” everything was forgiven and forgotten. They repaid his kindness by very seldom stealing from him. One of the worst of the lot was once heard to say to his child behind a hedge—‘ Vab what you can, laddie, but no at Dalgig for yer life.’ Wis charity was once rather chilled by learning that two married couples had enjoyed his hospitality from Saturday till Monday, and occu pied their barn leisure in negotiating an exchange of wives. The arrangement was carried into effect, and “Old Dalgig” was so scandalized when he heard of it, that fora long time he housed no beggars but aged ones. He seldom changed his servants, and looked upon the seniors as quite family standards. “Sandy Dun” was with him and his father for fifty-seven years, and died at eighty-four, without redeeming the matrimo- nial promise which he made annually to his master, under the influence of ale, at Auchinleck Lamb Fair. Another of them, Willy Wilson, delighted to tell how a rough drover tried to prevent him and his master * For a visit to Dalgig see ‘‘ Field and Fern” (South), pp. 249-66. LO Saddle and Sirloin. from passing a certain point in the fair with their lambs, and how the latter laid the fellow Peso: in the mud, and when he had extracted an apology, assisted him to rise and gave him sixpence to drink his health. If he scolded his servants or any one else he seldom got beyond, “ You Saucester !” (a Scotch word for a kind of pudding); but when his preface was “ J7y—Good—Sir’ he was felt to be in earnest indeed. Hugh Wyllie, who had been thirty-five years about Dalgig, was often “had in” for a chat at night. He was full of all the country news, and knew many curious stories, two traits which exactly suited his master. The finest scenes took place between “ Old Dalgig” and his negro Black Geordie. At one time, Geordie was a sailor, then he cruised about the country selling pebbles and curious stones, and when that game was up, he became a sort of groom to Mr. Campbell, for five-and-twenty years. He was very lazy, and nearlyas bad tempered as old Pluto of Gibbet Island, and scenes, rich and rare, took place between him and his master, if the gig was not ready in time. Geordie would think out loud upon these occasions, and it was upon this aggravating habit that issue was joined. Mr. Campbell was very fond of reading, but con- fined himself principally to religious works, and more especially to Edward Irving’s and Dr. Cummine’s. He kept several terms at Glasgow University, where he studied Greek and Latin, and attended the Divinity Hall with no small zest. With a view to going out to China, he began to learn the language, but he was prevailed upon, in consequence of his father’s advanced years, to cease from gathering “the blossom of the flying term,” and to assist him in his farm duties.* SSS * As a breeder of | Ayrshires, horses, and sheep he had great expe- rience ; few men were in higher request as a judge at shows in Scotland, an‘, in 1864, he madejhis third and last journey to Ireland on the same Mr, [vie Campbell. It Still, amid Ayrshire cows and arable, he always yearned after his first love—his college cap and gown. Robert Pollok, the author of “The Course of Time,” was a fellow student in the Divinity school, and many errand. Whatever he did, he did with all his might. For instance, when Lord James Stewart, as principal trustee for the young Marquis of Bute, offered four silver medals for different classes of farm stock, he felt sure of being first for the ‘‘ Dairy Stock,” and anything but su.e of the ‘‘ Single Ayrshire Milch Cow,” the ‘‘ Clydesdale Brood Mare,” and the ‘‘ Two-year-old Ayrshire Quey.” Defeat was not to be thought of, and (like the late Duke of Hamilton when he determined to be foremost among the best at Battersea) he bought one in Dumfriesshire, another in Lanarkshire, and the third in a distant part of Ayrshire, and kept the medals together. In 1833 he reclaimed 570 acres of waste hill land by ploughing and liming, and then sowing it out in first-rate pasture, and for this improvement he gained the Highland and Agricultural Society’s gold medal. Three years after that, he commenced with his brother-in-law, Mr. Richmond (of Bridgehouse), as his mentor, breed- ing ‘‘ Superior Ayrshire Stock,” and they bought between them the celebrated ‘‘Tam” from Mr. Allan, of Dalry. ‘Tam’s cows and queys carried almost everything before them from 1843 to 1854; and were first on five different occasions, when the competition was open to all Ayrshire. His next purchase, Cardigan, from Mr. Parker, gained twenty-seven first prizes, and was never beaten while at Dalgig, and it was for this bull that he refused 1oo/. in 1856. Mr. Parker’s stalls also furnished him with Clarendon, who fined down very much after his arrival, and was first both at Ayr and Glasgow in 60. With all this good milk material, do what he might, he could never get to the top of the tree in cheese-making. His dairy could win at New and Old Cumnock, but they were never even commended in the county competition at Kilmarnock. He spared no expense to have his dairy-maids instructed in the Cheddar system, and both Mr. Harding and Mr. Norton from Somersetshire set up their cheese-presses for a time at Dalgig. Still he never succeeded in making a first-class article, and he attributed his failure to the wet soil and the cold, damp air. Blackfaced sheep were also his fancy, and he won prizes with them, but never showed after Mr. Richmond’s death in ’44. He began his horse-labours simultaneously with his assault on waste land, and Kleber and Lamartine, both Lanarkshire-bred Clydesdales, were his best sires. Still, much as he might like good draught horses, he liked good saddle horses better, and by the purchase of Revolter (a son of Grand Turk, “*the Cumberland coacher” and Merrylegs, a trotting mare) which he put to six or seven nearly thorough-bred mares, he achieved a great success both for himself and those who sent mares to ‘‘the old lame horse.” For aman of his weight he was a very fearless rider, and he never cared what sort of savage he had in a gig, as he would soon teach it how to go. 12 Saddle and Sirloin. of their Glasgow evenings were spent together. Their friendship knew no change, and the very year that Pollok died, he had promised to spend part of the summer at Dalgig. Curling and draughts were his chief amusements until he commenced coursing, and he kept up th: former for fully forty years. He would drive seven. teen miles to Sanquhar to play, and although he never won the Picture, he held the New Cumnock Challenge Medal for several seasons. As a director of the game he was first-rate, but his temper not un- frequently went if any of his own players were care- less. However, the anger was soon off him, and he always said he was sorry for “blowing them up.” Into draughts he entered with the same devotion, and on very special occasions he and a neighbour would be at it till three in the morning. For two or three years he had been very poorly, and six months before his death he was stricken with palsy. After that he grew weaker and weaker, but he was able to ride out in his gig until the October of ’67, when a great change for the worse took place, and a peaceful end soon followed. Mr. McCombie’s late herdsman, John Benzies, was another character whom we always liked to meet by the side of his heavy blacks, either at Islington or in the Vale of Alford. Owing to a constitutional in- firmity in his legs, he was not always able to compass his thousand miles each December, but in 1867, when he came South with the Black Prince Cup ox and swept everything he could try for, both at Birming- ham and London, we never saw him more active. His appearance “by special command” with his ‘ox before Her Majesty at the Windsor Home Farm was a grand event, and of course he was pretty often waylaid as he went smiling down the Islington avenues, and was requested to stand and deliver a Court Fournal account of himself. Despite all this Fohn White, the Gamekeeper. 13 notice in high places, John did not lose his head, and when a celebrated English feeder put a chaffing question to him as to his ox’s dietary, he had his guard up in an instant, and wouldn't allow that it ever ate anything but “ Heather bloom! heather bloom !? He seemed very well, but when he was met at the station on his return, he told his fellow servant, as if with a sort of sad prescience, that he had now won all he could win, and that he didn’t care whether he ever saw the South again. Then came two quiet days to recruit him after his journey, and some long, two-handed cracks with his master about the black he had left behind him, and then to work once more in his nice, cheerful way among the prize beasts for 68. Still his treacherous complaint knew of no lengthened compromise. Another short week and his labour was done, and this true- hearted servant was borne up the valley to his grave. We have also lost our honest, downright friend of many years standing, John White, or “ Hawthorne.” No more each August shall we hail his forecast of the grouse on the Grampians, so often prefaced by the lines which told of the muircock’s crow, the eagle’s haunt in the glen, the sweet moss where the roe deer browse, and all the other delights of his heart, and ending up with an exhortation to his brother sports- men to “on wi’ the tartan, and off wi’ me ride.” He was head-keeper to the Earl of Mansfield, in whose service he had been for nineteen years. His com- mand extended over the Lowland shootings round Scone and Lynedoch—one on the banks of the Tay, and the other of the Aimond. Lynedoch, which is some six miles out of Perth, is a lovely wild spot, and he lived in the heart of it, not much more than a hundred yards from the now ruined cottage where the venerable General Lynedoch, as long as his eye- sight lasted, spent three months of his summer. 14 Saddle and Sirloin. Pheasants, partridges, roe deer, “fur” in abundance, wild ducks, and a sprinkling of capercailzie composed John’s charge. The graves of Bessie Bell and Mary Gray are by the rocky stream of the Almond in those grounds, and drew many picknickers with leave and without. Sometimes these outlaws would let themselves in by a key at the great gate under the cliff, and we often laughed to hear the rout when the “lion of Lynedoch” bore down upon them with dishevelled mane, and exacted ample apologies and submission, when they thought that all was Serene. He learnt his game-lesson well with his father, who was head keeper at Arniston, near Edinburgh; and when quite a lad, he was constantly out coursing with Sir Walter Scott. The bard liked his enthusiasm, and had many a chat with him as he led his dogs, and thus indirectly fostered the taste which he always had for a bit of verse and prose on field sports. After this he was fifteen years at Abercairney with Mr. James Moray and his brother, the major. The former kept a pack of hounds in Perthshire, and John was a keen preserver of foxes, and had lots of good mounts for his fealty. As “Brushwood,” he used to send O/d Maga many a line about them, and when they were given up, he had plenty to tell of “Merry John” Walker, and his great doings in Fife. He was a much lighter weight in those days, and generally there or thereabouts, not unfrequently on Walker’s own horses. : In later days he took to coursing, and he won, and then divided the Cup with his Duncan Gray at the Carse of Gowrie Meeting. He was also a great fisher, and there was scarcely a stream or loch in Scotland where he had not cast his fly, and to good purpose. He landed many a noble salmon on the banks of the Tay, and preferred it before all other sports; but when he told us (who had never seen him F ohn White, the Gamekeeper. 15 perform) of his agility, and his playing a fish for more than an hour, we could only gaze in wonder at his burly figure, and congratulate him upon being “ got so fit” for the Derby week with a salmon to “lead work” all spring. He was out deer-stalking with the Prince Consort in Glenartney Forest, when H.R.H. first came to Scotland, and he had some capital stories of his keeper’s experiences, “owre the muir amang the heather.” The frost always found his eye true and his hand steady for the curling stones, and he won a prize not many winters since at that game. He was also a capital rifle shot, and he especially cherished a silver medal which he won in 1829 at the Border Club, when a stripling of twenty, as “the Ettrick Shepherd’—with whom he had often lived and fished and shot near the Braes of Yarrow—hung it round his neck in public, and made a short speech in his honour. Few better game shots went into a cover ; he delighted in his profession, and in such a retired spot, among the laurels, “where once a garden smiled, and still where many a garden flower runs wild,” he had a fine cover for his pheasants close round his lodge, which was almost hid in jessamine and honeysuckle. We often stayed with him there and listened to his good stories, amplified rather at times by the repetition of his pet phrase, “J sazd to Mr. says I,” but very amusing, and full of cha- racter, for which he was a keen watcher. As each Derby began to loom, he was anxious to be up and on the Downs, but he said every year that he should “never come again.” If there was a great pigeon handicap, he would go and load for his young master, Lord Stormont, and the North Countrie men always delighted to see John’s honest, hearty face among them. He had known lots of them as chil- dren, but he had hardly a grey hair in his head. He also knew a leading book-maker, and from him he received tips, but to judge from the state of his book, 16 Saddle and Sirloin. when he arrived in the metropolis, John was not very constant to his Derby love during the winter. At Perth he was a well-known character, driving through in his trap to Scone, or in Paton the gunsmith’s shop, up to his crupper in fishing-rods and breech-loaders, or talking to Speedie about his salmon takes. He died after a very short illness at Scone, and he was buried at Moneydie Church, about two miles from Lynedoch, on the banks of a little stream which falls into that Tay he loved so dearly, near the salmon- breeding ponds at Stormontfield.* Time has wrought some changes at Dr. Grant’s since we first wrote of the doings of the Master of the Teviotdale.t First and foremost, the Doctor has foresworn celibacy, and has found a helpmate as fond and as beloved of the hounds as himself, and as daring in the saddle, when she dons her blue habit on a fox or otter-hunting morning. The Liddesdale Hunt remembers well how five or six seasons since she won the brush on her grey pony. In fact, the Doctor has consistently reversed George Herbert’s saying of “a horse made, and a wife to make.” The step quite took Hawick by surprise. The Kirk Session clerk thought it was a hoax, when the Doctor handed him the guinea and the proclamation for kirk # A local paper, the Crieff Fournal, has the following lines to his memory, which shows that in his humble walk, he has left some ‘‘ foot- prints on the sands of Time,” in both the places where he lived and did his duty so well. They run as follows : ‘‘ Weeping echoes in the Braes of Lynedoch and Abercairney :” *€ Alas! he’s gone. Who’s gone? Honest John White gone ; Neither laird nor statesman he, Nor boasting of high pedigree, But proud of country and of home, A leal true-hearted Scotsman, gone ; Firm in duty, sportsman rare, Constant friend, man everywhere.” t+ See ‘‘ Field and Fern” (South), pp. 171-201. The Master of the Teviotdale. 17 next day, and he positively refused to handle the one or believe the other till a mutual friend solemnly vouched for it. Even when he read it out in kirk, he was in fear and trembling, and “thought the Doctor might be getting himself into trouble with another of his odd tricks.” The great fear among the Hawick “lads” when the secret came out that Sunday was, that the days of the Teviotdale pack were numbered No such thing. The whole of the premises in Hawick were knocked down, and new ones of a very different stamp grew out of the same spot in their place. Horses and dogs lived pro tem. just where they coul | among the déjrzs. The brown pony of the fair “first whip” (Mrs. G.) was located in a little boarded corner of the barn, with Frank, the terrier (a staunch badger dog, but unentered at otter) in perpetual attendance. The grey half-Arab mare, a rare goer on the road, and a wonderfully steady one when you come to a wade in “silver Teviot’s tide,’ and the bay—whose life was spent between the rubbish cart and professional tours in the gig—were stabled in a house without a gable end, where three “families” used to live. The pack found shelter in the old hunting-break shed, and the break was poked away behind divers roof beams and laths. Slash, the big black Labrador of 1o8lbs. weight, was tied up in the back surgery with the turtledove of apocryphal age, which has :ollowed the Doctor’s fortunes from three houses in Hawick. The black had been so accustomed to watch for poachers, that before he fairly understood “ Hints on Etiquette” in the house, he was suspicious when he winded a patient after dark, and on one occasion he made a well-meant effort to eat a flesher, who had come to have his tooth drawn. Billy and Bobby generally lived with two cats in the garret, and the latter, when he was in an ill- humour, kept the tabbies in strong exercise. Billy paid off a servant-girl, against whom he had a slight Cc 18 Saddle and Sirloin. grudge. He would share her bed every night ; but once when she had to get out and go downstairs to fetch something, he took a surly fit, and would never let her in again—at least, under the blankets—and that long-suffering woman had to sleep in her shift on the outside. Teddy and the cat were mostly in bed- partnership with the boy; but Billy stuck to the girls, and old half-blind Stormer, who fights every- thing in kennel, roamed about at will. After trying in vain on a pouring night for a settlement in some parish, he discovered a happy hermitage, in this brick- and-mortar waste, at the bottom of an old chimney, and, having laid the coals in order, entered into re- sidence at once. My Mary, by Shamrock, is inde- pendent of alterations, and resides entirely in the gigs—at least, the one which has the apron on—and makes sundry sallies during the night on to the rats, which hold holiday in the yard. On one occasion, she was found with five, which she must have carried up, step by step, through the wheel spokes, and then borne, Blondin-fashion, along the side-shaft to her lair. As the Doctor says, she “ lies with them in her arms, as if they were puppies—the darling wee thing!” She lives well among the patients in her daily gig rides, but cream and meat don’t make her idle. Occasionally she enlivens these professional rounds by taking the drains after a rabbit, and she has car- ried one alive into the gig. Like her, the Doctor does a good deal of sleeping in the gig, but to ensure peaceful repose he must have two pair of reins, and hold the one while his wife drives with the other Gouty old Malakhoff’s white skin is in the best bed- room, and you now tread over “ old John Peel’s” and Fairplay’s somewhere on the landing. Shamrock’s is in the big room, and gives you the notion, as you first look and recall the little grey-and-tan warrior of eighteen seasons, that a quarry stone has tumbled on him, and flattened him out. His is indeed a precious The Master of the Teviotdale. 19 memory with the Doctor. “When Broadwith could find no vermin for him he killed collies on the spot— he had such destructive power—he suffered very much at last; I tapped him twice, and took away about 160 ounces of fluid in all.” He left more daughters than sons behind him ; and the former more especially followed him in colour. Teddy, his son, is quite as determined with otters, and by dint of practice as artistic as himself, though he is not quite so heavy. The badgers needed no close borough of their own amid all this yard confusion, as they were all poisoned that summer on one and the self-same night. They would catch rats like a dog, as the vermin stole to their feeding trough in “the sweet moonshine ;” but they killed and ate one too many. A poisoned rat came among the rest, and all three seemed to have partaken of him, as they were found curled up stiff and dead in one tub. The Doctor had no idea that poisoning was in process next door, or he would have adopted his usual preventive of feeding up the out-lying terriers and the badgers, so that they would not eat their spoil. He mourned sadly over the big badger, as nearly every terrier in the place had been highly tried with him in his time. This badger main- tained the very pleasantest relations with the stable- boy and servant-girl, who cleaned him out and fed him. Let but the Doctor appear, and he growled fearfully, and as often as not tried to break through his iron poker guard, and have a touch at his learned legs. He was quite different in attitude and expres- sion when one of the Doctor’s wire-haired brigade went in, and he would at once entrench himself in a corner, “to receive cavalry,” knowing right well what to expect. If it was merely a stranger he scorned such work, and went in fora merry ding-dong, which soon settled matters. A very expensive brace were so heavily beaten in their trial, that their disgusted C2 20 Saddle and Sirloin. owner packed them off that night, and said he thought they “would be good enough for London.” Teddy nailed him at eleven months, and got bitten through his nose and shoulder, but he went in at him a few days after, as resolute as ever. Badger-baiting is in the blood, as Shammy’s grandsire, “ The Patriotic Pep,” killed a badger in a drain when he was quite old and blind. This was at William Broadwith’s, who used often to turn out a badger on Longnewton Forest with one and a half hours’ law, whenever Sir George Douglas’s pack were unusually short of otters. The performing chestnut horse was put down early in ’67,and was generally supposed to be rising twenty- seven years, of which he had spent eleven with the Doctor. Asa jumper, whether of stone walls, banks, or timber, he had few to touch him, and with the Doctor's leaping-pole on the top of it, he cared no- thing for a wire fence. He would follow his master over any jump, and never separate from him when he was over, however good a head hounds might be carrying. For some time past he had been troubled in his wind, and was found, on a careful fost mortem, to have aneurism of the heart and malignant disease of the liver. In fact it was about time for him to render up his flesh to the hounds he loved so well, and his “flag,” skin, and hoofs (the latter in the shape of polished snuff-boxes) serve as adornments to the big room of 30ft. by 154ft., above the stables. His carcase was pickled for the pack and was “as good beef as ever you saw; but perhaps not so fat as some we've known.” They put a sack over his head, and the poor beast began to waltz with his fore feet, as if he was expecting to be taught his 1o1st performance, when down he went with No. 5 shot through the fore- head. The Doctor cannot bear ball in such a crisis, as his five-barrelled revolver once failed with a Bird- catcher mare, and he only killed her by opening a The Master of the Teviotdale. OF vein, and blowing into it, when she died with a hearty nicker in her nostrils. The one-eyed thorough-bred mare has been disposed of long since. Her original price was thirty shillings, because no one could get on her back, and the Doctor consistently reached that proud elevation up to the day of her death by a series of flying jumps on the blind off-side. He has a capital harness mare, looking like a hunter, which wont ride a yard, and never will. It once took three and a half hours to do two miles on her, and her rider only effected that by sitting down on her, and working the journey tail foremost—the only way in which she will go under a saddle, although she will kneel, and take quite naturally to hanky-panky tricks. The Doctor takes the precaution of having his harness made throughout with spring hooks so that if he has an accident he can hold the horse with the left hand, and set it free with the right. There are about five otter hounds, eight Dandies, and Billy in the pack; but there is nothing the Doctor relies on more than Slash the Labrador, with his jet-black coat and his fine grey muzzle. This warrior came from Broadwith’s, and hunted with the Doctor for many a season before he was “ reduced into possession.” He was helping in night-work at the same time; but it became at last dangerous to take him out, as he could wind a poacher at any distance, and his growls of linked sweetness long drawn out, when they held him “for fear of murder,” told too much. Hence the Doctor, to his great joy, was al- lowed to take him home, and he has become a groom of the bedchamber. Slash believes in no dog—not excepting Ringwood—unless he has felt at the spot for himself. Hunting alone is his delight, and he is always questing either up or down stream, yards apart from the body of the pack. He quarters the stream just like a setter dog after partridges—sometimes with his nose right under the water, and his head on one 22 Saddle and Sirloin. side, as if listening, and sometimes with it flat on the surface. When there is a worry he takes care to have his back nip; whereas old Stormer only tugs away at the tail, and Ringwood is quite open to let up Billy and the terriers at sucha crisis. Slash was the only dog which ever beat the Doctor when he wanted to save his otter. That devoted man had the rest at bay under an elder bush on the Ale, and the terriers would not act on account of the heavy stream; but Slash would not be denied, floored him in the mud, and took the otter from him then and there. The “ auctioneer,” which Malakhoff dreaded so much, was no use what- ever against such a “Molyneux the Black.” The Doctor remarks “ that he does not know pain. Look at the thumps he got from that iron hook of Bill’s :— his nervous system is not like other dogs—he’s a dog of metallic nerves.” The long room above the stables is now (1870) finished, but not furnished; a fox has been kept there since it was a cub, and ere long the trick training will commence. A badger again forms one of the establishment, to the great delight of Betsy; and a man hunted a buck foulmart for six weeks as a consort for the ferrets, which had grown slack in the Doctor’s eyes, and re- quired a fresh strain of blood. It was run to ground several times, and made such an example of its pur- suer’s fingers, that the latter was perpetually under medical treatment till he conquered. The Doctor has made a platform nine feet from the ground round his yard, and stocked it with all kinds of British flowers. This is what he understands by sitting under his own fig-tree in years to come, and what cares he even if the otter-bites in his hands do become “ the seats of rheumatism.” Above the long room he has a shoot- ing gallery of twenty-five yards, finishing in his extra bedroom, which commands a view of Chapel Hill, Borthaugh, and Gala Law covers. Through an artful tube in the wall, he commands the illuminated face of The Master of the Teviotdale. 23 the Town Clock as he lies in his bed, which saves all candle reference to his watch on an otter-hunting morning. Some of the otter hounds have been working with Sandy in the Carlisle pack ; but Royal, Collier, and Ringwood are still (1870) in kennel with Teddy, Piper, Tom, and the other terriers, who “ get round the otter like a collar of leeches.” Two greyhounds (one of them old Artful), Slash, old Major (who is almost blind), Judge (the setter), and Stormer have tickets- of-leave in the stable; Billy, Bobby, and Ragman are a trio by themselves; and Black Jack, who will fight any mortal thing, occupies the boot of the break. There is also a magnificent bitch, Melody, from Mr. Stonehewer’s which has no superior in a cold scent, and Little Pod,a puppy of i ne Dwarf’s, is quite a character. The Doctor's deposition touching the attempted capture of Billy is worth preserving: “I saw the man at the head of Baker’s Close, coquetting with Billy, and marked him as a stranger, with an eye to the dog. The two disappeared. I got into position at the other end of the Close, and took him by the throat ; he threw down the rope, and I made him pick it up again. He tried to break my arm; but I knew the old dodge. He seized me by the wrist, and ran under it. I stopped him with one on the larynx ; he opened his mouth wider than any otter hound— he was nearly asphyxiated. It was such a nasty trick trying to put out a gentleman’s arm for claim- ing his own dog. Billy was quite conscience-stricken at finding himself in such low company. He knew he had done something wrong. The man had to stand in the yard with his back against the wall, and hold the rope as evidence against himself, till a serjeant of police came. The rope was the link of union ;—it kept them all nicely connected together The man began ina most piteous way. He told me 24 Saddle and Sirloin. he had only just finished his two years in Perth Penitentiary for taking a mouthful of flesh out of a policeman’s leg. I had some pity on him, and I wouldn’t value Billy at 10/7, so he couldn’t be sent to Jedburgh. He had the full benefit of ten days. The baillie would have given him more for Billy’s sake, if he could. As for the man, he was gratitude to the mast-head. ‘Jl’ never steal another dog from you. thought he would come and call; but I am glad to say he didn’t. ‘J/’ve got a good dog at Dal- keith ; you can have tt if you like. If you ever want one, write me. That-is what he said: it showed his heart was in the right place. It was a tremendous undertaking stealing a public character like Billy—a dog that everybody here knows and respects—a privi- leged dog—goes round the town every forenoon, and visits on his own hook—not a butcher's shop he dosen’t know, and he’s very fond of confectionery too. He may well be fat.” The Doctor “took a notion” shortly after our visit, and sallied forth with Ringwood, Royal, Collier, Stormer, and Melody to look for an otter at Shields- wood, where Jack Deans the keeper had several fox litters. The otter had been a great night-traveller, and between Ashkirk and Shieldswood loch the scent was as hot as fire. Mrs. Grant commanded the terrier contingent, of Teddy, Tom, Piper, Vixen, and My Mary ; while Slash the Labrador, Billy, and the five otter hounds were the Doctor's aides-de-camp as usual. Jack was in a dreadful fright when the Din- monts went to ground, lest it should be a vixen fox, but it was the “right stuff,’ a regular thirty- pounder, and out it came through the pack and into the loch. There was plenty of music, and when it had swum a ring it earthed again, and was drawn out by the terriers. It was nearly off the second time, but the Doctor dashed into the loch, seized it by the hind legs, and fell trying to swing it up the bank. As the The Master of the Teviotdale. 25 Doctor fell, some of his dogs, whose blood was regu- larly up, caught him by the hip in the mé/é, and bit him so severely that the leg became benumbed down to the foot, and he could not get up again. Jack then slipped and went down in trying to land him, and was bitten by one of the dogs in the hand. Mrs. Grant, as reserve corps, then flew to their aid, and the Doctor was got out of the loch, still holding on to the hind . legs of the otter, which just prevented his coat and vest from being pulled right over his head. There was a most fearful battle on the bank, and but for Slash and his tremendous “ back nip,” the otter might have won the day. Poor Billy was of no use; he hung on “ like grim death,” and tried to chew, but he seemed to do no harm. On examination it was found that he had struck two of his long tusks through his upper-lip, and had thus fairly muzzled himself. There never was such a bloody death, and the terriers, to use the Doctor’s noble simile, “ looked as if scarlet nightcaps had been drawn over their heads and necks.” Billy was in high fever next day, with a head so fearfully swollen that the Doctor thought he could not recover, and carried him perfectly blind to the photographer, for a parting reminiscence. His head when submitted to the photographer was just as broad as it was long, whereas in health the length is about twice the width. He is now quite well again and ripe for duty, and another photograph was taken of him ; so that his friends at a distance might © see, with the aid of a magnifying-glass, what a tre- mendous jobation he received during his “lock jaw.” The Doctor firmly believes that the dog owes his life to the tender nursing and devotion of his mate, the ex-pugilist Bobby, who took possession of him that night, and never left him till all his face-wounds were healed up. He lay with his patient on the kitchen sofa, and never ceased to lick the raw spots. If Billy went into the yard he accompanied him, and would 26 Saddle and Sirloin. not let him out of his sight for an instant. His tongue was in fact a perpetual poultice and antidote to inflam- mation. The Doctor tried hard one day to get him to dress the wounds of the Dandies, but he would not even look at them: Some years ago he and Billy fought till they were exhausted, and ever since they seem to have been quite content to look upon it asa drawn match, and never quarrel about victuals or any- thing else. “Well, den! Hard Koppig Peter ben gone at last,” said the Dutchman of New Amsterdam, as they puffed the pensive pipe, and gazed into his grave. Now that his beloved Newmarket will know him no more, turf- ites have a still warmer remembrance of their “ Peter the Headstrong,” or “Old Glasgow!” The Dutch and Scottish heroes were of the same kidney. One prorogued a meeting of the burghers szwe die by kick- ing it bodily downstairs with his silver-mounted wooden leg ; and then posted himself in full regimen- tals and cocked hat, with a blunderbuss at a garret window of Government-house, rather than sign the surrender of his town. The other looked upon the Press much from the same point of view as Peter did on the troublesome tribes of Preserved Fish and Determined Cock, and did nothing on the turf like anybody else. He went to sea at a tender age, and he never lost the salt flavour. To the last he was a true descendant of the old Norsemen in his manners and in his blood. Grafton, Rutland, Exeter, and Jersey were courtly models to which he did not care to conform. Under the auspices of his one-armed tutor, “Sir Wolly,” who, for lack of more worlds to conquer, on his proud St. Leger Eve thrust his walking-stick through the pier glasses of the Rein Deer, the young lieutenant soon became seasoned to life ashore. They would sit at the window of the Black Swan at York with magnums of claret before them after midnight, and hand it out The Earl of Glasgow. 27 in tumblers to the passers-by. Old racing men first remember the pupil jumping on the table at the Star in Stonegate, when Mr. Gully entered and offered 25 to 1 in hundreds against Brutandorf for the St. Leger, and repeating the offer in thousands. Having once begun to “ plunge,” he won 17,000/. on Jerry, and lost 27,000/. on Mameluke at Doncaster; and trusting in Bay Middleton, and Bay Middleton alone, he offered 90,000/, to 30,000/. against Venison for the Derby, “each man to post the money.” Of late years he had made some big bets, and offered bigger, but be the issue what it might, no one could tell by his features whether he had won or lost. It was dangerous for a trainer or jockey to advise his lordship to put 1004/. on a horse, as he was sure to multiply the advice by five. Very often he would take no advice, and with a colt at least two stone better in the stable he charac- teristically enough backed Dare Devil to win 50,000/, and put his first jockey on him in the St. Leger. Combined with all this off-hand daring, there was the fine, simple faith of a Jack Tar, and the most rugged honesty. Finesse or generalship, such as letting the worst horse finish first in the trial when a good “taste” had been taken a quarter of a mile from home, was a thing he could not understand. Hence, he never fairly mastered the fact that Actzeon was much better than Jerry ; and Purity’s hollow defeat in the first two heats out of five at Doncaster, despite Croft’s assu- rance that “the fun of the fair is only beginning, my lord,” seemed a purely Chinese puzzle to him. As Lord Kelburne, when his racing aspirations did not often range further south than York and Don- caster, he lived a good deal in Scotland, at his seat of Hawkhead, near Paisley. That daring soul, Lord Kennedy, was then in his zenith, ready to shoot (at grouse or pigeons), or walk, or drive, against any mortal man, for any conceivable sum, and, as may be imagined, his lordship found a foeman, with a long 28 Saddle and Sirloin. purse, ready for him at any hour of the day or night. The later the hour, the wilder the bet; and it is on record that they had a driving match after midnight, and that Lord Kelburne lost by choosing the wrong road, and nearly plunging his team among the breakers off Ardrossan In sturdy emphasis of speech, whether at Jockey Club Cabinets, or addressing his trainer, he was the same “ Downright Shippon” to the last. For him the Presbytery of Strathbogie had lived and laboured in vain. To discuss a subject of turf polity with him was about as hopeless as to ask his opinion respecting the new veterinary discovery of a small supplementary muscle in the eye of an ass. He once ordered a handi- capper to put 7lbs. more on his own mare. When, as Lord Kelburne, he hunted Ayrshire, if anything went wrong with the sport, he immediately turned upon the huntsman, and chased that devoted man, thong in hand, half a league over hedge and fallow. Fashion and Usage could forge no fetters for him. Hodgson in a pair of gloves, Shades of Meynell and of Mytton! Vainly Venus sent her doves, With a pair of her own knitting, expressed a home truth about a Master of the Quorn, which would have equally applied to the old Earl. He never appeared in such modern knick-knacks as knickerbockers. To the last he stood by the side of the cords, with low shoes a world too wide, white trousers, in which T. P. Cooke himself could have conscientiously danced a hornpipe, and not unfre- quently in a blue coat with gilt buttons. See him when you might, there was the same nervous irrita- tion, which ruined all natural rest, and made his span of nearly seventy-seven years, eked out as it was nightly by chloroform or laudanum, very little short of miraculous. He was not exactly, as Aytoun said of Lord The Earl of Glasgow. 29 Eglinton, “ one of the heroic stamp of Montrose and Dundee,” but still a grand Turf patriarch, whom no defeat could quench. He had spent hundreds of thousands during nearly half a century of racing life, and yet not one of the three great events fell to his “white body, crimson sleeves and cap,” in which Harry Edwards on Actzon, that most ungenerous of finishers, defeated by a head the terrific rush of Sam Chifney on Memnon. This York Subscription Purse was, after all, the victory of his life. ‘‘ Lord Glasgow wins,” was heard at the Two Thousand finish in General Peel’s year, and no shout was taken up with greater zest by the multitude. ‘“ Old Glasgow always goes straight to the winning-post,” and “ Rogues can take no change out of him.” Like Lord Exeter, he could furnish his “surprises,” and none greater than when Rapid Rhone defeated Lord Clifden for the Claret Stakes. Cheered on by the warmth and high spirits of a Jocky Club dinner, he would match any- thing in his stable, and when he could come to New- market no longer, he wrote and desired his trainer to turn his attention that way, so that while absent at Hawkhead, he might still be doing something. To one or two of his most wary opponents he was as good as an annuity ; but on a memorable Houghton Satur- day he laughed them all to scorn, and won six matches in succession. No one was so wayward and difficult to please, or so munificent when he: was pleased. His trainers “came and went like the simoon,” till at last men of standing in the profession would . not engage themselves to him without a guarantee for at least three years. When he had gone the round he would come back to the old ones, although he had vowed, by all his gods, that they had ruined his horses. Every trainer did that. Still, his cheque was always there to the moment, and that was like wine and oil to the wounds he inflicted with his tongue. As for his favourite jockey, Tom Aldcroft, 30 Saddle and Sirloin. he had nearly as many “reconciliations” with him as Tom Sayers had with Heenan at the Alhambra ;. but he could never quite forgive John Scott for “leaving him alone so severely,” when, in his thirst for con- troversy about his colt General Peel, he shot quite a sheaf of arrows at Whitewall. Above all things he hated naming his horses, and preferred to leave the public—which never really took any trouble in the matter, as it dare not back one out of fifty on its merits—to grope helplessly among the Miss Whip, Physalis, or dam by Gameboy sorts, from which sprang the noble race of Flutter and “the tight’'uns by Barbatus.” It had been the self- same story in earlier days, with Jerry, Retainer, Albany, and Retriever. Half the evenings at the Club, when Lord Derby led the revels, with the Earl of Strafford, General Peel, Admiral Rous, Mr. Greville, and Mr. Payne—friends who could always touch the right chord in that testy old Scot—were spent in trying to name his horses for him. Getting the “royal assent” was the real difficulty, and once “the rich relics of’ what promised to be “a well- spent hour” only resulted in the registration with Messrs. Weatherby of “ He has a name,” and “ Give him a name.” The Black Duck Stakes of 1000, h-ft, jumped so much with his humour, that ‘‘ The Drake,” and ‘“‘ The White Duck’”—which had a double aspect, bearing on the above stake and his own seafaring trousers as well—were readily adopted ; but “ Light Bob,” by Voltigeur, was hardly expected of him, except, perhaps, in the light of a cut at the rival pro- fession. Tom Bowline, one of the few yearlings he ever bought, came to his hand at the hammer ready named, and there were melting moments when he could not resist the offers of his friends to be sponsors for his best. “ Knowsley” was but due to the genial Earl who had made many a match with him in his day ; “ Strafford” and “General Peel,’ might well The Earl of Glasgow. an have a pleasant sound; a chestnut with such a peculiar white mark under the knee was of course Knight of the Garter; and “Rapid Rhone” was a steriing compliment, such as that roan tribe might not know again in the course of the century. Both Knowsley and the Drake have repaid breeders well in different lines, and The Earl was one of the results of that “nick” of Orlando mares with his Young Mel- bourne, which General Peel made so fashionable. Hence, thanks to old Clarissa, he could turn the laugh against stud critics at last. The more they jeered at his stud tribes, the more he stuck by them, and the more assiduously he matched the produce. He cared nothing what he spent out of a reputed 60,000/. a year. If a privileged queen of the card-women hit him a little too hard with her chaff, he would rub his neck or back, as was his nervous way, a little more vigorously than usual, and throw her a sovereign to get rid of her. He liked having his racing blood to himself, and therefore he put his sires’ fees at a pretty prohibitive figure. In fact, he would rather lend than let, and infinitely sooner shoot than sell. He has been known to go down to Middleham out of the season, summon four or five resident jockeys over-night to ride a score or more of trials for him the next morning, and finish up by shooting half-a-dozen of the worst twos and threes, without benefit of clergy. Stern of moodas he might be when he was crossed, “ his hand was ever open, his heart was ever warm.” It was said that he once fed half Paisley in a time of distress, and that yet not even a baillie dare thank him on behalf of his brother- townsmen, for fear of being assaulted. A _ 10/ note or a “pony” was the very least he would pull out of his pocket, if the hat went round, and good cause was shown for some Turfite who had fallen behind the world. For forty years after their con- nexion had ceased, he would send one of his earliest 32 Saddle and Sirloin. jockeys a 50/. note, if he had won a good event, simply “for auld lang syne.” With all his foibles, he was a glorious old landmark to the Turf; and while he was still among us, defying the roll of the ages, with his quaint garb and blunt speech, some may perchance have felt that his presence was a wholesome cor- rective to the modern spirit, which has lowered “the sport of kings’ into a doubtful trade—a contest for honour into a lust for long odds. CHAPTER {fF §* He loved the twilight that surrounds The border land of old romance ; Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves and trumpet sounds And ladies ride with hawk on wrist And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist, The dusk of centuries and of song.” Longfellow. The late Sir James Graham, his farming tastes—Recollections of Car- lisle—Meeting the Judges—Old Posting Times—Loyal Tom King— Jack Ainslie and his Gretna Green tactics. ROM Longtown to Land’s End is our allotted journey. When our Scottish travels on the Cheviot side of the country were ended, and we were once more in the Border land, we tied our mare to the church wicket at Arthuret, and sought the grave of Sir James Graham. There he rests from his toil, be- neath the ash and the sycamore on the north-east side of the chancel. Nothing is placed over it save a red sandstone flag with the inscription, “ 7 R. G. Graham, Bart., born Fune ist, 1792, died Oct. 25th, 1861.” It was his last wish that he should have this simple burial among his tenants and neighbours. Sir James’s stay at Netherby depended very much The late Sir Fames Graham, 33 upon his engagements in London, but he generally contrived to come down for different periods twice a- year. He would always spend the first fortnight after his return in riding about the farms with his steward, the late Mr. Yule, and then with Mr. Brown, seeing and suggesting improvements, till at length the whole estate bore unmistakable impress of his practical knowledge and broad aims, and became quite a pro- verb of good farming in the North. Farmers, whose only account-books were their right and left pockets, might well take a lesson from the Netherby tenantry. Croft Head—where he lived during some very happy years, as Mr. Graham, after his marriage—and some additional fields, or about 1000 acres in all, made up his home-farm ; and he also from time to time took other farms in hand toimprove. Green crop fallows were latterly a special point with him, as a prepara- tory measure of permanent improvement. Hence in his leases the out-going tenant was bound not to have more than one-fourth of his fallow-share in bare fallow. In many districts, but more especially the low-lying ones of the Netherby estate, he recommended the culture of green crops and grass, as, owing to the almost periodical rains in July, which raised the rivers Esk and Liddle, the water was backed up through the porous soil to the roots of the wheat, which at once retarded its growth, and produced a rough sample. In the valleys of these rivers there is a good alluvial soil, a small portion is on a strong clay and well adapted for fallow wheat, and fully a half consists of what is called black topped land, with mostly a good red clay subsoil, or, in some cases, a hungry white, sandy-seamed clay, which is the worst soil on the estate. Good farm-houses and farmsteads were his delight. After his father’s death he subdivided and remodelled his farms, put all the buildings in order, made good occupation roads, and commenced an ex- tensive system of tile-draining, which is still being D 34 Saddle and Sirloin. carried on. He was equally given to woodcraft, and spent a great deal of time with his foresters, advising them as to judicious thinning. He planted 1000 acres in addition to the 1500 he found on the estate. Larch was his favourite as regards profit, and oak, beech, and lime as ornamental trees. Of Shorthorns and Galloways Sir James was an excellent judge. He began with the former and soon established a good herd, but experience convinced him that they were not suitable to the soil and climate of the bulk of his estate, and they had, therefore, to give way to “a black dairy.” He did not declare himself in favour of any particular breed of sheep, but he introduced sheep-farming on to his estate. It is a noteworthy fact, that all the old Netherby leases which were in existence when he became baronet in 1824, contained a clause prohibiting the farmers from keeping sheep, on account of their being destructive to the fences. Few men knew better about a horse’s points, and he liked the cross between a blood sire and Cleveland mares. but he never made any high prices. In 1821-25, before he entered on public life, he hunted a good deal in Yorkshire, and generally stayed with his old friend Mr. Starkie, near Golds- borough. In after years he gave his mind more to shooting ; like most tall men, he was a good, steady shot, and during his session labours he always looked keenly forward to the Twelfth, and the ten days among the grouse at The Flatt in Bewcastle. It was in defence of his rights as lord of the manor of Nichol Forest, that he had to fight the case of Graham v. Ewart through the Exchequer, the Exchequer Cham- ber, and the House of Lords, before it was solemnly decided that he was entitled to hunt, shoot, fish, and fowl over Bailey Hope, a stinted pasture within that manor, under the preamble of the Enclosure Act, which reserved his right to “other rights, royalties, liberties, and privileges in and over the same.” Lord The late Sir Fames Graham. 35 Stanley and Mr. Sidney Herbert both joined him at The Flatt, and Sir Robert Peel shot his covers with him at Netherby, where Mr. Gladstone was a frequent summer visitor. The party roughed it considerably at The Flatt, as the house was small, and some of them had to adjourn to shepherds’ huts. They always shot over dogs, as driving was not then the fashion. Occasionally Sir James would try his hand at salmon- fishing in the Esk with old John Wilson as henchman, but the gaff which John shouldered was not often brought into requisition. John still “minds on” how when Sir James had had an unlucky day, he handed over the rod to himself. After a further trial of the game of patience, a salmon was hooked, and Sir James resumed the rod, and John the gaff, but “the speckled monarch of the tide” escaped to the Solway aiter some nice play, and John said, in sly allusion to election matters, “ / never seed Sir Fames look sae blue afore.” He was singularly punctual in his habits, and very abstemious, tasting very little between a light break- fast and a late dinner. Sir Benjamin Brodie once said to us of him, that when he was working hardest, he only took meat three times a week. We cannot recall a finer election sight than when he and Mr. Blamire were borne, side by side, through Carlisle, one in a dark-blue and the other in a light-blue chair ; but Sir James’s height and weight made the task rather difficult to the bearers, and they changed so often, that in Castle-street we once thought that the baronet would have descended more swiftly than agreeably from his calico and laurel throne. A handsomer couple than Lady Graham and himself were seldom seen ina ball-room, and a few Carlisle people still remember how every other dancing group was suddenly broken up, and how one and all crowded round to look, and never forgot that rare quaitet of beauty, when the present Duchess of Somerset, Lady D2 36 Saddle and Sirloin. Graham, Lady Vane, and Mrs. Johnson of Walton House were partners in a quadrille with Sir James, Sir Frederick Vane, Mr. Johnson, and Captain Campbell.* As years went on, there was sterner work than this for Sir James to do both in Downing-street and St. Stephens, and Cumberland might well be proud of her “Bright Sword of the Border.” No country had ever sent, not once, but twice, such a pair of home-breds as “ Sir Jamie” and “ Willie Blamire” as their members. The one had mastered the great problem of Tithe and Enclosure, perhaps, with the exception of the Irish church, the most delicate and difficult that has per-: plexed the century; and the other was for nearly thirty years “a potent voice of Parliament,” and the friend of Sir Robert Peel. There was a long severance, it is true, between him and his county, but “The wanderer,” to use his own words, “came home at last.” After fifteen years of political exile, he showed himself once more at the windows of the Coffee House, and then came that carefully-studied combina- tion of close reasoning, playful local illustration, and magnificent irony, which gave his speeches such a peculiar edge, and which again bore all down before it both on the hustings and at the poll. Every shaft told, and it went ill with the man who triel to parry his chaff, upon fingers and toes in potctoes, or any other topic. Two points in his political life were especially marked, to wit, his wish tcplay a strong second rather than to lead, and his utter indifference, if he believed himself to be in the fzht, how much he might cut public opinion agains’ “he grain. The one might indicate lack of nervé™ut the other proved its possession in the very hy est degree. 8 2 ee he ee Ac sie * Our informant, who was a looker-on, is sure as to seva\ef of the eight. ul nd Recollections of Carlisle. a7 On the Carlisle hustings in ’52 he said that he might “now claim to close the book,” but he was bound to take his place by the Earl of Aberdeen that winter now that Sir Robert was gone. He had begun to fail very much after his grand climacteric in 1855, and went down gradually until his death. Still the well- known words, “ Szr Fames zis up,’ which, to the last, never failed to empty the library and the smoking- room, were heard in the May before his death, when he spoke upon the question of a tack to a Bill of Supply. We happened to be in the Speaker’s Gallery, and painfully noted the ravages whicha few years had made, since he and his colleague for Ripon, the Hon. Edwin Lascelles, two of the handsomest men in Eng- land, were listening to a protection debate in the House of Lords. Earl Derby then adjusted his eye- glass and glanced up at his old colleague, as he sat with a look of half-indifference, half-scorn on his face, and his finely-moulded hands folded on the top of his stick. When he made that last great speech in the Commons the political poet might still have written of him, ** So cute and cunning he of fence, We count him worth a host ;” but he said when he rose from the last bench behind the ministers, that his days of conflict were gone by, and that he claimed an old man’s privilege to lift the question out of a mere party arena, and deal with it strictly as a constitutional one. He spoke leaning on his stick, and though his measured accents lacked the fire of the days when he bade the House at least to “get out of Wise Prius,’ or made “he knows the reason why” the key-note of a speech which recounted the blessings of Free Trade, there was the same beau- tiful precision and flow of language which so distin- guished him in his prime. The house sat in rapt silence so as not to lose one word, and all seemed to feel that his voice would be heard again no 38 Saddle and Sirloin. more. He alluded to his growing weakness, and there was that in his manner when he met his friends on the hustings, and on the show-field at Carlisle, which pointed too truly to the end. The two-finger salutation was exchanged for the hand-shake, and those with whom he had any political difference felt from his tones, how anxious he was that all should be forgotten. Jeremy Taylors Holy Living and Dying was his constant companion on his death-bed, and when he knew that he was very near the entrance of the dark valley, he calmly laid it by and conversed upon the symptoms of death, as one by one they gathered round him in the twilight of that October morning. Cum- berland might well mourn for him. “* The sower stayed his hand to hear, The honest ‘‘ grey coat” sighed, The message seemed so strange and dreas, That Friday when he died.” Not many months before, he had travelled, feeble as he was, many a weary league, to stand by the grave of Sidney Herbert, as he had done by Peel’s and Goul- burn’s. The Secretary at War was the third of that band of Peelites who had fallen, and there were none of them that Sir James loved more dearly. Writing to the Duke of Newcastle, only a week before his death, respecting a Sidney Herbert memorial he said: “I think a statue of him in Salisbury will be a most suitable monument, under the shadows of the cathedral spire, which points to that Heaven where his hopes were centred, and where I trust he has received his great reward.” We too may trust that they are not divided. Old Fuller tells us that St. Alsike, whose name is now only had in honour as a grass seed, was born in a wood near Carlisle. He adds that pearls were found in the Irthing, a point which “ Sandy” in all his otter hunts has never been able to verify. These notes Recollections of Carlisle. 39 of two hundred years ago have much less interest for us than our own recollections of Stanwix Brow, when six mail-guards were “sounding the cheerful horn,” and the little mail (as the girl said of the ghost) “went by like a flash.” Great were the cricket struggles in that meadow on the right, when the 34th Regiment played the county. Private Allen, who was supposed to live by suction, was invariably taken out of the Black Hole for the afternoon, and he sometimes rose to the occasion with “50 not out,” while Lieutenant Simpson and Corporal Moss played a good and a much safer game. Blues and Yellows united most harmoniously in the County Eleven—Colonel Low- ther,* with his slow round-handers, at one end, and Mr. * Of the once familiar faces absent at the Smithfield Club Show, none are more missed than Colonel Lowther’s. His Barleythorpe ewes and wethers could always come into a front place, either at Oakham or Islington. It was to attend the show at the little Rutlandshire assize town, that he left London early in the December of ’66, and never re- turned. He was born in ’go0, and entering the 7th Hussars at 17, saw active Peninsular service under Sir John Moore and The Duke. His fine horsemanship, health, and heart carried him well through every peril. During the retreat of Corunna he was exposed to sleet and snow for nearly sixteen days, without shelter ; and on one occasion he rode, or rather ‘‘nursed” one horse eighty miles with despatches, without change or rest. Few men had a finer hand on a bit, and old sergeants of the W. and C. Yeomanry Cavalry love to tell how he would ride up to a yeoman, if his horse was too much for him, and beg to ‘‘let me try him,” and soon send him back perfectly quiet to the ranks. He was a first flight man in the palmy days of the Quorn and the Cottes- more, of which he was field-master, when his father, the late Earl, became blind. Dick Christian used to speak of his ride with Sir James Musgrave, Mr. Maxse, Mr. Gilmour, and Captain White, as ‘‘the finest bit of jealousy I ever see from Glaston pasture to Ketton village ; you could have covered them with a sheet.” The hounds were kept in great style at Cottesmore ; but Lambert, the huntsman, latterly became rather slack, and they did not kill their foxes as they had once done. Such an establishment, situated in the heart of such a country, had an old English flavour about it which hunting-men declared to be without rival elsewhere. ‘‘ The Master of Cottesmore” seemed to hunting what “‘The Master of Trinity” is to the scholar, and hence the Meltonians for many a year have earnestly desired to see a Cottesmore Hunt once more, with a Lowther at the head of it. Such a rare sportsman as the Colonel never quite fell in with the modern style of hunting, as he 40 Saddle and Sirloin. Howard, of Greystoke, with a unique species of throw, so to speak, at the other. For neatness all round, no one excelled Mr. Ripon; and his daring catch, as he followed up his ball mid-wicket, and held it with his right hand close to his side, when Mr. Foster had “opened his shoulders,” and returned it with com- pound interest, made the lookers-on almost tremble. Mr. Orridge the Governor of the gaol, and a very tall and handsome man, with the exception of rather high shoulders, was a most remarkable bowler. He took his sight with the ball to his eye, at an angle of some 60°, and fully six or seven yards on the right of his wicket, and then made a very straight delivery, and with a most remarkable wrist-screw. The carriage horses were better in those days, and the Corby Castle blacks, the Harker chestnuts, the Rickerby greys, and the Warwick Hall bays, whose loved, like Sir Charles Knightley, to see hounds puzzle it out, without being over-ridden. Not many days before he died, the Cottesmore brought a fox at a splitting pace from Ranksboro’ over some beautiful country, and raced into him after a quarter of an hour, on the very door-step of Barleythorpe. This was the last sight he had of hunting. Asa %L. he was well known by the poachers in the Lowther district, and woe betide those ‘‘fly-by-nights” if they were caught trying their hands on those wonderful hares the ‘‘ Shap Beckers,” which know Mr. Warwick in his scarlet and old Baggott so well. When Lord Palmer- ston died he became the Father of the House, which he entered in 1812 for Westmoreland. For 55 years he sat for that county, and yet his speeches during the whole period would not fill two columns of an ordinary newspaper. We believe that he never spoke in the House. Sir James Graham, who was never at a loss for a simile, described his politics as of the ‘‘old long-horned breed,” an allusion which the Dale farmers caught up with great gusto. His hardest Westmoreland fight was with Harry Brougham, then in the excellency of his strength. The Blues objected to two brothers standing for one county, and desired ‘€ not to eradicate the old family tree,” but to have ‘‘a laurel of our own planting.” The Colonel did not see it, and said that Earl Lons- dale was nothing to him. ‘‘I have no connexion with him ; I will stand whether he pleases or not.”” And so he did, and won, after a seven days’ fight, by 1412 to 1349. The present Lord Lonsdale was at the head of the poll, and duly made his acknowledgments ; but when it came to the Colonel’s turn he would say nothing but “ Least said is soonest mended—I point to the poll.” Recollections of Carlisle. 41 regulation allowance for the four and a quarter miles to Carlisle was five-and-twenty minutes, were dear to “the stable mind.” Three of these pairs, with leaders to match, did good service in their owner’s High Sheriff year; but Harker was not true on that occa- sion to its original colour. Meeting the judges was then a most stirring ceremony. ‘Their lordships did not merely descend from their first-class carriage, and robe in the waiting-room before they opened the com- mission, but approached from Newcastle, preceded or followed by a cloud of barristers in, chaises, and “General” Watson on horseback. The high and under sheriffs, cassocked chaplain, the footmen and the postillions (the family coachman generally on the wheeler, if his figure suited), and Mr. Rooke, of the Cathedral choir, with his trumpet, were kept for hours in a sort of transition state that day; and as for the javelin men—bar the one or two who were generally disabled by ale early on, and walked with ‘* A short, uneasy motion,” if they walked at all—they never put their javelins in rest after noon. One of the most trustworthy of their number acted as mounted scout, and might be seen tearing back all dust or mud ona very tired horse, like a defeated standard-bearer from Marston Moor. The news he brought was that my lords of assize were rapidly approaching from the east. The Under Sheriff in a chaise-and-pair, attended by two mounted javelin men, set out from Carlisle early to meet them, and took a luncheon with him. Roley Boustead was always in attendance, mounted on his favourite cob, and it was his task to gallop forward to the top of Windy Law, and catch the first glance of the legal cavalcade. When Temon Bridge, six miles beyond Brampton, was reached, their lordships lunched and robed at Temon House, a farm in the occupation of 42 Saddle and Sirloin. the late Mr. Wright, a very extensive and hospitable carrier and farmer. The High Sheriff generally met them, in great state, at Rule Holme Bridge. Mr. Justice Coleridge would have had no opening for his joke in after-years, when a lot of little urchins crowded on a dismal night round the station-door: “Are these, Mr. High Sheriff, your posse comitatus?” Posting was asad mockery to the briefless; but it gave the Queen’s Counsel importance when they drove into a town with their own carriages, and an Attorney or Solicitor-General coming down special with four horses was an event indeed. Lancaster saw a good deal of this during the eternal Zatham Case, in which by degrees nearly every judge on the bench was retained, till the choice of Northern Circuit judges had to be ‘made specially with reference to it; and at Carlisle you might see Cresswell’s and Alexander’s carriages drawn out when the assizes were over, and packed with law reports, &c., before an admiring audience in front of their lodgings in Encglish-street. As for the former, he took matters so easily that, even when he was leader, he never seemed to do any work out of Court hours; and we used to look at him with boyish awe loitering along Etterby Scaur, and trying to hench stones over the Eden. Coachmen and guards could endure much fatigue, but the post-boys of the great north road were quite their equals in this way. Jack Story, of the Crown at Penrith, once rode at a pinch 108 miles—twice to Carlisle and back, and once to Keswick—in a day, when he was past seventy. It was a very “throng time,” as parliament had just risen, and tourists were flocking to the lakes, but such a ride made no diffe- rence to him, and he ultimately died at the age of eighty-five. He was full of odd tales about those he had driven, and considered that on the whole barris- ters were more devoted to their dinners than any of Old Posting Times, 43 them. He based this on what he saw of Sir Gregory Lewin, Mr. Blackburn, Q.C., and one or two others, learned in the law, who, if the assize at Carlisle ex- tended over a Sunday, generally posted down after their consultations to Penrith, and dined most sump- tuously at the Crown. ‘The story of the brace of wild ducks lingered for many a year about the Crown bar. To the horror of these men of eclectic appetite, they had been stuffed by mistake with sage and onions. Upon ascertaining this violation of all true art, the president nearly pulled the bell down in his indigna- tion, and ordering in a kettle of water, scooped out all the stuffing, and carefully rinsed the birds’ interiors before they were re-consigned to the cook. The waiter, however, bid the cook to be of good cheer, and gave it as his opinion (without fee) that those lawyers need not have pretended to possess such very delicate appetites, as, when he came back with the ducks, they had eaten all the ejected stuffing, and a small loaf of bread along with it. Jemmy Anderson of Shap was another great character, and quite equal to any crisis. He was once driving a carriage from there to Penrith, when the hirer put out his head and roared, with quite Harry Brougham emphasis, “ Postzllion, I shaw t give you a farthing for your horses or yourself ; you ve driven like a snail.” Jemmy pulled up immediately, and turning half round in his saddle, faced the foe. “ You wont pay mea farthing, won't you , then I've come far enough for nowt,’ and so saying, he descended swiftly, and began to take out his horses. Jemmy was a man of his word, and nothing but the offer of a handsome compromise—‘ money down ’’—induced him to put them to again. The postboys never seemed to have a holiday, and if they had, it would have been a source of deep dif- ficulty to them how to spend it. One of their Southern brethren, Tom King of the Old Crown at Amersham, spent his in a most peculiar manner. He had the 44 Saddle and Sirloin. . honour on one occasion of driving “Farmer George,” after hunting with the Royal staghounds, from Amer- sham to Windsor. To the end of his life that loyal subject would do no work on the anniversary of that day ; and after breakfast he repaired to the same yel- low post-chaise, and sat in it till nightfall, on the side where his sovereign had been. He refreshed himself liberally with pots of ale, and if he took his pipe from his lips at intervals, it was only to replace it with a key-bugle, and play “ God save the King.” His mas- ter humoured his fancy, and visited the post-chaise with many others during the day, to see Tom indulg- ing in these quaint Pleasures of Memory. The Gretna Green marriages were a fruitful source of revenue to postboys at this period; as the fugitive lovers paid on a higher and higher scale in their fervour the nearer they approached the shrine, a sort of private clearing had to be estab- lished, and if there was anything like a good pay- ing “love job,” the fees were passed down the road and equalised. They were seldom better than when the Prince of Capua espoused Miss Penelope Smith. A parlour at the Crown was the scene of a curious fracas. A happy pair had arrived from Lincolnshire for Gretna, and were lunching, when the father and the rejected lover drove up. The latter thought that the very sight of himself would be sufficient to create remorse, and yet took no active part for fear of “setting” the girl; but the father promptly essayed a passage of arms, first with his umbrella and then with his fists, and was finally seized by the collar, half throttled, and forced on to the sofa. His son- in-law elect (who was about his weight, and of a theatrical turn of mind) then turned the key on both of them, and got a rare start with his love, more especially as the old gentleman would drive to Cap- tain Hebson’s to try and get a summons for as- sault. Somehow or other they squared matters, Fack Ainshe and his Gretna-Green Tactics. 45 and the four came back that evening in two post- chaises, with white favours, and dined together in great peace. It was said of the first Duke of Cleveland, who loved life in a post-chaise, and his orders to the post- boys were always, “ Wow, drive like the devil!” If he gave them the word at Catterick Bridge, Mr. Fer- guson, the landlord, was wont to say out loud, and with much apparent feeling, “ Moz, lads, you'll attend to his grace’s orders,” and then under his breath, to the lads, “‘ Don’t overboil the eggs.’ It would have been no use for Mrs. Holmes to give any such second orders, if a runaway pair dashed up to the Bush and it hap- pened to be Jack Ainslie’s turn for ‘ Horses on.” Jack was a sworn foe to parents and guardians at such seasons, and believed with Mr. Toots’s “ Chicken,” that, if everything else failed, doubling them up with a dig in the waistcoat was a move in the right direc- tion. He would have recommended precisely the same treatment in the case of a Lord Chancellor, if he had come, “* Racing and chasing on Cannobie lea,” after some fair ward of his high court. Jack was per- petually signing his name as witness to marriages, and was in fact quite a consulting counsel to lovelorn knights and damsels. To have him, in his yellow cord jacket on the near wheeler, was worth as many points to them as it was to an attorney for the plain- tiff to retain Garrow or Follett. If he was pushed hard, Jack knew of cunning bye lanes and woods to hide them in, and had lines of gates across farms, and all that sort of geography, in his eye, for an emer- gency. On one occasion, he quite “outdid his own out- doings.” He had driven a couple, who had forgotten to “ask mamma,” early in the day to Longtown, and as he thought they were taking it rather easily, he 46 Saddle and Sirloin. strongly advised them to cross the Border and get married before they dined. They were weary and would not be advised, and he took his horses back to Carlisle, and thought them just “poor silly things.” He had not been back long, when the mother and a Bow-street officer dashed up to the Bush. There was not a second to lose, so Jack jumped on a horse, with- out asking anyone, and galloped to Longtown. He had barely time to get the dawdlers huddled into a post-chaise, take his seat on the box as commander-in- chief, and clear the “lang toun,’ when the pursuers loomed in sight. The pursuit was so hot that the only way was to turn sharp down a lane, and Jack and his party had the satisfaction of watching, through a leafy screen, “the maternal” fly past towards Gretna, and so on to Annan, where she came to a long and hopeless check, and finally gave it up. 'Whenshe was got rid of Jack would stand no more nonsense, but saw his couple married, and witnessed, before he went back to Carlisle. The signatures of that marriage were always looked at with a certain sad interest, as the bridegroom was killed next year at Waterloo. This was quite Jack’s leading case, and he is still remembered by many warm admirers of talent and generalship in a peculiar line, as “a civil old fellow, perhaps five feet seven if he was stretched out, and with such nice crooked legs.” 47 CHAPTER IIE. *¢ Ah! sure it was a coat of steel Or good tough oak he wore, Who first unto the ticklish wheel ’Gan harness horses four ; Nor shuddered, as he rolled along, To tread the mazy, whirling throng Of furious coach with sluggish dray, Contesting every inch of way Through Holborn and the direful strait Of Temple Bar or Bishop Gate.” Sporting Magazine, 1832. The Mail and Coach Days—Shap Fells—Drivers, Regular and Amateur —Guards—Horses—Carlisle Races; the late Mr. Daley—The Wrestling Ring—Cumberland Wrestling Champions. UCH was part of the ode, modelled after “ Sic te Diva potens Cypri,’ which was addressed to the driver of The Times in 1827, when corn-chest poets only sang of steam as “a demon foul,’ and “better make a railroad to the moon” was a witty retort, not to say quite a settler for the question, which was stirring a few far-seeing souls. After all, the hor- rors of Holborn or Temple Bar were far below those of Shap and Stainmoor on a winter’s night, when coachman, guard, and passengers battled along in the blast, or bore a hand with the snow shovels, and then looked out anxiously for that tavern sign of ‘‘ Welcome into Cumberland,” which told of deliverance from the wilds of Westmoreland, and that snug little Penrith was nigh. There were not many amateur coachmen on the road, and the guards steadily set their faces against the system, except in very particular instances. Any passenger could object, and if the reins were not given up at once to the regular coachman, the General Post- 48 Saddle and Sirlotn. Office authorities came down hot and heavy upon the guard when they were appealed to. A traveller was most indignant on one occasion, and actually seized hold of the reins, because, when Mr. Teather, junior, was driving his own horses, the guard would not inter- fere. He achieved nothing by his letter to “the powers that be,” as there was a change of cabinet about that time, and Mr. Teather’s request to know which Postmaster-General he was to address in his defence, was allowed to remain unanswered. Mr. James Parkin was one of the privileged ones, and his favourite ground was out of Penrith to Carlisle. He gave it up when the railways encroached and the horses became worse, as he did not care to be “a screw-driver.” He was a very steady coachman, but rather too slow for the mail, as he had not the energy to slip it into them over the galloping ground, and make up his time. In fact, the guard was perpetually holding up his watch, and admonishing him to send them along. Mr. Ramsay,* of Barnton, was “ good enough, when the cattle were good,” but he liked to choose his ground. Mr. Nightingale, the great cours- ing judge of that day, was the man to “take a coach through the country.” He took the horses as they came, kickers or jibbers, and thanks to very fine hands and strong nerves, he kept his time to a second. Parson Bird was also well up to his work, and he was such a good-hearted fellow, that when the regular coachman from Keswick to Kendal broke his leg, he took his place for six weeks, and collected the fees for him. A lady gave the parson half-a-crown, and going to a ball at Kendal that night, was introduced to her coachman of the morning, who at once asked her to dance. She was highly indignant; but, on the matter * For particulars of the late Mr. Ramsay’s coaching career in con- nexion with Captain Barclay and The Defiance, see ‘‘ Field and Fern” (North), pp. 195-210. Drivers—Regular and Amateur. 49 being explained to her, she became so gracious over it, that she ultimately became Mrs. Bird. Among the regular coachmen, John Reed took a very high place. He was a stout and very silent man—in fact, “all for his horses.” He drove the Glasgow mail from Carlisle to Abington, never tasted ale or wine, and never had an accident. This was the more remarkable, as Mr. Johnstone of Hallheaths, the owner of Charles XII., horsed one stage with nothing but thorough-breds ; and if they did take off, even Reed, strong-wristed as he was, could hardly hold them. John Brydon was, in one respect, the very reverse of John Reed, and full of jollity and. good stories on the box. The two Drydens were more dashing in their style. One of them had the art of teaching his horses to trot when most men would have them on the gallop, and his brother was a wonderful singer. Whenever the mail reached a long ascent, and he had to slacken speed, he would beguile the way with “She wore a Wreath of Roses,” or “I know a Flower within my Garden growing,” in a rich tenor, which would have secured him a good concert-room engagement. Little Isaac Johnson was going for thirty-five years, and never had an accident. He was supreme with a kicking horse, and always took care to make him his near-side leader. When they were put there, he could punish them more severely, and they were not in the way of the coach. He liked to hit them inside the thigh, and he could fairly wale them up if they continued to rebel. The Telfers were good coachmen of the same school, and were well known over Shap Fells. Jem Barnes was rather fat and lumbersome, and lacked fire. People did say that he had his sleeping ground as well as his gallop- ing ground. There was, however, little chance of sleeping one night going north over Shap. He had not only to gallop at all the snow-drifts, but to put a postboy and pair on in front. The pole-hook broke, ee ee 50 Saddle and Sirloin. and the hand of Jim Byrns, the guard, was almost frozen to the screw-wrench, when he brought out a spare pole-hook, and fastened it on. The snow fell in flakes large enough to blind them, and the only comic bit was the voice of a heavy swell issuing from beneath a perfect tortoise-shell covering of capes and furs on the box-seat : “ What are you fellows keeping me here in the cold for, and warming your own hands at the lamp ?” George Eade was very deaf, but still he had hearing enough left to be cognisant of a great many objurga- tions from Mr. Richardson of the Greyhound at Shap for taking it out of his horses. One day Mr. Richardson came out and was peculiarly bland, but George con- cluded that he was on the old subject, and had his back up in an instant, “ Hang you! Pm not before my time; [Ul bet you 50. of wt, look at my watch! Jack Pooley was a great character, and drove in earlier days over Stainmoor. When he retired he joined the Yeomanry Cavalry, and entered his horse for a cavalry plate. Two of the principal conditions were that it must never have won 50/., and, also, be half-bred. Some objections having been raised to Jack’s nomi- nation, it became necessary to examine Jack before a committee of the regiment. To the first question, whether his horse had ever won 50/, he replied, “ Vo, indeed ! but he’s helped to lose many a fifty—he ran three years in an opposition coach.” The next question was, “ What is he by, Mr. Pooley ?” “ By?” said Jack, “T should say he was by a shorthorn bull, he’s such a devil of a roarer,’ and Jack’s answers were considered eminently satisfactory. Jack Creery was a good coachman, and drove a pair-horse mail from Lancaster to Kirby Stephen. He had a guard, Joe Lord, who had been with Van Amburgh, and the pair got lost one night between Kirby Stephen and Kirby Lons- dale. Jack was so sleepy that he crept inside. Lord drove for him, and being sleepy as well, turned right Mail Guards. 51 off the road down a lane in the snow. Things got from bad to worse, so Jack had to be roused, and Joe was pushed up the side of a sign-post on Jack’s shoulders, to “try and read the address.” There was not light enough to decipher much, and when they reached a village (according to the song which Jim Byrns wrote to their confusion), they “ knocked long and loud at a village church-door” by mistake for a public-house. The coachman’s fees were generally two shillings for fifty miles, and some of them made 300/. a year. It was, however, “light come, light go” with them, as they were very fond of betting and card-playing. One of them, who was rather a Malaprop in his speech, accounted for losing all his winnings of one evening, by saying that he was “ fositively discom- pelled to play the last ensuing game.’ They were strictly the servants of the contractors, and looked after the passengers’ luggage, whereas the guards were the servants of Government, and in full charge of the mail and the bags. The appointment was obtained through members of Parliament, who made interest in due form with the Postmaster-General of the day. An inspector of guards travelled four days a week on the mails, and reported weak harness and bad horses, and other shortcomings, to Government, and the guards, who had half-a-guinea per week, made all their private reports through him. For a long time safety-drags were a subject of dispute be- tween the contractors and the Post-Office, and they were not adopted until the forrmer made a very decided stand on the point. Three guards were especially well known and esteemed for their courtesy on the road—Skaife, who was a great musician, more especially on the bass violin; Adam Burgess, who died landlord of the Graham Arms, at Longtown ; and Jim Byrns, who was for many years the station- master at Preston. Jim’s forte was verse-making E 2 2 Saddle and Sirloii. CA rather than music, and if any little thing happened during the journeys that tickled his fancy, he would drop Mr. Teather junior, not a line, but a few rhymes, describing it. Those who were up in mail-coach politics, used to have many a roar over the songs which he wrote, whenever anything very good came off ; and Jack Creery and Joe Lord never heard the last of his touching description of their sign-post and church-door troubles. According to it, they must have been in as strange a jumble as the Keswick man and his sow, when they tumbled out of Brundholme Wood down a steep bank into the Greta below. The man was asked to describe his sensations as he fell, but he could only say, “ Varra queer. First it was sow der me,and then Ider sow, then sow top ot me, and I top ot sow—rum start a thegither.” Jim Byrns was a very handsome and well-educated man, and no one understood his business better. For many years he was on the Edinburgh mail from Derby to Manchester, and afterwards from Preston to Carlisle, over Shap Fells, the most difficult mail-road in England. Those who slip through it now in half an hour, snoozing on comfortable first-class cushions, can never compass the weariness of Hucks Brow, or guess what a guard had to endure, standing up for miles together through those dark and dismal fogs which infest it on a winter’s night, and eternally blow- ing his horn to prevent a collision. Sometimes snow would bring the mail to a dead lock, and then the un- happy guard would have to wade, or get out his saddle and ride one of the leaders to a farm-house, and rouse the labourers to come with their shovels. Jim was the right man in the right place, a rare hand at the head of a fatigue party with shovels, and a perfect master of his carpenter’s tools, in case there was a breakdown. The heaviest night, as regards correspondence, was when the American mail had come in. On those oc- casions the bags have been known to weigh above Florses. 53 16 cwt. They were contained in sacks seven feet long, which were laid in three tiers across the top, so high that no guard, unless he were a Chang in stature, could look over them, and the waist (ze, the seat behind the coachman) and the hind-boot were filled with bags as well. The best teams went out of Carlisle, where eighty horses were once kept for eight mails and seven coaches. The Carlisle teams always looked well, as the contractors principally lived there in the midst of their own ground, and hence the coachmen tried if possible to make up their time before they got to it. “ The little mail,” as it was called, was on for a short time. It had only two horses, and they always seemed to be running away with their load. Its owners professed to do the 96 miles between Carlisle and Glasgow in 8h. 324m., and it pretty often came to time; but there were so many accidents, that pas- sengers wholly shunned it at last. It was established to let the Glasgow people—who were jealous on the point, and thought that their London correspondence was delayed by coming through Yorkshire—have their letters an hour or so earlier from Carlisle than by the regular mail. The route of the London and Edin- burgh mail was by Derby and Manchester, and it and the old Glasgow mail so arranged their time, with a view to the Glasgow mal-contents, as to meet in the Crown Inn Square, at Penrith, at four o’clock in the morning, and come on to Carlisle together. Up mails, which left Carlisle at six in the evening, reached London at five o’clock on the second morning. The fare was 6/. 6s. inside, and 32. 5s. out; but fees to coachmen and guards, with refreshment on the road, brought it up considerably. Well may those who are rightly informed about things as they were, not grumble at things as they are, when—instead of being cramped and sleepless for nearly thirty-six hours, with every hair standing up like a porcupine’s quill, and 54 Saddle and Sirloin. with rain and dew and hoar-frost as your dreary por- tion—you can leave Euston-square at a quarter to nine, and see the summer sun “ shine fair on Carlisle wall” before six o'clock. Mr. Teather was the principal mail contractor ; but he gave up working the south side of Carlisle in 1837, and his son (who very often tooled his own teams), took it, as well as the Carlisle and Longtown stage. When the rail was completed to Carlisle, the latter entered into the northern contract with Mr. Croall, and when the Caledonian Railway reached Beattock Bridge, the plant was removed there, and the horses had for a time to be stabled under canvas. Some five years before steam became lord of all, there was a curious dispute about the Government contract, and Mr. Barton, who had been in partnership with Mr. Teather, senior, claimed the ground from Hesketh to Penrith, and sent his horses and helpers to Hesketh. It was a regular fight between the men, day by day, which set of horses should be put in first. Parson Bird favoured the Bartonians, whose chief had never really signed the Government contract, and Mr. Parkin invariably rode down from Greenways, and sat watch- ing the faction fight from his saddle. It went on for several days, and then the Bartonians gave in. The mails were chocolate-bodied, picked out with scarlet, and wheels, perch, waist, bars, and pole all scarlet. The harness was perfectly plain, with the exception of the initials and coach-bars on the blinkers. Hucks Brow was a severe pull of a mile, and the seven miles going south from Shap to the Brow were also all on the collar. Accidents were wonderfully few, and the principal one befel a country mail, whose horses shied at a water-wheel just as they crossed Kirbythore Bridge. The drop was eight feet, and one horse was killed; but there the damage ended. A stalwart Yorkshire woolstapler performed a somersault quite equal to the Keswick sow-leader, Florses. 55 and just as he lighted on his legs, he “ caught at mid off”? a parcel, which shot with wondrous velocity out of a woman’s arms, and proved on inspection to be her baby. He said, in his dry way, when they congratu- lated him on his fine fielding, “ that a stray baby isn’t generally a good catch for a man.” None of the contractors cared to get their teams of a colour, as it was too expensive. A wheeler must measure fifteen one at least ; but anything that would keep straight, and get out of the way of the bars, was generally thought good enough for a leader, and if it had not what Mr. Murray calls “pretty manners,” John Reed would undertake to turn it out “ complete in six lessons.” The average price for a leader was 17/7, and for a gocd wheeler 22/ to 25/7, but never more than 30/7. Ireland furnished the greater portion of them, and they were picked up at the Rosley Hill fairs. None under five years old were ever purchased, and the average of service in a fast mail was three years, although there were some brilliant exceptions. The worn-outs were sold back to farmers at 5/. or 6/, and mares of course commanded the best price. Occasionally a horse was purchased with rather a doubtful title, and to prevent his being claimed, he was always worked in the night-mail. They got very few beans; but two-year-old hay and the best of oats were made especial points of. Tapster, a dark chestnut stallion, was the most remarkable horse on the road. For some offence or other he was condemned to be a near-side leader, when he was only rising four, but he “ went off like an old cow” from the start. From Penrith to Shap was his bit of road, and he worked for ten years. When he became slow he did duty as a wheeler for a short time, but he was too small for the place, and a blacksmith got him for 4/, and put him at the service of his country. The Waterloo mare was of a very different disposition. She was one of Mr. Contractor Buchanan’s lot, and 56 Saddle and Sirloin. she had stopped with every coachman in turn at the end of two miles. At last they all wearied of her, and the orders were, if she rebelled again, not to bring her back alive.” She accordingly left Penrith, and got a few milesin the Glasgow mail, when, according to her wont, she suddenly sulked, and sat down upon her haunches like a dog, with her fore-legs straight out before her. The coachman got down, took a rail out of the hedge, and struck her nine times below the knees with the flat side of it. Such energetic treat- ment brought her to, and she and her drivers “ lived happily together ever after.” It was once a regular money contest between the London papers which could spend most in posting so as to beat the mail, and each other, when they re- ported a great dinner or trial in the country. At the coronation the Sw was printed in letters of gola, and when the Reform Bill of 1832 was proposed, it had expresses to catch up the mails with a second edition containing Lord John’s speech to the latest hour. When Sir Robert Peel spoke at Glasgow, its outer form was printed off and taken down to Kendal, where the reporters from Glasgow met it, with their speech notes all ready written out. The inner form was printed off there, and thus the people in Glasgow read the speech printed in a London paper before, by ordinary calculation, it had time to reach London. When Bolam was tried, one London reporter left Newcastle by the mail without the verdict, while another waited for it, and caught up the mail by hard galloping, after bribing the postboys to hold their tongues. The two reporters went on side by side all the way to London, and the 7zmes never murmured its secret in dreams. Our Recollections of Carlisle Swifts go back some three-and-forty years. Springkell and Fair Helen’s day was over, and the Maxwell family had ceased to have perpetual seisin of the massive gold cup. Mr. Carlisle Races. 57 Houldsworth’s green and gold jacket was occasionally seen, and The Earl was a great hand at four mile heats for the Queen’s Plate. He liked to have his ugly head first in heats one and two, whereas some used to wait away entirely for the first heat, and just save their distance. The man with his flag in the distance chair was an absolute necessity in those heat days, and one of the most vigorous protests we re- member against his judgment was Jem Mason’s at the Kensington Hippodrome, in ’39. Capital horses rrived at Carlisle, year after year, from Middleham, each September, many of them ez route ta the Cale- donian Hunt, but up to the present date there have been only two St. Leger winners among them. One of them, Caller Ou, won the Guineas, but Warlock’s jockey mistook the winning-post, when he had every- thing beat in the Cumberland Plate. We remember seeing Theodore on “the sands” at an agricultural show, but Gregson, “that great swell of a grey,” was there too, in his prime, and the St. Leger mouse-brown, with the corny feet, was hardly looked at by the judges, except for the interest which attaches to a horse who wins such a race with 100/ to a walking- stick or a bottle of soda-water against him. Ca: rinthian, who ran fourth to him, was, if we remember rightly, not sent from Barrock Lodge that day, but Royalist came as usual from Holme House in his blue rosettes. He was a good-looking, light-boned horse, with a very strong neck, and Templeman considers him to be one of the slowest and gamest he ever crossed. “Sim,” who was always very fond of Carlisle course, and formed one of a large Yorkshire party at Mrs. Tweedell’s in Rickergate, won twice with him for Mr. Lambton, the first year he rode there. The pace was so hot in one race that Royalist was beaten a mile from home, but reached his horses inch by inch. «Sim’s” luck was not so great, when at a pinch he had to ride Lady Moore Carew in a big exercise 58 Saddle and Sirloin. saddle, and was beaten half a length. His feet slipped through the stirrups, and he couldn't finish on her. The Swifts are full of curious Turf recollections. The jockeys seemed much taller men then, and “wasted” to thread-paper. As for Jem Jacques,* he was promptly “transmuted” from a well-fed innkeeper at Penrith into a seven-stone skeleton, when poverty overtook him, and he rode successfully for Colonel Cradock again. Vinegar and poached eggs were his only support at times, and a lad who rode the rear horse, and drove the leader in the canal-boat, The Arrow, from Carlisle to Port Carlisle, tried the same fare rather than lose his place for overweight, and killed himself by it. John Cartwright was in immense force when he came out about 1829; and Mr. Aglionby engaged him three years in advance to ride a colt of his Petterill, for a Cumberland Produce Stakes, which he won. Juba made a memorable level-ground jump near the last turn at exercise. It was measured to be thirty feet ; and the lad vowed that his black would have the Eden with alittle more practice, and advised his being turned loose in future. No two-year-old ever excited such interest as General Chassé, when he went to the post for the Corby Castle Stakes with his trainer Fobert leading him, and Bob Johnson on his back ; and he showed the field his light tail from the start to the finish. Muley Moloch was a lion in those days when the Raby pink and black stripes were annually looked out for with Tommy Lye to ride, and burly John Smith in charge. That “ fine black hunter” Inheritor, and ‘Lazy Lanercost,” were both winners; and the wiry little Doctor galloped away from his field in the Queen’s Plate through water and * This old jockey became a jobbing gardener near Doncaster, and had a small pension from the Bentinck Club. He died in 1868 from an over-dose of laudanum. The late Mr. Daley. 59 mud half way up his hocks. The course had been quite covered on the previous day, and lads were actually sailing in washing-tubs from tent to tent. On another occasion we are told that lanterns were tied to the posts, and the last heats, in which Ben Smith rode, were run off by their glimmer. Harry Edwards, in his white kid gloves and ruffles, was quite a lion when he came out and won upon Naworth over the T.Y.C. This colt was a very diff- cult one to ride, as he had mastered his lad, jumped a wall, and chased a mare from the High Moor at Middleham to Dawson’s stables. Hence he turned re- bellious in public, and only finished fourth at New- castle; but “ Slashing Harry” paid him off, and steered him with an energy and leverage of arm, such as no other jockey, save Sam Chifney, ever seemed to us quite to possess. If his temper had been better he would have been a clipper. When Edwards rode him in an exercise gallop behind Pyramid five years at Car- lisle, the grey could not get rid of him, and the weights were as nearly even as possible. Lord George gave 500 guineas for him, and he ran for nine seasons, and then had a turn, by way of finish, at “ The Liverpool Grand National.” Mr. Daley, “the Incledon of the Turf,” was not then Clerk of the Course. When he became a Carlisle notable and lived in the Corporation-road, his little parlour was quite radiant with pictures of our best actors, many of them presentation copies, and among them, duly framed, a very cordial letter from Mr. Charles Dickens. In his own photograph, the unfail- ing glass is in his eye, and he is supposed to be taking stock of his great opponent as they meet in English- street. It might have been truly said of either of them, that ‘* Whene’er he walks the street, the paviours cry— ‘God bless you, sir,’ and lay their rammers by ;” so here was a double advantage. It needed but one 6oO Saddle and Sirloin. more to complete the group—illustrious Aaron, who listened over his pipe for fully six weeks to discus- sions about the “ Durham Letter,” and then failing to master the matter in hand, asked a friend in confi- dence, “ Who's this ’ere Colonel Wiseman they ve been a talking about?’ Mr. Daley would occasionally take to the harefoot again, and bring down the house as Dennis Bulgruddery, Dr. O’Toole, or the first grave- digger in “ Hamlet,” when any good local cause re- quired a benefit ; and his Irish songs and recitations were often heard at the trainers’ parties during race meetings, and the Albert Club at Carlisle. He was very fond of racing, but he never studied it vigorously, and always shrank from putting handicaps together. Newcastle, Chester, and Liverpool were favourite meetings with him, and we seldom “drew” the iron seats under the grand stand portico blank for him ona Doncaster Tuesday. He began life in an attorney’s office, but he “ did not enjoy calf-skin,” and finding himself a baritone bird of song he wished to be a perspiring hero as well. For many years he scarcely made 30s. a week, and sometimes had “only my share of the candles,” and we have heard him recount how Mr. Sims Reeves was the companion of this soldier of fortune life, with a salary of the same dimensions and share of his poor lodgings. Hopeless as matters then seemed, he was always telling his young friend that he should turn his mind to Italy and improve his “organ” there, and that he would certainly beat everything out. When that dream of Italy was fulfilled, he presented the debutant with the costume in which he first took the town by storm, as Edgardo in “ Lucia di Lammer- moor.’ In his hot youth Mr. Daley had a notion that his own forte was tragedy, and he appeared as Othello one or twice and “got a hand” to boot. Still the manager didn’t see it, and asked him if he couldn’t be “a Lord Mayor or something of that kind in future”— The late Mr. Daley. 61 “and, therefore, Mr. Chairman” (as he observed at the Shakspeare dinner), ‘‘ I have to thank Shakspeare for making me a Lord Mayor.” This pleasantry told all the better, because the Mayor of Carlisle would not attend that dinner, and had declared officially that Shakspeare was no doubt a talented but an overrated man, and might have turned his talents to better account. Hence curiously enough the Earl and the Mayor of Carlisle were in the front and the rear of the movement on the Tercentenary day. The one presided at the Stratford-on-Avon banquet, and told with noble emphasis of that great Quadrilateral, in which “ Warwickshire Will” had entrenched himself against the assaults of envious Time; the other, although stupendous efforts, both clerical and lay, were made to convert him, hardened his heart and spake as above. Mr. Daley was Clerk of the Course for nearly twenty years, and he left some 90/. to their credit in the bank when he died. No one could look more anxious till he was quite sure that there would be a race for “ The Queen’s Guineas.” He confided to us as the cause of this passing cloud that the country people held a belief that if that race was walked over for, it was all his doing, and that he made much booty by such procedure. He was popular with all classes, always ready to help a good cause with his purse and his acting, and never said an unkind word of any one. A handsome testimonial was presented to him a few years before his death, which was very sudden at last; and now that he and poor John Sowerby (his C.C. predecessor) have gone, any amateur casual who wanders into Carlisle, and wants to hear the latest. thing out in sporting, does not know where to bend his steps. Both were alive in ’64, and thirty-one horses had come to the meeting, which was opened by Woodbine running away twice round the course, with young Job 62 Saddle and Sirloin. Marson up. Not a carriage was to be seen, whereas ‘in the days of old Springkell” the course was lined on one side with them down to the distance ; and there were only four men on horseback, where we have seen three hundred, some of whom would extemporize a hurdle race to wind up the day. But Grand Stand enclosures and railways are great levellers, and as the new fashion brings more added money, it has its uses after all. We have it on Judge Johnson’s authority, that more women and children attend at Carlisle than at any meeting he knows of. The boys made a most remarkable bit of coping to the wall just beyond the winning-post ; and the “ Mr. Gamblers” outside the enclosure confined their operations to balls of different colours, which performed a curious course through pegs, and were backed most spiritedly for pennies. A half-witted fellow, absolutely in rags, fancied he was Starter, and performed a sort of shadow-dance to Mr. Elliot, waving back the jockeys (one of them a little Scotchman between seventy and eighty and scaling 6st. 5lbs. with his saddle) and lecturing them on his own account. The bye-play was too good to disturb, and Mr. Elliot just let him run on. Jem Snow- don rode a most beautiful stern chase for the Cumber- land Plate on Royal John, keeping his top weight at it, and yet never oversetting him, and just “shot” Castle Espie, who forced the pace from end to end, by a head in the last two strides. There was no lack of little scenes in the enclosure. A welcher was found to have 13/. in his pocket, when he wouldn’t pay, and being a boot-closer, his boots were playfully pulled off for a token and flung aloft, and he had to walk over the sands mzzus his coat and hat as well, with Young Carlisle in close attendance, examining him as if he were an escaped racoon. Then a small betting man hinted a doubt as to one horse running on the square, within earshot of the owner, who landed on his nose “ with such unerring instinct” The Wresthng Ring. 63 (as Mr. D’Israeli observes of the Commons) that “Philip the Doubter” walked about snorting like a walrus for the rest of the afternoon. After that there was an elderly welcher, who had done a hardy bor- derer out of 3/7 three years before. The latter had been on his watch tower at every subsequent meeting, and darting down upon him at last, and scorning to strike a man below his weight, he took out his divi- dend in a Cumbrian fashion by giving him the but- tock and flinging him into the air. The welcher had tried to get in without paying and had been headed back by John Sowerby, and how his friends closed round him and got him out again no one knows. He went like a shadow. The jockey arrivals and depar- tures were rather complicated. Snowdon left for Newmarket, and Challoner (who had ridden in the July Stakes the day before) came North to ride Caller Ou for “The Guineas.” Mr. Daley’s despon- dency increased visibly, as The Clown and “ Back Kitchen Sarah” (Backtchi Serai) had gone home, and Honest John’s owner had no notion of giving us a match between the double winners of the Cumberland and Northumberland Plates. In the nick of time, Royal John, who had a race in him already, was ordered out at Mrs. Masterman’s intercession, and the hairy-heeled old mare was led into the enclosure to meet him. Challoner was anxious to be at New- market again, and he soon looked up Loates and came into the weighing tent. “ We may as well be settling this little matter, Mr. Fohnson ;’ and settle it he did, pretty quickly, as the mare never went freer or better, with her head up in the “old, old style.” The wrestling begins at nine o’clock with the heavy weights, and goes on till the saddling-bell rings, and at six o'clock it begins again with the middle weights, to the music as before of the Brampton and Volunteer bands. Next morning the Committee resume their 64 Saddle and Sirloin. labours from nine to two with the light weights, and then the most energetic of white-waistcoated func- tionaries rests from his labours. It is no longer held in that fine natural ring under the hill, but in a boarded enclosure at the edge of the racecourse, and 6z. is the entry fee. When we were last there, Jem Scott was quite the man of the hour, and the leading jeweller’s window was adorned with a silver testi- monial to his talent from his numerous “ friends and admirers.” Among the middle-weights he was still the nonpareil, and so was “lal Tiffin” in the light brigade. The latter was also quite the Beau Brum- mell of the hour in his mauve suit, with white stripe and garter. As you enter the enclosure, there is a small space for the Committee, who sit with silver cups in front of them, a wheel for drawing out the couples, and two sand-glasses. The latter were perpetually travelling into the ring as a menace to men who would not take hold. The three umpires have generally two couples out at a time, and the audience sit and lie round the ring, while the policemen keep walking about to re- press their exuberance, and keep them in position. C 19 was most fussy. “ Sz¢ ye doon, lad, or I'll fetch ye oot,” was his style; but the sergeant was much more “saponaceous.” With him it was, “ Woo, tak’ my advice, lad, and yell see just as weel,’ to a very ardent Scottite. With the above it was, “l// tak’ odds Fameson dowt get the Cup,’ and of course he was ac- commodated. ‘“ Fameson’s just worried him,’ said another at our side, when Dick Wright in the purple went down before the stripes, which must have covered a thick-set frame of fully sixteen stone. Maxwell (a blacksmith) and Jem Scott were a long time taking hold, as Scott was going away more than two stone, and was bound to be very leary ; but Jem did his man with what they called an “ under-click.” A tall young fellow, as fragile as an osier wand, ane Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 65 standing at an angle of quite 120°, was swiftly sent to mother earth by Jameson, with whom Scott had no chance at the weight, when they met for the final fall. Once the rush to seize on the victor, and bear him off shoulder high to some favoured tent, was quite the fashion; but crowds are not so demonstrative nowa- days, and Jameson is not so very portable. There was therefore only a little cheering, and each man squeezed out of the narrow doorway as he could. The toilets of Scott and Jameson were pretty well attended by their friends and admirers, and then they walked up to the committee-table in the most business-like way. There was no crown of oak leaves—no ode by the Pindar of the wrestling committee. The secretary simply shook hands with Jameson, who squeezed the Cup with much ado into his inside-coat pocket, drew his 152, or whatever it might be, and returned a small portion to the fund. The process was alike simple in Scott’s case. “ There, emmy, that will be 61. for you.” “ Thank you, gentlemen,’ and exit Jemmy.* @ WINNERS OF THE ALL- WEIGHT WRESTLING SINCE 1830, FIRST. SECOND. 1830 W. Robinson, Renwick G. Graham, Rigg 1831 J. Little, Sebergham I. Irving, Bolton Gate 1832 J. Mason, Blencogo F. Nichol, Bothel 1833 R. Chapman, Patterdale J. Graham, Loweswater 1834 J. Thomlinson, Embleton J. Little, Sebergham 1835 John Biair, Solport Mill J. Elliott, Cumrew 1836 Robert Gordon, Plumpton J. Nichol, Bothel 1837 Joseph Sergant, Brampton RR. Gordon, Plumpton 1838 R. Chapman, Patterdale R. Pert, Torpenhow 1839 R. Chapman, Patterdale R. Gorden, Plumpton 1840 R. Chapman, Patterdale R. Gordon, Plumpton 1841 W. Jackson, Kennyside T. Baty, Oulton 1842 W. Jackson, Kennyside H. James, Bogside 1843 W. Jackson, Kennyside R. Chapman, Patterdale 1844 W. Jackson, Kennyside T. Longmire, Troutbeck 1845 I. Taylor, Wythmoor R. Gordon, Plumpton 1846 R. Gordon, Plumpton i. Taylor, Wythmoor 1847 R. Atkinson, Sleagill J. Heslop, Paulton Mire 1848 J. Milburn, Weardale R. Gordon, Plumpton sg 66 Saddle and Sirloin. Christopher North tells of a strange puzzle into which an old gentleman fell. A general election was pending, and he was all for the Lowther interest. As he journeyed through the lake country, he heard the name of fresh candidates mentioned with much appa- rent favour, for Westmoreland. Meeting with a friend at the White Lion in Bowness, he told him with a very downcast countenance, that Lord Lowther would be ousted, and that the struggle, as far as he could learn, would be “ between Thomas Ford of Egremont, and William Richardson of Caldbeck, men of no landed property, and probably radicals.” The con- versations which had disquieted him, were really with reference to a great wrestling match, which was then causing as much doubt and searching of hearts in Cumberland and Westmoreland as any election could SECOND. T. Todd, Plumbland R. Irving, Church House T. Little, Thomas Close J. Halliwell, Penrith A. Miller, Kirkbride FIRST. 1849 J. Milburn, Weardale 1850 J. Moss, Templesowerby 1851 J. Palmer, Bewcastle 1852 W. Roldaw, Egremont 1853 W. Donald, Dearham 1854 T. Longmire, Troutbeck 1855 T. Longmire, Bowness 1856 R. Wright, Longtown 1856 T. Longmire, Bowness 1857 W. Hawksworth, Shap 1857 }. Murgatroyd, Cockerm’th 1858 Noble Ewbank, Bampton 1859 J. Pattison, Weardale 1860 W. Jameson, Penrith 1861 W. Jameson, Penrith 1862 R. Wright, Longtown 1863 G. Maxwell, Rockliffe 1864 W. Jameson, Penrith 1865 W. Jameson, Penrith 1866 R. Wright, Longtown 1867 R. Wright, Longtown 1868 W. Jameson, Penrith W. Dickinson, Calderbridge R. Williams, Egremont W. Glaister, Greenah Hall T. Robson, Weardale Benjamin Cooper, Carlisle Benjamin Cooper, Carlisle T. Davidson, Castleside W. Hawkesworth, Shap J. Pattinson, Weardale T. Kirkup, Longtown W. Jameson, Penrith J. Fisher, Appleby James Scott, Carlisle James Scott, Carlisle John Milburn, Weardale Matthew Lee, Lyneside N. Ewbank, Bampton I am indebted for this list and for much of the wrestling matter up to 1830, to an article in the Carlisle Journal. There were two sets of all- weight prizes in 1856-57. Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 67 have done. Far more money is now given in prizes ; but somehow or other these rival counties do not take the same pride in their champions as of yore. You rarely hear the sport mentioned, except about Easter or Carlisle Race time. Champions are not reveren- tially pointed out to the rising generation at market or on the road ; and two young fellows having a bout on a summer evening, would seem nearly as strange a sight, even to a resident, as if a couple of the Yeo- manry cavalry had suddenly mounted their uniforms and their chargers, and gone into a meadow or down a “green lonning,” to practise the sword exercise. The first prize, a purse with “ five gold guineas” in it, was contended for at Carlisle races, in September, 1809, and was won by Tom Nicholson of Threlkeld. “Two purses of gold” were given the next year ; and for three years in succession Nicholson was the cham- pion. The prize on the third occasion was twenty guineas, and “all persons emulous of distinguishing themselves in these athletic exercises, so much ex- celled in by our forefathers, are desired to appear on the ground at nine o'clock in the morning.” This re- ference to antiquity was made in 1811; but the most diligent ghoul in the matter has failed to discover the existence of any records before the era of Tom Nichol- son. Will Richardson of Caldbeck was second to that hero of 1810, and the science, which was gradually developed, brought matters up to fever-heat in 1813, when a ring, seventy yards in diameter, was enclosed by ropes, and about fifteen thousand people, headed by the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Queensberry, and Earl Lonsdale, stood or sat round it. “ Barney” was not much in vogue. The buttock and the cross- buttock were the favourite chips, and “many of the men were struck from the ground upwards of five feet.” “The Cumberland Shepherd” won the belt ; and amongst those who went to grass was George Dennison, the bone-setter, who dislocated an oppo- BZ 68 Saddle and Sirloin. nent’s shoulder. With a fine eye to business, he would not have him taken to an hospital, but set the shoulder then and there, amid loud cheers. Prize- fighting was introduced as a wind-up the next year; and Tom Nicholson, and a seaman called Ridley, alias “ The Glutton,” had a slogging half-hour ; but the police interfered, and the Fist never again held a place at those revels. For a few years the wrestling was removed from the old tryst under the hill, and not far from the T.Y.C. starting post, to a circus, and became a private specu- lation ; but on September 6th, 1821, it was restored, thanks to the late Mr. Henry Pearson, a Carlisle solicitor of great size, to its old haunts, and Will Richardson added another belt to his almost countless store. The entry was very large, and very few of the mien were under fourteen stone. Weightman of Hay- ton, the second man, was more than a stone above this weight, twenty-two years of age, and Oft. 2in. in his stockings. He was second the next year, and came first in 1825-26. Then the knights of King Arthur's Round Table were determined to be in the fashion, and gave two prizes at “ The Table,” near Penrith. The “ Harry Brougham” of that day was a spectator, and the knights entered so much into the spirit of the thing, that as the term “Muscular Chris- tian” had not then been invented, they drank the bishop’s health, as “the tallest and handsomest man in his diocese.” From nineteen to twenty-five is the best age, and few men are really supple after that time. A school, near Bampton, in Westmoreland, was once the great nursing mother of wrestlers, and chips innumerable were put in by future “ Belted Wills” upon its green ; while the Cumbrians were especially keen of it about Sebergham and Sowerby Row. Dearham was alsoa stronghold of the sport, and Weardale has had three capital men in the ring during the last twelve years. Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 69 Its great advantage over the Devon and Cornish mode is, that it is unattended with the same savage play, and therefore does not create any ill blood. Two men will come in a gig to Carlisle, and go into the ring; one will throw the other, if he chances to be drawn against him, and they will ride back together at night as good friends as ever. We do not read of “the dreadful execution of the toe” in connexion with it, and how “some of the young Cornwall men are trying the toe, but whether they will for a long time be able to bear the punishment, and keep their tempers like the Devonshire men, is doubtful.” Again, the practice of the rival counties is assimilated, and we have no involved challenges like that from Abraham Cann,* of whom the Cornish men sang, with more fealty than truth, that he **was not the man To wrestle with Polkinghorne.” Be this as it may, among the champiogs of the Carlisle ring who were still wrestling, or whose memo- ries were still green in ’30, Nicholson of Threlkeld, old Will “ Rutson” of Caldbeck, Will Weightman of Hay- ton, and George Irving of Bolton Gate—all of them Cumberland men—stood pre-eminent. Nicholson wrestled principally in Carlisle and at Winde:mere. His great chip was the click on the outside of the heel, and he always stood well up to his man. His stature was six feet, by thirteen stone: and old “Roan,” or Rowland Long of Ambleside, who weighed fully five stone more, was like the Dixons of Gras- mere, of “no use till him.” Will Richardson, or * Cann wrote :—‘‘ Polkinghorne, I will take off my stockings and play bare-legged with you, and you may have two of the hardest and heaviest shoes you like that can be made of leather in the county of Cornwall, and you shall be allowed to stuff yourself as high as the arm- pits, to any extent, not exceeding the size of a Cornish peck of woo! ; and I will further engage not to kick you, if you do not kick me.” 70 Saddle and Sirloin. “ Rutson,” as he was called, was another old standard, and he and Tom Nicholson, Jonathan Watson (a rare buttocker) and ‘‘ Roan” Long, were in constant requi- sition as umpires after they left the ring. Will won at Carlisle when he was quite a veteran of forty-six. He had not very high science, and used generally to hug his men down, but he could hype and strike pretty well with the left leg. Fauld’s Brow, near Caldbeck, was his chief ring, and he won the head prize there nine or ten times. This gathering gene- rally took place in October, about a month after Carlisle races—whose fixture has been changea—and its belt was quite as hard to win as that on The Swifts. William Cass was a noted wrestler. He was a very thick-set, burly man, 6ft. Iin., and seventeen stone, and therefore very difficult to lift, and active withal. In his science he was not first-class, though he struck well with the left leg. He had a match with George Irving at the Castle Inn and won. Chapman also met him at Carlisle, and threw him in the two first falls out of three ; but he was then past his best. Another noted wrestler was Thomas Richardson of Caldbeck, commonly called “Tom Dyer.” His principal chip was the hype with either leg. Being almost Oft. and a thirteen-stone man, he was remark- ably clean in his falls, and most men were afraid of him. As the Carlisle wrestling was discontinued for some years, the Crow Park ring at the Keswick regatta and races became the most important in Cumberland. The head prize, in 1819, was won by William Wilson of Ambleside, an active wrestler of the same build and size as Jackson of Kennyside. In 1821 the head prize was carried off by a young eleven- stone man from Torpenhow, and in 1823 by Jonathan Watson. The former day’s wrestling gave great impetus to the art; it brought lighter men forward, and revived the wrestling that year at Carlisle, where Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 71 it has been continued ever since. Crow Park before the time of Gray the poet was a grove of immense oaks, and when the Greenwich Hospital Estate at Keswick, of which it forms part, passed by purchase to the Marshall family, the races and wrestling were given up. Weightman was a very tall and good-looking man, and won his falls by great power and length of arm, which made up for his lack of science. George Irving, who was 5ft. 10in., and nearly fourteen stone, seemed quite small in the arms of such a lifeguard; but “Geordie” was a man of dauntless pluck, and did not care whom he met. His final fall with the gigantic McLauchlin—who was 6ft. 5in., and above twenty stone—was always a disputed one, and furnished food for discussion and edification in farm-kitchen ingles for many a month. It seems that when they had “ gat hod,” and were wrestling for the final fall, Irving begged the giant “not to throw yourself on the top of me,” and McLauchlin, thinking that he was down and the bout over, quitted his hold. Upon this Irving nimbly lit on his legs again, and claimed the fall, and after a great scene round the umpires the belt was handed to him. His science was magnificent, and he liked to have a very tight hold of his man, and as a right-legged striker and a cross-buttocker with the left leg he was supreme. This favourite chip of his was as keenly watched for all round the ring as Jemmy Little’s buttock and Chapman’s right leg hype. George Irving and Robinson of Renwick (a very cunning wrestler) were much of the same build, and two smarter fellows never entered the ring, but “Geordie was still maister of him.” J. Little from Sebergham was a less and lighter man than Irving. The latter had got rather slow and stale when they met at Carlisle for the last fall in 1831. It was an anxious moment for the backers of the old champion. “Geordie” went in to do or die, and got his man up 72 Saddle and Sirloin. in the old style amid a shout which might have been heard at Crossfell, but just missed him when he struck with the right leg, and Little put in his unfailing but- tock. Mason of Blencogo was a strong fellow, with no great science or action, and how he disposed of Nichol of Bothel, who was one of the best hypers of the day puzzled not a few. No one understood the art better than Nichol—whose big, curly head and a double-eyed squint made him “good to tell” in a ring; but he was generally rather big in condition, and turned nervous when he was pushed hard. Richard Chapman,* who won the belt, like Jack- son, of Kennyside, four times at Carlisle, was only “nineteen come Martinmas,’ weighed twelve stone, and stood five-foot-ten in his stockings, when he made his first journey, in 1833, to The Swifts. He had never been there before, and he and two others drove from Penrith in a gig, and didn’t know a single soul in the town, or where they could put up. As it hap- pened, Chapman and one of his gig partners entered the ring together, and just as the former and _ his first opponent were taking hold, he saw his friend “flying over a mans head.’ The omen was not a very plea- sant one, but he set to work nothing daunted, and disposed of Armstrong (“ Little”), of Bushel Bank, who strained his shoulder in the tussle. In the third round he was drawn against George Irving. “Geordie” started with his right leg and struck quick; then he tried the cross-buttock, but Chapman slipped by both legs, and threw him right back out of his arms. The old champion was above bearing any malice to “the young lad oot of Lancashire,’ as he was generally rumoured to be, although he was born and bred in Patterdale. “Geordie” was then a publican at Bolton Gate—which never will forget him—and had a tent * Now landlord of the Ship Inn, Maryport. s a Cumberland Wrestling Chainpions. 73 on The Swifts. Spying Chapman a few minutes afterwards from his tent door, as the lad was putting on his coat and waistcoat, he came up to him with a bottle and a glass—“ Here, young man, thoo mun have a glass of porter, Pll stand treat,” and so saying, he creamed it up, and dismissed him with the cheering prophecy, “ WVever a man threw me in Carlisle ring but he won.’ Chapman was rather shy at first, and he afterwards confessed that, living as he did in such a quiet place as Patterdale, he was not sure that he had ever seen porter before, or what its effects might be. They seemed to be rather invigorating than other- wise, and it was also something that the “Irving of Cumberland” should be on his side, and specially looking out for him. The eighteen-stone Messenger met him in the fifth round, but he struck him with his left leg, and cross-buttocked him very easily. Gra- ham, of Loweswater, was the last stander, and pursued the same tactics as Chapman had done with the “ big un,” but he was stopped, and thrown in very similar style to Irving. It was a very fine opening to a great career, which produced about a hundred prizes in twelve seasons at Carlisle, the Flan, Fauld’s Brow, and all over the north. “Chapman’s chip” was hyping with the right and striking outside with the left leg, and always at a loose hold. He could hype with either leg, but thought it safer to use the right, as it was easier to keep hold. He always told the young wrestlers, “If you hype with the left leg, and miss, and don’t throw your man, you are liable to lose hold, and then you are at his mercy. The left leg hype requires a very tight grip ; and, in fact, the finest hype is with the right leg, as the slack hold gives you such a rare swing off.” Since his retirement he has frequently acted as umpire, and those who frequented the Bridekirk coursing meetings will remember his directing the beaters on the 380- acre “ Tarnities,” as head-gamekeeper to Major Green 74 | Saddle and Sirloin. Thompson, and always sweet on Beckford and Sun- beam. Thomlinson, of Embleton, and Chapman had many a hard bout, and it was a very near thing between them. Jonathan was a strong and a desperate fellow, a leary man in taking hold, but a still worse one to deal with when he had taken it. His forte was left leg striking, and clicking inside the heel; and he never could tell how he was “flung like a bairn at P eerith,” by Joe Abbot. The latter was brought up a farmer ; but had as much as would keep him, and loved wrest- ling better than mud studies. He was very clever when he put out his full powers ; but “he required a little clapping on the back” when a champion was crossing the ring to meet him. Banks Bowe was a big one and a tough one, and John Blair, of Solport Mill, a strong, good man. He threw in the final fall for the belt at Carlisle a great fell-side champion, Elliott of Cumrew, who had the credit of bringing up the hank chip. If he put in the buttock, and was stopped, he then tried on this hank, and, as it were, twisted his leg round his opponent’s leg, and locked it. The old school thought it “about nowt.” In fact, a man is generally beaten when he puts it in, and when it comes to a hug, he loses four falls out of five through it. Few men are better remembered than Robert Gor- don, who stood wide of his man, won twice, and was five times second at Carlisle. He was about five feet nine, and never more than twelve stone, and scarcely amanin England could throw him, if they missed him with their first chip. Those who wrestled with him said that he was “ zowt but a heap of bones,” and he held his man so tight, that many of them lay down to him rather than be “squeezed to bits in yon vice.” He could hold Chapman, although “ Dick” threw him twice for the belt at Carlisle, and had the best of him on the balance of falls. “ Bob,” as it were, “wrought hts man down,’ when the chip had missed, and pulled Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 75 him quietly over his knee with almost a giant’s thew. One of the defeated once graphically described to us his sensations during the period that Bob had hold of him. “ He reached his right arm over and wrought me, and clicked me and felt me almost before I took hod.” Science was a thing he did not trouble himself much about, but his hug was about equal in tenderness to that of an Arctic bear. He was in the ring for at least fourteen or fifteen years, and nearly as good as ever to the last, and then, like poor Jackson of Kennyside, he died of consumption. Sergeant of Brampton once deprived him of the Carlisle belt, and, as the Cum- brians put it, he “ was owre kittle for him.’ Joe was a neat twelve-stone man, and could reduce himself sufficiently to wrestle in the eleven-stone ring. The middle-weights didn’t care to see him there, as he had the swinging hype off to perfection. He was not long in the ring; but no man has left a more enduring memory than William Jackson, of Kennyside. He won four years —1841-1844—at Car- lisle, and was in fact “a representative man” among Cumberland wrestlers, as Chapman was among those of Westmoreland. The pair met seven times, and Jackson had just the best of it ; but Chapman belonged to an earlier period, and was not then in his heyday. Jackson was fully six-feet-one in his stockings, and weighed about fourteen stone. He had grand, open shoulders, and, in fact, he was beautifully made to the hips, but, like Tom King, the ex-pugilist, rather small across the loins. He was too tall to put in the buttock, but he could hype with the right leg, and strike as well as click inside the heel with the left, with marvellous quickness and precision. There was no finer and better behaved wrestler, and never was such universal sympathy felt for a man, as when he was matched with Atkinson and defeated. Big as he was, he looked a mere stripling by the side of the Magog of Sleagill, when he came out to meet him for the 76 Saddle and Sirloin. best of five falls in that Flan ring, which has never had so many thousands round it either before or since. George Donaldson, “stood the giant,” and counselled him most strictly not to make play, or Jackson was certain tc have him, and his word proved true enough in one round. After going to grass, Atkinson was more obedient, and gave away no more chances, but stood like a rock, and fairly crushed his man down. The late Lord Carlisle, who was looking on, presented Jackson with 5/7, but no pulleys could bring up the poor fellow’s heart, and he was never the same man again. Taylor of Wythmoor, who threw “ Bob” Gordon in the final fall at Carlisle in ’45, and had the tables turned on him the next year, was a rare buttocker ; and Thomas Longmire, a man of about Chapman’s size, was all science, and equally great in buttocking, striking, and hyping. Todd, of Plumbland, was good for a year or two; and Moss, of Temple-Sowerby, wrestled well as a “colt,’ and went through his men in great style for the Carlisle belt. Palmer of New- castle was also a good man, and took Gordon as his model ; and Haliwell of Penrith, an eleven-stone man, was “full of chips.” W. Donald of Dearham—the home of “lal Tiffin,” the nine-and-a-half-stone hero, who “has everything off’—had a unique method of pulling men on to his knee. Dick Wright of Long- town, who keeps his wrestling year after year as well as Lord Wilton does his riding to hounds, also relies very much on a specialty. It can only be described as a peculiar and most effective jerk off the breast, which no one save Mossop of Egremont, ever seemed to practice. Mossop threw Longmire twice out of three times with it, Chapman twice, and Jackson once; and they all said afterwards that they didn’t know how to meet it. Weardale has been fertile in champions. Its Pattin- son was an eleven-stone man, and good enough to win Cumberland Wrestling Champions. 77 and be second at Carlisle ; and Milburn, after winning in 1848-49, turned up second to Dick Wright in 1866. Robson of Weardale was good; but he wes over- matched when he met Longmire for the belt at Car- lisle, where Ben Cooper, a man who could do any- thing, strike with either leg or cross-buttock, was second in successive bouts to Hawksworth of Shap and Murgatroyd of Cockermouth. The latter began wrestling when he was about twenty, and has gone on for fully thirty years. Chips* were not much in his way ; but his figure, fourteen stone, by 5 feet 7 inches, rendered him a difficult man to throw, and he “has settled a vast of men” at one time or another. Noble Ewbank of Bampton was hardly so good as his father Joseph, whose style of buttocking was almost equal to Little’s. As for George Donaldson (one of three clever brothers) he was as cunning as he was * A friend has kindly defined for us the principal chips :— 1. Hypre.—Formerly called striking inside, or getting your knee be- tween your opponent’s legs when lifting him, and striking his leg out so as to drop him down. 2. SWINGING Hypre.—The same thing, but swinging your man after lifting him, once or twice round and striking. When the motions are done quickly, these two are considered the crack chips of the ring, and when well done they are decisive. 3. ButTTrockING.—Getting your buttock or haunch quickly under your opponent’s stomach as a fulcrum, and throwing him bodily over your head or shoulder. 4. Cross-BUTTOCKING.—The same thing, only getting your man into motion, and your buttock more under him. : 5. HANK.—Getting your leg twisted round your opponent’s leg, so that he cannot clear it, and by superior strength and height forcing yourself over him, when he must fall under. 6. BACK-HEELING.—Putting your heel behind your opponent’s heel, » and running over him. Rity" 7. CLick INsIDE.—Clicking inside your opponent’s heel, and forcing him back. 8. OUTSIDE STROKE.—Lifting your man, striking outside his knee with yours, and dropping him down. The two safest chips, and, generally speaking, the cleanest, are hyp- ing or striking inside with the right leg, and striking outside with your left leg: your right arm being under, gives you, with these motions, great command over your man. 78 Saddle and Sirloin. clever, and though only an eleven-stone man, he was nearly a match for Jackson, and in fact threw him once. Like Gordon, he was a “varra slippery takker hod ;” whereas Jackson stepped up to his man, and gave the umpires no trouble with either sand-glass or trumpet. It was a matter of a few ounces between Donaldson and Whitehead ; but Jonathan won the match when they met at Waverton. Jonathan wasa great hyper and buttocker, as well as a right-leg outside-striker, and used the last chip with daring shrewdness, when more cautious men would have left it alone. There are very few good strikers with the right leg. Chap- man and other cracks would never put it in, as, if you miss, it is mostly fatal. There has never been a more finished eleven-stone wrestler, both as a striker and a buttocker, and in fact all round, than Jim Scott. At Whitehaven he won the eleven-stone purse eight or nine years in succession, and stood twice second to Jameson at Carlisle. Of course, to adopt his friends’ language, it was safe to predict that the big’un would “ worry hin down ;’ but Jameson is wonderfully lithe of his weight, both in pole-jumping and wrestling, and can both hype and strike with the left whenever occa- sion serves. CHAP LER» FV. «Twas Sirvafford raised his sand-glass, and Thornton held the pen, When to a Windsor coffee-room flocked scores of Shorthorn men. They crowded round the table, they fairly blocked the door— He stood champagne, did Sheldon, of Geneva, Illinois. They talked of Oxford heifers, Duchess bulls, and how the States Had come into the market with another ‘ Bit of Bates.’ - Their expression is so solemn, and so earnest is their tone, That nought would seem worth living for but ‘ Red and White and Roan.’ All ready for the contest, I view a dauntless three— The McIntosh from Essex, a canny chiel is he. There’s Leney from the hop-yards —’twill be strange if he knocks under, When once the chords are wakened of that Kentish ‘Son of Thunder.’ The Talleyrand of ‘trainers’ is their ’cute but modest foe, Him whom the gods call ‘ Culshaw,’ and men on earth call ‘Joe.’ He loves them ‘ points all over,’ with bright dew on the nose ; And in his heart of hearts is writ, ‘A touch of Barmpton Rose.’ And, sure, it well might puzzle ‘The Gentleman in Black,’ When the three nod on ‘ by twenties,’ to know which you should back ! And, sure, the laws of Nature must have burst each ancient bound, When a yearling heifer fetches more than seven hundred pound ! Bulls bring their weight in bullion, and I guess we’ll hear of more Arriving from the pastures of Geneva, Illinois.” ‘*THE GOLDEN SHORTHORNS.”—Puznch. Whitehall— Killhow Sale of Shorthorns—Scaleby Castle—The Western Plain of Cumberland—Mr. Watson’s and the late Mr. Brown’s Pigs —Mr. Curwen’s Agricultural Gathering at the Schooze Farm— Champion Bulls—The late Captain Spencer’s Greyhounds. FE have approached “ Merrie Carlisle” by the North, and we must make note-book forays from it—west, south, and east—ere we leave it. Skiddaw had got her wonted rain-signal from Criffell that day, and we met with a curious student of meteorology on our way to Mr. George Moore’s. He got into the train at Wigton, and desired to commu- nicate. His language was very dark, and somewhat on this wise: “ Wind’s in sou’-west ; noo, it’s gatting 80 Saddle and Sirloin. roond tit sooth ye’ll see sun ; be it dusk, ye'll see stars better ; if there’s nobbut fog, it’s a job.” With these observations he collapsed, and we changed trains at Aspatria for Whitehall, once “ The Fair Ladies” in the parish of All Hallows. There is a tradition that it was the home of the Misses Arthuret, of whose hospitality Alan Fairford speaks in “ Redgauntlet.” A skilful modern hand has been at work since then; but the old spirit lingers there in all its fulness, and “ Welcome the coming— speed the parting Guest” may well be carved in stone above the door. There they come during the summer in one continuous stream—archbishops, bishops, cler- gymen, school-inspectors, M.P.’s out of business for the recess, recorders, authors, sculptors, artists with the rich harvest of many a happy vale and mountain hour in their portfolios, devotees of St. Partridge, and brother-merchants ex route from the lakes. Lord Brougham has left traces of his stay in a complete collection of his works, with his rugged autograph in each. London Scripture-readers and their wives re- cruit their strength with quiet strolls and fresh moun- tain air; and some bright afternoon the whole force of the establishment is brought to bear vigorously on tea for 1200 school children and their teachers. If we look seawards down the Vale of Ellon, we are re- minded how the Salmon-Fishery Commissioners, Mr. Walpole and Mr. Frank Buckland, issued forth one morning from those portals; and how they waded about all day like Newfoundlands, and conducted diplomatic negotiations with millers under their very water-wheels. Some of the Fantail, Musical, and Charmer shorthorn tribes are tenants of the park, and the venerable white horse, which Mr. George Payne rode when he hunted the Pytchley, is still earning his corn in the carriage. Mr. Foster, like his neighbour and old schoolfellow, comes back to the scenes of his boyhood in summer Killhow Sale of Shorthorus. 81 and there for a while shakes off the moil and dust of the great city. The bulk of his estate is at Killhow, which is separated from Quarry Hill by the village of Bolton Gate, whose glorious limestone spring “ flows on for ever.” Hard by The Bow is that little cottage- ruin where “ Blackbird Wilson” held his village-school seven-and-forty years ago, and employed his leisure hours in whistling and suction, dat not at the spring ! Bolton Church was “ built ina night,” and the ghostly masons in their hurry put the steeple at the wrong end. But we have to do here with the building up of Mr. Foster’s pedigreed herd, which is always kept at Killhow, while Quarry Hill carries the feeding stock. When he took the six hundred acres into his own hands in ’61, his ideas did not rise beyond Irish cattle. Mr. Drewry, who was born near him, was the tempter, and they went together to the Babraham second sale in June ’63,and bought Young Celia (42 guineas). She won at Wigton and Ireby; but did him no good. White Lily (36 guineas) of the same tribe came with her, and helped her to win the first victory (in a pair) against Sir Wilfrid Lawson’s, and had three heifer calves to boot. In process of time Mr. Foster treated himself to two Fantails at the Yardley sale, Polly Gwynne and Duchess Gwynne, at Middle Farm, near Brampton ; Moss Rose (230 guineas) on that memo- rable May morning at Mr. Betts’s ; and Princess 2nd and 3rd at Mr. Macintosh’s next day. Thus the “ Bit of Bates” expanded, and in little more than five years his labours were publicly endorsed by an average of 672. 7s. 9d. for sixty-six head. The sale-fing had Art and Nature in aid, with the massive white stone turrets of Killhow in the back- ground, and Skiddaw looking down upon many a deep valley and silent tarn in the distance. The quiet dalesmen, who don’t care much about pedigree, but like a roan bull and a “sken at the dam as well,” if they can get one, trudged merrily to the scene of 82 Saddle and Sirloin. action. After a sale luncheon, which was of a truth to the North what Mr. Macintosh’s memorable one had been to the South, the agricultural worthies, headed by Tom Gibbons, might be seen cosily seated round the ring for four long hours, cheering whenever the biddings rose to fever heat for Moss Rose and the Princesses, and smoking their “churchwardens” in supreme delight. Mr. D. R. Davies, Mr. Brogden (who was then successfully wooing Wednesbury), and Mr. Drewry mounted a low platform, with Mr. Thorn- ton as a “ Herd Book in breeches” on the box of a drag at their elbow, and avery “ hot corner’ it proved, when business fairly began. Mr. Strafford, who, as usual, held a commission for “the Kentish Son of Thunder,” fought Mr. Davies by 10-guinea bids from 300 (where five bidders had dropped off) up to 400 for Moss Rose. This was her fourth appearance in a sale-ring. First she fell as a blooming Cobham calf for 260 guineas to Mr. Hales’s nod; then it was “245 guineas, Mr. Betts,” “230 guineas, Mr. Foster ;’ and now 400 guineas for the Mere Old Hall herd completed her Tale of a Time Glass. Duchess Gwynne (180 guineas), Princess 2nd (300 guineas), and Princess 3rd (330 guineas), were fought out between Lord Kenlis and Mr. Brogden, and his lordship won the rubber. Nothing daunted, in went Mr. Brogden for Countess Gwynne (240 guineas), and got her. At this juncture, the platform could bear such heavy volleys no longer, and collapsed amid a roar of merriment; and when Mr. Brogden and Mr. Davies lighted on their legs, and presented themselves again on a surer footing, they were greeted with the assurance that “ wezght of brass brokt doon.” Sir Wilfrid Lawson was not long in making up his mind for Royal Cambridge, a massive son of Moss Rose, and at 240 guineas the roan was booked for Brayton. His brother, Royal Cumberland, tempted Mr. Fawcett at 160 guineas, and he and the wealthy The Western Plain of Cumberland. 83 Fantail 4th, at nearly the same sum, departed for Scaleby Castle together. And so did most of the company, cheered by the beams of a double rainbow, to buy the descendants of the Elvira or Princess sort on the morrow.* The blacksmith at the Red Dial warned us that it was “an uneasy road,’ as we sought Mr. Watson’s. The mist was on the Solway, and half veiled Wedham Flow (beloved of snipes) and those salt-marshes on whose edge the natives set fixed engines for salmon, and “ stick it out” before the Commissioners that they only aspire to flounders. As we climb the side of Cattland Fell, the great north-west plain of Cumber- land lies at our feet. ‘“ This is the old border land, memorable alike for strife and song. The impress of its troubled history may here and there be seen in the massive square towers, which yet rear their time-worn walls, telling of many a storm and siege.” We feel too on another score that we hold the keystone of a strong position. Beyond the Solway, we see the birthplace of Pride of Southwicke in a wooded spur of * Scaleby Castle was built about the time of Henry I., or subse- quently by the Norman Tilliolfs, who got a large grant of the adjacent county both as their residence, and also as a place of refuge from the attacks of the marauding Scots of that period. When the sentinel sta- tioned on the ‘‘ Toot Hill” (now Scaleby Hall) sounded his horn, the people with all haste collected their stock within the precincts of the double moat, or, in case of greater emergency, within the quadrangular courtyard of the castle. The outer moat is still in perfect preservation ; but the inner one has for years been filled in. An old donjon keep rises to a considerable height above the other parts of the building, and has long been an almost inaccessible ivy-clad tower, tenanted only by the bat or the moping owl, while the large black martins wheel in rapid flight, and chase each other with defiant scream round the battlements. The walnut-tree, which spread its lateral arms far and wide, and the gigantic elms which threatened to push the old walls from their founda- tions, have all gone ; but still many a fine gnarled oak holds the ancient keep in countenance. Mr. Fawcett has kept shorthorns of the Princess blood, so famed for the pail, ever since he was under Mr. Bates’s roof as apupil. Of late years he has purchased some high-priced heavy-fleshed cows, chiefly of Bates blood, and he gave 155 guineas for Fourteenth Duke of Oxford at His Grace the Duke of Devonshire’s sale. Gye 84 Saddle and Sirloin. Criffell; Lady Solway, that great nursing mother of Cumberland ham, flourished at Solway House; Maid of the Mill, Beckford, and the Blackstock “belles” have done their work near Allonby for Lytham and Waterloo; Casson’s future gold medal hunter Com- missioner hails from Burgh ; and Crafty,* “the queen of the hackneys,” is in her box at Howsenrigg, with George Mulcaster as her proud esquire. Amid the rich pastures and “black dairies” of the Abbey Holme, lived “Sammy Rigg,” that head-centre of Cumberland “statesmen,” as famed for his swedes and Galloways as Mr. Rooke for his views on “ Corn and Currency.” There, too, once upon a time, Pearson of Langrigg had forty greys, all by Old Conqueror, from mares by The Earl and Grand Turk. Brayton, = Crafty, bred by Mr. A. Dalzell, of Stainburn Hall, Workington, in 1858, is by The Judge, out of a mare by Nimrod (h.-b. son of Muley), her dam a hackney mare of unknown pedigree, the property of the late Dr. Dickinson, of Workington. The Judge, bred by Mr. A. Dalzell in 1850, was by Galaor, out of Cerito (sister to The Currier) by The Saddler, out of Amaryllis by Cervantes. The Judge was not much ofa racehorse, though he ran repeatedly in Mr. Dalzell’s colours ; while we hear he is the sire of very good riding stock in the Carlisle and Cumber- land country. Crafty was purchased when a yearling at 20/. for Mr. H. J. Percy, of Howsenrigg, Aspatria, by his manager, the now well- known George Mulcaster, who brought her out in the same year 1859, when she was first shown and placed third to two half-brothers by The Judge, in the yearling class of hunting colts and fillies at the Cockermouth Meeting of the Cumberland and Westmoreland Agricultural Society. In the same year Crafty took the first prize of 2 sovs. for yearling fillies by The Judge, and the second prize for yearling saddle or harness fillies, at the Wigton Agricultural Society’s Show, &c. Crafty is a rich dappled brown mare, standing fifteen hands one inch and a half high, and girthing six feet two and a half. She has a neat sensible head, with a good eye and a nicely crested neck, running into well-raised withers. She has a full chest, with beautifully laid shoulders, a capital barrel and back, with good round quarters and well-developed arms and thighs. Then her joints are excellent, her legs and feet first-rate, while she is full of power without lumber, but with plenty of length, hardy looks, and especially grand-taking action, &c.—/urmers’ Magazine.— {Since the above was written, she has won an enormous number of prizes. She has had three colts and a filly, two of the former by Motley, and the latter by her own sire.] Mr. Watson's and Mr. Brown's Pigs. 85 the scene of some very dashing bids by Mr. Saunders, when the herd was dispersed, is a little further down the line; and so is Blennerhasset, that Sebastopol of the vegetarians, where the engines “Cain” and “Abel” groan on their miry way, where a professor is ever composing manures, and where Christmas was kept with apples and biscuits, potatoes, and oilcake sauce. A Saturday Reviewer once directed our attention to the fact that we seem to regard a country as be- nighted, except in those spots which are hallowed by the presence or recollection of some distinguished thing on four feet. If this be so, very little of that Cumberland landscape was in shadow, as we passed through the two greyhounds in stone at Mr. Watson’s gates, and looked over it from his garden terrace. This ex-Cumberland champion of the pig lists began with the Lady Solway* breed, and then gave Mr. Unthank five guineas for a little sow pig of Sober * This foundress of the Solway House blood was sent by Mr. George Donald from Newtown House, near Durham, to the late Mr. Wester Wilson, of Thistlewood. She was a combination of Mason of Chilton’s and Ferguson of Catterick’s blood, and her daughter, Lady Solway, was a prize winner at the Bristol Royal, as well as at several local shows. Mr. Brown, of The High, had some of the sort, and they pro- duced several fine lengthy pigs. Besides Liberator, Mr. Watson used another of his blocd, and also bought Protection (a first at Carlisle and Whitehaven) from Mr. Unthank, for a double dip into Thormanby. Mr. Watson showed first at the Highland and Agricultural Society’s Perth meeting in 1850, and Carlisle, Chelmsford, and Salisbury in : 1855-57 were his three most successful Royal meetings. He never _ showed at the Smithfield Club ; but he won two prizes at Bingley Hall, | after he gave up The Royal. His piggery was not large, and he had at _ no time more than four sows, and generally so!d their produce at 10/. to _ 152. otf the teat. The breed had a great run while the trade lasted. _ Mr. Majoribanks gave 25/. each for some sows, and Mr. Wilson {for the Prince Consort and the Duke of Richmond), and Messrs. Crisp and Mangles (a pupil of Mr. Watson’s father) had ail a taste. Mr. Brown’s showing career lasted for nearly twelve years, and the small breed paid him best. Liberator, Lord Wenlock, Thormanby (first at the Norwich Royal), and Wenlock (first at the Newcastle Royal) were his leading boars ; and Liberator went from his styes at a high y'rice to Australia. 56 Saddle and Sirloin. Watkins’s Thormanby and Wiley blood, which he brought back from Netherscales in his dog-cart. She was crossed in due time with Earl Ducie’s Liberator, which proved a rare “nick,” both for form and hand, and did a good turn for the small Cumberland Whites. Mr. Watson may be said to owe his heads and hams to Liberator, and his backs to Thormanby, and to make assurance sure, he had double crosses of the sort. Miss West* was quite a prima donna among sows at the Carlisle Royal; but Faith (by Liberator, out of the Unthank sow) was not only bigger, but more level, and sweeter in the head. The former was never beaten ; and if Mr. Watson could have war- ranted her in pig, he might once have had upwards of 40 guineas for her. Faith, Hope, and Charity were his first prize pen of sow pigs under six months at Carlisle, and their names created some comment. “And pray which of these three is Charity ?” said an old lady, after duly adjusting her spectacles, and taking a protracted survey of the pen. “ Which is Charity, marm ?” said the attendant, “of course the biggest on emis Charity.” “ My dears,” said the old lady, turning to her daughters, “I never saw it just put in that practical way before.” Charity was found at the Chelmsford Royal next year with the first prize orange card over her head, and six pigs at the teat. She had only pigged two days before she left Cum- berland, and some of them were sold for ten and the rest for fifteen guineas a piece. The journey knocked her about considerably, and she was beaten soon after by the Duke of Northumberland’s sow at Cornhill. “We,” “Shall,” “Win,” was another sample of Mr. Watson’s neat nomenclature, and the three made nearly 80/7. at Salisbury two years afterwards. Mr. Fisher amplified the idea into “Advance Quality,” * Miss West was by Liberator, dam by Jimmy fron: York. Mr. Watson's and Mr. Brown's Pigs. 87 “Advance Symmetry,” and “No Surrender!” and it sank at last into “ Aint,” “ We,” “ Stunners ?” Mr. Watson’s were generally of a less and rather finer-boned sort than his neighbour’s, Mr. Brown’s, of The High, and were kept like his, principally upon new milk and oatmeal and barley mixed. After a fortnight, they would be coaxed into drinking a quart of new milk at three or four times. They would then have a pint at each end of the day, but never more than two quarts. No sleeping draught could be more potent, and sleep is the chief promoter of pork. The Highland and Agricultural Society was Mr. Brown’s favourite show sphere, and Liberator, Wenlock, and Thormanby blood his delight. His pigs might often be picked out by the blue spots on their quarters and backs. It was give and take between him and Mr. Watson when they met in the show-ring, and Faith, Hope, and Charity had opponents worthy of them at Carlisle. Mrs. Brown was an excellent home secre- tary in pig matters; but her husband never knew when to sell. He refused good prices, and brought back sows, tried to reduce them for a year or two, and found them only barren fig-trees after all. Prices went down when he and others were watching for them to go up, and at last 4/. or 5/. could hardly be got, where 10/7. or 12/7, had been given without scruple before.* A little further West, and we reach Workington Hall, once the Holkham or Woburn of the North. The late Mr. John Grey had seen a great deal, and spoke much to us of Mr. Curwen and his nephew Mr. Bla- mire.t According to him, the future Tithe Commis- sioner was at that time “a quiet subject, and very much under his uncle.” He attended Rosley Hill * For a sketch of the Cumberland bacon trade, see ‘‘Field and Fern” (South) pp. 326-332. + For whom in detail, see Dr. Lonsdale’s ‘‘ Cumberland Worthies.” 88 Saddle and Sirlown. and nearly all the Northern cattle and sheep fairs, either in person or through his man Armstrong; and he had not unfrequently eight or ten horses for sale at Newcastle. When he judged he was all for quality, and the next time Mr. Grey met him, “ shuffling with his hands in his pockets down Parliament-street tothe House,” he could not refrain from asking him if he still remembered the heifers (Mr. Grey’s own) to which he gave prizes at Kelso in ’31. He never judged again, and enclosures and tithe apportionments engrossed him, till after some twenty years of official life he retired a broken-down man to Thackwood Nook to die. Mr. Grey had no great belief in Mr. Curwen, but he thought him “very clever,” and he thoroughly enjoyed his annual autumn ride to Workington Hall, with his brother farmers from the Tyneside. The preparation of these modern moss-troopers for the Workington carnival was not very extensive. They came clad in the peaceful guise of top boots, or brown breeches and gaiters, and merely carried their slippers, a razor, and a couple of shirts, &c., in front of them. Jobson, from New Town, near Chillingham, would have a quiet day’s farming on the road with his old pupil Joseph Dixon, at Broadwath, and discuss with him the merits of ‘ Wetherall” and “ Constitution,” or the white bull of his “sort.” Early next morning the two would set out on their ride together, and there was a good muster of pilgrims to breakfast at Cock Bridge. Workington Hall was reached by midday. There they had two days’ farming at The Schooze, and dined in a large wooden booth, where Mr. Staniey, then the great “blue parson” of the West, was the chief speaker. Mr. Curwen was at that time member for Cumberland, and the gathering had rather a political tinge about it. The host was field-marshal, and Mr. Blamire was always there to help him. Every one rode through the fields and saw the ploughs at Mr. Curwen's Agricultural Gathering. 89 work, and scanned the turnip drills, and then came back to finish the business portion of the day among the cattle in the yards, or at the sale of Shorthoria heifers. Mr. Curwen had also a good deal to say on new manures and the subject of salt as an antidote to sheep-rot. It was placed on slates all round the fields for sheep, and the shepherd on his mule with a sack of small blocks of it behind him was quite a feature of the day. Mr. Curwen conducted, A.D. 1810, some fattening experiments, for the report of which the Board of Agriculture awarded him a 50/ prize. His “experi- mental cattle” consisted of a couple of Shorthorns, Herefords, Glamorgans, Galloways, and Longhorns, and a solitary Sussex. The greatest profit was 8/. 10s. Id. on Shorthorn No. 2, which increased in weight from gost. to 115st.; and the second best was 6/. 16s. 5§d.0n a Hereford, which began at 61st. 7Ibs., aca made 28st. 7lbs. Inthe case of the former, the food, in wnich 6st. 6lbs. of oilcake was the only arti- ficial stimulant, cost 7/ 17s. 7d., and in the latter 7. 19s. 11d.; and each of them was purchased at 4s. and sold at 6s. per stone. A race of cattle closely akin to the “ Hereford rent- payers,” but whose origin has never be2n quite un- ravelled, flourished about this period in Cumberland, and were familiarly known as “ Lamplugh Hawkies.” In his prize essay on the Agriculture of West Cum- berland, Mr. Dickinson thus describes their pecu- liarities: “ They were chiefly dark red or brown, and some of them nearly black with white faces and legs, and usually a stripe of white along the back. The eyes were commonly margined by a narrow strip of colour, as if bound about with coloured tape.” Our historian adds that they stood low on the leg, with very large carcases, thick joints and hides, and “abundance of neck leather and dewlap.” As to their horns, there is no telling what future naturalists might 90 Saddle and Sirloin. have said from a bison or antediluvian point of view, if Mr. Grey had not explained that the Lorton Long- horns of that period could hardly enter a house until they had acquired the dodge of twisting their heads on one side, so as to arrive at the proper angle of admission. The Longhorns cut a good figure in the Schooze experiment, but they were not sufficiently thrifty to hold their own against the Shorthorns and Galloways, with which the county was gradually overspread. The pure white Lysicks, so called from the Hall of that name, disappeared about the same time, and Mr. Dickinson recalls their fine spreading horns, and that smart figure and carriage, which ren- dered them so valuable for topping the dealer’s lots. In West Cumberland, Mr. Curwen, thanks to General Simpson, was a Shorthorn pioneer, and the Rev. John Benson—who introduced Western Comet and bred Prince Regent—and Messrs. Barrow, Mil- ham Hartley, and Thompson, did good service to the cause when the Schooze herd was sold off. The East owed not a little to the West, which sent them “Studholme’s Little Monarch,” as he was fondly termed, to spread the Regent blood, but, unlike Maxi- mus by Magnum Bonum, he was not a show bull. There was not such a thing as a pure Shorthorn in the Vale of Eden when Charles Colling held his great Ketton sale in 1810. The ardour of Mr. Richardson (great grandfather of the present Mr. Saunders of Nunwick Hall) and Mr. Mat Atkinson was so in- flamed by the news of the average, that they rode off forthwith across Stainmoor to the new Durham land of promise. They made no secret of their mis- sion, and farmers flocked from all parts to see the two white and two roan heifers, which were the upshot of it. The pilgrims drew lots for choice, and Mr. Atkin- son sent his pair to one of the late Earl Lonsdale’s bulls. His lordship from very early times had never lacked a good bull at Lowther. The late Mr. Hudle- Champion Bulls. 91 ston preserved a tradition (which he propounded at two agricultural dinners), that the Blue Boar of Brougham and the Yellow Boar of Lowther got loose, and fought in a pen at Penrith, but the yellow bulls of the East and the blue bulls of the West preserved a far more peaceful rivalry. It was a bad day for Cumberland breeders when the Lowther herd was sold, and none have noted the change so much as the jobbers and the show judges. The former always said that they would give away the point of his steers being at times rather thin through the heart, if they could only have another crop of Gainford hind-quarters. It was with this massive red bull, who so especially distinguished him- self as a heifer getter, and was ultimately sold back to Mr. Crofton for 100 guineas, that the bull competition sprung up, which once gave such zest to the country showyards. It virtually began with Mr. Buston, of Dolphinby, who came to the county about 1829, and brought with him Crofton’s Cripple, and Young Rockingham. At last a proposition was mooted and carried to havea five- guinea sweepstakes at Penrith, and shortly before the day it oozed out that Lord Lonsdale had bought a new bull from Colonel Cradock, at Richmond race-time, for 100 guineas, which was to cut everything down. His lordship had not drawn his bow at a venture; and when the great unknown descended from his van on to the show ground, in the shape of a three-year-old scion of Thorpe and old Cherry, the owners of his opponents too truly foresaw that their chances were quite out. Mr. Buston had sence Sir William ; and Priam and Wallace represented the Denton and Troutbeck herds ; but the fiat of the judges was fully endorsed by the great majority of the spectators, and Mr. Blamire declared in his speech that evening, that he did not think there was a better bull than Gainford in England. However, a different opinion obtained 92 Saddle and Sirloin. next year, at the Carlisle show, where Priam, nothing loth, confronted him again, and Mr. Studholme’s Maximus was declared the winner. ~*~ Mr. Sober Watkin was generally pretty handy in the show yard, and Cumberland came boldly out, at Mr. John Maynard of Harlsey’s sale, with ninety-five guineas for the yearling bull Chorister, by Velocipede. This bull was let to Mr. Troutbeck, of Blencow, and his calves as well as Wallace’s heifers formed a strong item in that gentleman’s catalogue when in 1838 he for the first time gave his conventional invitation to his “friends and well-wishers at Blencow, at 12 o clock, where they may rely upon farmers’ fare and a hearty welcome.” Old Dorothy Draggletail, by Marmion, was purchased by Mr. Parkinson for 29 guineas, and re- named Dorothy Gwynne. Mr. Curwen took Straw- berry (19 guineas), which was descended from a cow bought at Bishop Goodenough’s sale. Thus two rare keen judges picked out the cows which afterwards made the herd, and founded two essentially ‘“ Cumber- land tribes,”* We are not going to wander so far as Ravenglass and the grave of Velocipede,t but we must not leave the neighbourhood without a word for the late Cap- tain Spencer, an equally good judge of a greyhound and a Shorthorn. John Irvine, whose good-humoured face and burly form in a green coat and a rough cap are so familiar to every public courser, was his trainer. When “the season,” as he styled it, was over he might be seen as busy as a bee, now with the greyhounds, now with the silver pheasants or the fowls, now with Leila, Lizzy, Sappho, Bloom, and the rest of the Shorthorn herd, in fact putting a helping hand to any- * The Blenccw herd was sold off by Mr. Strafford, in 1859, at an average of 56/. 12s. 6d. for 41 head. Twenty-six Gwynnes aycreged 662. 16s. 9d. t See ‘‘ Silk and Scarlet,” pp. 223-26. The late Captain Spencer's Greyhounds. 93 thing and everything, just as it came. The Captain used to say that he never heard of him being thoroughly out of temper, except when a brother- trainer came to the kennel, and would insist that Sunbeam’s tail was not rightly set on. He might have said what he liked about John himself, but the runner up to King Lear for the Waterloo Cup was too che- rished an object for such critiques. John despised jelly in training, and did not care for flesh. Biscuits dipped in beast’s or sheep’s head broth were his great specific, but try as he might, he could not get up Sunbeam’s muscle for his third Waterloo Cup effort, and he sent a highly-laconic telegram from Altcar announcing the fact to the Captain, who was detained on a special jury at Carlisle. Sunbeam wa3a delicate dog to train and always a light feeder. He had a mild eye, and a small and beautifully turned head, which might have belonged toa bitch. An open country with drains suited him, as he hated fencing, and would hardly face agate. His speed was good though not quite first- class, and his work when he got in very level and beau- tiful. John used to watch with such rapture for “the white belly as he cam roond with his hare.” The _ Captain often gave an imitation of John when he ar- rived from the Scottish National, leading Sunbeam with one hand, and carrying the Douglas Cup wrapped up in his handkerchief with the other. The presenta- tion of “the mug” to him on the drive by John was the first intimation he had of his victory. Seagull was a totally different dog to Sunbeam, a great rusher and very resolute, and requiring a very strong hare to steady him down and let a judge see how good he was. His temper was nasty to the last degree. He wouldn’t play and he wouldn't let the others play, and he cut “the Seagull crest” all over them to that extent that he had to be muzzled both in kenne\ and at ex- ercise, 94 CHAPTERSN: ‘* A very important toast has been placed in my hands. It is no less a toast than the health of the Lord-Lieutenant and the Magistracy. Well, now, the Lord-Lieutenant is a very celebrated agriculturist, and so great is the interest he takes in agriculture, that he has carried his agricultural improvements to the top of Shap Fells. I believe, gentle- men, that is the ordinary speech to make about the Lord-Lieutenant on these occasions (great laughter). As to the magistracy, ‘the great un- paid,’ they have always conducted themselves in a manner honourable, consistent, satisfactory, and disinterested in every way, and we can have no doubt that they will in future continue to do the same (hear hear). That, gentlemen, is, I believe, the proper thing to say about the magis- trates (cheers and great laughter), * * * Now as to draining and the steam plough. There is another thing that wants draining, perhaps more than the land. I think people’s minds want draining (cheers and laughter). Get the fences removed ; get the stones removed ; and above all, get old prejudices removed, and steam cultivation will pay.”—A/r. William Lawson, at the Penrith Farmers Club Dinner, 1865. Mr. Unthank—Old Cherry and Captain Shaftoe—Nunwick Hall— Among the Herdwicks—Mr. Crozier’s Hounds—Wetheral—Farlam Hall and its Greyhounds—The Brampton Coursing Meeting. R. UNTHANK is a familiar figure to the fre- quenters of our shows, not exactly from the white bulls of Chillingham to the pilchards of Penzance, but at all events from the Tweed to the Medway, and in the Isle of Man. He gave up his Galloways about 1834 in favour of Venus, by Crof- ton’s Cripple, and old Cherry came on to the scene at Netherscales about the beginning of 1843. She was calved in the summer of ’28: but nature seemed to have exhausted itself, and she was tied up to feed. For years she had been a sort of heroine in Mr. Unthank’s mind, although he had never seen her ; and when, by the merest chance, he heard of her doom, he set out at once for Yorkshire, in quite a spirit of knight-errantry, and bought her, with her Mr. Unthank. 95 fifteen years on her head, for nearly twice as many pounds. Hehad rather a weary time of it getting her across the Westmoreland moors, and the venture did not look very hopeful, as her first calf “ Wonders” was a very bad one. Captain Shaftoe* had arrived at Netherscales the same year, and the cherished object appeared at last on September 4th, 1845, in the shape of his daughter, Queen of Trumps. The old cow was so weak after calving, that when Mr. Unthank left her to fetch a drink, she fell sideways on to her calf, and nothing but the greatest care and incessant * This bull’s history was a less chequered one. Mr. Unthank had become deeply smitten at Richmond with his short legs, rich quality, and gay looks, when he was the first-prize yearling of the Yorkshire Agricultural, against Belleville, Cramer, and Relted Will ; but there was no little difficulty in persuading Mr. Lax to part with him for 200/, The late Mr. Benn, always enthusiastic in the shorthorn cause, lent the Lowther van, and as Mr. Unthank sold ‘‘ The Captain” after a couple of seasons for a 100/. advance to Mr. Loft, of Lincolnshire, his second Richmond thoughts proved as good as his first. Mr. Parkinson, of Leyfields, gave the last bid of 325 guineas for him at the Trusthorpe sale, and won in the aged class with him at the Northampton Royal, the same year that his half-brother, Baron Ravensworth, gained that honour among the yearling bulls. After coming second to Mr. Bates’s First Duke of Oxford, at the Yorkshire show of that year, he changed hands a fourth time, for 140 guineas, to Mr. Smith, of West Razen, who kept him for five years, and then sold him to his brother, in whose hands he died. He had a great propensity to fatten, and got his cows very good and compact, but rather too small. Prince Imperial, a winner, and a very neat little bull, with a good deal of his blood on both sides, was at Netherscales on the day of our visit, fresh from beating the ‘‘ swell racing bull,” Mr. Wetherell’s Statesman, and a large field at Cold- stream ; and Master Hopewell, who was quite a ‘‘ silky laddie” in his coat, and bred by Mr. Barnes, was in the stall which Booth’s Benedict and Freemason have both held in their day. Daphne Gwynne was also there, and equal to upwards of 26 quarts a day in the height of the grass ; but Valiant and Emily (the dam of the celebrated Emma) had been sold to Colonel Towneley, Blue Bell to Mr. Douglas, and Em- peror Napoleon to Sir Charles Tempest, and since then Mr. Unthank has gone in steadily for Booth. On one occasion he all but ‘‘ skinned the lamb,” when the ‘‘ Cumberland and Westmoreland” met at Appleby, by taking nine animals, and getting eight firsts and one second ; and the defeat of the prize heifer of this Society, and the Carlisle prize heifer of the year as well, by Baroness Amelia, at Penrith, was his last achieve- ment in the ring. 96 Saddle and Sirloin. inflation through the nostrils with the kitchen bellows brought it round at all. In process of time “ Queen” grew into rather a nice little heifer, and bred Second Queen of Trumps to Belleville, in the days of his twenty-five guinea renown. The old cow, whose name is historical in connexion with the Killerby and Warlaby herds through her son Mussulman became so much crippled, that Penrith had the eating of her in’47. Second Queen of Trumps was then chopped away to Mr. Douglas, of Athelstaneford, for Baroness Amelia and two others; and her cross with the 400-guinea Captain Balco, produced Third Queen of Trumps, who swept the three royal national two- year-old heifer prizes on “the grand tour” of ’58, and died within sight of New Orleans that winter, with 450 guineas on her head. Such were the Netherscales variations upon the popular “ Cherry Ripe.” A. seven-miles ride past Plumpton, the home of the late Bob Gordon, the wrestler, and on through a fir-and-heather-clad country, brought us at last to the pleasant vale of the Eden. The afternoon shadows were chasing each other on the Crossfell range behind, and our companion, who was cunning in cloud- language, foretold that the helm-wind—of which we had heard the Rev. Mr. Watson of Cumrew discourse so well, two-and-thirty years ago, before the assembled savans at Newcastle—would be out for his wild revels among shed-roof and hay-stacks before nightfall. Nunwick Hall, with its old manorial grange, and its knoll of oak, ash, and sycamore, which crowns the home-meadow, looks the shorthorn home to the life ; and the stone bulls rampant on the gate-pillars keep fitting watch and ward. The late Mr. Saunders was full of quiet enthusiasm, and we often think how he showed us his capital stedding, how Nunwick “walked so well away” from us, and how he placed the white Roman-nosed Pearl in position under an ash, as a Nunwick Fall. 97 type of his shorthorn faith.* Since his father’s death in 1866, Mr. Saunders has kept up the shorthorn charter. They hold, however, a divided allegiance in his mind with Sweetbriar (late Jane Anne), the heroine of three well-fought fields, and Sam, the Whitehaven Cup winner, aiid other S’s of the coursing world. “ Twenty-six there and back” had not a consoling sound, as we left Keswick one December morning on a walking tour to the Honister Crag end of Butter- mere Lake. The way was very dreary, when we were fairly on the muirland, with nothing to break our sullen tramp mile after mile, save the sound of Keskadale Beck, as it grumbled over stones and under water-gates, and the faint bleat of the Herdwicks as they crossed the road, and sought for a sweeter bite by the springs in the rock. The distant opening in * Homer, of Lord Spencer’s breeding, was his first good bull, and it was by a cross between him and the Windermere tribe, that Mr. William Parker brought out the Pearls, for which Mr. Saunders went in so boldly at the Yanwath sale. A few White Roses were the only relics of the first Nunwick Hall sale, and with them and Abraham Parker Mr. Saunders went to work to found his second herd. It was sold off just before the Carlisle Royal Meeting, and Filagree (150 guineas, Mr. Alexander) helped up the average to 40 guineas for fifty-six. Fanchette (31 guineas, Mr. Sanday) was the speculative purchase of the afternoon, and only a Pearl heifer-calf was ‘‘ left for the land,”, when— “‘The last wheel echoed away.” Mr. Saunders did not leave her long with 300 acres to herself, and Fleda and Lady’s Slipper were bought at Fawsley the next year, after a punishing finish with the Americans. Mr. Torr mounted a ladder near a stack amid the pour-down of that historical day for shorthorns and bought Garland and Chrysalis for himself and Mr. Sanday, and each of them produced ten calves ; while Alix and Cold Cream proved a perfect cornucopia of calf and dairy produce at the Royal Home Farm. Fleda was in calf with Baron Fawsley, and the cross with Prince of Glo’ster produced Nunwick, who in his turn was the sire of Mocassin, from Lady’s Slipper, the bull that Mr. Adkins selected as the corner-stone of his third herd, as being full of Favourite blood. Nunwick was a good show-bull, and at Penrith, in 1859, Messrs. Culshaw and Douglas placed him, after a very long discussion, before Mr. Watson’s General Haynau ; but he was beaten on his next public appearance by Captain Spencer’s Young Ben. H 98 Saddle and Sirlocn. the hills was won at last, and the holly berries near Buttermere Church (which has been built afresh, and has been duly cut and scribbled upon by tourists) foretold Christmas Eve. Hollies also formed quite a dark emerald parapet to a hand-bridge, as we followed the side of the lake. The Scotch firs were mirrored in its waters; and as the bitter wind went through them, and mingled its sigh with the roar of the water- falls, it seemed as if we had come to the shore of a dreary, unknown sea, which breaks eternally on the shingle, and never ebbs or flows. There was a snug home amid trees and shrubs, with some well-to-do wethers in its meadow, and then, again, there was nothing but dark waters and a leaden lack-lustre sky, while the comment of a native, “ We've no corn—only a few acres for taties,” made things seem drearier still. Mr. Nelson lives at Gatesgarth, at the head of the lake. Knights of the Garter sit with their banners over their stalls, and this celebrated breeder of Herd- wicks is somewhat in the Windsor-Chapel fashion. Three beams and the cornices of his best parlour are covered with the prize-cards and rosettes of victories, which he has won in the show-yards during six-and- twenty years. There are some three hundred in ail with the blue. and orange cards of the Newcastle Royal, signed by “ Brandreth Gibbs.” The rest have been won principally at Cockermouth, Keswick, and Whitehaven, and “I have had my share,” as he modestly says, “at Fell Dales.” Red rosettes pre- dominate, mingled with magenta; Whitehaven sports “true blue ;’ and Keswick is faithful to the tricolour. There is such a profusion of them, that “a year or two have got missed, and thrown into cupboards somewhere.” The head of the departed tup, Thou- sand-a-Year, was away at the curer’s, and hence there was nothing in the shape of still life, save that of a frosty-nosed gimmer. Cumberland and Westmoreland, and a very small Among the Herdwicks. 99 portion of Lancashire, may be said to monopolise the Herdwicks; and Eskdale, Wasdale, Buttermere, Ennerdale, and Loweswater meet in peaceful rivalry at the Fell Dales Association. Shap and Ulverston knew them well. ‘¢ Secure they graze, Around the stones of Dunmail-raise,” where the last king of Rocky Cumberland set up his mountain throne ; and they wander over the slopes of Skiddaw and Saddleback, and the south-west side of Cross Fell. The scattered and primitive “statesmen” who hold the slopes of Helvellyn and Loughrig, or till the small farms near Grasmere and Langdale Pike, consider them as worthy rivals to the Lonks, and steadily disdain a cross. Once upon a time there was such a difference between the sheep bred “Above and Below Derwent,” that they had separate classes on the Fell Dales day. Gradually, however, the Above Derwent men, by taking pains and not sparing their hay in winter, went up to their rivals’ heads, and in the county tongue they “have now got to be maister.” There are occasionally as many as forty Fell Dales exhibitors, and some of the largest will bring a hundred sheep with them, “ of one mark or another” and show them for prizes or sweepstakes. Of their origin we have no very clear account, but there is a local belief that the progenitors of the race escaped from a Spanish ship, which was wrecked near Morecambe Bay. At all events they picked their country well, and have established their name so surely from a perfectly wonderful endurance of short commons, that some of the flocks numbered between seven and nine hundred ewes. Blackfaces have been tried, but the ewes more ‘especially failed, in consequence of the climate and the scanty nature of the grass; and there is the same tale to tell of the Cheviots. In fact, it has been found impossible to farm against the Herdwicks, which have been im- Ee 2 100 Saddle and Sirloin. proved in some hands into “a thick, foody sheep,” with points which a few years ago might have been looked for in vain, Fach fell preserves the same ear-mark for genera- tions, and the farmer takes to the flock with his farm, and leaves it at a fresh valuation (which very much depends upon whether he has given them hay or not) to his successor. All the marks are registered in a quarto Shepherds’ Guide for Cumberland, Westmore- land, and Lonsdale North, and the flockmasters meet annually at Kirkstone Top for the exchange of the sheep which have gone astray during the course of the year. The star on the face or the far side, as at Coat- how, is among its symbols ; and one which “is just a raven clapped on near side,” typifies “* Ravencrag black as the storm.” Red pops on the crown and tail head have their con- ventional significance, and so have strokes over the fillets ; while, except in the case of Ravencrag, the ears are generally cut or keybitted or under-keybitted, or cropped, till very little of the original is left. The mark on the Gatesgarth side is both ears cropped and a pop on the tail head. “Twinters” or shearlings have a red pop on the head, and wethers a black pop in all flocks. Sometimes the tails or the top of the head are all red, or the ear will be “ square forked” or cut at three. So marked, they wander away into “the land of mist and snow” over the fells (where there is often nothing but “the water deal” to show the boundaries of the different farms), and live there half the year.* * ‘The flocks are sometimes the property of the landlord. On entry on to the farm, or on the 5th of April, ‘‘ viewers” on each side, usually neighbouring farmers well up to the work, are appointed who report on the various numbers and classes, such as rams, ewes, wethers, and hoggs, specifying the proportions, with the value of each perhead. The tenant gives bond for the value, and is to deliver similar numbers of like value Among the Herdwicks. 101 Still they do not stray very far from their own haunts, and by way of saving trouble and enabling the ewes to make for the tup, he is generally ruddled. The loss on such perilous rambles is by no means slight, and fifty out of six hundred ewes is not thought a very large percentage. Some are clumsy, or venture in a hard time too far on to the rock edge for a few fresh “ pickles,” and a sudden blast clicks them off. The farmer can watch them tumbling more than half a mile from the top of Honister Crag, and we have seen three ewes lying dead at its foot together. When they survive such perils they have been known to live to eighteen and even beyond. It is in their ability to tide through a Siberian winter that the real “blue blood” of the Herdwick comes out. Sometimes they are so snowed up on the hill side that it is impossible to get at them, and they can do little more than scratch and condition, or make good any deficiency at the end of his tenancy. In other cases the sheep-stock belongs to the tenant, who, nevertheless, takes and leaves them at a valuation, as if once the ‘eaf’ be lost it is difficult to recover. The right of common of pasture is appurtenant to the ancient tenement, and is described in letting a farm as unlimited. * * * Those having most land adjoining or near the fell, and living convenient to it, will take more than their proper share, so long as human nature remains as it is, and always has been, while those further off must be content with less or nothing. The keen competition amongst the stock-owners and shepherds now and then leads to sheep-hounding, worrying, assault and battery, and work for the lawyers. Among the old hands, Sunday is often the favourite day for a quiet dogging of the neighbours’ sheep off the best ground. The sheep have wit enough from experience to move off sharply on hearing the whistle of the hostile shepherd, without waiting for his dog. As a general rule, each flock knows and keeps its own ‘heaf,’ or particular part of the common, usually known by pretty well-defined boundaries, such as a ‘skye,’ prominent rock, or a watershed, but this is a mere matter of convenience only ; there is no exclusive privilege, the whole common is open, and sheep can be turned on any part so long as there is no ‘ dogging’ or driving off others. The Herdwicks in particular possess a strong natural instinct in keeping to the heaf where they are yeaned, and have been known to return thereto from very long distances, crossing rivers and other obstacles, sometimes with the lamb following.”— Crayston Webster’s Prize Essay on ‘‘The Farming of Westmoreland,” R. A. Society’s Fournal, vol. iv. pp. 13-14, second series. 102 Saddle and Sirloin. - for a bit of dead bracken. In a storm they are excel- lent generals, forming themselves into solid squares on the most exposed part of the hill until it sweeps past, and then trying to trample down the snow by a com- bined movement.* If the wethers are left till they are four or five years old with only mountain fare, they will average about I2lbs. a quarter and the ewes from 8lbs. to Iolbs. “ The better end” of the former are generally sold out at from 25s. to 30s., whereas a few years since, 1/7. was quite a “rest-and-be-thankful” price. The fleeces have also moved with the times, and are no longer such a curious compound of coarse grey hair and * From the end of July till November is the most cheery time for the flock-master. The nip of winter begins about Martinmas, and it is always the first, and often the middle of June, before the grass is ready. Hence it is no wonder that Herdwick maturity is a thing of slow growth. On the higher fells the ewes have no lambs until they are three years old, or ‘‘showing” (to use the Fell Dales term) ‘‘ more than four broad teeth.” They are generally drawn by hundreds, according to their fleece or bone, so as to suit each tup, and are put to as late as possible, so as not to lamb much before May-day, when they are brought off the fell and sent back again with their lambs at the end of three weeks. Except at lambing and tupping times, wethers and ewes range together ; and the gimmers in the intakes are carefully ‘‘ clothed up.” If 560 lambs can be got from 600 ewes it is a great matter of congratulation, The lambs suck until October 4th, and are then taken to the lower ground, and after receiving their ‘‘ hogg” title with the butter and tar, they are sent away to milder climates for the winter. Arable farmers will take them in at 3s. 6d. per head up till March 25th, but as it is such an especial point to place them out near the sea, prices will run up to five or six shillings. They are stationed all along the coast from St. Bees’ rocks, southwards to Ulverston, but still many flock-masters only send their ‘‘ tops” and “tails,” and let the ‘‘ middles’’ take their chance on the intakes. The sickness from which the hoggs suffer, and for which ‘‘a change to the salt water” seems the only cure, is like blackwater in calves, and of all durations from half an hour to two days. The choice of the cast ewes does not depend so much on age as on selection and the wants of the customer, and they will vary from 20s. to 23s., but a great many are sold for 17s. or 18s. For a picked lot of twenty in a dear time as much as 30s. has been got. Many of them go off into the lower enclosed commons about Lorton, Wythop, Embleton, &c., which have been well limed and drained ; and the lambs, of which they have sometimes three crops by a Leicester, will make their 16lbs. EE Among the Herdwicks. 103 kemp. If there are a few grey hairs now “it sars the buyers to talk about,” which is something gained. They vary very much, according to the severity of the winter, from 13lbs. upwards ; and Mr. Nelson’s Royal Newcastle prize wool averaged 54lbs. unwashed from five-year-old wethers. The fleece, which is coarse and open, is divided into two or three qualities, as the hecklings and breechings cannot be used with the rest. Kendal, where monthly sales by auction have been established, is the great mart for it, and 18s. 9d. per stone is thought a good price. Much of it is used for coarse woollens and rugs, and it: often returns to its native dales in the shape of full cloth suits or 17lbs. a quarter as well-fed shearlings. ‘‘ What will they say at Cockermouth?” is a question which has long since lost its political meaning, but still it is never out of the dalesman’s head, as that little town is their auction mart, both for fat and store sheep, each autumn. The face and legs of the breed are speckled, or rather grey mottled, and become greyer and whiter with age. If the face is grey, it should shade off to white towards the nose to suit the keen Fell Dales critic. Tups have generally two or three curls to their horns, and the absence of horn in a female is not a desirable sign. The horns should be white and ‘‘slape,” not too small or too close, and rising well out of the back of the head. A light grey or ‘‘hoar frost nose” betokens constitution, and the nostrils should be wide and strong, and affixed to a long and bold head. The ears should be white and sharp, and stand well up, as any tendency to droop betokens a want of spirit to grapple with hill life. A good eye, a broad forehead with a tuft on it, and a rustiness about the poll, are all solid requirements, as well as wool up to the ears, and good ‘‘heckling,” which in some tups looks like a lion’s mane. It is also one of the flock-master’s chief aims to get them as wide as possible between the fore-legs, and with a broad breast placed well forward, as the forequarter is chiefly relied upon both for constitution and the scales. The knees should also be strong, and *‘the bone thin to the fetlock, and then a big white foot to follow.” Despite the difficult ground which they have to traverse, the best breeders try to get them well filled in behind the shoulders, and round in the rib, and the less false rib they have the greater their power of bearing hunger. There is a tribe amongst them which has fourteen ribs, and these are preferred whenever they can be got. They should also be straight on the hind-leg and well muttoned down to ‘‘the camerals” or hocks, while the tail should be thick at the root, and just long enough so as never to want cutting. These are the show points, but the majority of flocks fall very far short of them.—Royal Agricultural Society’s Prize Essay (H. H. D.). 1866. 104 Saddle and Sirloin. for the winter. Clipping day in July is the dales- man’s only festival of the year; and the flockmasters all make a point of coming to help each other. There is generally a good deal of arguing as to which has the best tup, but “it is all agreeably settled over a glass and a pipe.” They also discuss the prowess of “the Patterdale dogs,” nine couple of foxhounds and four terriers (which Mr. Marshall sends over for a fort- night at intervals to keep down the foxes), and they pass the rest of the time with “ cheerful bits of sangs,” and in drinking “Confusion to the Scab” and “ Pack Sheets and Ready Money,” until the barrel of nut- brown ale is ready for turning at last. Mr. Nelson’s father was originally shepherd to Mr. Marshall, and he and his son had a sheep farm at Loweswater Church Stile. The son has occupied Gatesgarth for some twenty years, and holds his fell under Lord Leconfield and Mr. Marshall. He and his three sons work the flock, and use dogs, mostly black, and descended from an old bitch, which had 102 pups in her time. She was of “old Geordie Nel- son’s breed,” and quite a public character on a Fell Dales day. “ Bright” and “ Blink,” her lineal descen- dants, are in full force, now with the “ Up Bank!” and “ Dowzx Bank!’ business, for which prizes are given annually at Kirby Stephen. Mr. Nelson lets about 100 tups at all prices, from 2 guineas to 5 guineas, and the selling tariff rages as high as 12 guineas. For very noted tups more can be got, and Thousand-a- Year brought 30/7. His g.g.¢¢.d. won at Ennerdale in 1845, and his g.g.g.d. lived till she was eighteen, and then died from an accident. This monarch of the lakes (who got his lambs rather dark-necked) is brother to Prince Talleyrand, and their own sister is dam of “ Joe, the Gatesgarth Champion.” Joe “ could always bang the rest,” save once, when he was second (a posi- tion which his uncle, Prince Talleyrand, held five times over to him); but “he was not in fettle,” and Shalt fack. ~ 105 could not go to the Newcastle Royal. Mr. Allan Pearson’s “Blue Joe” is by Joe, and the blood is so diffused through the dales, that Mr. Nelson is “almost beat to get a tup not akin to him.” The Joe ewes have been great winners in his hands, and it is upon them rather than tups that he depends on show-days.* Old Talleyrand, with his somewhat coarse coat, and mane like a lion, came out of his pasture to greet us. So did General, who had more of the Exmoor style about him, and a very pretty lot of prize ewes. Pedigreed shorthorns have found their way to this quiet lake-head. Cent.-per-Cent., by Booth’s Wel- come Guest, came, as his smart name would almost enote, from Mr. Jefferson. St. George was there from Nunwick Hall, and the herd were “as far bred as a deal of folks,’ which is true enough. ‘They have won at Keswick and Cockermouth, and walk the twelve miles to victory in the good old fashion. De- licate as they may be deemed, there were turkeys in the farmyard, and there, too, was “Lal Jack,” from Borrowdale, one of the most affectionate of foxes. He is generally kept on porridge to prevent any offensive smell; but he seemed on that day to have had a slight dividend from the Christmas black- pudding preliminaries. The lake foxes are a great nuisance, and Mount Beale in Burton’s Combe is per- * Mr. Nelson showed but did not win at the Carlisle Royal, where Mr. Robinson, of Orton, swept the board. Among the other great breeders and showers are Mr. George Irving, of Wythop Hall (the owner of Sportsman, of Mr. Allan Pearson ef Lorton’s breed) ; Mr. T. Pearson, of Ennerdale ; Mr. George Brown, of Troutbeck, Ambleside ; Mr. William Robson and Mr. Robert Briggs, of Wasdale Head (‘‘master of them all once”); Mr. Allan Pearson ; Mr. C. Rawson, of Nether Wasdale; the Ritsons of Caldbeck; Mr. John Tyson, of Gillerthwaite, Ennerdale ; Mr. John Tyson, of Torr House, Ennerdale ; Mr. Joseph Roger, of Threlkeld, Eskdale ; Mr. Ralph Tyson and Mr. John Birkett, of Seathwaite, Borrowdale ; Mr. John Clarke, of Butter- mere ; and Mr. John Sanderson, of Thornthwaite, near Keswick, &c. Of these, Mr. John Tyson will lamb from $00 to 900 ewes, Mr. Nelson about 600, and the rest from 500 to 400. 106 Saddle and Sirloin. fectly honeycombed with earths. Two of Mr. Nelson’s sons were off to blast a burn at Burnscarth, to try and recover a terrier which had been lost to sight for five days after a fox. Its two companions had gradually backed out of the earth, and just as we were talking of “ Dandy,” he limped up, a perfect skeleton, and very sore from the in-fighting. A fell fox, which Mr. Jackson Gilbanks describes as being “ fierce as a tiger, and long as a hay-band, and with an amiable cast of features very like the Chancellor of the Exchequer,” is very bad to kill “top o’ t’ ground,” and still worse when he gets into a burn. Not long since a single foxhound ran one till both could hardly trot, dow to Gatesgarth, and into the lake, where, greatly to th foxhound’s relief, “ Bright” gave the finishing throat- nip. Old John Peel was for many years the hunting hero of Cumberland; and Cumbrians, who never met before, have grasped each other’s hands, and joyfully claimed county kindred in the Indian bungalow or the log-hut of the backwoods, when one of them being called on for a song, struck up ‘*D’ye ken John Peel with his coat so grey ?” He seems to have come into this world only to send foxes out of it, and liked plenty of elbow-room for his sport. Briton was a very favourite hound ; and when old John died,* and his pack was broken up, young John sent the little black-and-tan to Mr. Crozier, of the Riddings, near Keswick. This gentleman hunted the Blencathra pack while old John was still in the flesh, and the hounds joined drags two or three times on the mountains. Saddleback, which is just behind his home, and “ the dark brow of the lofty Helvellyn,” * << Dye ken Fohn Peel,” &c., is quite the Cumberland anthem, and has been very admirably set to music by Mr. Metcalfe, Chiswick Street, Carlisle. Mr. Crozter's Hounds. 107 which fills up the distance as you look from his snuggery window, and flanks the vale of St. John, are, along with Skiddaw, his three great hunting grounds. Still, he is at times all over the lake country, and goes right away into Lancashire. A few years since, when he had been master for more than a quarter of a century, the Cumberland and Westmoreland men gave him a very handsome testimonial. It was a silver tureen, with a mounted huntsman and hounds on the cover, and round the stem some hounds among the fern running into a fox and a hare. The handle of the punch-ladle—for punch, not hare-soup, was its ” eg peculiar destiny—was the brush of a Skiddaw ox. Poor little Isaac, the huntsman, was not for- gotten ; and he received ten guineas and a “ new rig out” of scarlet and green. Two old men, Joshua Fearon and John Wilkinson, each aged 78, who had been, as the Scottish shepherds phrase it, “at a deal of banes-breaking”’ (z.¢., breaking-up a fox) ever since childhood, attended the presentation ; but the senior was John Hodgson, a Nimrod of 84, from near the “ruined towers of Threlkeld Hall,” in whose parish hounds have been now kept for more than one hundred years consecutively. Mr. Crozier supports the village custom well, and has quite the goodwill of the lake district. He says that, whether he is benighted or hungry, or feels weak with fatigue on the mountains, he never lacks a wel- come from farmer or cottager. The farmers’ wives and daughters “walk” the puppies, while the fathers and brothers hunt with him; and Wordsworth tells of the love of the lakers fora hunt. As in Devon- shire— ‘* What cared they For shepherding or tillage? To nobler sports did Simon rouse The sleepers of the village.” The Blencathra pack has been in Mr. Crozier’s 108 Saddle and Sirloin. hands for eight-and-twenty years, and he brings up four or five couple annually. He drafts about two couple each season, and since the railway ran so near him, he loses two couple on an average. Ten couple form his regular pack. Soon after he commenced hunting, he had a hound named Butler, which is still spoken of as the crack of the district, for carrying a cold scent down a road. Many of the hounds are kept by the neighbouring farmers; and when Mr. Crozier went into his yard, and wound his horn for the hunt, the unfailing Butler was the first to come cantering up, Threlkeld way, waving his stern with delight at the prospect of another day’s fun on the fell Clasher, Blueman, Briton, Ruffler, Tilter, and Brewer were all good hounds: the last-named would gene- rally lead in his day ; and white Rally, Ruby, Fairy, Young Fairy, and Cruel supported the honour of their Sex. The pack meet between eight and nine o’clock in the winter; but from February to May, which is the regular fell season, they cast off at daylight or soon after. Up to Christmas they hunt hares in the vales ; but if they do strike the line of a fox, they never refuse to give him a run for his life. Foxes are often found on Carrock, The Dodd, Castlerigg Fell, Wallow Crag near Derwent Lake, the Armboth Moor, and Naddle Rocks, Barfe, as well as Braithwaite and the Newland Fells, and in Brundholme Wood occasionally. The best runs and the largest number of kills are on Skiddaw. Carrock is a great hunting ground ; but its foxes are very hard to kill, as there are so many strong bields or rock earths. Of late years Castlerigg and Wallow Crag have been surer finds than of yore. The foxes are generally dug out when it is practicable, as the farmers have been made anxious about their lambs ; but there are many places whence they cannot be dislodged, unless the terriers are up before they have had time to get their wind Mr. Crozter’s Hounds. 109 again. On an average, ten brace are killed in the season. The field varies from half-a-dozen to two score of pedestrians, according to the population of the district. Horsemen seldom venture, as the bogs and fells would be too much for them. Twelve years ago these hounds ran a fox from Skiddaw, and next morning they were discovered asleep near Coniston Crag. He was found about two P.M., and after two or three rings he went away by Millbeck and Apple- thwaite, past Crosthwaite Church and Portinscale, to Sir John Woodford’s cover, from which he stole along Catbells, through all the rocky ground in Borrowdale, then away to Black Hill in Ulpha, where he went to ‘earth about midnight. Some of the shepherds in the Vale heard the pack marking him at the earth, but before they got there he had bolted towards Brough- ton-in-Furness, From point to point, the run was thirty-five miles, and it would be quite safe to add twelve or fifteen more for the rings and the up-hill and down-dale journeys. It was through the most rugged part of the lake district, and no one ever knew whether the fox, like Sir Roger de Coverley, “ made a good end of it” in the huntsman’s sense of the word. Runs of from three to four hours are not unfrequent, and as the fox, with the open fells before him, is very loth to leave the one on which he was bred, he runs in circles like a hare. They are of all sorts and sizes, and nearly all shades of colour, and in pretty settled weather the scent is as good, if not better, on the mountains than anywhere else. Tongue is very desirable, and Mr. Crozier’s strain of harrier blood enables him to keep his basses and tenors in perfection. The Saddleback, or more properly the Blencathra range, has no cover for a fox except the rocks, a little ling, and a few juniper bushes among the heather. The base of Skiddaw, including the Dodd and the Barfe, is best covered with larch and whins. The Castlerigg, Borrowdale, and Armboth Fells have 110 Saddle and Strloin. good covers of oak and hazel ;* but the fox prefers keeping to the rocks rather than the woods, and they generally drag up to him rather than chase him. Calm and rather damp weather suits scent best on the high fells, and it will often hold on the hills when it will not do so in the valleys, and vice versé; but scent is such a delicate and difficult problem, that many think that it varies very much with the bodily health of the game. Joshua Fearon was the old huntsman, and the one under whom Mr. Crozier graduated, and he still lives hearty and well at eighty. He had a capital voice and good hound language, and knew every move of his game, from a fox to a water-rat. Isaac Todhunter, or “ Lal Isaac,’ succeeded him, and hunted the pack for just a quarter of a century. He had “a good deal of Josh’s science off,” and was always clad in a Lincoln green coat, scarlet waistcoat, and corduroy breeches. The poor little fellow died after a few days’ illness of bronchitis in November, and John Porter reigns in his stead. Besides Mr. Marshall’s, the Mell Break, the Cockermouth beagles, and the Bow- ness, and Mr. J. Hartley of Moresby’s harriers also hunt the lake district. Trail hunts are hardly so much practised as they were. Twenty or thirty years ago, the prizes ranged from 5s. and a pair of couples to 52. The distance was from five to twelve miles, and Threl- keld Hall Rattler and Stark’s Towler, Parker’s Rattler and Wilson’s Gambler (both Caldbeck dogs), Gilker- son’s of Carlisle and Roger’s of Preston, were the leading winners. But we have dwelt, perhaps, too long on Cumber- land and its associations, and we must pass on to another part of the border land. The brown garron * ‘As far as I am able to judge, larches and Scotch firs grow stunted at an elevation of 1200 to 1500 feet, and hazel, dwarf oak whins, and other native underwood at one of 1000 to 1200 feet.” —J. C. Wetheral. oa which did us such good service from The Orkneys to Kensington, is sold, and cropping the Midland pas- tures. There was no need for her in a land of bound- less railways ; the pad was hung up with the macin- tosh as a trophy to the God of Storms; and valise in hand we book at Wetheral for our English tour. The Carlisle and Newcastle is a patent safety line, more than thirty years old and equal to sixty miles in three hours with punctuality and despatch. Express trains it considers to be a delusion and a snare, and every train, bar one, stops at every station. When it was opened in state, the Mayors of Newcastle and Carlisle returned to the Carlisle banquet in a truck, with sword, mace, and serjeant, protected only from the pour-down by a tarpaulin. Its up and down trains ran for years on the reverse side to every railway in existence. By way of compensation to the pockets of the coachmen and guards, which it originally threw out of work, it engaged them in the latter capacity, and, by way of consoling them, it enacted that they should eschew the conventional green, and stick to white hats and scarlet coats. A neighbouring railway elected a policeman with a wooden leg; but our old friend was not to be outdone, as it had, years before, selected a man with no legs as station-master, and when the train arrived he rode about the Blaydon platform on a donkey collecting the tickets. It is “the leafy month of June” and Corby’s woods look down in all their freshness on the Eden below, and seem to fling their shadow over the church, be- neath whose “ marble hearse,” which the genius of Nol- lekens called into being, their rare old master, Henry Howard, lies buried. Three or four “ perpetual cu- rates” have stood in that Wetheral pulpit since the days of Mr. Stanger, that lean and learned sixth wrangler, whom no bishop could tame. Bluff Good- enough or courtly Percy was all one to him; and if the latter asked him by circular for a return of the II2 Saddle and Sirloin value of his preferment, he only responded by a full list from the Churchman’s Guide of “the sinecures held by your lordship.” Morning service and sermon seemed with him a matter of barely an hour and ten minutes, and an egg and a soda-powder formed his Sabbath midday portion. His conversation was not so homceopathic, but the pace was the same. He was as staunch to his principles as his church brethren, Mr. Stanley and Mr. Ramshay, and on an election morning the Liberals knew without canvassing that he would arrive in his chaise at the Carlisle booth and poll for them in the first ten minutes. John Hodgson, the clerk, was another equally steadfast pillar of the Church, and right proud of his office and his pitch- pipe. His solemn’ shakes of the head, as he led the responses and the choir, were most telling; and he took care that there should be no mistake as to his professional status when he wrote to the railway directors for a gate-keeper’s place, and assured them that “land my stout sons can not only keep but carry the gates ; yea even the gates of Gaza.” . A strong taste for letter writing once cost him a world of anxiety. He was one of the parties to a chancery suit, and nothing would serve him, but he must drop a line to Lord Lyndhurst who was then on the Woolsack. No notice was taken of it, but for weeks, one neighbour or another “ learned in the law” kept suggesting that he had been guilty of contempt of court, a phrase of dreadful import which “hung about me like a cold.” A knot of farmers were wont to make a point of taking counsel with him on the subject among the tombstones before morning service, and as they invariably summed-up with “ Fokn, your life’s forfeit,’ his desk-devotions for several sabbaths were of rather a wandering class, and he hardly dared to meet a postman on the week days. But we must quit these parish elders. Our first halt was at the Milton Station, and we Farlam Church. 113 walked down the line to Kirkhouse, a great coal-mine depét, which old George Stephenson knew well, when he was merely an assistant engineer. He presented the late Mr. Thompson, sen., with his first engine, “The Rocket,” and it stood there for many years, and was then sent to the Kensington Museum. Talkin Tarn, where Lord Wensleydale was wont to admire the wrestling “chips” of Dick Wright, is not half a league away, and boating men love to tell how Bob Chambers came to its regatta as a stripling. Alas! a “weed” sown by wind or birds, or, as some say, by a careless pleasure-seeker, has overgrown the lake, and spoiled the fine reaches where the “ Had- away Bob!” was so thrilling. At all events, we may say with Wordsworth— ‘* The wind had better been asleep, The bird caught in a snare.” Farlam Church had fallen since we were last there, two dozen years ago, and a new one is built on the knoll above the old graveyard. It was on this “fair hill-side” that Lord Carlisle laid the first stone in one of those summer periods of political leisure, which he spent among his schools and with his neighbours, and ever about his Master’s business in and around his beloved Border tower of Naworth. Now that he is gone, many remember fondly how he alluded on that day to his departure for the last scene of his labours in Ireland, and how he asked them sometimes to “Follow me in thought down that silver strip of the Solway you may see from this hill, across the broad waters to the shores beyond, and then remember me in the prayers that you shall put up within the walls now to rise here, that I as well as you may be strengthened and guided for all the work to which our God may call us.” Behind the church is the mile gallop over which the late Mr. G. A. Thompson’s dogs used to take their breathings. The ground has plenty of undulation in I IT4 Saddle and Sirloin. it, and they finished on the sheep-hills behind. On the other side of the road, west of the church, is the “Waterloo Ground,” with abundance of ditches ; but the trials have generally come off at Brougham. Mr. Thompson lived about half a mile from Kirkhouse, at Farlam Hall, whose beautiful garden, with its rich vafiations of ground and flower-plots, and its brook, where the water-cress grows, might well divide his allegiance with the long-tails. The latter taste was in-bred, as his father always loved a brace of grey- hounds, and won the first Brampton Cup in 1830 with Burke. Mr. Thompson began in 1846 with a borrowed dog, Clarke’s Tindal, at Lytham. He was immensely fast, and on this occasion he had no less than eight undecided courses, and ran up after all. In due time Mr. Thompson began to fight for his own hand, and bred a Brampton Cup winner, Titmouse, by John James Henderson’s Nutman, from Merrybird (sister to Emigration). She was a wonderfully clever 39lb. brindle, rather long on the leg, and like Lobelia for lightness—“ no substance below, and all muscle on the back.” Plough-land was her forte, and she ran remarkably well in Scotland, where she divided with Jacobite. It was the running of Mariner when a puppy at the Caledonian meeting, when he was put out in his first course, that decided Mr. Thompson to send Titmouse to him; but all of the litter save Truth died. Truth (48lbs.) was very great over the Ashdown hills ; but she lost her third course in the Waterloo Cup, where the Cumberland men backed her for a hatful of money. Poor John Gill looked the picture of misery on the bank when the fatal flag went up. They have always had a fancy for “Thompson’s nomination,” and their allegiance has been sorely tried, as Tempest, the first that Mr. Thompson ever ran in the Waterloo Cup, was fourth, Theatre Royal third, and Trovatore fourth. Fate was certainly most coy with Farlam. Farlam Hall and tts Greyhounds. 115 Tirzah (48lbs.) was the best of the second Mariner and Titmouse litter—very quick out of the slips, and fastest of all the bitches to the hare. She led Sea Foam to the hare when a puppy for the Waterloo Cup, and was drawn after an undecided course, and ran second to Ewesdale for the Bridekirk Cup. Mr. Thompson also bred King Death during the three seasons that he hired Annoyance. He had the choice of two puppies from her Canaradzo litter, and took that nice light runner Tullochgorum and Theresa (who never ran in public), while King Death, Armstrong Gun, and Gertrude were passed over to Dr. Richard- son. Tullochgorum (58lbs.) was a Brampton Cup winner, and he and Ticket of-Leave (by Bridegroom, out of Shepherdess) were in the last three for the Altcar Stakes of 60 dog puppies, when Brundritt’s Burgomaster won. Tullochgorum was very fast and clever—not a stayer, but a rattling killer, and he gene- rally managed it in the fifth or sixth turn before the soft spot came out. Ticket-of-Leave (62lbs.) on the contrary was “a regular Lanercost for staying,” rather . short in the body, and so savage and determined, that he would go on when his feet were almost cut to pieces. He was a good Ashdown dog, and he won two cups in Whitehaven and Galloway. Mr. Thomp- son always considered Tullochgorum the fastest and handsomest dog he ever had, and Tirzah his fastest bitch, and in their trial the former had the foot of the two. Theatre Royal (48lbs.) was the best friend to the kennel exchequer, and always went best on plough land. She was by Cardinal York, out of Meg-o’-the- Mill, and of the same litter as Princess Royal, who was given away as a puppy. Latterly, she had her liberty, and required little training. As her trainer, Willie Scott, said of Tullochgorum, she was “very easy-minded.” She was not long in showing herself, seeing that as a sapling she turned up a hare single- F 2 116 Saddle and Sirloin. handed in great style near Kirkhouse, and she always worked her way up through the ties, and finished first or very nigh, though a trifle deficient in pace. They considered her faster than Trovatore (5olbs.), until their Waterloo trial at Brougham. Trovatore was a very durable bitch, and quite as clever, and decidedly better at Altcar on the grass than at South- port on the plough. Lobelia and she were a “tight fit ;’ but, although Trovatore was great when she was “the woman in possession,” she had not quite the pace of the Waterloo winner. Sackcloth did a good deal in his Waterloo year, and so did Patent ; but she worked nearly as hard as either of them, and ran well in high company at the Altcar Club, the Waterloo, the Southport, and the Scottish National within six weeks. In her first season she was of no use, and, sad to say, had puppies by a cur dog. She derived her staying power from Ticket-of-Leave (62lbs.), and there was no great hereditary pace on her dam Touch- wood’s side, who was a clever killer, and quite a “plough farmer.” Touchwood avenged her sister Tirzah’s defeat upon old Cheer Boys; but she came in season too often to train well. Tempest (60lbs.) by Telemachus, out of Governess, was a good puppy, but very hard to train. Sunbeam beat him in the Waterloo Cup when he was only sixteen months old, and he had won at Lowther before that. Hewas a remarkably savage dog, and very nearly had his pound of flesh out of the cockneys when he went to the London Show. Tirzah and Traviata (sister to Animus, and then only a mere whelp), were among the four or five which Mr. Thompson retained when he sold off his grey- hounds at Aldridge’s in the spring of ’67. All Tirzah’s litters, save one, have had a brindle in them, which shows the stain of old Titmouse. It came out in the Terrific litter through Trustee, who was a slash- ing runner in his puppy days, and made the highest The Brampton Coursing Meeting. 117 price (60 guineas) at the sale. This colour-lot fell in the Cauld Kail litter on a 29-inch dog, which was tried to be the best of the half-dozen at Brougham, and was no manner of use at the Altcar Club. His own brother, Test Act, divided the Sefton Stakes with Grey Steel at this meeting, and this was the last time that Mr. Thompson ran a dog in public. When we were at Farlam Hall that autumn, his Rather Im- proved saplings from Tirzah were duly ushered in after dinner for inspection, and they were certainly, as he said, “true greyhounds to the eye.” He left word for his friends, as he passed through London about Christmas time, that he would see them on his return from Nice; but it was ordered otherwise, and when we entered Lynn’s on the Waterloo Tuesday, we learnt the news of his death. He lies not on “the fair hill-side,”’ but far away on the shores of the Mediterranean, and he will always be remembered as the kindest-hearted of men, and one of those genuine coursers who could bear both defeat and victory. The coursing is a very great feature of the Bramp- ton year. It was nearly a third of a century since we had been at it, and then it was merely an eight-dog stake, and run off near Naworth Gate. We had good reason to remember it, as it was the first bit of report- ing which we had ever tried. A rough dog from Little Corby won it, which “ had trained itsel’,” and the owner, to his great amazement, got a five-pound note for it the next week, and attributed it in a measure to the “blazing report” in the paper. A week before thirty shillings would have parted them. Now the venue is shifted to Askerton, some five miles over country on the Bewcastle side. Kingwater is in this district, and it was at a farmhouse there that the celebrated flyer of that name was walked. Coursing is quite a Cumberland weakness ; but we met a couple of farmers ex route, one of whom de- clared that he preferred the harriers, and would only 118 Saddle and Sirloin. plead guilty to one bet, “a glass of cold ale witha publican” onthe Cup. The Tile-kiln was in view at last, and the two bits of scarlet among the rushes showed that business had begun. ‘The red cloak of Bella was also a most conspicuous object, and “ only second to the judge,” as she herself observed. This lively old lady keeps “ The Travellers’ Rest,” some- where near Gilsland, aZzas St. Ronan’s Well, and she appeared here with a basket full of spirits, and paid ten shillings for the vivandiére privilege of following the line of march. The Committee have been obliged to make this rule, as they were annoyed last year with a regular army of sutlers. “ Zhey aw ken me weel,” said Bella, and certainly Bella makes them ken her. She does use such potent words of exhortation to bachelors, and cracks such jokes on Benedicts, that she may well be a popular character. Her red cloak was quite a banner at last, and really after seeing her ditch-jumping and general performance on all manner of ground, we can take for granted what that vene- rable woman says of herself, at nearly seventy, that “ Tse as clean in the shank as ever I was.’ She adds: “T can loup dykes and climb a hill geyly weel yet-—Td run ony of the young uns, but I must have it doon full.” Askerton Castle, an old Border keep, whose tenants keep open-house during the meeting, is a leading feature of the first day. A great many rushes had been cut since last year, and those which were left produced boundless runs. In fact, one philosopher laid it at “tex hares to half-a-yacre’ in one field. Tullochgorum, Crossfell, Titmouse, and other cracks have all won or divided the Cup here, and Fanatic, who ran up for the Douglas Cup, was among the thirty-two Cup dogs that morning. Strange Idea was a great favourite, and was drawn against Bay Middle- ton, from the Wetheral district. Twice over they had a “ No go,” and at the third time of asking, Strange Idea didn’t seem to run with any fire. The Secretary The Brampton Coursing Meeting. 19 was his owner, and on the second day his farm-house at Greenburn, where the oat-cake is supreme, followed suit with Askerton Castle. Little Watercress, from the Farlam kennel, made capital work when she beat Earl Grey. We were aniused at the demurrer which her sub-trainer put in to the suggestion of one of the London Press, that the hare had favoured her in the run-up: “May be; but they'll still place themselves with sic gentlemen as yon.’ Despite the rough and “chancy” ground over which we coursed, the day was an amusing one, and the enthusiasm extended into the very bowels of the earth, as there would scarcely be a man at Messrs. Thompson’s colliery who was not in some sweep or other on the two events, and keenly alive to the victories of Destiny and Mabel Smith. I20 CHAPTER Vi. *¢ T wandered through the lofty hails Trod by the Percys of old fame, And traced upon the chapel walls Each high heroic name, From him who once his standard set Where now, o’er mosque and minaret, Glitter the Sultan’s crescent moons ; To him who, when a younger son, Fought for King George at Lexington, As major of dragoons. * * * # This last half stanza—it has dashed From my warm lip the sparkling cup. The light that o’er my eyebeam flashed, The power that bore my spirit up Above this bank-note world, is gone ; And Alnwick’s but a market-town. And this, alas! its market day, And beasts and borderers throng the way ; Oxen and bleating lambs in lots, Northumbrians and plaided Scots, Men in the coal and cattle line ; From Teviot’s bard and hero land, From Royal Berwick’s beach of sand, From Wooller, Morpeth, Hexam, and Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Fitz Greene Halleck. Visit to Mr. John Grey—Recollections of the Booths and Mary of But- termere—Sir John Sinclair and his Merino Wool—The Turbulent Bull—Lord Althorp and his Shorthorns—A Downing-street Inter- view—Newcastle Races, the Slipping Race—Sir Charles Monck— Woodhom—A Felton Festival—From Morpeth to Belford—The Wild Cattle of Chillmgham—The Border Leicesters. E bid good-bye to Cumberland, and look out at parting for the towers of Naworth, and that wooded vale of Lanercost, whose sanctuary moulders in calm decay amid the fertility which it called into being. There are well-known faces at the station for The Booths and Mary of Buttermere. 121 Gilsland, and anon a walk of a couple of miles from Haydon bridge finds us grasping the hand of John Grey of Dilston, a very honoured name in all the North Countrie. To sit with the fine old man was indeed like ** Converse with old Time ;” but we once only had that happiness, and although we often corresponded, we never met again. It was something even for that short space to quarry in such a rich mine of thought and experience. He was at Dr. Tate’s of Richmond, that renowned “orinder of gerunds,” and “digger of Greek roots,” along with the two Booths. Richard was stout then and did not care for running, but in water he was “good enough to drown a salmon.” He would float miles out to sea, and he would sit and tie his shoes in some of those twelve-feet pools on the Swale. The pair lodged in the market-place at Mrs. Geldard’s, who gave them the character of being “both quiet boys.” John was not then given to those constant flashes of drollery, which made him the best of all good companie at manhood. Mr. Grey was aiso with the Rev. William Sewell in the Vale of Lorton, and he entertained the most lively recollections of reading Virgil in the yew tree, and of the steaming brown dishes of potato pot, which every dalesman loves. It was for the latter that the poor students from St. Bees looked out so affectionately at noontide when they served the churches in the lake district, in con- sideration of a hempsack, 20s. a year, and a whittle- gate or free dinner run. Once there came a man who did better at the whittlegate than the service. To explain it in his own words, “I was in such a hurry to be at them with the homily, that I quite forgot the litany.” Mary of Buttermere had bloomed when Mr. Grey was at Richmond, but he never failed to tell how, when he visited Lorton and Buttermere again, he 122 Saddle and Sirloin. danced with her at “a bidden wedding.” She was a tall, comely woman with auburn hair flowing down her back, but “a bad partner in a dance, as I was always losing her, when she ran to attend to customers in the bar or look after the oatcake.” Mr. Grey was the friend of Culley on the Border, and his Richmond school-life secured him introduc- tions to the Collings, Charge, and Maynard. With them he spent his holidays, and when Dr. Tate asked him what they mostly talked about, he replied in classic phrase, “ Comet e¢ zd genus omune.” Farming was in a very rough way when he first learnt it. “There was nothing but foldyard manure; they hardly knew how to sow away clover seeds. Havre, and Havre again, give it a bit of management, and sow it in barley—or its geyly grass prood—so just let it lie to rest.” Being of a literary turn Mr. Grey was generally engaged with some agricultural report or other, and one of his earliest labours was looking _over the proof-sheets of Sir John Sinclair’s “ Code of Agriculture.” He became acquainted with Mr. God-- frey Sinclair when he was a pupil with Mr. Jobson. Sir John was great at that time upon Merino sheep, whose price rose considerably during the Spanish war. It chanced that the baronet was visiting at Floors Castle, and every one made a point of handling his coat, which was merino-woven, and of complimenting him on its texture. Sir Harry McDougall, after hearing a discussion upon the wool specimens, declared that he had some as good, and produced a sample. Sir John handled it, and declared that it wouldn’t work as there were some coarse hairs in it; and when Sir Harry was questioned as to what it was, he turned the laugh by saying that he got it out of the pocket of Sir John’s own carriage as it stood in the stable-yard. A good deal of jealousy was felt about Sir John, and the story did not fail to circulate. In 1833, when he was in his very prime at 47, Mr. “ Grey of Dilston.” 123 Grey was made the Commissioner of the Greenwich Hospital, and his management of the estates, in which he was followed by his son Charles, will always mark an era in Northumberland. No man’s mind ever ran less in ruts. “Grey of Dilston” was henceforth a great name in Northern Agriculture, and continued to be so to the last. He wasa ripe, good farmer, always among the first to adopt every agricultural improvement, and a thoroughly safe one for tenants to follow. There could not have been a more felicitous choice on the part of the council than when they entrusted him with “The Labouring Classes of the Land” at the Royal Agricultural So- ciety’s dinner at Newcastle in’46. He was loudly cheered throughout, and more especially when he argued in favour of leases v. tenancies at will. ‘‘ We have been told,” he said in conclusion, “that there is a limit to agricultural improvement. It will not be reached in our day. So long as we have unimproved land and tenants at will we shall never reach it.” He began the Tweedside Society, which was ulti- mately blended with the Border as “ The Border Union ;” and when he was in his zenith as a shorthorn breeder, he once took the first and second prizes for bulls, or nearly 50/7. in one day. His herd was prin- cipally built up from General Simpson’s North Star (full brother to Comet), and he also bred direct to the Collings through Mr. Donkin of Sandhoe’s blood. The General journeyed from Fifeshire to Buxton every summer, and always stopped at Millfield, by Glendale on Tweedside, by the way; and he died at Ferrybridge on his return. Young Star was the best bull he ever sent to Millfield, and Mr. Curwenand Mr. Blamire could not resist riding over to see him. Some of the Fifeshire farmers pleasantly assured Mr. Grey when he bought him, “Aye! man, what a price for nowt! but he’s a bonny beast’an he had been black.” “Tf he had been black,” said Mr. Grey, to their speech- 124 Saddle and Sirloin. less amazement, “J’d not have carried him home.” The General had bred from Mason as well as Col- ling, but Mr. Grey did not care about the former, as he thought him tricky and all for form, and that his herd became hard in the touch and lacked con- stitution. At Lord Althorp’s suggestion he wrote the first county essay (on “ Northumberland and its Agricul- ture”) in the Royal Agricultural ‘fournal. Mr. Grey’s intimacy with his lordship arose out of a constant in- terchange of Leicesters and Shorthorns. The Wiseton sheep were small and of Buckley blood, and crossed well with Charles Colling’s larger sheep, which were then fast occupying the Scottish frontier. Mr. Grey had let the rams of the cross for many years, and the G wethers soon had plenty of butchers on their track. At Wiseton seventy cows and heifers would generally come up to the sunk fence, in front of the dining- room, and Mr. Grey did not need much rousing for “just another look, Grey.” It was his lordship’s boast that he had reformed his whole stock with Regent, - when he was condemned to the butcher as useless. Nonpareil (370 guineas) did him no great good, and he was “ never really successful till he got the Chil- tons.” Sweet William, Orontes, Wiseton, which figures in the picture of a “ Quiet Day at Wiseton,” and Ranunculus (the sire of Belinda) were all leading bulls, and so was Usurer, of which Lord Ducie said that he “could give shoulders to anything.” Lord Ducie and Sir Charles Knightley were men of like passions, but in Plenipo’s year they couldn't resist the Doncaster Cup Day, while Lord Althorp and Mr. Grey went off to look over Mr. Champion’s herd at Blyth. Hunting was what Mr. Grey loved best, and he enjoyed it much in his youth with the hounds of Mr. Bailey of Mellerstein. We remember with what keen delight he quoted to us the remark of an old shepherd, upon the riding of one of his grandchildren : Lord Althorp and his Shorthorns. 125 “It's just yen of those Greys—it’s in the bluid—they canna help it.” Lord Althorp came to Millfield to see the agricul- ture of the Tweed, and his keen shorthorn eye never failed to mark a Midas wherever he met one. He hired Duke from Mr. Donkin, and also sent down one of his huntsman’s sons to learn how to farm, and turn the penny the right way. “Coke has two or three crack farms,” he was wont to say, “ where the tenant dare not have a weed; here there’s uniformity, the land’s farmed for farming’s sake.” One of Mr. Grey’s stories about a bull delighted him. “Aye! he’s gone again,’ said the poor man, when he led his visitor to see his bull, and only found a mighty ddris of bricks with earth and dead gorse; “ he often breaks out here ; he's like Samson, he carries off the door-posts and a lump of the wall at once, all our place is so bad, we've not a house that will hold him; we call him Lord Brougham.’ The Chancellor of the Exchequer might well say, “I'll tell that story to Brougham, when I get back to London.” Lord Althorp cared nothing for politics in com- parison with his shorthorns. The Reform banner might ** Float over Althorp, Russell, and Grey, And the manhood of Harry Brougham ;” but he loved rather to sit under one at an agricul- tural meeting, which told of “‘ Hoof and Horn” and “Speed the Plough.” When Mr. Grey called upon him at Downing-street, and saw “ George” as a pre- liminary, the latter remembered him and gave a little dry laugh: “ You've come about cows, sir, so you'll not have to wait long.’ Sure enough his Herd Book lay beside him on the desk when Mr. Grey was announced, and formed the text for the next half hour. Every Monday morning, his lordship received the most ac- curate budget of what cows had calved during the week, with the calf marks, and he did very little work 126 ~ Saddle and Sirloin. till it was all transcribed into his private herd book. This morning he handed Mr. Grey a letter. “ There's a letter,” he said, “from Carnegie; he admires my political course, and he writes from the Lothians to say that I shall have the first refusal of his bull.” Then he so characteristically added—“ J’ve written to thank him for lis political confidence, but I've told him that there 1s a flaw in his bull's pedigree; he traces him back to Red Rose, but Red Rose never had a heifer calf.” At Smithfield or the Royal he would work a whole day in his shirt-sleeves, and at Shrewsbury, the very year before his death, no one bore such an active part in putting the stock into their proper stalls. “ Once out of office,’ he was wont to say, “and they'll never catch me in again.’ Nothing but the strongest sense of duty bound him to the Exchequer. “J find a Little relief on a Saturday night: but on Monday morning I just know how a man feels who'll throw himself over London Bridge.* * For more than forty years John Grey of Dilston was a very promi- - nent and a very honoured name in the North Country. He was born not far from Flodden Field, and both by his farming success on the Tweed and Tillside, as well as by his political energy on the hustings by the side of Mr. Lambton and Lord Howick, in ‘‘ times enough to shake a man’s soul” if he dared to be a Reformer, he soon took a place in the van. He was just in the prime of life at 47, when he was made Commissioner of the Greenwich Hospital Estates, and he built his future home at Dilston, not far from the spot where the last Earl of Radcliffe lies buried with his head under his arm, and his heart em- balmed at his side. e No man had enjoyed a finer training, and Earl Grey, Sir John Sin- clair, and Clarkson were among those whom he could call friend. His own deep and abiding sense of religion and regard for his widowed mother moulded him early for the important part which he had to play in life. He honoured John Culley for always asking him to rise early from the Wooller market-table, and to be the companion of his home- ward ride ; and his first public speech was for the Bible Society in the church of that town. In process of time he met with Hannah Annett, He resisted the feeling at first, till a gust of jealousy, on seeing her helped into ihe saddle by a rival, impelled him in his own decisive way to grasp her pony’s bridle, and say some fev words which both under- stood. A few months later, and she was riding as his bride from Lord Althorp. 127 We bid our olé friend good-bye, little thinking we should never meet again, and sped on our way to New- castle. The Tyne was running in a muddy, turbulent torrent beneath the Stocksfield bridge. It once over- church in a pale-blue embroidered habit. She was worthy of the hus- hand of her choice; and so the years go on, till at last he learns abruptly from the lips of his groom that she is dead ; and henceforward the days when she was by his side, and a merry freight of children in the carriage, during those happy woodland rides, seem to the old man like part and pareel of a dream. Whatever he did he did with all his might, and he invariably did it well. No man had a finer eye to hounds, or better hands and nerve, whether on Rose of Raby or ‘‘ the flyer which stands in the stall at the top.” Inthe heat of his Lambton canvass he worked on all day with two fractured ribs. Sir John Sinclair entrusted him to revise the proof- sheets of his ‘‘Code of Agriculture ;’ and even in his 82nd year he delivered a lecture of nearly two hours’ length on poetry, at Haydon Bridge. Bone manure, draining, subsoil ploughing, and the application of animal and vegetable chemistry to agricultural objects were his theme in days when to talk of such things was almost enough to stamp a man as a Jacobin and a visionary. He dared to denounce the corn laws as “the parent of scarcity, dearness, and uncertainty,” when 99 people out of roo thought him a man of profane lips for saying so, and Bright and Cobden were mere boys. When he was ‘‘up” for a speech, the audience always knew that they would hear some sturdy truths ; but no one was more uncompromising, and yet more full of tact. His oppo- - nents might dislike what he said, but they could not object to the lan- guage in which it was clothed. Only a week before his death he mediated in an excellent speech between landlord and tenant, when an offensively couched resolution about game had been passed at the Hexham Farmers’ Club. ‘‘The Black Prince of the North,” as he had been called in his hot political youth, was never in better tune for speaking than at the Newcastle Royal Dinner of ’46, and an after- dinner remark of the second Duke of Cleveland’s, to the effect that agricultural improvement had reached its utmost limit, drew from him an indignant denial, and a stout argument on tenancies-at-will as against leases. It was in 59 that he spoke. what he called his ‘‘ Peace and Plenty” speech, in which Prince Albert delighted, and his last at a public dinner was made at the Highland Society’s meeting of 1867, where he attended as judge. As an agent he practised what he preached. Strong as his political predilections were, he never interfered, directly or indirectly, with a voter. The Greenwich estates, when they came into his hand, pro- duced 29,0007. clear, and gradually rose, under the draining and other improvements which he planned and carried out, to 40,000/. With the labourers he had peculiar sympathy, and, ‘‘let the oppressed go free and break every yoke,” was a saying that seemed ever present with him. 128 Saddle and Sirloin. flowed the Bywell village to such an extent, that th- Fenwick hunters had to be stabled in “The Blac Church;” and it not only drowned a huntsman wh He did not deem that even the poorest were ‘‘born just to be handk by those above them like 1/. notes.” It was the feeling that ‘Jol Grey is a just man” which was the secret of his power. ‘The desire help every one to the utmost was another great feature in him. Duri » the cattle plague no magistrate was more active ; and although he w past eighty, he would attend every sale, however small, within reach his home, so that he might spare the buyers the trouble of coming ° him to get the papers signed. His powers and his bodily streng:) seemed unimpaired to the last, although, as he would say, his childi and grandchildren, by their affectionate thought for his comforts, wl >- her at home or when he went to spend the Christmas at Millfie ’ would ‘‘try to make an old man of me.” above their hands, with such a tough, square-jawed borderer to d with. The lecture on poetry the year before he died, beginning a: did with Chaucer and the 107th Psalm, and dealing largely in Walter Scott, the poet of ‘‘ Teviot’s bard and hero land,” near wh his lot had been cast, was given almost entirely from memory. the sturdy octogenarian rose an hour earlier, packed his big portmante: and carried it on his shoulder half a mile to the station. In him there was hardly even that ‘‘ gentle decay” which prece death. He had a slight ailment, and to his daughter’s tender eye tl might be an unusual solemnity of manner when he read family pra’ on his last night on earth, but still nothing to cause alarm. She changed a few words with him in the morning. ‘‘ My wants are } very few,” were the last he spoke ; and when she next saw him he dead, seated on the stairs with ‘‘his forefinger raised, as if to en silence, or as if he heard some one calling him.” And so every s in his life, from dawn to sunset, from sunset to the close, is touche: his daughter’s memoir of him, with the same bold and yet tender h The last of all was on that wild Saturday before his funeral, when, » Tennyson’s ‘‘ Dead Earl,” ‘‘the wind was howling through turret tree,” the very window-panes broken with a crash, the glass shiv~ about the floor, and the white sheet which had been thrown over corpse blown rudely away. Sunday came in calm and clear, hardly stirred a leaf of the bright, shining evergreen with which dz ters’ hands then wreathed his coffin. ‘‘He looked so grand whi was dead,” with that union of tenderness and strength in the whole line of his head and face which was the key to his successful man and his honoured old age. He has gone to his rest, but the impr his practical knowledge and broad aims will be seen and remem for many a long year in the ‘‘ Sweet Glendale” of his earlier days, the rich vale of the Tyne. H bodily force had abated as little as his mental, and when his son wow | insist, overnight, on sending his luggage down to the railway for hin That task would have be Lord Althorp. 129 tried to cross, bu. it carried him (so the villagers vow), by the force of its current, right across the German Ocean, and cast him up, with his horn still slung over his shoulder, on the. beach at Ostend. A short cut over the Park—in which Matchem and The Duchess took their breathings, and won upwards of twenty thousand, both at the post and in the paddock, when Fenwick was Lord of Bywell—leads to Mr. Atkinson’s farm, more commonly known as “ Peepy.” It beiongs to Mr. Beaumont, the member for the southern divi- sion of the county, who lives at Bywell Hall, and it includes the Park in its seven hundred acres. Three- sevenths of it are in grass, and the Park, which, judg- ing from the limits of the old course, was hardly thirty acres in Matchem’s day, has now swelled to a hundred. The brothers Atkinson are by no means the pio- neers of Shorthorns in this particular spot. Styford High and Low Woods recall to a Herd Book ear the memory of “ Jobling’s old sort.” A narrow strip be- tween them shows the early haunt of Wellington (who was let for fifteen years at 100/. per year), and the firs rang at times with his bellowing, much less musically than they do now when The Tyndale are finding. Those were days when Tithe Commutation was un- dreamt of, and hence Wellington calves came in due course to Mr. Johnson the clergyman of the parish, and one found its way to Mr. Atkinson’s at the old man’s sale. Mr. Atkinson senior knew Mr. Bates, but the prophet had no honour in his own country, and although he went over to see him, he did not care to buy. Arch- duke Charles was Mr. Atkinson’s first bull. After him came Sir Harry, from Mr. Thomas Jobling, who bred direct from Mr. Colling’s sort ; and then his son Bangup, who was never in the Herd Book, and had fall after fall of red calves. Sir Harry was duly en- tered for the Ovingham prize of 20 guineas, which he won, and Mr. Jobling was so jealous of his looking K 130 Saddle and Sirloin. well, that Mr. Atkinson’s earliest recollection was see- ing him come, and “ off horseback and at the bull with his scissors,” to get his curly frontlet into perfect trim for the judges.* It is many years since we saw Newcastle races, and our recollections are not with Underhand or Caller Ou —words hard for Northumbrian lips—nor yet with Dr. Syntax or Gallopade. They go back to an in- termediate period, when “Slashing Harry collared Henriade,” when Beeswing beat Black Diamond, when Harry Edwards by a mighty effort shoved “ Lazy Lanercost’s” head in front of the Hydra’s, and when a Yorkshireman was so cleaned out by Naworth’s defeat, that he put up his slippers for sale in the coffee-room at the Queen’s Head that night. We remember, too, the grief which fell like a pall on the Moor when Lanercost, with Calypso handy, beat Beeswing on the post through the deep ground for the Cup, and how every tongue was loosened when she paid off him and his corns next year in the dry. We like to recall that time and all its actors—dark-eyed “ Sim” in his hey- day ; Job Marson, a young fellow of five-and-twentv, just earning his spurs on Charles XITI.; Mr. Ramsay at Lanercost’s head, as Noble saddled him, and listen- ing to the pale enthusiast from the Bush Inn, Car- lisle, who was taking up his parable; and old Bob Johnson, in his long black coat, drab breeches, and gaiters among the glasses and decanters (like Baron Nathan among the eggs at Rosherville), retreating suddenly ere he stammered out a sentence before the coat-tail pull of the Squire of Nunnykirk, who * Of late years the Atkinsons have bred from Col. Towneley’s stock, and had several of the Beauty tribe which the Colonel got from Mr. Bannerman, and he from Mr. John Booth. They used Abraham Parker and ‘‘ Dick” (who did a great deal for them), and when they began to go in more for Booth, they had Prince Patrick, a pure Booth bull, from Mr. Grove Wood, of Ireland, and hired Manfred from Mr. Thomas Booth. The Slipping Race. 131 flings down his se7recrow hat, puts himself in “the teapot attitude” ¢ 1 the table, and pours out his Attic eloquence in old Beeswing’s name. It was at Newcastle that Sir Tatton Sykes (Scott) took part in a great sliding-match, which utterly ruined Fancy Boy. Four started for that Northern Derby, and the ground was so soaked with rain that Bill Scott, after many ups and downs, was finally left at the Newcastle turn with Little Jack Horner (Francis) to keep him company. The memory of the Derby which he had just lost “on the Surrey side” did not tend to tone down Bill’s ire, and never was Mother Earth more emphatically denounced. Fancy Boy was also on his hind-quarters at that point; but Sim re- covered him, and abjured Job on Dolo to “ Keep wide of meat the Coal Pit turn, for fear we shde up again.” The presentiment was too true, as when they reached it Fancy Boy slipped, and slid some five-and-twenty yards, Sim sticking to him with his arms round his neck. Even in this fashion the pace was pretty good; but Dolo got so far ahead that he was never reached again, and the chapter of accidents put some 600 guineas into Lord Eglinton’s pocket. Two hunters out of four came to grief in the next race; but a nice, drying night set things quite square for the morrow. It was a favourite saying on Tyneside, when poor Bob Chambers was in his rowing prime, “ Lod zsv’t a man—he's a steam-engine ; he was ‘cast at Hawks’, and ‘fitted’ at Stephenson’s,’ and we think of both man and “fitter” as we leave the coaly Tyne, and spy on our northward way the cottage and birthplace of George Stephenson amongst the anything but “ sunny farms of Killingworth.” All the great spots of interest at first lie to the left of the line, beginning with Cram- lington, which sent a first-prize cow to the Newcastle Royal, and is familiar to another generation in con- nexion with Sir Matthew, Mr. Boag, and the hounds. Sir Walter and Lady Trevellyan’s herd, which showed K 2 132 Saddle and Sirloin. a good Newcastle front against “the proud invader,” browses west beyond Belsay. Nunnykirk is “some miles over yonder,” and so is Belsay Castle, where the hatchment is just up for ‘the old baronet, with blue bandages on his fore-legs” (as a “memoir man,” writing about him and Gamester observed), who died when he was upwards of 88, and won his maiden St. Leger at 80. His racing-tree had its tap-root in Twinkle by Orville, and it bore a crop of paying fruit in Cast Steel, Vanguard, Vindex, Gamester, Vanity, Gadabout, Hunca Munca, Hepatica, Prelude; and Galanthus. He was very fond of them, and very fidgety about them, and on one occasion he took the whim, and wrote his trainer specially, to counter-order Vanguard for Newcastle; but the letter miscarried, and the horse won. Still, he would always have pre- ferred an afternoon with The Antiquary or the Iliad to a racing one, and he was still translating the latter when he died. After Morpeth, the scene shifts to the other side of the line, and the portly form of Mr. Angus, of Whitfield, standing in a field of fog among his Border Leicester lambs, is to us quite a herald of the district. Beyond the fine coursing fields of Bothal,* where Jane Anne first won, and which the “Els” know well, is Woodhorn, whence Mr. Jacob Wilson brought his gay, aged bull, Duke of Tyne, by “ Dick,” to win the first * The Bothal meeting is held over sixteen thousand acres of the Duke of Portland’s property, near Morpeth. A large portion is permanent grass land in ridge and furrow. The fields are not generally above fifteen acres; but many hedges are being removed at the Club’s ex- pense. Hares are so plentiful that they recently ran off a 134-dog-and- bitch puppy stakes, and a 32-dog all-aged stake in five days, and yet only beat one-third of the ground. The present Club is a renewal of that which flourished twenty years ago, and the second founder and president is the Hon. Mr. Ellis, nephew to the Duke of Portland. In addition to the Spring and Autumn (open) Meetings, there are fort- nightly ones, which are well attended. There is no truer type of a pleasant club to promote good sport and good feeling in a county. felton Agricultural Show. 133 Royal prize at Worcester. He was bred by Mr. Spraggon, of Na.erton, on the Tyne side; but his new owner marked him for his own as a calf, and but for Forth, he would have taken first Scottish honours as well. Since his day, a pair of Fowler’s ten-horse engines have been at work, and “torn up” some four thousand acres, and Dream of Pretence and Golden Link and Lady York are fast laying the foundations of a second Carrhead hard by the Eastern seaboard. Mr. Samuel Donkin is not “bending in adoration before the divinities of the sea-shore” to day; but Felton is all alive at his bidding, and as secretary of its Agricultural Society, he “ receives” both in a flower- show marquee among the Castle Woods, and also in the show-field. Thirteen gold cups won by Dr. Syntax, XYZ, and Gallopade are ranged among the flowers ; and if “ Doctor’ had only won the Preston Cup at the last time of asking, four gold shoes would have been added to that store. The sun shone bright on a very animated show-field. Voyageur, the eternal, was there, to the deep grief of the exhibitors of hunters, for crab him as they may in private, judges always had him handy at the finish. There was a fine Colsterdale mare with first-prize ribbons on her head, and just then all the more looked at for Lecturer’s sake. Littlecote, Gamester, and Canny Fellow foals, and some very good ones among them, were grouped with their dams all over the field, and there was many a good word spoken to Gamester’s memory, though the Royal judges said that he “could neither walk nor trot” on the day when he and Laughing Stock and Cavendish were before them at Newcastle. Mr. Jacob Wilson had a four-year-old grey hunter and a chestnut “racing pony,” and both won first prizes; and (with Golden Link and Lady York in aid) he and Mr. Annett achieved so many honours that, after dinner in the booth, one or the other seemed always on the tramp to the chairman for cups or bank-notes. There 134 Saddle and Sirloin. was “the marvellous exposition of the fine arts of the dairy” in a tent, where butter temples were built to the sylvan gods, and rare skinned eggs were arranged in plates. Of course we drank to the fair designers of such architecture ; and Mr. Donkin, who had recently told us, with his wonted wealth of expression, of a villa near Corbridge, ““an embellished abode fit for Juno and her peacocks,” and “the splendour of whose floral and arbiferous productions might tempt an angel down,” eulogised the ladies generally to their faces as “the roses and the lilies” of the day. There is gladness too at the board when Sir Matthew (the chairman) tells that the Privy Council have withdrawn their edict, and that the Irish ram buyers will be at Kelso that year. As we travel towards Chillingham next day, “the Barmshires” seem to be everywhere, save in Chevington Wood, that reclaimed fox cover, where the shaggy stots from Falkirk are up to their knees amid the young oaks and heather. We have them in the foreground, as we sweep past Chrisp’s, of Hawkhill, whose bulls Manfred and Phoenix are not the least in the annals of the “Herd Book” and the show-yard. Mr. Bosanquet, of The Rock, has another century of rams coming for- ward for Kelso, with rare size and skins, on those fine undulating slopes not far from Howick Hall. The Coquet, so renowned for its fishing songs, flows over its rocky bed from the moors, and we connect to its name, not with trout merely, but with many a good coursing day, Dr. Richardson and King Death. A peep at Falloden as our train hurries past reveals Sir George Grey “slaking the thirst of battle” in St. Stephens, with a quiet book on his drive ; and now we are bowling into the little town of Belford, to whose Old Bell, with those comfortable red curtains, Lord Wemyss comes thrice a season for a fortnight at a time. The way from there to Chillingham is over a fine, wild moor, of which Will Williamson might say The Wild Cattle of Chillingham. 135 in truth, “ Well, be thanked, the fox and the hounds have their liberty!’ Kyloe Crags, the Field of Flod- den, Ford Castle, on whom old Cheviot himself looks down, Ross Castle with its heronry, and Hepburn Wood, dear to the woodcock, are all in that expanse of rock and ling, while Chillingham Park rises as it were terrace upon terrace, with the white dots not far: below the sky-line, which tell of its famous “ cattle.” There “« They are grazing, their heads never raising— There are forty feeding like one,” and we have to discard at the first glance every wild- bull-thought for Wordsworth’s milder rhymes. Our ideas change an hour after, as on the keeper’s old horse we ride the hill, and cautiously keeping near a strongly-fenced plantation, so as to be able to abandon the horse on an emergency, and retreat over the rails, we get within a hundred yards of them. We might have got nearer; but a herd of startled bucks trotted past them, and as one rose they all rose, and moved off at a foot’s pace, the old bull behind, and the king bull leading. The latter will find years tell on him in his turn, and when he is seven or eight, two younger ones will attack him fore and aft and he will walk moody and downcast like that deposed monarch in the rear. The herd is generally kept up to 11 bulls, 17 steers, and 32 females, or three score in all. They are made steers of even up to four years old, and it is found even at that stage to improve the beef. It was the practice to do so when they were dropped ; but it was a very dangerous one, and spoilt the bull selec- tion as well. They are tempted into a yard with hay, and there snared, and tied by the neck and horn during the process, and returned next day without any cautery. The steers always grow larger horns, and weigh from 40st. to 5ost. of 14lbs. If it is fair weather they go up the hill, and if stormy they re- main below. They eat very much at night, and mostly 136 Saddle and Sirloin. in company, and often scour a good deal in warm weather. The bulls are of a more tawny shade than the cows, as they fling the dirt very much over their shoulders when they kneel to challenge. Both sexes have black nostrils, horns tipped with black, and a little red within the ears; and in their general look they partake of the Charolais and Highlander com- bined. Their offal is rather coarse, and they have sometimes a tendency to be high on the tail, as well as upright on the shoulder. Like Highland herds going along a road, they are subject to panics, and two gallops in the course of a week one season, owing per- haps to the rustling of deer near them, cost nearly every cow her calf. The calves are dropped in the fern, but they are sad little Tartars ; and if they have been housed, it takes nearly two months to take off the tame smell. A steer and cow were once tamed in a fashion ; but their principal affections centred on hay and bean-meal, while turnips had no charm for them. In winter they follow the hay-cart like any other cattle, and sometimes they have been shot out of it. Their sense of smell is exceedingly acute, and a cow has been seen to run a man’s foot like a sleuth-hound, when he had run for his life to a tree. While Sir Edwin Landseer was taking sketches for his cele- brated pictures, the herd went into action, and he was glad to fly to the forest as they passed by. A study of a bull by Sir Edwin, along with several butterflies and birds on a screen, are among the choicest art treasures at the Castle, where he spends many a sum- mer day, and so is a head of Sir Rowland Errington, once Master of the Quorn, which is merely dashed off on a door panel. But we must turn from these “tameless beef” studies to the more prosaic sheep of the district— those Barmshires or Border Leicesters, which are pecu- liar to the Border counties of Roxburgh, Berwick The Wild Cattle of Chilhingham. 137 and Northumberland, or, as some phrase it, “ the little kingdom of Kelso and Northumberland.” The Dishley blood found its way to the Border in 1767, through Messrs. George ar) . Matthew Culley, one of Crookham Eastfield, and the other of Wark, who went from the banks of the Tees to the Tweedside. One or both of the brothers had been pupils of Mr. Bakewell. They were in partnership to the end of their lives, but took up different lines—George undertaking the manage- ment of the flock, while Matthew was more devoted to agriculture, irrigation,and essays. In process of time Mr. Robert Thompson, who had also studied under Mr. Bakewell, established a Dishley flock first at Lil- burn, and then at Chillingham Barns. The late Mr. Grey of Dilston confirms Mr. Wilson’s pamphlet as to this point, and adds that there were two distinct Dishley families upon these Border farms. We meet with no notice of these two tribes of “ blue caps” and “red legs” in any Bakewell records, but they have been described to us by Mr. Grey. The blue-headed Leicesters, which are now quite out of favour on the Border, were generally rather tender when lambed, and soft-woolled on the scalp, which made them very sensitive to fly-galls. They were handsomer and of greater length than the “red legs,” very good feeders, but rather delicate and light in their wool. Mr. Ro- bertson of Ladykirk and Mr. Thompson of Bogend (his tenant) bought “blue caps” from Mr. Stone, which came, three or four in a cart, from Leicestershire, and were met half-way. The “red legs” were nearer the ground, very compact, with less fat and more fibre, and were generally hardier, and had a more closely- planted fleece. The Culleys and Robert Thompson, and the Kelso and Northumberland men, came to the Ladykirk lettings, as well as McDougall’s of Cessford. At Chillingham Barns the fleeces were hung up and ticketed for the early show, which gradually merged 138 Saddle and Sirlotn. into the September one. A few small men had Cots- wolds and Lincolns; but a great upstanding sheep was not then the fashion on or over the Border. Mr. Grey, who joined the ranks of the flockmasters soon after the beginning of the century, had his “ large Gs” from Messrs. Culley and Mr. Thompson ; but he liked the thick, short-legged Buckleys better, and stuck to the sort for wether breeding. About 1815-20 Lord Pol- warth’s agent bought some of his “ large G” gimmers, and also went for rams to Mr. Jobson of Chillingham New Town. Luke Scott of Easington Grange, near Belford, was a great character in those days. He clung to his little flock of twenty Bakewells with desperate tenacity, even when his farm was gone, and he had to board them out. After Mr. Robert Thompson’s re- tirement, he would use no rams but his own, and when a very favourite ewe broke bounds and was tupped by a “neighbour’s mongrel” (as he called it), he slaugh- tered her without mercy. They flourish on the banks of the Beaumont- Water, and all along the spurs of the Cheviot range, but more especially in the warm and sheltered barley and turnip soils round Kelso and Coldstream. Un- less a hill-farm is annexed to the arable, the whole flock consists of Border Leicesters, and the South Country) Leicester, or “blue head,” is proudly es- chewed., The leading flocks have rather marked peculiarities. Some excel both in size and fleece, while others have lighter fleeces and smaller scrags, but more quality and fashion. A very big head is the characteristic of one or two flocks, and another can generally be told by “the bridge in front of the hock.” Still, of late years, there has been so much interchange of blood, that they are fast becoming of one type, especially in their wool, which has acquired much more staple and curl. The ewes, which are remarkably good milkers, should lamb about the middle of March, and when weaning time The Border Leicesters. 139 is come, the farmer will often give you the choice of “yow or cow” when the cheese is put upon the table. The lambs are dipped a week after the ewes are clipped, so ars to keep the ewes clean. Wether hoggs should be quick off the shears, and not be kept above fourteen months, when they generally reach from 18 to Iglbs. a quarter.* Their wool averages from 7 to 8lbs. all round, and a highly-fed * Since the introduction of so much artificial feeding, the size has been considerably increased, and the ewes are generally fatted off after three crops of lambs at from 26lbs. to 3olbs. a quarter. St. Ninian’s, near Wooller, is the great fair, late in September, for the cast ewes, but some are sold at Cornhill, where they made as much as 63s. to 60s. three autumns since. Penrith dealers have been the principal ewe buyers at St. Ninian’s for the last five-and-forty years, and take on nearly all the lots to the York and Harewood fairs. The best ewes are nearly always picked up by the dealers in the pastures, and the price is governed by St. Ninian’s. Mid-ewe lambs are not sold, but are gene- rally fed off as shearlings with the wether hoggs and the shot gimmers. Some of the best gimmers have fetched 20/. apiece to go to Ireland. Lord Polwarth’s rams, as well as those of a few other flock-masters, were sold by auction at hom * many years. In 1846 the Kelso public sales were establish¢ ae second Thursday in September, and 350 rams were entered, but 1.,. was the highest price. Lord Polwarth’s were first brought to Kelso in 1852. In 1820 his lordship’s home- average had only been 3/. 15s. for 35; whereas in 1865 it was 372. 18s. 10$d. at Kelso for the same number. His lordship’s top sheep went for 95/. that year, and for 106/. in 1867. ‘The supply of rams has become so large, that some breeders haye preferred taking their lots into the Edinburgh sale-ring ; but even with this slight take off, upwards of 2300 rams, the property of between fifty and sixty breeders, are sold annually in the four rings at Kelso. There are two or three grades of purchasers among the Irishmen, who come over in large numbers. Some go up to 15/., but a great many cannot be tempted beyond 7/7. The Caithness men bid with great spirit, and there is generally a commission from North Wales, at least every other year. Lord Penrhyn is in the habit of getting them to cross his pure Leicesters. The cross produces a hardier sheep, with wool as fine and a little longer in the staple. The order of sale in the four rings is decided by lot. Lord Polwarth’s always make a very high average, however low down in the list they may be drawn; but it militates very severely against the great majority of the lots if they are put up after two o’clock. Still, a lot of 85 from a noted breeder has made as much as 11/. 2s. 8d., and 100 have also gone off pretty late in the afternoon at 10/. 12s. 7d.— {For description of Kelso Ram Fair, see ‘‘ Field and Fern” (South), ° PP. 150-56. ] 140 Saddle and Sirloin. tup-hogg will clip to 12lbs., according to the nature of the soil. Clay land is favourable for wool on the belly ; but the finer bred they are the greater the difficulty in preventing it from peeling. The lambs are generally born with a top-knot, but it comes off, and if their whisker or their scrag wool is very plenti- ful, they are pretty certain to peel below. Rams which have this tendency are generally capital graziers, and get better fat lambs, and are therefore in good request for crossing. Their hocks should be rather away from them if they are to follow Cheviot ewes on the hill-side, and to travel on the undulating farms from the banks of the Tweed to the Beaumont. They should also have plenty of bone, and not be round in the shank, and, as with the Dartmoors, a wide tail is a great point. The heads should be long and thin, without any tendency to a blue shade, the ears broad-and erect, the nose brown coloured or hazel, with an open nostril and a large expressive eye. The scrags are hard to keep up to the proper thickness, but still the leg of mutton or the gigdt is the prime difficulty, and there is also a tendency to be too fat on the rib. CHAPTER. VI. ‘‘We eat prodigiously—indeed, so great is our love of good cheer, that we name our children after our favourite dishes. Ifa person in good society is not called ‘Sir Rosbif,’ he will probably answer to the name of ‘Lord Bifstek,’ in honour of the two great national dishes, which we have spelt in that manner from time immemorial.”— “* FOREIGNERS’ PoRTRAITS.”—Sousehold Words. Bakewell’s Longhorns—The Holderness and Teeswater—Great Short- horn Breeders—Mr. Bates—Mr. Faweett’s Recollections of him— Show of Terriers at Yarm—Shoeing Contest—Hound Show at Redcar—Photographing the Huntsmen—The Neasham Hall Stud— Sparkler of the Hurworth—Mr. Wetherell’s Herds. ODERN history has been much too sparing in its prose pictures of pastoral life. A great Bakewell’s Longhorns. 141 general or statesman has never lacked the love of a biographer; but the thoughts and labours of men who lived “remote from cities,” and silently built up an improved race of sheep or cattle, whose influence was to be felt in every market, have had no adequate record. One, ught sketch inthe Gentleman's Magazine is nearly all that remains to us. We can go back, through its guidance, to the days when Bakewell was a living name, and Dishley the head-quarters to which all the best breeders of farm stock made resort. The scene rises up through the dim vista of more than a hundred years. There are the willow clumps which were cut on a seven years’ rotation; the water mea- dows, which grew four grass crops in the season ; the mimic Dutch canal, which supplied the sluices and carried boats laden with produce and manure between different parts of the farm, and on whose sluggish stream turnips were floated down to the stock, and washed in the course of their sail! “Two Pounder” is brought out by the shepherd, with all the respect due to such a patriarch of the long-wools. Will Peet is on parade with the black cart stallion; and John Breeder and Will Arnold, hazel wand in hand, have gathered the herd into a corner of the Long Pasture, and listen eagerly for any word that may be dropped about their favourites. In the business room there are not only skeletons but pickled carcases of sheep, whose points were most after their breeder's heart ; but he shows with no less relish some beef joints, the relics of his “Old Comely,” which died at twenty-six, and the outside fat of a sirloin fully four inches thick. The latter were his Longhorn trophies, and no man could boast of a herd with deeper flesh and lighter offal. In his eyes the breed was fated to represent the roast beef of Old England for ever. and aye ; and the thought that the very glory of their heads would be objected to as taking up too much room in the strawyards, and that a race with shorter horns and 142 Saddle and Sirloin. earlier maturity from “the banks of the stately Tees” would ruthlessly push them from their place and reduce them to a mere fraction in the Midlands, never vexed his soul. Their hold of public favour had been long and sure, and their greatest triumph was to come. If ‘Two Pounder” had then the reputation of earning 800 guineas in one season and serving some picked home ewes as well, the Dishley bull, “ Two Penny,” was fated to make the herd of Fowler of Rollright, and swell its sale average to 812. 145. 3d. for fifty-one ! Longhorns of some kind or another, and generally with good milk marks and the faculty of fattening at a great age, were at this period the farmers’ friends. They excited the admiration of Dr. Johnson in Derby- shire, and led him to note that his host ‘‘whose tall: is of bullocks,” sold one of them for 100 guineas ; and as good prices were obtained for the armenta fronte fata—those blacks with white backs, which Sir A. Ramsay took to Scotland as a cross for the Aberdeen- shire, and whose horn practice in Garstang market was duly felt and recorded by Pennant as he journeyed towards the Hebrides. The Holderness, a fine, large-framed breed, with good backs, long quarters, remarkably clean, straight legs, and well-developed udders, grazed in the district north of the Humber. Many of them were white, with blue or bay flecks ; but the largest number were dark mouse and white, and, as was natural from their proximity to Hull and their general appearance, they were thought to be of Dutch origin. Milk was their specialty, and Mr. Curwen was wont to value the dairy produce of his twenty at 25/.a year. Under the local name of “ Teeswaters,” the Shorthorns, to which the Holderness seemed to bear most affinity in character, had got a strong hold in Durham several years before the close of the century ; but still it was not until “The Durham Ox” commenced his six years of RN ly The Teeswaters. 143 caravan life in 1801 that the doom of the Longhorns was virtually sealed. The Teeswaters* were cattle of great substance, but somewhat ungainly in form, and were thought to give less but richer milk than the Holderness. The fragments of .ustory on which their origin rests are somewhat shadowy and uncertain. Some contend therefrom that they must be of Dutch origin, and only another version of the Holderness ; and others, with equal zeal, that their tap-root is to be found in the West Highlands, or that the earlier breeders always fell back on its bulls for a cross if they thought that their herd was losing constitution. There is certainly some confirmation of this opinion ig the peculiarly sharp horns and ink-black noses which will appear at intervals. The admirers of the “ Princesses” make good “the claims of long descent” as far back as 1739, on Stephenson’s farm at Ketton; and it is also said that the ancestress of the “ Duchesses” roamed in Stanwick Park two hundred years ago, and that none of the tribe had been out of the Northumberland family until Charles Colling bought them. Be this as it may, the Teeswaters’ capability of development, which the St. Quintin, the Pennyman, and the Milbank families were among the first to recognise, had suggested itself to many a. long-headed Durham farmer as well as the Brothers Colling ; but private herd-books were hardly in vogue, and the patient pilgrimage of Coates, through sunshine and shower, with his grey pony and saddle-bags, has not had the * An eminent living authority thus writes us of the Teeswater breed of sheep: ‘‘ They were nearly as big as a jackass, and had nearly as large bone. Gradually they went out of use, and there is not a sem- blance of them left. They had raw lugs and no horns, long watery wool, of which you could count the strings, some of which seemed six- teen inches long. I have heard of fleeces weighing 22lbs. Some of them killed with ordinary keep to 4olbs. a quarter, but they were gra- dually crossed out by Leicester rams, which lessened the size, and im- proved the grazing qualities.” 144 Saddle and Sirloin. effect of tracing the breed further back than four crosses beyond “ Hubback” (319), who was calved iy Py: If the red-and-white Studley bull (626), bred by Sharter of Chilton, and the founder of the: Gwynne or “Princess” tribe, may claim to be the “ Abraham of shorthorns,” James Brown’s red bull (97) and Jolly’s bull (337) are very early names on the roll. Seventeen or eighteen crosses separate the Duchesses from the one, and the Maynard and Mason tribes are in direct descent from the other. Only 710 bulls were registered in the first volume of Coates’ Herd-book, which was published in 1822; but the fifteenth showed, under Mr. Strafford’s care, an accession of 1959 in two years, and the seventeenth brought up the numbers to Zemi (25,481). The germ of this wonderful array.must have been considered an “improved” county breed as far back as 1787. Hutchinson of Sockburn had then a cow good enough to be modelled for the cathedral vane, and had also beaten Robert Colling in a bull class. Other Durham breeders stood proudly on their family tribes. The “ Lizzies” were with Charge of Newton, and Rose’s and Fisher’s stock can be traced to Corn- forth of Barforth. Robert Colling had set his seal to Hill of Blackwell’s herd, and nearly all the best men were dipping into the blood of Millbank of Barning- ham. It was from his sort that there sprang the “old yellow cow by ‘ Punch,’” which was grandam of “the white heifer that travelled.” The Maynards* * Maynard’s ‘‘ Favourite” tribe was very early in repute, and Charles Colling (who had previously picked up his ‘‘Cherry” or ‘* Peeress” tribe in Yarm Market) never rested till he had bought the cow and her calf, ‘‘ Young Strawberry,” by Charge’s ‘‘ Dalton Duke ” (188). He then changed the cow’s name to ‘‘ Lady Maynard,” and it was upon her tribe that he used the Galloway or ‘‘alloy blood” through ‘‘Grandson of Bolingbroke” (280), which made the highest average in its hour of trial at Ketton. Her descendants were also Great Shorthorn Breeders. 145 were also in the front rank, and it became their sound family custom to pitch eight bullocks and as many heifers in Darlington market, on the first Monday of March, as a sample of the Eryholme pastures. The bullocks were from four to five years old, with fine, wide horns, good. bone, and very deep flesh ; and they were keenly low xed out for, year after year, on the pavement opposite the King’s Head. The aim of the Brothers Colling was to reduce the size and improve the general symmetry and flesh- points of their beasts. ‘‘ Beauty,” sister to “ Punch” (531), had spread their fame beyond the county ; and in 1799 “the Durham Ox,” by “ Favourite” (252) came out first at Darlington with his half-sister of the “Duchess” tribe. The latter was quite as great a wonder in her way, and confirmed Mr. Bates’s fancy for the sort which was hereafter to be linked with his name. The subsequent travels of the Ox brought a large bull trade to Ketton and Barmpton. It would have been strange if they had not, as his live weight was 216 stones of 1I4lbs., and that not got by un- wieldly bulk, but by the ripeness of all his soints. He ultimately dislocated his hip and was slaughtered, and; curiously enough, his show career ended at Oxford, where, nearly a third of a century later, that of the Royal Agricultural Society began. Even at the Ketton sale in 1810, the taste for shorthorns was confined within a narrow compass, as Durham, Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, Northumberland, and Westmoreland were the only counties which pur- chased. Some of the few survivors of the assembly crossed most successfully with ‘‘Foljambe” (263), the sire of ** Phoenix,” the dam of the bull ‘‘ Favourite” (252), who was in his turn the sire of the thousand-guinea ‘‘ Comet” (155). ‘* Hubback” (319) has always been considered the great regenerator of shorthorns ; but he did not do Charles Colling so much good as ‘‘ Foljambe,” who was from a ‘‘ Hubback” cow, and he was parted with at the end of two seasons. ; L 146 Saddle and S7rloin. on that day still speak of “Comet” as the most symmetrical bull they have ever seen. He was not very large, but with that infallible sign of constitu- tion, a good wide scorp or frontlet, a fine placid eye, a well-filled twist, andan undeniable back. His price caused breeders everywhere to prick up their ears. They had already heard of Fowlerrefusing 1000 guineas for a longhorn bull and three cows, as well as fora cow and her produce of eight seasons; but never of one bull achieving that sum. The spirit south of the Humber was fairly roused at last, and when, eight years after, the Barmpton herd came to the hammer, the representatives of four or five more counties were found at the ring-side. The Rev. Thomas Harrison and Mr. Edmonds of Boughton had often talked to Lord Althorp, Sir Charles Knightley, and Mr. Arbuthnot, in the Pytchley Club or woodlands, of the great day at Ketton, and his lordship sent a commis- sion to Barmpton, when Robert Colling parted with everything but his heifer calves, for three heifers and a bull ; while a Nottinghamshire and a Leicestershire. man joined in the highest-priced lot, ‘“ Lancaster” (621 guineas), which had some five crosses of “Favourite” (252) in his veins. For many years previous to this sale Mr. Bates had been breeding shorthorns by the Tyne side, and bringing his beasts, as Sir Hugh Smythson had done before him, to periodical scale tests. Still, he does not seem to have struck out any especial herd-line for himself till he took up his fancy for the Duchess tribe. Charles Colling assured him that the cow which he bought in 1784 out of Stanwick Park was the best he ever had or ever saw, and sold him her great-grand- daughter “ Duchess,” by “ Daisy Bull” (186). She was the prelude to Mr. Bates’s purchase of “ Duchess Ist” by “ Comet” (155), the only “ Duchess” at the Ketton sale, and a very cheap lot at 186 guineas, as, inde- pendently of her produce, her new owner left it on Mr. Bates. 147 record that she gave 14lbs. of butter (21 oz. to the lb.) per week for six weeks after calving. “ Belvedere” (1706), of the ‘ Princess” tribe, was the bull which Mr. Bates selected to “bring out the Duchesses.” He was small and plain, and with rather rough shoulders, but as soft as a mole in his touch. The Brothers Colling had a most faithful disciple in the: .irklevington philosopher, as his cele- brated show-bull “ Duke of Northumberland” (1940) was by “ Belvedere,” dam by “ Belvedere ;’ and was thus bred on precisely the same principle as four of their leading animals, “Comet” and “The Ox,” “Punch” and “ Broken Horn’—rather an instructive comment on the popular timidity which eschews even an approach to in-breeding. Mr. Bates led the shorthorn ranks of the Royal Agricultural Society both at Oxford and Cambridge, and it was his lot to breed the second one thousand guinea bull, and to fashion the model of the moulds in which such cows as “Second Grand Duchess,” “ Oxford 15th,” and “ Duchess 77th,” were duly cast and quickened. Still no one contributed more towards shorthorn progress than Mason of Chilton, who got rid of the open shoulders and improved the fore-quarters generally. His sale in 1829 was to breeders quite a season of re- freshing after a long and dreary drought. Earl Spencer took heart of grace, and bought a bull and sixteen cows and heifers; and Captain Barclay (who began in 1822) laid a still more solid foundation with, “Lot 20, ‘Lady Sarah.” Such a splendid lot of cows as those at Chilton were seldom seen together, and the one from which Earl Spencer bred most was No. 25 (36 guineas), or Wiseton’s dam. Whitaker of Burley held his first sale soon after. He had always gone for milking tribes in his quiet Yorkshire valley, and laid much stress upon the pur- chase of “ Magdalena,” by “Comet” (155), the only cow which was kept out of the Ketton sale catalogue. L 2 148 Saddle and Sirloin. The Americans, and more especially Colonel Powell and the Ohio Company, had heard of her and her 32 quarts a day in their repeated visits to Burley. They generally left Yorkshire with the belief that “aman might ride four hacks to death in the North, and not find twenty such cows as Mr. Whitaker’s ;” and they were among his best customers for a series of years. Sir Charles Knightley gradually became quite a Whitaker to the Midlands, when he gave up hounds about 1818, and laid himself in with the “ Rosy” and “Ruby” tribes, and his friend Arbuthnot’s bulls. He always said that it was “ quite an acquired taste,” but he took to it with singular heartiness. He strove to put shoulders on his cattle as perfect as those of his own hunters, “ Benvolio” and “Sir Marinel.” Beau- tiful fore-quarters, gay carriage, general elegance, and a strong family likeness distinguished his tribes, and their fine milking powers placed them (like “Cold Cream” and “ Alix,” of the Royal Home Farm) at the head of many a dairy. “A Fawsley fill-pail” soon . passed into a herd proverb; and a dip into the blood of the “ Earl of Dublin” (10,178) and the “ Friars”— White or Grey—was pretty sure to make one. The “Old Cherry,” by “ Pirate” (2430) tribe, which came originally from William Colling of Stapleton, was in high force when “ Gainford steers” were told at a glance, and valued at a good pound more, and when Mr. Crofton had taken such rare prize heifers by him and “ The Provost” (4846) to the Highland Society and other shows. Colonel Cradock liked the sort for their size and milk, and they “nicked” well both with the Booth and the Bates blood. Crossed with “Grand Duke” (10,284), they founded the “ Cherry Dukes” and “ Duchesses ;” and it was to “Mussulman” (4525) that John Booth sent his celebrated “ Bracelet,” and had “ Buckingham” (3239) for his reward. The Booth family began at Studley about 1790, The Booth Family. 149 with Teeswaters and “Twin Brother to Ben” (660) ; and lengthening the hind-quarters, filling up the fore- flank, and breeding with a view to that fine deep flesh and constitution which bears any amount of forcing, have been their especial aim. It was the late Mr. Richard Booth’s opinion that no bull had done his herd so much good as “ Albion” (14), of “the alloy blood,” and Mr. Whitaker and Mr. Wetherell were quite with him on the point. It may be said that shorthorns generally have grown smaller in frame, and that there is perhaps not that rich coat and uniformity of character which marked some of the earlier herds; but still those who can make the comparison from memory are fain to allow that, in their flesh-points and general weights, the breed knows no decay. What the Brothers Colling were in earlier days, the Brothers Booth have been in later. If the elder could boast of “ Necklace” with the wondrous crops, and “ Bracelet,” in whom none could find a fault, save a trifling defi- ciency in the fore-rib, it was left to the younger to keep up the type with the beautiful “ Charity,” whose twist and hind-legs might have been modelled from, and to follow it up with “ Plum Blossom,” “ Nectarine Blossom,” “ Queen of the Ocean,” and “ Queen of the May.” Richard Booth and Crofton might be said to have initiated the modern plan of keeping beasts far more in the house, and preparing them specially with a view to shows. No blood has been more widely ‘spread than that of “Warlaby” and “ Killerby” throughout the United Kingdom, or commanded a finer bull-hiring trade ; and it was from “ Buttercup,” a daughter of “ Barmpton Rose,” and crossed with Booth’s “ Jeweller” (10,354) that “ Butterfly” sprang, the chief foundress, with “ Frederick,” (11,489) of the Towneley herd, whose victories in the store and fat shows combined are wholly without parallel. A very painful chord was struck at the Yorkshire Agricultural Meeting of ’49, when hundreds of friends 150 Saddle and Sirloin. who expected once more to grasp him by the hand, and to enjoy the half-sportive, half-sarcastic lecture on each prize beast of “the old man eloquent” of Kirklevington, learnt for the first time that Mr. Bates had gone to his rest, and that their shorthorn festival was on his funeral day. His heart was with horn and hoof to the last, and there was no “ cruel Phyllis” to cross him in ¢hat love. Those who have strolled with him in his pastures, can reca!l how the cows and even the young heifers would lick his hand, and seem to listen to every gentle word and keen comment, as if they penetrated its import; and even when the last struggle was nigh, and he could wander amongst them no more, he reclined on some straw in the cow-house, that his eye might not lack its solace. We had never been in the neighbourhood before a meeting of the Cleveland Society tempted us to Yarm, on one of whose inn signs the bull “ Duke” still flourishes. When the hound prizes were decided, we strolled out to Kirklevington. Hard by the churchyard is the calf-house, in which Fourth Duke of Northumberland and the Duchesses and Oxfords were reared, but the great philosopher* of shorthorns lay * Mr. James Fawcett, who often stayed with him at Halton Castle, in Northumberland, some two-and-fifty years ago, thus writes us: ‘‘I have endeavoured 0 recall from the depths of memory some of the byegone days spent with my old friend and tutor, Mr. Bates. Having studied at the Edinburgh University, he was well up to the chemical and scientific part of his business, and far beyond his neighbours in that respect. ‘The chief enjoyment, however, of his life was in his cow pastures, which were generally visited once or twice a day, and the history and points of each animal made known to any visitor as it came up to have its head ru»bed. On these occasions he was in the habit of manipulating the animals all over, pressing them gently with his fingers, thereby to detect any unevenness or want of quality in any particular part, and guard against the patchy appearance that so many shorthorns exhibit, being overloaded in one place and bare in another. I well re- member the interest and pains he took to initiate me into the mysteries of ‘handling.’ ‘‘ What he termed quality, he considered the most essential point in cattle, and under this designation he included aptitude to fatten, Mr. Bates. 151 in the churchyard just over the wall, without a stone to mark his resting-place.* early maturity, symmetry, fineness of bone, and, above all, the cover- ing of the frame evenly with flesh of a delicate fibre and well intermixed with fat, and to his steady perseverance towards this end his breed undoubtedly owe their fame. In those days he had very few pure Duchesses and Kettons, but a number of beautiful cows by Ketton and Ketton 2nd from choice Argyleshire heifers, which he had selected with the view of rearing an original herd like Charles Colling’s, whose success he attributed to the judicious blending of that blood obtained through Grandson of Bolingbroke with the best shorthorns of the day. ‘* From some cause or other he lost the Argyleshire tribes after leav- ing Northumberland, and steadily cultivated the Duchesses, and one or two other tribes, among the best of which were Red Rose and Fairy, two splendid cows from Mr. Hustler. From the former he bred Second Hubback by The Earl, which he considered the best bull he ever had, and destined to become quite a regenerator of shorthorns. He was a light red bull, with a lemon muzzle, and as perfect in his points as could be desired, at the same time evenly and smoothly covered with flesh of the best possible quality. Mr. Bates considered Mr. Charles Colling to have been the most thorough judge of cattle of his day, and, in fact, the originator of the:improved shorthorn, having imbibed his knowledge from Mr. Bakewell of Dishley, with whom he lived some time 77 statu pupillari. He thought that his brother Robert’s fame as a breeder was entirely due to the superior judgment of Charles, whose bull Favourite was the undoubted fountain-head of pedigrees and the source of their distinction, being the sire of Comet, Ketton, &c., &c., as well as of the famous old cow Princess and of her daughter, the Favourite cow, the dam of the first Duchess. Princess and her daughter were purchased by Mr. Bates from Mr. Charles Colling, and were the foundation of his herd. “*Mr. Bates used to describe Favourite as a very rich roan, robust, and massive animal, with a very fine, long, and downy coat and superb handling, but by no means so pointy a bull as his son Comet, although a much better sire. He thought him so much better than the other that he did not scruple to breed in-and-in with him several times, and with success. He was an advocate for that mode of breeding, and at last preferred it to having recourse to impure blood, as there was appa- rently (in that day at least) no bad result from it in his cattle, which were distinguished by their vigour and healthy appearance. To dairy properties, a thing too often overlooked, he paid great attention, and very few of his cows were deficient in this respect. He was a man of warm feelings, and either a strong friend or a bitter enemy. Though most acute and observing, he was liable to prejudice, and a splendid dogmatizer, but none have left a more decided mark on our shorthorn history.” * Thanks to the exertions of Mr. Housman and a few other lovers of shorthorns, a tombstone has been erected since then. [52 Saddle and Sirloin. Now, that perhaps less prejudiced but not more clear-cutting brains are left to work their way up that channel of science which he buoyed out, each year confirms the belief that he was not so very far wrong when, in speaking of one of his best Duchesses, he said to Lord Althorp, ‘‘ The destiny of shorthorns de- pends on this calf—this slender thread of a calf.”* In the following year Mr. Bates saw the merits of the Princess or St. Albans tribe (which had recovered the quality that Jupiter lost) so keenly at Mason’s sale, that he determined, if possible, to get his new cross from it. At that time St. Albans, who went back direct to Favourite and Hubback, missing the dreaded Punch, was about fifteen years old, and he had been lct for three years into Northumberland. Mason had got him in a sly way at first for 20/, through a butcher, whom he sent as his agent; and when Mr. Wood was at Chilton three years after, and only caught a glimpse of his head, he exclaimed, “ Why, there's my old Prince; he was bought to kill.” And sure enough it was Prince, but canonized in life as“. St. Albans?’ How to bring about his long-cherished combination * Although he had got as far as (63), he had made but little figure with the Duchesses, when he moved from the Tyneside to Kirkleving- ton, whither Red Rose, who had been bought from Mr. Hustler, ac- companied him. She was three removes from Favourite on one side and two on the other, and from the union of her and the Earl (646) came Secgnd H equal to the First Hubback ; but the author Jhat he termé>*” 3 not the man to speak against his convicttle, and undei> Mr. Bates. 153 of the Princess of Barmpton and the Duchess of Ketton blood was now the problem which puzzled the lord of Kirklevington, and which Belvedere so happily solved. Oddly enough, this bull had been living only ten miles off him, and for two long years his friend, Mr. Atkin- son Greenwell, had urged him to go and have a look. One day he did condescend to drive over, and strange as the coincidence may seem, the moment he in his turn merely glanced at the bull’s head through a square hole, he knew that it was the blood he was seeking ; and he said to himself, “ Thou art mine, of money ‘ll buy thee.’ And buy him he did, then and there, for 50/, which he drew in notes from his pocket, and permission to “send cows to the bull while he lives.” The man demurred when the money was paid, and said rather sorrowfully to a friend afterwards, “T might as well have had a hundred from Tommy Bates—he was so varra keen of him.’* * The Waterloo and Wild Eyes were fresh additions about the era of Belvedere, from whose cross with Red Rose 9th came Cambridge Rose rst ; and so well did it nick, that Belvedere was put on her in turn. At the sale, however, this tribe was reduced to Cambridge Rose 5th, and her two calves by Third Duke of York. The great triumph of Belve- dere was still to come from another cross with his own daughter, Duchess 34th, who beat Necklace at York. She had broken her fore- leg, and Mr. Bates was within an ace of selling her to the Americans, but luckily Mr. Whitaker got him off it, and she lived to produce the Duke of Northumberland a few months after. With the exception of this famous roan, she never bred any but red and whites, and Mr. Bates was determined to try the effect of a third Belvedere cross with his prize yearling at Oxford (which was own sister to the Fourth Duke of Northumberland) if she had not been prematurely choked with a turnip. To the eye of a well-known authority on these matters, ‘‘ Duke” looked avery delicate calf at five months ; but his owner, strong in the faith of the double Favourite cross in Comet, which he had here striven to emulate, drew himself proudly up, and said, ‘‘ Well! sir, I have the greatest hopes of him.” After all his honours, ‘‘ Duke” came to no very glorious end, as he had been kept low for the purpose of being put on Cleveland Lad’s stock, and he died fairly maw-bound from the effects of some mouldy hay, leaving the 2nd Duke of Oxford as the inheritor of his honours. It was with ‘‘ Duke” and the Oxford Cow, and his two Duchess heifers, that Mr. Bates set forth and won every prize he showed for at the first Meeting of the Royal Agricultural Society in 1839. 154 Saddle and Sirloin. Mr. Bates had two very favourite maxims—one that he “could find forty men fit to be a Premier, for one fit to judge shorthorns ;” and the other that there was “no place for shorthorns, like the Valley of the Wharfe.” The late Mr. Whitaker and Mr. Fawkes of Farnley have proved this to the full; but it was left They came in a steamboat to London, and walked to Oxford, and it was said at the time that nothing but the presence of Mr. Bates, and the soothing effect of his pat and his ‘‘foor Duke!” prevented the bull from slipping off the stage into the water when he turned awkward, and declined to re-embark. With the victory of his Cambridge cow, and eight months’ bull-calf at Cambridge next year, and his bull Cleve- land Lad at Liverpool, the Royal prize winning era of Mr. Bates virtually ceased (in fact, he hardly ever showed again), and that of the Booths began. The Oxford tribe sprang from a cow by Matchem, supposed by St. Albans, whom Mr. Bates accidentally bought after Mason’s sale. He did not admire his choice, and when she had bred a calf to Duke of Cleveland, who ripened into the Oxford premium cow, she was packed off to Darlington. Mr. Bate’s lucky star was in the ascendant that market-day, as no one would bid within 2/. of the 11/7. which he had set on her, and she afterwards calved Cleveland Lad, Cleveland 2nd (the sire of Grand Duke), and Oxford 2nd, all to Shorttail by Belve- dere. Her Oxford premium cow was deficient in girth and gaudy be- hind, and in fact her owner was so ashamed of her in that point, that when she was beaten by Bracelet at Berwick, he hung not a “‘ calf-skin” but a horse-rug ‘‘on those recreant limbs,” and vowed he would show her no more. Failure as she might be, there was no mistake as to the cross between the Duke of Northumberland and her half-sister Oxford 2nd, resulting as it did in that fine bull, 2nd Duke of Oxford, who was put on the Duchess tribe, and got five out of the eight plums on the Kirklevington day. At Mr. Bates’s sale Lord Ducie was as undaunted as ever, and it was nothing but being, in racing phrase, ‘‘a good beginner” which secured him the 4th Duke of York so cheap. He had ‘‘ determined to buy him, or make him dear for some one ;”’ and he put him in so promptly at 200 guineas, that although one gentleman at least wished to have him at two hundred more, a sort of stagnation supervened, amid which Mr. Stafford’s glass ran down. If the first bid had only been a hundred, three at least would have gone on. It was this sale which first opened that Duchess tribe to the world, which had been increasing, and then dwindling at Kirklevington, during the forty years since ‘‘ T. Bates, Esq.,” had been written opposite ‘‘38. Young Duchess, 2 years old, by Comet, dam by Favourite, 183 guineas,” in Mr. Kingston’s catalogue on the Ketton day. She was bulled by Comet at the time, and Mr. Bates had never once deserted the blood except for one cross with Stephenson’s Belvedere. The Tortworth Sale. 155 to Major Gunter to found a second Kirklevington on its banks, and to vow that eternal allegiance to the Duchesses and the Oxfords which their great founder had done. His Wetherby Grange estate is well adapted for its new colony, which moved there in the August of 1857, from Earl’s Court, near Kensington. It consists of 600 acres on both sides of the river, 400 of which are kept in grass. The house once belonged to “ Kit Wilson,” the owner of Comus, and the father of the Turf, and some of his horses were trained in the Park. It was at Tortworth that the Major’s steward, Mr. Knowles, confirmed the rich experience he had gained under Mr. Thomas Mason at Broughton, and gathered the germs of that herd which he has so ably helped to found for his new master. Tortworth, on August 24th, 1853, was a veritable Bunker’s Hill removed. Eng- land was pitted against America once more—the guineas of the old country against the “ almighty dollars” of the new. Messrs. Morris and Becar bid by their agent ; but Mr. Thorne did his own business, in a cool Quaker-like style, with which it was almost hope- less to cope. His first English purchase for Thorn- dale was a 14-guinea bull-calf at Captain Pelham’s sale, which he afterwards sold for upwards of 300 guineas to the West of America. It is calculated that he laid out at least fifteen thousand in five years on shorthorns ; and he bought up fifty-two lots when the Morris and Becar confederacy was dissolved by the latter’s untimely death, at prices which had hitherto only been read of by his countrymen in the English prints. But for Major Gunter and Mr. Tanqueray, who upset all the wise counsels which had been taken at the Gloucester caucus over-night, the Duchess tribe would have departed bodily across the Atlantic.* * Previous to the Tortworth sale, Major Gunter had only a few Alderneys and ordinary Shorthorns, and he had not made up his mind as 156 Saddle and Sirloin. The specialty of the Cleveland Show, when it was held at Yarm, proved to be the fox terriers. On our way down we tried in vain to impress upon a man, whose Twitch and Viper and Myrtle were as fat as guinea pigs, that the small and smooth whites were the only orthodox sort, and that he must banish hope. Of course he wouldn’t have it. His dogs had Lamb- ton and Fitzwilliam blood in them, and the former “wur always hairy.” That didn’t convince us, so he urged that “the Hurworth have been glad enough, time upon times, to send for yon dog’s grandfather to get a fox out for them,” and “as for his dam, she’s been painted ten times over.” However, the owner of the trio and sundry other vagrant professors of fox drawing took nothing by their journey. One Peeping to whether he should buy on that day ; but the bitter complaints of some Gloucestershire farmers, who shared his waggon, as to the Americans getting Duchess 59th fired him into action at last. He accordingly bid 200 guineas for the twentieth lot, Duchess 64th, but it was hardly taken, and his 400 guineas was soon left in the rear by the Trans- | atlantic rivals. He did not touch the 700-guinea Duchess 66th, but Duchess 67th, the fifteen-months’ heifer by Usurer out of Duchess 59th (the highest-priced female at the Kirklevington sale), fell to his nod for 350 guineas, and then Duchess 7oth by Duke of Glo’ster (11,382), out of Duchess 66th, followed suit for 310 gs. She was only a trifle over six weeks, and the Americans had no idea of leaving her ; but as one of them said afterwards, it was ‘‘ the way in which that other bidder said ‘and ten guineas’ almost before my bidding was out of my mouth, that made me falter and give in.” It was with these two and Duchess 69th by 4th Duke of York, whom he afterwards bought privately at nine months for 500 guineas from Mr. Tanqueray, that Major Gunter commenced his herd. Duchess 67th was sent at a 25-guinea fee to 4th Duke of Oxford, and Duchess 69th to Mr. Tanqueray’s Duke of Cam- bridge, who was afterwards so famed at Fawsley, and Duchess 72nd and Archduke were the respective results. His next purchase was the 6th Duke of Oxford at Hendon, for 200 guineas, and his dam Oxford 11th for 500 guineas more, when she was just four years old. He originally intended to have bought the Duke of Cambridge ; but Mr. Strafford’s glass ran out in favour of the Fawsley baronet, who, strange to say, had Azs eye rather on the 6th Duke of Oxford. Lord Fever- sham had shown his opinion of 5th Duke of Oxford by giving 300 guineas for him as a five months’ calf at Tortworth, and he won at Chester and Northallerton. Show of Terriers at Yarm. Lay Tom, who had found a friendly rent in the canvas of the terrier tent soon told a cluster of owners their fate. “Ah! man,’ says he to his next friend, “ that lang chap vt trean’s reet eneugh ; they're leuking at nowt but the slape coats and the white uns.’ And so it was, for Captain Williams, a true lover of the sort, for Venom and Rage of the Rufford’s sake, had selected three out of the sixteen whites for the prizes. Ben Morgan’s fourth son, little Joe, was lying on the top platform, caressing Nettle vigorously in honour of her being second. She was seven years old, and had done Ben a world of honest service both in drawing and breed- ing. Once she was land locked in an East Riding earth with four badgers in front of her and two behind, and Ben said it was like discovering a subterranean Zoological Gardens. Martin Care of the Morpeth was first with his two-year-old, Pincher, which had only been three times in an earth, but as foxes take to rocks, pit drifts, sandhills, and conduits pretty freely in that country, he was in for a very rich and varied experience. Charles Treadwell was third, with Wasp or Tickler, but he hung rather more to Gyp, a broad- breasted black-and-tan whose grandfather Jack had been with him at Quorn and Coldstream. The six- teen in the rough interest were of all colours, blue, white, yellow, black-and-tan, and brown-and-white. Their owners, of course, said that they wouldn’t ex- change theirs for the winners “xo, not for two of em,” and also drew much comfort from the fact that a soli- tary white “slape coat” had a wall eye. Mr. Hill’s Bonny Bell was the “ sensation” foxhound of the day, and the greatest character among the huntsmen was Robert Bruce of the Haydon. He was a tall, lean, hard-bitten sort of old fellow, clad in a velvet cap and well stained scarlet swallow tails. He brought two couple, but they were of a coarse, queer stamp, no doubt “deegars to gan’ among their native heather and Scotch fir plantings, and ready, in the words of 158 Saddle and Sirloin. their guide, to “ teer doon a fox lang afore these grand bred uns they mak soe much talk of have fun him.” After this we paid our tribute to the district’s taste for iron, and went for a little change among the com- peting blacksmiths. Each of them had to forge a fore and hind foot shoe out of scrap iron, to dress the fore foot, and to fix the fore shoe only; and a striker was allowed in forging the shoes. A few village adherents had got round some of the men, and gradually worked them up into steam arm pace. One aspiring Tubal Cain strung up his nerves to “do or die” in fifteen minutes, and when the last nail was rivetted, he flung himself, with grimy beads of perspiration starting from his brow, quite melodramatically among a knot of his supporters, with the ejaculation: “ He'// be a queer’un who licks me.’ We felt quite an interest in him after such a Pogram defiance, and eventually discovered him with the second prize ticket in his button-hole. Still he did not conceal his chagrin that “a slow 28- minute fellow’ should have beaten him. The ruck were much more demonstrative. One of them, who said that he was “ highly commended,” shook his fist quite savagely at his fellow, and said, “ Dang! I’ have you for a fi-pun note ony day,’ and desired to strip then and there, and show his muscle gratis. Two years glide by and we are once more passing Yarm, its high-level bridge and its orchards, on a fine August morning on our way to another Cleveland Show at Redcar. Mr. Booth’s Beechwood, after winning at Grantham the day before, has been scratched for the hunter prize and has left the train at Northallerton, and his owner elects to stand on the Van Galen gelding. There was no Preston Junction hitch this year, but still sixteen miles an hour seems our average rate of progression. On our right is the new Stockton racecourse, commanding that ‘“‘ view of the mineral hills,” which the committee impressed so much on race-horse owners in their Weatherby Book Flound Show at Redcar. 159 Calendar description of the ground. “I often in fancy,” he wrote, “fly away to Givendale, as the the Eddlethorpe lettings, where he once gave 60} guineas, after a sharp contest with Mr. John Simpson. In 1845 he went to Mr. Wiley for the first time, and for fourteen years never missed drawing on his beloved ‘‘union of Buckley and Burgess, with a dash of Stone.” He has also visited the last-named breeder at Barrow on his own account. His first Sanday essay was in 1854, with a two-shear, which took a first prize in Mr. Sanday’s hands at the Royal Carlisle Show, and in one of his many hirings from Holmpierrepont, he took the shearling which Mr. ’ Creswell bought at the sale. Mr. Edwards, of Market Weighton’s draft ewes of Sledmere-Burgess blood, started him in 1840, and he con- tinued to get a few each year through a friend. In 1854 he bought ten ewes and aram from Mr. Buckley, and as many more at Mr. Hewitt’s second sale, in the same year, and half a dozen at Mr. Sanday’s first sale in 1860. He generally lambs about 180, and lets from 50 to 60 tups. This year and last they averaged about 10/., but none of them have quite touched the Sanday and Wiley Tibthorpe, who was let to Mr. Stavely of Tibthorpe for 372. Ios. as a two-shear, and for 30/. Ios. the next year. Firm mutton, thick wool, and purity of blood have been all Mr. Singleton’s aim, and, unlike many flock-masters on the Wolds, he never would have a dash of Lincoln. His first public auction was in 1855, and his customers are almost entirely Yorkshire men, and include six or seven ram-breeders. ‘‘Sim” Templeman is a regular customer and he is pretty generally brought in for a speech when ‘‘ The Turf” is drunk with all the honours, as is only fitting in a Yorkshire congress. In 1867, Commander-in-Chief, so called after the celebrated Warlaby bull, stood at the head of the list, and there was no mistaking, when you glanced at his fleece, ‘‘the reason why” Mr. George Lane Fox’s agent had given 28/. 5s. for him. Young Commander-in-Chief was hired by Sir Tatton Sykes in 1869 for 417. The best shearling at sa ne made 35/. 10s., and the best two-shear 37/. 10s., ior relano, 254 Saddle and Sirloin. most rural and quietest country retreat I know, like the bird that flees to the hill to be at rest.” He would saunter for hours down that glen to his wonted bench beneath the elm near the cottages. There he would sit and sketch, as his fancy took him, the elm, ash, larch, beech, willow, elderberry, or Lombardy poplar in Pit’s planting, or Beck’s, just across the little brook. His walk seldom extended beyond a mile, to the common below Riding’s Plantation, which Lord Middleton’s know so well. He mourned over the pulling down of the old church—a very favourite subject, as he did whenever any ancient houses were cleared away in York, and he lost another bit of colour in the tiles. Sometimes he would gather flowers to copy indoors after tea, which, with all the eccentricity of genius, he would insist upon making for himself, putting cold water in to preserve the aroma. There are many proud family relics of the past in that parlour—the silver cup with “ Success to Fox-hunting” on it, the goldsmith’s racing cups in their quaint leather cases, and the goblet with horses’ heads for handles which the Marquis of Rockingham gave his jockey Singleton for his riding of Bay Malton —and among them, Etty’s painting of a pheasant, and some equally vigorous heads, will always be ranked as a memento of a very happy friendship, which only ended with his life. A cry went forth some years since, that Langton Wold was doomed, and that Whitewall and the other training stables would shortly be desolate. Old Maltonians might well say that the site of their pleasant little town might be ploughed over and sown with salt, if their four trainers were to be thus driven into exile. Things at one time seemed gloomy enough; but happily a compromise was effected. The racecourse, over which the Brothers Scott tried many a winner, is now in turnips or white crops ; the little stand is transmuted into a farm building, and Mr. Bowes and his Trainer. 255 420 acres have been taken at one slice out of the Wold. Still there is a large portion left, a sort of mixture of hill and valley, with abundance of thorn trees and Leicester sheep. The tan gallop is laid out in the most intricate fashion, along the bottom of the valley, in order to eke out distance ; but when some critical curves have been slipped round, there is a long strid- ing reach up-hill of fully a mile. The farming man, who harrows over the tan every morning, had just unyoked his horses when we arrived, and the White- wall lot were to be seen quietly walking over the brow of the hill, with Jem Perren on his bay pony in attendance. Mr. Scott soon arrived in his fly, which the old grey, that Doncaster knows well, draws no longer. Not long before this Mr. Bowes was by his trainer’s side on two successive mornings, and the veteran may well be proud, in these petty days of chop and change, to think that he has now trained for that “approved good master” for nearly forty seasons, and that they have never had the shadow of a misunderstanding. Four Derbies, a couple of Two Thousands, and one St. Leger, with Mundig, Meteor, Cotherstone, Daniel O’Rourke, and West Australian, have formed but a small portion of their spoils, and yet Isaac Walker, the Streatlam Castle stud-groom, has seldom arrived each September with more than four yearlings “for school.” Mr. Bowes very rarely goes to a race, and we believe that Fordham, who has so often worn his black and gold of late years, does not even know him by sight. Before work begins another fly drives up, and a well-favoured “special commissioner,” in a grey coat and crush hat, steps forth on to the sward, and goes to pay his respects to Mr. Scott. He is here ex route from Middleham, where Pretender has had his best attention, and he brings a glowing account of the chances of “Johnny” and the blue and silver braid. 256 Saddle and Sirloin. There is but doubtful news of Martyrdom, and Pero Gomez is mentioned with as much respect as if he were Mr. Peabody himself. The other spectators are few. The three “ Jacks,” Robson, Holmes, Charlton, whom we have seen on this spot so often, are all in their graves, and now that he has no Blair Athol in hand, Mr. I’Anson does not even spare an hour from his farming. It hardly seems like the Saturday before the St. Leger. Yorkshire is busy among her partridges and her sheaves, and cannot compass the idea that even John Scott, great as his triumphs have been, can descend on the cracks, and wrest his seventeenth St. Leger from them with a dark and an untried horse. As a general thing, they have more belief round Malton in George Osbaldeston, but still there are plenty to shake their heads, and ask if the Belshazzar and Barbatus blood is the thing to bring a horse home ina St. Leger. “George” has a small party of his own to look on, and three “literary touts,” two of them regulariy attached to the London sporting papers, note him and the rest of the lots as they do their work. Re- ports from training quarters have now become a sort of necessity, and as long as these writers keep their distance, and do not tamper with the boys, trainers and owners do not resent their presence. In fact, many of them rather like the reports, as they can hear what horses are doing elsewhere, and thus know better what they are likely to meet. There was a time, “long, long ago,” when there were only two touts at Newmarket—the portly York, who could pull down eighteen stone on the scales, and a little ex-jockey called Garratt. The latter wore a smock when he was professionally engaged—that is to say, when he “ roamed through the dew ;” and when Lord Foley once dropped across him before a trial, lying as snug as a hare behind a roller on the Heath, and asked him who he was, he promptly replied, that Schooling on the Tan. 257 he was “a shepherd.” ‘Are you, indeed ?” rejoined his lordship; “I don’t think youlookafter your flock much.” But a truce to these Scottiana. As ten o’clock approaches the schooling on the tan begins in earnest. Shepherd’s, Peck’s, and a couple of I’Anson’s come striding along by twos and threes, and then Perren takes the Whitewall lot into the bottom. The Spy, with his plainish head and long legs, is not out, and Viscount is also taking it easy at home. Goldsboro’ is reported coughing ; and Westwick, that good-look- ing half-brother to West Australian, has never run since the Alexandra Plate of last year. Nobleman goes merrily through his work, and Toison d’Or toils away with a fair chance of Park Hill honours before her eyes. Old War, the King of the Slows, seems very much fined down, and in great heart, as if he knew that the wet which he loves so well has de- scended on the three Ridings in earnest at last. Five or six more, Silver Band, Tarna, Viscountess, &c. flash past in succession, and Mr. Scott calls out of his brougham ° to a lad to “keep your hands down.” Then the straight-backed Taraban is seen creeping up the hill with his head well down, and H. Robertson in the saddle. The pretty little Royal Oak, a lighter chest- nut with a white face and white on the off fore foot, comes “ fighting,” hard held by Grimshaw, and look- ing as if he were ready at any moment to go up and settle him. There was a time when Taraban was obliged to “liquor up” before every great race. Whisky did not stay long with him, and he infinitely preferred old port of a good vintage, but he is said now to be quite a reformed character, and no horse can play the schoolmaster more patiently. The funny man of the piece is a Malton publican ona roan racing pony. She has been winning at Margate in the early part of the week, but she is back again at her old quarters, looking as hard as nails. Still her owner is anxious to put on a little more “polish,” and he rattles S 258 Saddle and Sirloin. up the tan twice or thrice in the course of the morn- ing, going like great guns, with his coat tails flying in the breeze. After their first gallop the Whitewall team walked across the top of the Wold, and when Mr. Scott has followed and had them on parade for some twenty minutes, they are sent up the gallop again. Taraban takes his pupil three times up it, and then the morning’s work is ended. All looked serene, and in our mind’s-eye we saw the chestnut running home fourth or fifth; but the morning brought bron- chitis, and his leg began to fill, and the Johnsonian pen went through his name. Blair Athol, the last St. Leger winner that was prepared on the Wold, was “a perfect glutton,” and Mr. I’Anson says of him, that he did more work in the three weeks between York and Doncaster, and ate more corn than Lanercost, Vestment, or Inheritor, who once seemed almost invincible in this respect. His first Malton trial was at even weights with Borea- lis, after she had run in the Cambridgeshire Stakes, and he beat her by two lengths. Mr. I’Anson then asked him to give her 7lbs., but he rather ran out at the turn, and Challoner on the mare beat him by a head. Ten weeks before the Derby he was found to be very much injured in the muscles of the thigh, and his boy was discharged, and it was fully five weeks ere he was allowed to go out of a walk. At Paris he ran big, as it was impossible to gallop him, and yet, then sore as he was with the hard ground, he came back across the Channel to Ascot, and cut down Ely on the Friday over the New Mile. He was not intended for York, as, in consequence of his shoe coming off half as he walked and half in the Rubbing House, he had missed a sweat. Borealis and Caller Ou gene- rally led him in his work, and a hard time they had of it. Mr. I’Anson never knew how good he was, and thinks that he never had a horse with such true action, as even in distress he never rolled or rocked. i) nN oO SuAP LER x. “* A trainer on a lonely hill Will do a deed of mystery, And ‘scribes’ will several columns fill, With that trial and all its history. The trainer will be all surprise At the facts they have collected, And the owner when they meet his eyes Will be equally affected.” Sporting Life. A word on Knavesmire—Sir William Milner—The Hunting Tragedy on the Ure—Drax Abbey—Warping—Harrogate—Yorkshire Stock and Hound Show at Wetherby—Captain Gunter’s Herd—Farnley Hall. MID the whirl and rattle of the present turf times, when the secrets of a man’s stable are pro- claimed on the house-top almost before he knows them himself, and touts send off telegrams far and wide the instant a trial is won, it is a treat to hear a Yorkshire elder have his say. Once set him going, with the full consciousness that he has a sympathetic listener, and he soon pierces into the bowels of the past, and re- counts each loved recollection of “the horse and his rider.” He will tell you how a great jockey “ got into money,” and rather let the cat out of the bag by offering a 1000/. note instead of a 100/. one in change to the horse’s owner on settling day ; how Bob Rids- dale, who began as body footman to Lady Lambton, made 30,000/. only to lose every halfpenny of it again in the ring ; of Colonel Cradock saying to Sam Chif- ney in amazement as they gazed on the saddle con- tortions of little Johnny Gray at a finish, “Js he pricking, Sam, or ts he pulling ?” of a noble duke only giving his jockey “a pony,” when he had won the S 2 260 Saddle and Sirloin. Oaks, and thinking he had done the correct thing; of Old Forth having his weighing beam in two rooms, so that his jockeys might not see what weight they carried in atrial; of Lord Suffield and his confede- rate taking their Bamboo revenge with Newlight to the tune of 12,000/. on Lord George Bentinck, when his lordship managed the green and gold interest for Mr. Houldsworth, and had such a fancy for Destiny ; and of Bill Scott making the judge and jury laugh when he was a witness about the “ three clean, Bank of England notes, clean notes for 1000/7. each, my lord,” which he got for his horse Sir Tatton Sykes. We have always had a great fondness for Orton’s Turf Annals of York and Doncaster. We remember the poor fellow—before he fell, no one exactly knew why, under the ban of Lord George—who always left his mark on a man—as keeper of the match-box, and clerk of the course at York, as well as judge there, and at Preston Guild, and several other northern meetings. He was also, the “ Alfred Highflyer” of the Sforting Magazine, a third of a century ago, and his descrip- tions of York and Catterick Bridge Meetings had a freshness and an interest, we shall never know again. In his introduction to his work he does not fail to do justice to the horse-loving tendencies of each county family. As the Dutchmen of Communipaw, men fabled to have sprung from oysters, and each clad in ten pair of linsey wolsey breeches, marched to a blood- less battle under the banner of an oyster recumbent upon a sea green field, so, according to our historian, the Darleys of Aldby should have a Childers, and the Huttons of Marske an Eclipse on their family quar- terings, as having imported the Arab, or reared the sire to which the renowned bay and chestnut owe their descent. One of the very finest races ever run at York was that Subscription Purse in which Actzon, with Harry A Word on Knavesmire. 261 Edwards up, defeated Memnon and Sam Chifney at York, and a painting of the finish, by Herring, hung in the dining-room at Hawkhead. We have looked over many hundreds of Mr. Herring’s portfolio horse sketches, and we still think Actzon the most beauti- ful. The chestnut’s great peculiarity was that he would never leave his horses. He once had a race with Florismart, at York, when the latter broke down at the Bishopthorpe turn. Clift scrambled along as he could to the finish, and Actzon stuck resolutely to him in a slow trot, and it was all his jockey could do by clapping and encouraging him to get him to win by aneck. In the great race for the Purse, Harry Edwards made his effort, about a hundred yards from home, and got a neck in front, but the chestnut put his toes into the ground and “retracted” so ter- ribly in the last three strides, that when Sam Chifney “ collected” Memnon and came with one of his rushes, victory was only cut out of the chestnut by a head. Edwards struck him three times, and, as they say, “with a will.” The race in which Newminster was defeated by Calculator, was the most sensational we ever witnessed at York,* but we have heard that it was nothing to the scene when The Miner seemed suddenly to start * Weights, which began at a thumping twelve stone early in the eighteenth century at York, gradually slid down to gst. in 1751. By 1756 the 8st. 7lbs., which held its own for a century, had appeared at Doncaster ; and in 1760 the York Subscription Purses were at 8st. 3lbs. Six years later, matches at four miles were made at 7st. ; and, in 1786, three-year-olds were carrying Sst. 7lbs. and a feather. Of course, in Give and Take Plates the weights had been very low for many years before that, and were even calculated by ounces. They had been given up and quite forgotten until some clerk of the course or other, in 1839, introduced one into Scotland, without having duly mastered the proper distance between the fore and hind feet when the horse is measured. Accordingly, the old stone was disinterred from one of the York rub- bing houses ; and it was ascertained that 5ft. was the distance, and that 2ft. was allowed between each of the hind as well as the fore feet. Under the system, horses of thirteen hands carried 7st., and 140z. were 262 Saddle and Sirloin. up at Blair Athol’s side, and beat him. It was om Knavesmire also that we remember poor Bill Scott having his last mount, a second on Snowball to Alfred Day on, Tuscan. It is only twenty-two years ago, and yet seven out of the nine jockeys who rode in that race are dead. In his way there were few more genuine Yorkshire lovers of racing than the late Sir William Milner. We seem to see him still, with his tall, light figure, his aquiline nose, his rather lank, black hair, and his glass in his eye, following a winner out of the York enclo- sure to have another peep at him before he was. sheeted up, or on the pavement (or rather the horse- block) at the Salutation, getting a good “ oversight” of a yearling, which old Mr. Tattersall or his son were knocking down. Lord Strathmore was just coming into notice then, and a good-looking young fellow he was, with that curious way of toeing the ground. in his walk, and that off-hand devil-me-care toss of the head, as he seized the passing hour, and little thought that Sweetmeat would beget Saccharometer to his. sorrow. Racing was in the Milner family, as turf chronicles: knew well, and gradually came out in the Oxonian. “Mr. Milner” was christened after him. He had a few race-horses in his time, along with the Aske string, of which Grapeshot was much the best though he re- put on for every eighth of an inch; so that horses of fourteen hands. carried Qst., and of fifteen hands, rIst. ay Two-year-old racing had its origin in a match between Mr. Hutchin- son—the genius of Langton Wold in his day, as well as the breeder of Hambletonian and trainer of Beningborough—and a Rev. Mr. Good- ricke. In 1799 the first race of the kind was run at York, and won by Mr. Robinson’s Belle Fillie, the first favourite, Allspice, running last ; and in the following year Lord Darlington won the maiden race of the- kind at Doncaster with the first of his two Muley Molochs. It was not until eleven years later that Oiseau, by running away, at weights for age over a mile and a half at Doncaster, from a four-year-old and a five-- year-old St. Leger winner, proved what good two-year-olds really cam do in the autumn. Flunting Casualties. 263 quired a fortune in whalebone. Sir William followed the Voltigeur fortunes like a man, and then, without telling the stable, laid heavily against Lightfoot (whom Bobby Hill believed to be a clinker) for the next year’s Derby. Most probably Voltigeur was quite out of form, or else Lightfoot would never have won the trial as hedid.* However, it seemed high enough to put Sir William in a sad pucker how to shape his course and get out; but Chester showed the horse eventually in his real colours. As a politician, Sir William promised well, and took a good part in the conferences of the Orange party, to whom an Upper Room at Normanton was generally the Woburn Abbey. York had in him a painstaking member, and he quite astonished Mr. Leeman by the verve with which he spoke on one occasion; but his health began gra- dually to fail from that point. It has been well said that— “* The image of a man who died In his heyday of renown, Has a fearful power, unto which the pride Of fiery life bows down.” England has had many such lessons. London re- members yet the painful thrill when Lord Cantelupe lay dead in the very height of the season. Lord George Bentinck was found in his father’s flood meadow, with the hoar-frost of an autumn morning on that finely-cut face, which had been so often turned defiantly on his foes in the House. The Duke of Dorset, one of the best sportsmen of his day, died jumping a small fence with his harriers; and the Marquis of Waterford, who had come off scatheless among the “oxers’ of Northamptonshire and the doubles of the Vale, met his doom at a little stone wall into a road. Death is more fearful when it is * <* Scott and Sebright,” pp. 206-209 264 Saddle and Sirloin. in direct contrast with pleasure, and the little ferry on the Ure will be remembered, so long as that river rolls its dark waters from the moors to the Ouse, as the scene of the most fearful tragedy in hunting history. Yorkshire could hardly believe the sad tidings. The cathedral city was in the very height of her hunting term. There were visitors in plenty, and the Club was full of the doings of Sir Charles on Saltfish or Rosamond, and of news of good sport with Mr. Hall and the Holderness. Four familiar faces were suddenly lacking, and three of them were the very life-blood of the hunt—master, crack rider, and first whip. The meet on that fatal day (February 4th) was Stainley, upwards of twenty miles from York, but accessible by rail, and a special train was run on the occasion. Sir Charles soon found a fox, which took them straight for Newby Park, where it crossed the river. He had found, as he thought, the same fox twice before that season, and it had baffled him by the same trick. It was no doubt this double beating which made him rather more keen and less sensible of his danger than usual, for both he and Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Robinson were generally timid and careful in a boat, though hard, and fearless riders as could be across country.* “ Bill” or rather Powter, the first * The boat was managed by a cog-wheel, which takes hold of a chain stretched across the river, and it is worked over by hand. This chain, which is of some weight, lies in ordinary times on the battom of the river, and is picked up by the boat as it goes along ; but when the river is full of water the weight of the chain is off the ground and upon the boat. It is usual in a fresh (ze. when the water is very high, but within its bounds) to cast the chain adrift, and ferry the boat over in the usual manner, but on this occasion the plan was not resorted to. The chain is on the down-stream side, and the weight of it naturally keeps that side of the boat a little down in the water, and therefore when any extra weight, like a horse, is added on that side, the up-stream side of the boat rises, and the stream rushing down underneath it, sends it ee over on the chain side. So it happened on this sad day. There was a scrimmage and an ‘‘ exchange” or two among the horses, The Hunting Tragedy on the Ure. 265 whip, (for whom an equally sad fate was in store), went round by Borough Bridge and stopped the hounds, which lost their fox in the Newby covers, and he had the sad mission of taking home the news to Mrs. Orveys. Sir Charles, Mr. Lloyd, and Mr. Robinson were and Sir Charles’s ‘‘ Saltfish,” an old and a very good one, jumped out, and getting entangled fast in the chain, added to the weight on that side of the boat, and upset it. Sir Charles had, we believe, his reins twisted round his wrist. At first he struck out for the boat, and when he saw it go over, he swam away and was within a stroke or two of the oppo- site shore, where there was no one to fling him the end of a hunting- whip, when he threw up his arms and went down. It is thought that he took the cramp, as his legs were very much drawn up. This is not improbable, as he was somewhat heated with a fast run. Mr. Lloyd must at first have been under the boat with the rest of the men and horses. He was the champion swimmer of his day at Eton, and he struck out manfully for the nearest shore, but the weight of his boots and hunting clothes in the rapid stream was too much for him. Captain Robert Vyner and Mr. William Ingleby jumped in and got hold of him, and for some time sustained him, but he was a very heavy man, and soon overpowered them. In his last extremity he never lost his pre- sence of mind. There was a total abnegation of self ; he did as they directed him, putting his hands on their shoulders, and when he found they were exhausted, he calmly removed them, like th noble fellow that he was, rather than imperil their lives as well as hisown. No three men could have behaved more gallantly. Of Mr. Robinson no one seems to know anything for certain, as he disappeared almost immediately. His usual custom was never to get off his horse in a boat, but whether he was off or on that morning no one seems to remember. Some say he was, some say he was not. One man states that he saw him rise in the water on his horse ; but this looks like a mistake, for if he had been mounted in the boat, he and his horse must have parted company when the boat upset sideways. Orveys, the huntsman, can never have made an effort to swim, as he was found next day with his hunting-whip still tightly clutched in his hand. Thus he died as he lived, true to his duty. The poor ferrymen, two good and valued servants, were no doubt struck by the horses, ren- dered insensible, and sank at once. Of the others in the boat, Mr. Clare Vyner was the first to come up, and scramble on to the boat, which was then bottom upwards, and he assisted first Mr. White, then Sir G. Wombwell, then Captain Molyneux and Major Mussinden on to the same place. Captain Molyneux, R.N., was a good swimmer, and reached the shore, as did Captain Key, who, seeing the water coming into the boat, jumped out at once before she went over, and went back along the chain. 266 Saddle and Sirloin. the very cream of the hunt, and it is a remarkable thing that they were the only three regular atten- dants of it who habitually wore caps. Orveys of course wore one. Sir Charles had shown rare sport when all the packs round, with the exception of the Hol- derness, had been doing very little. He was only forty-five—that year of fruition as it is called, when the harvest of a man’s experience is gathered in—and ever since ’°38 he had been at the head of either harriers or foxhounds. His lady pack, among which were prize ones of the Nelson and Comedy litter, was about perfection at all points, cover drawing, nose, and speed. For talent, and certainly for perseverance no gentleman huntsman, and probably no professional huntsman could have beaten him. Perhaps he was a little too silent in cover and chopped foxes occasion- ally that way. Hedid so on his very last morning, but the fox was so fast asleep, that, to use his own words, “I had to crack my whip twice over him to wake him.” His casts were most extraordinary ; when his hounds threw up, he never dwelt very long on the spot, but would lay hold of them and cast half a mile forward or back with almost invariable success. The number of foxes (50 brace) accounted for in little over four months, in a country which does not do much cub-hunting, fully attest his prowess. He was the nicest fellow in the field, never by any chance losing his temper or saying a nasty word to any one. The consequence was, that his field, though com- prising an immense number of hard-riding __men, was perhaps the best behaved in England, and so many strangers have allowed. If men got into a wrong place (and no one saw it quicker than he did) he would never say anything, but they were wont to say in all verity, that they felt more rebuked by his quiet look and his silence than if a master had been swearing at them all day. In fact, no one more truly united the charming companion and finished sportsman, and The Hunting Tragedy on the Ure. 267 he also rode some fine winning finishes on Eggsauce, &c., over York and Thirsk. One of his ancestors was drowned in the Nidd, and another forfeited his head in the Royalist cause. He disliked politics (although he did not care to be on the losing side in Knaresborough) ; but during the Epsom and Ascot weeks, when he had his very brief season in London, the Carlton Club was his great resort. Still he did not care much for London, and his great enjoyment lay in natural history and general country pursuits. Mr. Lloyd was also as genial a man as ever lived, but he had the misfortune to be deaf. This made it rather difficult to talk with him, but he was full of fun, and never out of humour. He was a very. fine rider for a heavy man, and a most enthusiastic fox- hunter, never missing a day by any chance except for shooting. All through his last winter, although he lived four miles away, he was in York for the seven o'clock train on a Thursday, when the hounds (and nearly always the lady pack) met on the side of the country where the accident took place. Mr. Robinson was quite a character. It is a big word to say, but many thought him the finest rider to hounds in England. The Rev. John Bower, who had perhaps not a peer in his day (Earl Jersey’s was over) except it might be Lord Clanricarde, was the man from whom, he was proud to say, he learnt all he knew in the saddle, and, like that great Holderness. hero, on all kinds of horses. He took them as they came, and he was one of the cleverest judges of them in Yorkshire. He seemed to know every horse in it, its powers and its failings. No one ever saw him in difficulties, but always the first man in a run; no matter what cut-me-down stranger (of which the York and Ainsty sees a great many during the season) might arrive, they never got any change out of him. Unlike most fine riders, he had not a particle of jealousy, but if he thought that he knew the way 268 Saddle and Sirloin. through a cover better, or had any advantage, he would look round for a pal to give him the office and share it. Not a few profited by his kindness in this way. Hewas the most good natured fellow in the world, the first to assist any one in difficulties, and he would get off his horse and wade through dirt to put a curb-chain right, or adjust any tackle that was out of place. Nay more, he had always a second horse out, and if a friend’s nag was dead beat and his own was still fresh, he was guite ready to lend. The hunt might well be proud oftheir crack rider. Many will sadly remember how, when a few seasons since, he was borne away from the field with a broken leg ona hurdle, he raised himself on his elbow and cheered the pack as they crossed the road in full cry before him. Three such men could hardly be found in a hunt, and yet they are all taken at one stroke. It may be said, as a testimony to the sterling worth of those who are gone, that in a country where a good deal of that sort of thing prevails, they never belonged to any of the cliques ; they were free and independent members of the hunt ; their example prevented the field from being cut up into factions, and made a day with the York and Ainsty one of cheery, social enjoyment. Mr. Robinson’s Brunow, which ran in the French Derby, was a very remarkable one; and he went so lame, off and on, that he was given to a farmer friend near York, who put him in the harrows. Here he kicked so violently and injured himself so much, that if the stable had not been nearer than the kennels, he would have been led off to the latter. He was sent back, and became so sound that Mr. Robinson rode him all his last season, and he fetched 280 guineas at the sale. Mr. Robinson had nine hunters up latterly, and among them The Arrow and Traveller, a vicious horse in the stable. Orveys was a ripe, good servant, and quite a right arm to his master, as first whip and kennel huntsman. Drax A bbey. 269 He once suffered a good deal with rheumatism in “the round bone,” but he had latterly hit on a won- derful cure for it, and no man was more thankful for the hint. His hounds—which went to Scriven Park in the summer—were always brought out in prime condition. The way he would get them out of cover to Sir Charles was perfectly marvellous. He was a bold rider, and as hard as pinwire, and had excellent nerves for a man of his age, nearly sixty. Added to this, he had a deal of quiet fun, which was heightened by a squeaky voice, and a most pleasant twinkle of the eye. He married the house-maid at Scriven Park for his second wife about five years before his death, and Sir Charles’s way of repeating the annual report made to him from the kennels, of “another whip, Sir Charles, last night,’ was very droll. Like Mr. Robin- son and Mr. Lloyd, he seems to have died quite easily, as his features were calm and unchanged. When his body was taken out of the river, the searchers leant it against the trunk of a tree in order to let the water flow away. As this fine old servant stood there a few minutes, with his hunting-whip still in his hand, those who saw him said they could hardly persuade themselves that he was not still alive. Drax Abbey was granted by Henry VIII. to the Constables of Everingham for their valour at Flodden Field, and Lord Herries sold it in 1849 to Colonel or “ Hamlet” Thompson. The Abbey is gone, but the old sites still live in name. A chestnut pony and a few shorthorn calves were ruminating on the herbage of Ave Maria Lane, and wandering at intervals down Paternoster Row. The Abbey Oak, out of which many an old fox has been flogged, when the Bramham Moor or the Badsworth drew the neutral cover of Bar- low Hag, had still some sap in its branches, and a coffin lid, a bracket, or a boss-stone half hid among lobelias and fuchsias in season are now the sole anti- quities, 270 Saddle and Sirloin. A view from the Abbey garth that morning was full of seafaring and country life. The ashes were just beginning to change in Barlow Hag, which made up a dark green-and-yellow background for the Daisies and the red Captain Shaftoes. Across the embank- ment of the sluggish Ouse, where the eel-catchers are ever bobbing, the tall spire of Hemingbrough stands out against the sky, and we note the progress of a barge, as it runs slowly up with the tide towards Selby. A billy-boy, which turns out on further in- spection to be the “ Elizabeth and Anne,” is busy, not bringing gravel from Spurn Point this tide, but de- livering its tons of linseed-cake from Hull, while carts keep steadily arriving with their loads at the potato “ pies,’ which are being gradually built up on the river side, ready for shipment to London. Two troops of English and Irish females in every guise, from sun hats to guano-bag skirts, take their allotted furrows (which have been turned-up by a plough without the coulter), working so jealousy against each other, and so ready to raise the Sassenach and the “ St. George to the rescue” war cries, on the smallest provocation, that we secretly admire the bailiff for keeping resolutely, pitchfork in hand, between them. A reedy swamp, half under water, with snipes skimming about it, showed the raw material from which that preserve of Flukes and Princes had been formed. It is only at the changes of the moon that the sluice watcher can report that the fertilizing muddy swell, full of clay, sand, and vegetable matter, has come at last, and, with a ripple sometimes nearly four feet high, has— ‘« — like an eagre rode In triumph. o’er the tide.” In rivers like the Thames, the Severn, and the Mersey, the force of the stream prevents the tide from rolling the warp back. The sluggishness of its current, and Warping. o7% the width of its estuary, make the Humber the only warping river in England, and thus the deposit which the Trent and the Ouse leave at its mouth are not carried out to sea, but can warp the lands for sixty miles along its banks. It has been stated, but of course, equally stoutly disputed, that the fertilizing sediment is composed of the concussion of the fresk water with the salt water animalcules, and that death thus contributes that life to plants on which insects in their turn take such a terrible revenge. It recuiresa very strong current to keep up a proper spccie; of alligation between the sand and clay; and the con- stant alteration of sluices and inlets, in order to make the warping level, quite rises into the dignity of a science, and is as difficult a problem as can be set in hydrostatics. Certain places can with prosperous tides acquire four or five feet of warp in three years, and years after, when the ground is examined, each tide is found to have left the record of its presence in a layer of about the thickness of a sixpence. A block of such formation is a veritable “black-letter volume,” of which every leaf betokens a day or night of silent and solitary toil. Coltsfoot, willow weed, and docks infest the warp the first year, and the feathered and the Whittlesea Mere weed have gradually given place to “the American,” whose roots can strike five yards deep. Four feet under-draining at Io yards apart, with 13-inch pipes joined with anti-sand collars, was Mr. Henry Smith’s next process, and-the plough was taken over it as soon as it could bear horses, and then it was sown with oats and red clover. The latter was mown for fodder, and the newly-warped land has been known to require the scythe three times in a season.* * The Drax Abbey herd began with Daisy, a cow by Northumber- land (466), dam by son of Twin Brother to Ben, and Mr. Smith always hired bulls from Warlaby. From Daisy there came in succession Daisy 2 Saddle and Sirloin. It is quite a “ popular error,” that a Yorkshireman cares about no live stock save horses. ‘ Give her the glory of going on, and still to be,” from Tennyson’s “Wages,” would certainly suggest to him an epitaph fora mare that could stay a distance, and his only doubt would be about adding “there or thereabouts” to his author, but still sheep, pigs, and shorthorns have a strong grip of his affections. The agricultural year always seems to lack one of its pleasantest elements if we have missed the Yorkshire meeting. Some linger in the county six weeks from its date, and what with Doncaster, York, and Ripon races, visits to herds, racing-stables, studs, agricultural shows, foal shows, and ram lettings, a gentle St. Leger ex- citement, more especially if John Scott has a favourite, asin “the brave days of old,” with a dash of Har- rogate and Scarborough thrown in for flavour, those pilgrims may well call their sojourn the very “sweet o’ the year.” Leeds looked more dreary than ever, as we passed 7th, the ‘‘best cow or heifer” in the yard at Birmingham in 1858. Five years after Mr. Smith took the gold medal at Smithfield, but with a cow bred by his brother Mr. William Smith, of West Razen. The purchase of Captain Shaftoe (6833) at one of his brother’s sales for 40 guineas was a great hit, and the sole drawback about him was his aversion not to a red but to a black coat, a whim which nearly proved fatal to Mr. Parkinson at the Leyfields sale. ‘‘ The Captain” had then seen twelve summers and he left seventeen heifer calves behind him. One of their daughters, Helen from Annie, was sold to Mr. Majori- banks at ten months for 80 guineas, and proved the sire of Harkaway, the first Royal prize bull-calf at Canterbury. The meadows were full of reds, or rich red roans, whose compact frames, level tops, and good deep middles, told of the gay little Captain’s handiwork, which Booth’s Bridesman (12,493), War Eagle, The Monk, and Prince of Warlaby followed up. The name and pedigree of each shorthorn was hung above it in the byre, a process the necessity of which was enforced on Mr. Smith by finding that an Irish herdsman in his absence had become puzzled, and had not only given a wrong and a most tremendously high pedigree to an intending purchaser, but maintained that—‘‘ Suze, sir, and I was right to put in the best word I could for the puir beast.” Flarrogate. 273 t on our way to Wetherby, and we esteemed the. vicar happy who had just escaped from it, mitre in 1and, to the green orchard alleys of Herefordshire. Jn we go, past the meadow where the Royal en- camped in ’61. It was there that the Wetherby Duchesses, with Duchess 77th at their head, won a reble victory and retired on their laurels, that young Nutbourne vanquished old Sir John Barleycorn, as reetotallers never did, that Adam Bede and Overplus were dons in the hunter classes, and that Wainman’s Silverhair was such a dainty queen among sows. We hardly know Harrogate again, and try in vain to recognise the traces of what it was, when we first saw it in ’34, or Touchstone’s year. “Old Johnny’s Well,” or the strong chalybeate, has received the cupola from the Old Sulphur Well; the Tewit, or Iron-water Well, is roofed in at last ; the Tewit, or Iron-water Well on the Moor, seems unchanged ; and the cupola of the Old Sulphur Well, whose waters savour of the scourings of a gun-barrel, has been re- placed by one thrice as large. It was the practice in those days of expensive travelling to meet the fashions half-way, and therefore the moment the London season closed the Bond-street dealers detached a fore- man, with a large amount of unsold goods in a van, to spread his nets in High MHarrogate, before the “mothers and daughters” of the North. To some extent they do so still, but the things do not find such favour, now that the metropolis can be reached by rail. The Dragon, the Granby, and the Crown were, at the time we are noting, the only great hotels, and the peerage, the “ M.P.’s,” and the Lancashire visitors, were supposed to be their patrons respectively. Ad- mission to the Dragon’s balls was the object of count- less hopes and fears. It seemed to be for the summer months a very Almacks of Yorkshire. We have heard a Crown president speaking as mysteriously of his diplomacy in a ball-room “ difficulty” between the al ———————— eee eee 274 Saddle and Sirlozn. inns, as if he had been negotiating a triple alliance. Being president was esteemed such an honour that, as: it went by seniority, one eccentric man was said to arrive in March, and possess his soul in patience and the solitude of the big room for months, in order that he might be in office all the season round. Bachelors gathered round him in plenty, quite “* ready to take their stand Upon a widow’s jointure land,” if a likely chance turned up. The Queen’s holds the lead now, and in the warm twilight the company linger on the garden terrace, and peer through the panes at the dancers within; and give little biographies of each of them. By day it is the old story, Knaresborough Dripping Well, Foun- tains Abbey, Plumpton, Hackfall, &c., and Brimham Rocks, where Bill Scott, the winner of four Derbies, three Oaks, and nine St. Legers, once rode in a donkey carriage in state, with two donkey boys as outriders. It needs some excitement to keep the casual visitor in spirits on a dull summer's evening, and we sought for it in vain before the sun went down. There was not a soul in the room at the old Sulphur Spa. Those who were not at dinner had gone to hear the band play at a shilling a head to non-subscribers, in Mont- pelier Gardens, or to attend the readings of Mr. Bellew. Punch and Judy occupied the green in front of the White Hart, and had many gray-haired sages in their audience ; and if you did gaze carefully into the windows of the front shops, you only withdrew perplexed as to which was really “the last photo ever taken” of a local physician recently deceased, and which he had most honoured with his approbation. Early next morning there was quite an agricultural gathering on the railway platform for Wetherby. It is a very small place, but its National Steeple-chase ground, which Jacob Faithful, Israelite, and Em- peror IT., knew well, is, according to many, “ the best The Yorkshire Show. 275 in Britain, bar none.’ The town bade its visitors welcome with a few flags and a flower arch, but every- thing seemed very quiet, and the fear of sunstrokes kept some thousands away. MHalf-a-hundred goats of many colours formed an army of occupation at the bridge end. One word was enough to set off the loquacious Irishman who led them, and he soon priced us a kid at seven-and-sixpence, and a nanny, equal to a fabulous number of quarts per day, “Cheap, yer honner, at twenty-five.” There was not the wonted waterfall to drown his chaffer, as the Wharfe had col- lapsed into a bed of shingle, and the whole stream might have gone through an eight-inch pipe. Two men and a woman, the usual company, were singing the song of “The Greet Agricultural Show” as we crossed the bridge, and rousing the local spirit by stating that its author is “a young mzck-chanic in Wetherby.” It was really an old halfpenny friend, and not with a new face either, but simply the well- known blanks, to be filled up by fact or fancy. Micklethwaite is the township over the bridge. It has evidently no church, as the overseer’s list of men claiming to vote is hung at an inn door. There are only three claimants, and it is signed, “ W. Burley, Overseer.’ Some one, with a sad lack of reverence, has drawn a fancy portrait of “ye overseer” close by his signature, in a Spanish hat and beard, and put “W. B.” beneath it, so that all men may know. Captain Gunter’s farm is on the opposite side of the road to this work of art, and his herdsman, Taylor, looks over the wall with rather a sorrowful face. He remembers the days when he took Mr. Eastwood's white bull, Hero, to the Worcester Royal, and brought home the first prize ribbons. Hence he is pugnacious in the highest sense of the word, but the Captain has retired from the show lists. Taylor’s regrets are not lessened as the day proceeds. Two of the judges visit his “ American heifer,” and tell him that the roan calf 2 | | 276 Saddle and Sirloin. Wharfedale Rose, which has been sold at 100/, to go along with her, would have won to a certainty if she had been entered. The pangs which he suffers in consequence must be untold. Mr. Cochrane's pair have a levee in their barn all day, and devotees go wandering off through the hot haze into the park to gaze on Duchess 86th, 87th, 88th, and oIst, as well as Mild Eyes and her daughter Bright Eyes, and a very fine Waterloo heifer.* * When we first saw the herd in ’59, not long after its removal from Earl’s Court, we began with the earliest purchase Duchess 67th, and her daughter 72nd, the first calf that Captain Gunter ever bred. Her next daughter the white 75th was third in the array, and the handsomest of the three, and then came ‘‘the twins” 78th and 79th which ran such a splendid career in the show yard. We see the little roan and white through the mist of years once more struggling with the herd boys, and thought the roan rather nicer in her coat, but the white neater, and in after years the bench hardly knew which to take. Having thus exhausted the fruits of the first Tortworth bid, Duchess 7oth bore her witness to the second with her calves 73rd and 77th, and we look back to our comment that ‘‘the former had more substance and the latter more elegance of the twain,” and that she was the best, but no one dare predict such a future for her. She rose the Royal ranks step by step, third as a yearling at Warwick, second at Canterbury, and first at Leeds. Duchess 69th had only calved that morning, and though we could not rouse her after the labours of the day, we could judge of her fine scale and enjoy the gentle grandeur of the head, which had been specially modelled for Mr. Brandreth Gibbs’s testimonial. Sixth Duke of Oxford was waiting outside to receive us; he was a perfect Esau at his birth, and there could be no doubt whence his stock derived their rich hair. [‘‘ A period of nine years must be supposed to elapse,” as the play- bills have it. ] The old cows were in the bottom of the park, and tooka good deal of finding in the heat. There was the roan Duchess 86th, with the old- fashioned wide-spreading hor ; the 87th, of a lighter roan and with a rare loin ; the white 88th, which had been amiss ; and gIst, one of the same colour and rare substance. The twins and the 77th had died or been slaughtered, and 96th and 94th were in the home field, and Taylor tells us how once they thought 94th the best, and that the former is the only Duchess which lacks the Usurer cross. The numbers rooth, 99th, g8th, and 97th once roamed together in the home pasture unbroken, but Mr. Cochrane had taken his choice and borne off the last to Canada at 100 guineas. She is from 92nd, a daughter of 84th, ‘which broke down on us as a calf for Leeds.” Her once constant companion Captain Gunter's Ferd. a The Grange Park was placed by Captain Gunter entirely at the disposal of the Yorkshire Society. It was once the property of “ Kit Wilson,” the Father of the Turf, who owned Comus, the blind chestnut, which did such good to Sledmere in the days of the first Sir Tatton. The whole of the arrangements, thanks to Mr. Parrington, to whom the general improvement as regards the accommodation of horses in the show- yards of England may primarily be said to be due, 98th from 88th was a white with roan ears, and Taylor again calls to mind how she was ‘‘once held like a kitten to the teat.” Writers who have to encounter there night-mare numbers may well be among those ‘** Who dread to speak of ’98, Who tremble at the name.” The wished-for 100th was reached at last in the shape of a red roan, but a two-days-old roan, half-sister to ‘‘the American lady,” was the latest arrival, and Duchess 103rd had been the Captain’s private herd book entry. Fourth Duke of Thorndale was the monarch of the yard, and Grand Duchess 8th, from Penrhyn Castle was there to share his smiles. Mild Eyes 3rd (by 4th Duke of Thorndale from Mild Eyes) and a heifer by 5th Duke of Wharfedale from ‘‘ the Waterloo heifer,” have since then arrived ; and Duchess 84th has lost the red Duchess 104th. It was jumping about its box when two months old, and burst a blood-vessel in the heart. Duchess 94th has had twins—a bull and a red heifer, the latter taking rank as Duchess 105th. Third Duke of Wharfedale (sire of Mr. Cochrane’s heifer) from Duchess 86th now reigns at Wetherby (after two seasons at Penrhyn), vice Fourth Duke of Thorndale, who was found dead in his box last spring ; and 2nd Duke of Wetherby from Duchess 77th, and 2nd Duke of Claro from Duchess 79th are both let. The 3rd Duke of Wetherby by 4th Duke of Thorndale from Duchess 82nd is coming on for home use. The 2nd Duke of Collingham, Duke of Tregunter (a name taken from an old family estate in Wales), 3rd Duke of Claro, 5th Duke of Wharfedale, and 2nd Duke of Tregunter, have all been sold to English purchasers for 500 guineas each. During the cattle plague Captain Gunter’s farm was in a deeply in- fected parish, and cattle were dying or being slaughtered almost daily, close up to the park gates, for months. Chloride of lime was used liberally, but the Captain’s main reliance was on the very strictest observance of the isolation principle. The Duchesses and the rest of the cattle were divided into several lots of two each, and placed in small sheds all over the six hundred acre occupation ; the yards attached to these sheds were netted round the bottom, so as to keep out dogs, 278 Saddle and Sirloin. were admirable, down to the cloak-room, with cloak- pegs innumerable, and “the jewel-room,” where a silversmith sets his wares in array, and fits up winners with cups. The police bivouack thirty strong, in the same “ Wood Street.” They have plenty of night work, as the men, more especially the grooms, get very drunk, and make night hideous with their hulla- baloo. They cannot sleep for the heat, and therefore they will, to use their own phrase, “‘ still be lapping,” which means that they are always at the canteen for soda-water, or something a little stronger. Under its influence they run foot races with nothing on but their shirts, and it is daylight before those gentlemen in white finish their revels and return to their straw wisps. There are some quaint characters among the grooms. One of them was attacked last year by five men ina garden at Scarborough. “If it had been nobbut one or two, I could have warmed him,” was his version of the combat, “ but five’s owre mony; so I just put my hand in my pocket, and kep shooting till somebody came. I let ’em just batter away at my head ; I can stan’ a deal of rough wark that way, if I nobbut hod to the brass.” But we have to deal with day, and not with night scenes ; and we first make our way, in obedience to old instincts, to the shorthorn ring. Three good judges are inside it—Jamie Douglas, who once could beat on “the grand tour” the heifers of the three kingdoms with his Rose of Summer and his Second Queen of Trumps ; Charles Howard, of Oxferd Down hares, rabbits, and other ‘‘travellers.”” The herdsman and his assis- tants never went near any other cattle or person engaged about cattle on any pretence whatever ; and if the Captain had been out hunting, or anywhere else in the country, he never entered the sheds until he had changed his clothes. Second Duke of Wharfedale was slaughtered after a slight accident, rather than run the risk of bringing a veterinary surgeon to attend upen him ; and when the butcher came for fat sheep they were driven out of the field for him while he waited with his dog on the road. The Yorkshire Show. 279 fame, who won his first Royal prize at Leeds with one of twin bulls; and Stephenson, of Fourstones, a “well kent” man on the border. There is quite an excited buzz of conversation, as Booth’s roan bull, ‘Commander-in-Chief, has just been led out of the ring with only the second prize ribbons, while Knight of Knowlmere, who was second to him at Leicester, takes the first. The decision falls upon the shorthorn men like a rocket upon the Life Guards of King Theodore, and they know not what to make of it. It goes round that Jamie “shot him down” the moment the roan entered the ring, and went stoutly for the white. You hear the decision hotly discussed, not only at the ring side, but by lovers of shorthorns of both sexes, who sit hard by on inverted pails and bundles of hay. If Mr. Booth loses with Commander-in-Chief, there is balm in Gilead with Lady Fragrant, a sweet cow with a “picture head,” as they phrase it, and his two heifers, Lady Gaiety and Patricia, head the yearling class. Neither of the pair had a chance with Lady Fragrant for the Female Winner’s Cup, and one walk round the ring decides that Mr. Foljambe’s bull-calf, Knight of the Crescent, beats Knight of Knowlmere and all his seniors when the males are on their trial. ‘The proud little red is hardly in the ring an instant, and Vent, vidi, vict is the word to-day. The last decision is in the Extra Stock Classes, where a three-year-old shorthorn ox has nothing to meet but Zelica, a little half Brahmin cow. The first ribbons are handed to the leader of the latter by mistake, but Mr. Charles Howard dashes forward, with quite a melodramatic ‘start, and rescues them from such profanation. Mr. Borton has it all his own way in Leicesters. For ‘more than twenty years he has held his place as the Yorkshire champion, and true to the county nomen lature, Blair Athol is his great ram. Southdowns «do not take in Yorkshire, and as there was no entry, 280 Saddle and Sirloin. the Society saved their 557. Lincolns and Cotswolds came, and among the latter “ Mr. Tombs’s big sheep,” but the Ridings have no solid resting-place for the sole of their feet. They have used the former on the Wolds, but they did not thrive, and one Leicester patriarch had a flying sarcasm at their expense, that if three came in a cart, and all stood with their heads on one side, they would infallibly upset it. The sheep rival to the half Brahmin was one from the coasts of Galilee, with a tail of 12lbs. weight, and described on its card as “a combination of fat and marrow. Duckering, Sagar, Dyson, Eden, and all the fami- liar names are to be found among the pig-winners, but the judges complain of a lack of hair. It is a more popular part of the show than the sheep, but still it is at the horse-ring that the most earnest gazers are found. Mr. Burbidge, “ Jack Skip- worth,” and Mr. Garfit from Cheshire, make up the bench. The blood sires come in first, and for the third year in succession the big-boned Angelus takes the first rosette. He is the property of Sir George Cholmley, the oldest horse breeder in Yorkshire, and from a Nutwith dam of Lord Exeter’s, which was pur- chased as a draft-mare at Doncaster. King Brian is second, and the neat, compact Wyndham, from Raw- cliffe paddocks, to whom not a few, who remember how he “ came to the rescue” in his racing days, hold most tenaciously, gets no mention among the ten. Among the coachers we look in vain for the oid Cleve- land bays, such as Howdenshire loved, and which once drew the heavy family chariot at six miles an hour. They have been gradually crossed up with blood sires, so that if any foal from a Cleveland mare falls smarter than usual, the breeder can cut its tail, and call it a hunter. In fact, a horse which a few years since was almost the champion of the hunting classes all over England, began his show life in a class for young coach horses. The winner on this day looked as if he had The Yorkshire Show. 281 an extra cross of blood in him, and won easily enough. Two blacks, sire and son, the latter rejoicing in the name of Sir Edwin Landseer, headed the roadster class. There was only three years between them, and the sire had lost an eye, but still the six-year-old was fairly beaten. Trotting sires’ conductors are generally “a set of wild Indians,” and show their horses’ paces with remarkably jealous zest. They trot them with a long rein, and use words in an almost unknown tongue, and they will watch half a market-day for a rival, whose owner has been “ bouncing ” in his advertise. ment, so as to lay their horse alongside of his pet, when he is giving him a sly trot, and thus make him eat or prove his words. Each medal recording a fresh victory is attached to a conqueror’s neck collar, and one horse which came to Wetherby, and “took no- thing by his motion,” wore a breeching of medals as well, and looked more like a charger of the middle ages than a trotter of the nineteenth century. The young hunters had not many among them which would “pass the college.” One class was so afflicted with curbs and bog spavins, that when at last three were left in, it was proposed to set them aside, and go on with the next class, while Professor Spooner decided which was least unsound. One of the judges said, with quite an injured air, “I like one of the five we’ve put aside best, but then his bog spavins aren’t of a size.” Sir George Cholmley and his chestnuts have a rare time of it, and Bob Brignall, the “first cross-country jock” to the stable, shows them capitally in “ black waistcoats and pants.’ Many look at the grand chestnut three-year-old Don Juan, and talk of cups in store. The riders are a study of themselves. One of them wears a black and yellow jockey cap, and is saluted with, “Vow, Fordham, wake her up!” ashe tears round on his pony. An- other in a grey cap looks so stolid over it, and sits so artistically (in his own eyes), that the judges cannot 282 Saddle and Sirloin. resist sending him a‘strong gallop three times round. for the pure enjoyment of the thing. He is so dread- fully in earnest during the performance, that he does not see them laughing, and his look of disgust when he is put among the knock-outs at its conclusion, is like the mien of the warror in the song, at once “stern and high.” Bob Mulcaster is a great artiste both with the leading rein and in the saddle, and there is quite a buzz of delight when he leads out old Crafty, “the heroine of a hundred fights,” as the local papers delight to call her, and sends her along with her thin tail extended, like the old beauty that she is. We have seen fat men of eighteen stone strip to their work in obedience to the call all round the ring: “ Vow, Franky, man, it’s thy turn. Thoo’se a bit too fat fort job. Now, mettle up!” And away went Franky, top heavy, and “bad on thy pins,” only to receive the consolation “ thoo maks a varra poor tew of zt.’ There was aman of Mr. George Holmes’s who had the knee in curb-chain action to such perfection, that he could teach his master’s horses to be steppers. He did it in the ring with a face as calm as if he were carved from stone, while the laughter rung as it did in the Adelphi when Wright’s voice was heard at the right or left wing. The boys made quite a Sir Roger de Coverley gallop of it on their ponies, before their ponies were settled ; and a grey trotted in such style, that a hunt- ing baronet declared that at last he had found the cover hack he had been seeking all his life. The hunters from three year old and upwards are, after all, the cream of the thing. Lady Derwent, the queen of the season, had a long contest with Bor- derer and another, and once more the white rosette was pinned on to her bridle. She is a beautiful mare with a dish head, which she owes to her sire Codring- ton, a son of Womersley, whom Sir Tatton Skyes had for a season. He had given her so much quality that scarcely any one suspected that she had only one cross The Yorkshire Hound Show. 283 of blood in her. Sprig of Shillelah, Iris, Mourttain Dew, and Cavendish, two bays, and two dark browns are in the ring nearly three-quarters of an hour before the judges can make up their minds. At last the battle waxed hot between Mountain Dew and Iris, and the saddles were ordered off. Then they were re-saddled, and the judges mounted them for some scenes in the circus, and Iris, a horse of tremendous power, and the one upon which Mr. Thomson is painted by Sir Francis Grant, gained the day. The hunter first prize winners are put together for the cup, and Lady Der- went has no chance with Iris, who seems to gallop everything down, and is ridden specially by the head groom, John Pye, who “sends him out ” to perfection. Mr. Thomson looks on at the side of the rails, and -adjourns in due time to the Jewel House, to take his choice of a cup. The hound show was held in a quiet spot in the park, just under the chain of woodlands which flank the grange. “The Bramham Moor and _ two-and- _twenty couple” is the hunting toast in these parts, _and their name is one of the thirteen above the hound cages. Sixteen or seventeen huntsmen and whips from England and Scotland are there in scarlet, awaiting their turn to bring their lots on to the flags. Only one wears a cap, and hats and “pudding basons” areallthe go. There was an old Yorkshire huntsman, Will Carter, who never could be pursuaded into any- thing but a felt wideawake even in the field, and placed a horn under the same ban. “ Hard-riding Ben” from Lord Middleton’s is there, but we miss old Tom Sebright, who fought many a good round with him at Redcar, Yarm, and Guisborough, in those plea- sant summer days when the Cleveland Society held the lead, and gave such an impetus to agricultural meetings. John Walker, Harry Ayris, Charles Payne, Jack Goddard, Jack Morgan, and other celebrities do not show ; but Peter Collisson, a worthy successor to 284 Saddle and Sirloin. Joe Maiden over Cheshire, looks on from the stand benches. Old Will Danby is the patriarch of the day, and wears his 75 summers as lightly as a flower. Will was at hunting for just fifty seasons, and then, in his expressive words, “he lapped it up.” He is great in dates, and if you ask him the cause of his vigorous old age, you hear that he has tasted nothing stronger than raspberry vinegar for seven-and-forty years. He “ goes into less room” than he did, and in his neat black coat and waistcoat, white cravat, and drab breeches and gaiters, he looks his profession to the life. ‘“I-can sleep like a man, and eat any mortal thing,” and “I never wore trovsers in my life, and J never will,” is his general sketch of himself. In this respect he differs from his successor in the York and Ainsty, who comes to the /ée in grey trousers, and gets well joked about them, as he thrice walks up for a prize. Thirteen kennels contend, but the prizes fall to the lot of four, and every county save Yorkshire and Linconshire is out of it. Lord Kesteven may well be in a high flow of spirits, and people may well wonder how he has achieved in six seasons what others cannot in a lifetime. There, too, on the front bench sit a bevy of fox-hunting peers—Hawke, Macclesfield, Middleton, and Wenlock. Sir Charles Slingsby watches the brilliant fortunes of the Nelson and Comedy litter, and Mr. Thomson of “the Pitchley,” as Mr. Bright once called it in the House, to the inextinguishable merriment of the landed interest, vibrates between the front benches and the horse ring. Mr. Hall of the Holderness rides up with a geranium in his buttoa-hole, and “ looking as hard as stub nails,’ on Captain Gunter’s grey Crimean Arab, takes his part in the fun. The hunting-field has no gamer or more battered hero, but he jests at his scars; and if his horse does roll over him and squeeze the breath out, his first impulse, when the The Yorkshire FHlound Show. 285 lungs fill, is to ask to be helped on again. “ John o’ the Bedale,” and nearly every other Yorkshire master, are on the back benches ; but we miss the form of Mr. Foljambe, in his green coat, leaning on Mr. Parry of the Puckeridge, and of Captain Percy Williams. Jack Parker of the Sinnington, the very Zekiel Homespun of huntsmen, is not there to tell of the feats of his trencher-fed dogs ; and that Tommiad of fox-hunting centaurs, Tom Smith, Tom Hodgson—with his big white hat and bigger white cravat—and Tom Sebright, are all in their graves. There are twenty-six couple in the entered hound classes, and Lord Kesteven wins them both. His lordship’s have quality for ever ; but they are too full of flesh. Still, with Foreman and Primate to help in one class, and Artful, Rally, and Stately in the other, they have it wa voce. Four of Stately’s stock come with her, and one of them, Seaman, who won at Thirsk the year before, is among the winning lot. Yarborough Nelson—a use- ful, bony dog, but rather lacking fashion in his neck and colour, and still holding the line as well as ever in his ninth season—wins the Stallion Hound Prize. The rain, which has prophesied of itself through divers thunderpeals, comes at last, rolling up the valley of the Wharfe before we are half done; and the huntsmen cage themselves up with their hounds till this happy harbinger of cub-hunting and drought- deliverance passes briskly by. There is a tent spread with dinner for the huntsmen when all is over, but nothing can tempt old Will Danby under canvas ; either he thinks that he will be required to make an oration or to drink something, so he stoutly refuses to enter, and marches about in front of the cages, with a first-whip’s wife, keeping the hounds in order. They are quiet enough till the Tallyhos begin in the tent after Mr. Fox’s speech, and then they send up an answering cheer. Some simple-minded visitors don’t understand these sounds. At York, we met two 286 Saddle and Sirloin. women running violently towards the spot from whence they proceeded—“ Dearie me! Mary Ann, let’s gan and see. Somebody’s murdering somebody. Come along, lass!” Jack Backhouse’s speech has accompaniments which may well make the fox cubs tremble in their pads. The toast was the “ Unsuc- cessful Candidates,” and Jack announces himself as “Yorkshire Jack.” First he tells how, when he and his friend Ben Morgan are “ligging a long way fra yam,” they don’t “lap it up,” but they draw for a second fox. - Leaving the past, he dashes boldly into the future; and referring to the contests of the day, he says, “I'll get a prize ye now—I’ve been what they call ‘ recommended.’”* It was a great speech. Mr. Hall can hardly believe in such eloquence on the part of Jack, when it reaches his ears later in the day, but he asks a huntsman or two, and they are unanimous in their testimony. The scarlets linger near the hunters for the rest of the afternoon, but by the morrow’s morn they are far away. On Friday, the sixpenny crowd are in at one o'clock, and by four, man and beast are on the move homeward. Some | * No one knows that Jack was ‘‘ recommended,” as he states ; but at Beverley, in 1869. he fulfilled his prophecy, and took a 57. prize and a 2/. gratuity for being second in the dog puppy class with Leader. The Bishop of Oxford, who was staying with Mr. Sykes, M.P., and took his seat with his peers on the M. F. H. bench, could not resist the beaming looks of his brother Yorkshiremen ; and the oration which Jack delivered in honour of Leader, first holding him by the head and then by the stern, when the dog tried to cut it, was one which the eloquent prelate will not forget. Soon after this Jack was so struck with the tie of one of his brother huntsmen, that he insisted that it was starched and ironed on him, and wouldn’t belieye in ‘“‘ one effort” —‘‘ Nowt of the sort.” Old Will Danby came over once more to the county where he and Mr. Tom Hodgson performed such prodigies among the foxes ; and when a photographer placed the huntsmen and judges in a group, Mr. Tom Parrington took the modest old fellow by the collar, and compelled him by ‘‘ gentle violence” to come on to the flags. Mr. Hall was reminding him of the Lammas Stream business when Will got over on a 15/. grey, and he himself got ‘‘stabled between banks” on a 400-guinea brown. Farnley Hall. 287 lead the foal and dam, or ride the stallions, with the carpet-bag and sheets folded up in front of them. The owner of Lady Derwent is of this mind. The mare is in a white hood and sheet, and wears a collar studded with pieces of round pasteboard on her neck, each containing the printed record of a victory. He rides her through Wetherby in state, and we leave her standing in her groom’s hands waiting to be trucked, with a bunch of white ribbons flying from her head, big enough for an army of brides. “ The Vale of the Wharfe is adorned with elegant mansions, and the views obtained from neighbouring elevations are at once noble and commanding.” So says a Yorkshire Directory, and so old Coates must have thought from his heart, as laden with weighty calf-records, and still weightier bull data, beginning from Abelard, that descendant of “ Booth’s lame’ and “ Booth’s old white” bulls, he gained the top of the wooden ridge of Sheven. Then patting his white mare’s neck, he descended on his winding road to the homestead at Greenholme, which lay stretched, west- ward of the litle market town of Otley, like a land of shorthorn promise beneath. It was here that “ The Improved Durham Breed” found a home in those dreary hopeless times which followed upon the Comet mania and the war, when 30 guineas a season was a great bull hire, and 80 guineas a marvellous purchase. Mr. Whitaker never bated one jot of heart or hope, and “the quiet afternoons at Greenholme’” have borne their rich fruit for shorthorn breeders at last. Without his earnest aid, Coates would never have ventured to bring out the first volume of the Herd- Book in 1822, when nothing but “Corn and Currency” was on every English tongue, and agrarian outrage and hunger were raging across the channel. It was “printed by W. Walker, at the Wharfedale Stanhope Press, top of the market-place, Otley ;’ and a manuscript copy of it is still preserved, 288 Saddle and Sirloin. written out in Mr. Whitaker’s own neat hand, and with his red ink annotations, which now almost need a microscope to decipher. It would seem as if he had walked about for years with the images of every great cow or bull firmly fixed in his retina. Of Duchess First he merely says “ fair ;’ of Duchess Second ‘“droops ;” while Hubback comes in among other criticisms for “flank and twist wonderful, shoulders rather upright.’ Three-fourths of the original list of subscribers have gone to their rest ; and so too, within the last twelve years has the patriarchal James Ward, R.A., who condescended to draw Maria and Miranda on stone for the work, and speculated on the coming fortunes of a certain young self-taught mail-driver, Herring of Doncaster, who had also borne a hand and sketched the heifer “ Daffodil in two positions.” A few years later, the present editor of the Herd-Book, then a mere lad of fifteen, fresh from his school studies of the Durham Ox and Coates’s Driffield Cow, was sent over to paint Charles (878) for the second volume, and, like Culshaw, whose boyish embassy to the same spot has still to be told, he dates his chief Shorthorn impressions from that weary jour- ney, two-thirds on foot, and a third in the carrier’s cart. In 1844, after the death of Coates junior, he took up the Herd Book with Volume 6th, and has now brought it up to the 18th, besides revising and reprinting the first five volumes of the series. No man ever threw more energy into a great task, or made such a succession of brilliant sale averages as he has done for twenty years past. Tim Metcalfe, the herds- man, was also a remarkable character in the Green- holme drama. He “ knew ’em when he saw’em’ as well as any man, but as he never knew his alphabet, he invariably clenched the matter with, “ Gzve me ? pedi- gree,and I'll tak it home t’it maister.’ No wonder then that the taste for Shorthorns should have gradually spread along the Wharfe, and not only Farnley Fall. 289 brought new tenants to browse in the pastures of Farn- ley, Broughton, and Denton Park, but tempted the Duchess tribe to renew their strength in later years near Wetherby.* Farnley Hall, which was originally built in the time * Mr. Fawkes’s career as a breeder of shorthorns may be said to have begun in earnest with Mr. Whitaker’s stock. His first purchase was Norfolk (2377), a grand roan bull by Second Hubback, and then such a favourite of Mr. Bates’s, that he sent six heifers from Kirk- levington expressly to be served by him. One of them was ‘“‘ my dest Duchess” 33rd, the great grandam of Grand Duke ; another, Blanche by Belvedere, from whom Roan Duchess 2nd is in direct descent ; and a third founded the Waterloos of Aylesbury and Springfield fame. Norfolk himself was from Nonpareil by Magnet, rather a gaudy cow, from Mr. Barker of East Layton’s sale, where Sir Charles Knightley purchased Rosy and Primrose, which, along with Rufus and Little John of Mr. Arbuthnot’s breeding, virtually founded the Fawsley herd. In 1834, Mr. Whitaker bought Verbena (45 guineas) and the grand Medora (40 guineas), both as heifer calves, at Mr. Richard Booth’s Studley sale, and bred nine calves from the latter. In the previous year Mr. Whitaker sold off his herd, and again bought about three dozen well bred cows, for the use of his work people at the Burley mills. Mr. Fawkes was so much struck with the looks of some of them, that he arranged with his neighbour to allow him to select twenty for service principally by Norfolk. The compact was to be in force for three years, and 10 guineas was to be paid for each of them, doublets or not, at the expiration of a week, provided it was not a black-nose, and had no symptoms of unsoundness. Hence, sixty were transferred during that period from Greenholme to Farnley, and the first ten bull-calves by Norfolk averaged 100 guineas each. The very first bull-calf that was dropped received the title of Sir Thomas Fairfax, (who won at the Bristol Royal, and twice at the Yorkshire Society) ; and the Ohio Company offered 400 guineas for Norfolk in vain on that trip, when, but for Mr. Whitaker’s faint praise, they would have carried off Duchess 34th in calf with the Duke of Northumberland. However, they took away the Duke of York (1941) for 150 guineas, who had been sold as a calf for 14 guineas at Mr. Whitaker’s sale the year before, and bought some lots at the Studley sale as well. When he was rising four, 250 guineas was accepted for Sir Thomas Fairfax, and he departed to Brawith, leaving eight-and-twenty ‘‘ Fair’-named calves behind. Old Fairy Tale long remained to testify to this beauti- ful favourite, and she bravely supported his line with fourteen calves since 1842. Medora had been helping meanwhile to carry on the Norfolks, thrice from the old bull direct, and thrice from Sir Thomas Fairfax, and when the three years’ lease of Mr. Whitaker’s cows had peered, the Farnley herd mainly consisted of some thirty two-year-old eifers. U 290 Saddle and Sirloin. of Elizabeth, was added on to about a hundred years ago, and stands on a rising ground, a mile and a half to the north-east of Otley. The road winds up through the well-wooded park, of a hundred and forty acres, and so along an avenue thickly lined with laurels, among which “the merry brown hares come leaping,” and the pheasants feed in troops, as if the crack of a Manton was a sound unknown in Wharfedale. A road to the right, just before we reach the quaint old iron gates, leads acrossa bridge, and past the aviary to the farmyard buildings, part of which once composed the ancient kennels, from which Mr. Fawkes in his younger days was wont to ride forth at the head of his harriers. All the cattle stand on wood spars in old-fashioned comfortable boxes. Robinson Crusoe, a bull onthe shortest leg, and with the deepest bosom we ever saw, was then the principal tenant of the bull paddock, but we heard of Milton and his sire Rockingham, who owned no master but a certain dog after his ring had been torn out of his nose. Laudable was a good bull, and Bridegroom’s three sons, Sir Edmund Lyons, John O’Groat, and General Bosquet were all Royal winners like himself. “The General” was not so neat, but more massive and mossy-haired than Sir Edmund Lyons, and his son Bon Garcon also kept up the Farnley charter, and beat Royal Butterfly as a calf at Chester. Mr. Fawkes was very lucky with three, but sold the fourth, John O’Groat fora good sum. Bull-breeding has always been his forte, and since those days he has won first prizes with Friar Tuck and his own brother Friar Bacon at Plymouth Royal in ’65. At Newcastle Royal he took a first with Marquis, and at Manchester Royal the same honours with Lord Isabeau. It is his rule only to show young bulls. He has always tried for roans, and it is his experience that white upon red is more likely to produce them than red upon white. The Pig Show at Keighley. 291 It was not, after all, an unnatural transition from calves with the martial and political names without, to the suits of ancient armour and the old rallying room of the great Yorkshire Orange party. Sir Thomas Fairfax, too, was reflected through his sword and his candlesticks, which hung, with Oliver Crom- well’s hat, in the rich oak-panelled entrance. There, however, the chain of connexion with the herd ceased. Not one bull stirred up the remembrance of its Royal triumphs on canvas; and we felt as one green silk curtain after another was drawn aside by the hand of our host, that there must be a deep truth in the words of the author of Hore Subsectve when he spoke of the six great sights of his life, and classed the Pyrenees, the Venus of Melos, Titian’s Entombment, and Paul Veronese’s Cain with his wife and child, and The Rhine under a Midnight Thunderstorm at Coblentz, with the wondrous Turners at Farnley Hall CHAPTER. XL ““Mrs. Marcet admired his hams. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘ our hams are the only true hams ; yours are only Shems or Japhets.’ ” Sydney Smith’s Life. The Pig Show at Keighley—Celebrating a Victory—Mr. Wainman’s Pigs—Pig Scenes Abroad—Mr. Waterton at Home—Mr. Gully, ‘* The Squire,” and Mr. Tom Hodgson—Doncaster Moor—Purity’s Five Heats—‘‘ Martingale.” BIT of good Pig-Racing,” said a country philo- sopher to us, “is worth all your horse-running business. It’s twice the fun sure-ly, and nobbut one hundredth part of the expense. It taks up a yale afternoon, and t’Leger don’t tak four minnits.” It would have been hopeless to meet such an argument, especially when propounded by a brawny mason in U2 292 Saddle and Sirloin. his Sunday best, with unkempt hair, and collars up to his cheek-bones, and a visage absolutely beaming with the proud recollection of how “old sow wan.” The turfite, who feebly suggested that he didn’t see the great difference, as an owner could now eat his horse if he didn’t run well, was at once suspected of “ chaff- ing” (which countrymen hate of all things), and re- ceived a broadside in unshackled Doric, such as our “steel pen’—whatever Colonel Penn’s might do— would despair of reproducing. The fact is, that pig racing, a/zas pig showing, is a very solemn British in- stitution. Go into a local agricultural show in Lan- cashire and the West Riding of Yorkshire, and the vast majority of the rustics never get beyond the pigs, the poultry, and the washing machines. Booth and Bates cows are wholly lost on them, and the hunters are a drug in their eyes, except when they are “ asked a question” over the hurdles. No town in those vast hives of industry is more de- voted to its agricultural show that Keighley. It is the . high festival of the year, and on one occasion every window was illuminated. Choice quintets from the Branches, Towneley, and Warlaby herds have met for the cup in its ring. Sheep-dogs and rabbits are not kept back from honour, and the owner of the donkey in the best condition is rewarded with a sovereign. The “neddies” step out very differently since this stimulus was applied, when they ‘* Gang for the coals i’ the morning,” and “ prods” will soon be a thing of the past. Still, Keighley reserves its highest sympathies for the pig, and 30/. is given in “labouring men’s classes” alone. For this, forty to fifty pigs of about 300/ value, and nearly all of the middle breed, compete. The pig is the very Apis of the locality. At dinner-time the men devote half-an-hour rigidly to the stye. They sit and scratch their grunting idols if it is wet; they ' The Pig Show at K. eighley. 293 walk them out if it is fine; and they seldom throw away the soap-suds on Saturday night till they have been put todo double duty. The Society keeps a special van, which it lets out at a shilling a ride for conveyance to and from the show-ground, &c., and the best rug or blanket in the house is freely given up for the candidate pig, if the day happens to be cold. A Court of Error, quite as learned as the bench in swine points, watch all round the ring; and it is a fearful moment when the cup entries have been called out, and all save two or three “toppers” are put back. The white, blue, pink, or green (for “ extra”) rosettes are placed that night with as much pride over the mantelpiece, as a Knight of the Garter’s banner above his Windsor stall. “ Drunken Barnaby,” in his Northern Tour, spoke of the inhabitants of Keighley as ** Jovial, jocund, jolly bowlers, As if they were the world’s controllers ;” and they certainly keep up the character right royally on their August show-day. There are two grand stands, and three thousand people in them, or looking on below, when the pigs come out for the Challenge Cup, and 500/. has been taken at the gates. Carriage loads of visitors are driven off to lunch in the town, like tallies of voters going up to poll. There is venison from Bolton Park, ling-fed Lonk nearly equal to it in shade and flavour, and grouse from every moor in the West Riding. Regalias serve as toothpicks, and Roéderer and Clicquot don’t spoil in ice. The volunteer tent was used on one occasion for a bazaar, and, as a wind-up, pug-dogs and “ chintz- cats’ were raffled for. Among the most curious com- ponents of that throng are the “ Cowan Headers,” who for many years bore the name of “the moon- rakers,” owing to a rooted belief that one of them mistook the moon’s reflection for a cheese, and tried 204 Saddle and Sirloin. to rake it out of a mill-dam. They are rather shy; and at their feasts lads dance with lads, and lasses with lasses during the early part of the evening. Later on, however, Mr. Spurgeon, who so much approves of the other arrangement, would decline to be M.C. The Haworth and Wath Valley one-tram line puzzled them sorely. At last one of their phi- losophers gave the company his mind pretty sharply upon the point: “ Did they think he was syke a fule as pay to gan and hev to walk back—you’ve nobbut line one way.” Mr. Tuley, a Keighley weaver, first inoculated the locality with high art pig-feeding. He showed at The Royal, and called his cottage ‘‘ Matchless House,” after his pet prize sow of the large breed. No small portion of the eighteen shillings a week, which he and his wife earned at the loom, were spent in oatmeal for his pigs; and Mrs. Tuley once “shaved a pig for our maister,” when the judges preferred them without. hair. He was a great man for pig pedigrees, and he could generally get 54 for the large sort at two months, The enthusiasm for pig-showing also rages at Leeds, but does not take quite such a legitimate form. The Leeds system is in fact rather pig-buying than pig-breeding. Some of the owners keep public- houses, where people meet, not to troll (as we have known rustics to do for nearly an hour over their ale) that dreary Wiltshire ditty :-— ** Heigho! my dinner, oh! Bacon and potatoes, oh !” but to hear at the bar the result of the summer “ pig races” by telegram, and to make sows and boars the theme of their discourse. Professor Simonds and his tooth-screw are names of dread, and when friends do begin to let out confidentially over the ale, there are some very awkward stories of pigs borrowed and rules Celebrating a Pig Victory. 295 defied. One of their great legitimate victories was when they “walked into Wainman” and Carhead Duchess, with Lady Havelock at Chester. The news was telegraphed to Leeds, and the whole of the owner's family circle arrived on the Roodee next day. The gude wife was especially communicative, and said that there was “some sense in those judges,” and that “Tom would niver have sent her but for me.” They must have pretty well spent the 10/. prize over the trip, and at night we met them in an inn drinking ginger-beer and giving away oranges in the gladness oftheir hearts. ‘“ The missus” had a large basket of them on her knee, and pressed them after her hearty Yorkshire way on everyone, in honour of the event. “ There, maister, you’re welcome if you’il ha’ yen— old sow’s wan.” The pair were pretty equal, but Mr. Fisher had four more shyes at her, and won the odd trick. The conductress of Lady Kate was quite as en- thusiastic as the Leeds dame. She rode up and down the country in the railway truck with “the lady” and her litter (exciting thereby the deepest devotion on the part of the porters), and sold her infant charges at 57, apiece. That summer she and Lady Kate gathered many a rosette in Yorkshire and Lancashire; and she delighted to sit by her sow, and to reckon up on her fingers its thirteen crosses from the Chineze. This was the poor girl’s only summer in the show- yards. Thetrip had been undertaken to divert her mind from her fate, as she died soon after from cancer of the breast. Some of the rich Manchester men are also rather fond of the sport, and do not scruple to play off prac- tical jokes on each other. One of them, who was not very sure that his pigs would win, overtook his friend’s lot on the road. “ You may turn back,” he said to the swineherd; “your master’s dead.” He had there- fore the show pretty well to himself. His friend did 296 Saddle and Sirloin. not upbraid him when they met on ’Change, but he bided his time. As Mr. Disraeli observes, “the opportunity came at last, as everything does in this world, if men are firm and calm.” Finding his friend’s pigs in their crates at a station, bound to a local show, and no one with them, the “ dead” man changed the directions and despatched them to York; and the owner soon guessed the reason of their non- appearance, Mr. Wainman of Carhead, in the Keighley district, had the most remarkable career as a breeder and shower of pigs during the twelve years he was at it. He took very little interest in the pursuit himself; and the whole management devolved on his steward, Mr. John Fisher, as great a genius among pigs as Mr. Culshaw, the Towneley “ Talleyrand of trainers” is among Shorthorns, or the late George Newton, of Mr. Sanday’s showing-days, amongst Leicesters. No pigs to speak of were kept at Carhead until 1853, when Mr. Fisher bought some of the Tuley sort, and crossed ~ them with another purchase, Mr. Swan’s Midas. It is not, however, our intention to go into particulars of crosses, or to tell how Miss Emily, the first high pur- chase, was the principal mould in which the middle breed were cast and quickened. The composition succeeded best by the union of a large sow and a small boar; and the Carhead average has generally been about 34 stone of 14lbs. at twelve months for the large breed, 30 stone for the middle, and 25 stone for the small. Midas was more adapted for store pur- poses than the show-yard. Still, at Ripon, Mr. “ Val Barford” fought hard to place him first, and kept on saying to his brother judges, “ Look at his gammons, gentlemen!” However, if they did look, they “ didn’t see it,’ and he got the blue instead of the white rosette. A cottier bought him at last, and sold one of his flitches to a Bradford provision merchant. Part of it found its way to the kitchen of a municipal dig- eae ee hed Mr. Wainman's Pigs. 297 nitary ; but the fumes were all over the house when the cook tried to toast a rasher for the parlour. The dealer being sarcastically apprised of its strength under fire, gave away the rest of the flitch to the children on “ Collop Monday ;’” and thus freed him- self for life from all “ Pray ye a collop” levies, as even those strong-stomached innocents would “have no more of that old horse.’ The cottier kept very dark as to what he did with the other flitch and the hams. All he would say was, that he “ had fettled somebody with them,” and that he “had made mony a waur bargain than that.” In truth, an aged boar should be buried with all the honours, and turn, like “ Imperial Cesar,” to clay, and not to bacon. The first large-breed sow at Carhead was bought by mere chance in Lancashire. A working-man turned her out of a stye for a mid-day run into a croft near Colne, and Mr. Fisher (who won the Beverley Cup on Falcon as a boy, and was second horseman for ten seasons to Mr. Hall of the Holderness) chancing to ride past, was so delighted with her symmetry and action, that he drew rein, and bought her for 8/. 2s. 6d. The “uncontrollable impulse” was a correct one, as she became the dam of Chelmsford Duchess, the first Carhead winner at the Royal, as well as the Salis- bury Boar and Carhead Duchess. Chelmsford Duchess was sold for 40/. to the French Government, and Yorkshire Prioress went to Salisbury the next July. She turned Iicwt. 2qrs. 27lbs. at Kildwick station, when she was put on the rail in Yorkshire. During the journey water was thrown upon her, and she would stand up and drink, whereas Lady Airedale never drank on her travels in the hottest weather, and seemed to sulk at the sight of water, although she would eat for ever. The Salisbury clock struck ten when the London cattle special cleared the great chalk cutting, and arrived at the station, where a goodly multitude awaited it. “ Dick” and “Kit,” 298 Saddle and Sirloin. who were then Mr. Fisher’s gentlemen-at-arms, drew the crate, with Yorkshire Prioress in it, off the truck, and distinctly remembered hearing the sow rise on to her feet. She was only left for eight or ten minutes while the other pigs and the luggage were looked up, but she was never seen alive again. One theory was that she had been suffocated by the crowd, but Mr. Fisher considered that it had been done purposely with a little chloroform, which would tell almost in- stantaneously on so fat a subject. Almost before he could believe she was dead, a lot of rough fellows showed an immense anxiety to purchase the carcase. Her throat was cut, and after a good deal of ‘chaffer- ing, a bargain was struck at 77, In the course of the week he espied some of the most talkative vendees presiding over a bread and fat bacon counter in a tent, and felt more sure than ever that he had a key to the sow’s mysterious fate. ‘‘ Dick” was inconsolable, and wished to return at once to his native vale, but the sale of the Carhead Duchess litter insensibly revived him, and enabled him to bear up under the dispensa- tion. And well it might, as they were going off by IO guineas and 12 guineas apiece. One noble lord stood cheapening a pair, while the agent of another kept stirring the pets of his fancy on to their legs. They were pigged on April 12th, and the eleven which went to Salisbury cleared 1164 Ios. The best of them, Sir Roger de Coverley, to whom the Carhead large breed owed so much, both for good and very large litters, was kept at home, and after winning sixteen prizes, was sold to the Russian Government at three years old for 20/, and got suffo- cated on the road. The Golden Dream strain was not so big as the Chelmsford Duchess one, but the old sow was a wonder of fertility, and had 153 pigs at thirteen litters ; while her daughter, Golden Days, had three litters of eleven each, and won nine prizes before. she touched twenty-two months. Lord of the Was- Mr. Wainman’s Pigs. 299 sail, the first middle breed boar that ever took a Royal prize, had a coat of hair eight and a half inches long, and Mr. Wainman, who is a very keen fisher both on the Wharfe and the Spey, was wont to dress his flies with it. He was so proud of it, that he kept a per- petual sample of this porcine Esau in his pocket-book. If “ Wassail’s” hair was the best, Fresh Hope beat everything for bulk; as when she was sold for 20 guineas and yielded up her hams to the slaughter, they weighed 94lbs, each. Those who descended to view these salted remains in the cellar, declared that but for their being “ nearly all real sandwich meat,” they might have pertained to a hippopotamus. For thick- ness of hide, no pig came up to Carhead Duke. It was found that it would only do for blacksmiths’ aprons; but as it would not make three, and only cut up to waste for two, it was converted into a partition wall for a tap-room at Keighley. In that position it is made the text of much sound pig doctrine, and is always alluded to with the deepest respect. Arch Trespasser was only beaten once, and ap- peared at the Royal in three different characters. At one year he was the small breed ; at two years old, the middle, and at three years old, the large: and no general or special demurrer was lodged. He died at last of tumour in the chest, and was buried six feet deep in the Carhead stack garth, with a silver “ perfect cure” ring inhis nose. It has no legitimate hall mark, seeing that Mr. Fisher invented it, and it will give the Yorkshire archeologists some trouble as to its date and use, if.a century hence they hold a picnic in Aire- dale with their pickaxes, and invade this good boar’s barrow. One of his journeys was to the Royal Irish show at Clonmel, where he took the gold medal as the best boar in all the classes. The Earl of Kim- berley, the then Lord-Lieutenant, was looking at him with his suite, when an outraged Paddy planted him- self at his lordship’s elbow, and said, “ And sure if I 300 Saddle and Sirloin. had been a judge, I’d not have given that pig a prize at all, at all.” “Don’t bother yourself,” retorted Mr. Fisher, “ you never will be a judge at all, at all;” and the critic retired without having the best of it. Irish pig-leaders are most unremitting in their blundering efforts to square the judges. “Give us a prize!” said one, nudging a friend of ours as he entered the yard ; “by my sowle, you'll know the pig again, anyhow ; he’s got a big scratch with a nail on his back.” The large breed of boars are very difficult to make up for show. Smaller ones sleep more, but their big brothers should live in solitude, as they hear and smell each other, and are always on their legs champing. Silverhair, from Mr. Unthank’s (of Cumberland) sort, crossed with King of the West, a Watson boar, began the Carhead small breed, and Silverwing, their beau- tiful daughter, showed the light offal and short head of that “silver” strain to perfection. She won nearly thirty prizes “off malt-dust and turnips ;”’ but she went at last both in the loins and the muscles of her - hams, and became lumpy, as pigs will do when they are brought out over and over again. King Cube, her “constant pardner,” as Mrs. Gamp observes, was also by King of the West, and Mr. Wainman smoked many a cigar over this beautiful pair, when he did not care to look at anything else. Missing Link, Happy Link, and the rest of the “ Links,” were of the middle breed, and combined the size of the large breed with the thriftiness and quality of the small, but there was no keeping some of them within gsowth bounds. At Lincoln, Mr. Torr would not allow that Missing Link was of the small breed, and he placed her second. She was afterwards the best middle-bred sow at Battersea, and finally took the cup at Keighley, when she weighed nearly forty stone. Mr. Wainman’s greatest victory was at the Wor- cester Royal, where he won eight firsts and a second. In this year (1863), the Carhead pigs attended 33 Mr. Wainman's Pigs. 301 shows, and won 121 first prizes and 50 secoi ds (many of them “to their own stable’), making 464¢. Ios. be- sides one silver cup, six silver medals, and one bronze. Fresh Hope led the way with nineteen firsts and a second, and King Cube backed her up with fifteen and three. The last victory was at Birmingham in 1866, with a pen of five got by Fresh Fire, and then the whole were sold, Mr. Jacob Wilson going in for Dream of Pretence and Golden Link. Their show-season generally opened, at Accrington, in April, and lasted to the Leeds Fat Show. Big Kit—whose biceps muscle was a marvel to behold— and Little Kit were found everywhere from Edinburgh to Exeter with the precious crates. Their heaviest reverse was at Newport, on which they descended in charge of four clippers, and had to strike their. flag without a prize or a mention, before “those Irish- looking blacks and whites.” Sometimes the army of Wainman Whites would be off in two divisions com- manded by “the Kits,’ and then Mr. Fisher would meet them with the main body from Carhead, and they would close their ranks for a grand descent on the Yorkshire or the Highland Show. They very seldom went to the Smithfield Club, but at Birming- ham, in the halcyon days of pig prices, when a fox- hunter boasted that he got three days a-week hunt- ing out of two sows, Mr. Wainman has made 15/. each for pigs out of a prize pen, under six months old. The late Lord Berwick was the first to pay it, and ten guineas to 12 guineas was by no means un- usual. French buyers always fought out the point of “No ginney ! No ginney! Von pound!’ and when the bargain was struck, Mr. Fisher was generally seen sketching in chalks the imperial fleur-de-lis of La Belle france on his late charge’s hams. Nineteen young pigs, chaperoned by Silver Wing, Silver Beard, Duke of York, Rival Duchess, and Middle Link, went to the Hamburgh show in 1864. 302 Saddle and Sirloin. The seniors, as a fitting reward for their excellent sea legs, got pretty nearly all they could from a committee, which attached more importance to gilt cards and waterfalls than prizes; but very few of the nineteen recrossed the German Ocean. At Hamburgh,a crate end came out with one of Mr. Bowly’s Berkshires in it, just as it was being hoisted over the side, and the sow sank with a deep, sullen splash into the Elbe. For nearly a quarter of an hour the German sailors stood craning over the side of the vessel in mute expecta- tion that the fresh pork would reappear, but poor Fritz saw nothing but a few bubbles for his pains. Yorkshire and Suffolk worked very amicably together, and especially in one instance. A foreigner came up - to Mr. Fisher to buy the last of the Carhead lot. “Ah! I see de beautiful gentleman; vot de prize (price) ?” “Fifteen guineas!” “Fifteen ginneys. Ah! dat ginney again. Yah! Fifteen pound!” The bargain had reached this stage, when the mistake as to sex was explained. “Ah! de beautiful lady; if I could buy de beautiful gentleman for de beautiful lady, I would buy de beautiful lady.” So Mr. Fisher took him round to Mr. Crisp, and for 30/. he got “de beautiful” pair. The price was paid in thalers of three shillings each, and the two Kits carried them in a basket slung upon a pole. There was no telling where to keep them all day, soa hole was dug in the pen, and they were buried with a crate above them till the Kits could resume their burden, and convert them into a banker’s draft.* ‘* Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take that for a hermitage.” So sang the poet of the Royalists; and Charles Waterton by that mysterious and solitary worship of * Yorkshire and Lancashire breeders generally run on the middle or large breed, and fanciers on the small. Scotland and Ireland are all for the large, and so are Australia, America, Prussia, Holland, Spain, Mr. Waterton at Flome. 303 animated nature, to which he had dedicated himself from childhood to old age, proved the couplet true. His lot brought with it no obligation to work for his bread, and he became a mighty hunter with the Bads- worth, when “ Darlington’s peer” was in his prime. Sudden remorse seized him one day just before the hunting season began. He felt that scampering after foxes was “not life in earnest,” and he longed to ex- change the Za/ly-ho! and the Ware wheat! for the golden flash of the humming bird, the scream of the parrot, and the deep toll of the campanero in the forests of Brazils. A scarlet tempter in the person of the Earl himself, met him a few miles from London, and, jumping out of his chaise-and-four, earnestly begged him to change his mind. Still, he was not to be headed back, although, as he used to and Germany; and the Emperor of the French purchased large and middle for three successive years. At one time Mr. Wainman bred about 220 pigs a year, and sold about 1000/. worth. Until the cattle plague came, there was a brisk trade; but the regulations interfered and closed the English and Irish markets. In England the pigs were perpetually stopped at stations, owing to some informality, real or sup- posed, and, to save further expense, the butchers got them. Between Carhead and Forfar five passes were required ; and, after such a severe check, high prices became a dream of the past. Mr. Wiley’s small breed are remarkable for neatness and quality, and he has always got very high prices for them. ‘The old gentleman has not been a very extensive shower ; but he very seldom missed Birming- ham, and won constantly till there were more ‘‘ black judges” on the bench. Lord Wenlock’s pigs are always very fat, and his lordship has never shown finer pens of the small breed than those at Battersea and Leeds, when the young sows were declared by the judges to be ‘‘ mag- nificent,” as in truth they were. Before Mr. Wainman came out, Mr. Harrison, of Stockport, beat everyone with small, middle, and big. Carhead caught him up at Canterbury and Leeds, and Mr. Wainman bought his Worcester Duke at Battersea for 23/., and won thirteen firsts and four seconds with him. Victor, one of Mr. Harrison’s boars, did Mr. Duckering a good deal of good, and corrected the coarseness of the Lincolnshire sort. Mr. Duckering has sows chiefly for the middle breed, but he has shown all three for some years, and beat Mr. Wainman, at Plymouth, with his Dexter Chief, who was beautifully got up. His two sons assist him, and they keep a coal staith at Kirton Lindsey, Mr. Hickman, of Hull, was once an extensive 304 Saddle and Sirloin. o say as he stood before the Darlington H nnt picture in his hall “ those dark eyes fairly looked through you.” The spirit must have been still strong upon him, as, when no convoy could be got for six weeks, he “ stole back” once more, and then, true to time, forsook Womersley and Hemsworth Lane Ends, and dropped down the Channel at last. His life from that point is told in his Wanderings. As Sydney Smith wrote of him, “ the sun exhausted him by day, and the mos- quitoes bit him by night; but on went Mr. Charles Waterton. * * He rejoices that he is the only man there ; that he has left his species far away, and is at last in the midst of his blessed baboons.” It seemed passing strange when, after a walk of three or four miles from Wakefield, with railways to right of you, railways to left of you, the park gate shower ; and for two or three years he was very successful. Among the Leeds pig fanciers, Mr. Gavin held a high place ; but Mr. Dyson is quite the emperor of them now, and buys and shows a good one of the large breed whenever he can. Mr. Sagar, of Saltaire, is a great local shower, and once took a second at the Royal, with a sow of Mr. Wainman’s breed, beating Golden Link. ‘This sow won the Keighley Challenge Cup, which is decided, not by marching out all the winners, but by special entry before the classes are judged, so that the cup pig is got out of the way, and not allowed to compete in its class. Mr. Mangles is the largest Yorkshire pig breeder. He was a pupil of the late Mr. Watson, of Bolten Park, Cumberland, and got a rare boar, Bendigo, from him, of the small white breed. Latterly he has stood more on the middle breed and always prefers the small boar in the cross. He has won two Royal prizes, but Birmingham has been his field of the cloth of gold. He ‘‘composed” a nice flecked pig by crossing blacks and whites ; but sometimes it only comes out with a little blue on the quarters. Black-eyed Susan was a very nice sow ; and she and the celebrated Brutus were both of The Squire, and full of Thormanby blood. Mr. Mangles maintains that bacon should be fed for less than 6d. per lb., and that pigs should pay for all they consume without taxing the manure. New milk, to encourage sleepiness, warmth, cleanliness, and regularity, keeping the styes rather dark, and laying down ashes for the pigs to root over when they are not in the field, are very salient points of the system. Mr. Peter Eden has been very successful lately at the Royal meeting with the blood of King Lear ; and he and Mr. Duckering seem to be the great winners of the day. Each took four first prizes at the Manchester Royal. Mr. Waterton at Home. 305 opened and shut you within leafy solitudes which were surrounded by a nine-foot wall. Ife had accurately gauged the jumping power of a fox, and we think it was his boast that one, and only one had ever got its pads on the coping, and that it made no second effort. Walton Hall seemed quite a city of refuge, where a man might lay by all care and sorrow for a season ; but still, no one without the high spirits of a schoolboy or the heart of a naturalist could enjoy it to the full. The birds were to him a living poem all the year round. “The change of seasons was his calendar.” Rooks cawed gratefully as they dug up the wire-worm at eve in the old grass, and “the royal birds” built their clumsy nests, and did their fishing in peace. Not a gun oratrap was known about the domain. We ventured to suggest that the water rats must increase terribly under the golden age ; and he replied quite angrily: “ Kz the water- vats! theyre my greatest comfort—they’re the English beaver!” Still a stewed carp from the lake carried you back to the “good old times,” and furnished a dish not soon to be forgotten. The house was girdled by a moat, and the cross rising above the ivy stood near the drawbridge en- trance, as the earnest and symbol of his faith. Every tree had its story, or was peopled with some myste- rious feathered tenant in fee. There was the owl’s hole in the oak beyond the bridge; a tower was pierced with “chambers” for the jackdaws’ parliament which never “rose for the holidays;”’ the American haw was there in plenty, for the missle-thrush or storm- cock ; and there too was the shattered elm, from whose shade, as he so often recounted, under a prescience of ill which made him hurry home from the confessional, he warned off two visitors, just before it was struck by lightning. He delighted to point out the window from which when a child the good Abbé rescued him as he x 306 Saddle and Sirloin. climbed along the sill to get at a nest in the eaves ; but on the point as to whether he had really tied up his arm ina sling and tried to hatch an egg in his armpit, and was within four days of being a mother when a schoolfellow pushed him and broke it, we did not find him decisive. He seemed content to let the story rest in the shape which it then bore. We loved best to see him in his most inspired attitude, watching in the October evenings whether the rooks would take their regular departure for the season after their evening meal for Nostell Wood, or linger one or more days “over the ninth.” He would almost drag you out, and stand bare-headed on the lawn long after nightfall, listening to the quack of the mallard, and telling each fresh water-fowl by its note, as it settled on the lake, with all the quickness of Fine Ear. The late Archbishop of Canterbury, who not un- frequently paid him a visit from Bishopthorpe or the Palace at Ripon, must have smiled, as did many others, when he scaled that wonderful staircase with its pic- . tured walls, and found on the two landings, among cases of humming birds, toucans, and the other results of his Wanderings, the “ English Reformation zoologi- cally illustrated.” If there was an uglier monkey than usual in the menagerie-offerings which were made to him, he stuffed it to represent Old Nick, or labelled it “John Knox.” Titus Oates, Cranmer, and Bishop Burnet each found their equivalent very low down in the scale of reptiles ; ‘‘ Mother Law, Church, and her Dissenting Fry,” looked like a group of toad dancers ; and as for “ Queen Bess at Lunch,” it was a perfectly appalling combination of lizards and newts, and other unhallowed things. Beetles and flies, as being a special emblem of Satan, also bore their part in this strange medley of polemics; but still there was no lack of high-bred courtesy on his part to those of another creed. You thought only of his deep devotion when you saw him bend his shrunken form before the Eu- ——-- es ee ae Mr. Waterton at Home. 307 charist, and heard him bear his part at vespers in the hymn of St. Bernard : ** My comfort in the wilderness ; But oh ! when face to face !” He slept on the ground, with his head on a hollowed out beech block, in a little room next to the chapel, or in his Brazilian hammock, and always awoke him- self at three by Sir Walter Raleigh’s clock, which had been removed from the Knight’s house at Chelsea, and stood near the staircase entry of his bed-room. The first hour so snatched from sleep he “gave to the health and preservation of the soul.” Hermit as he seemed in his habits and guise, he entered keenly into everything in the outer world, and loved dearly to find that he was not forgotten among naturalists. “ Well, Mr. Waterton! The Times has got hold of you to-day,’ we said to him, when the papers came in, and we had to read twice over to him (and a very pleasant task it was) a column letter signed “Az Afe,” which treated of Professor Huxley and his hippo- campus theory, and alluded most affectionately to “ My dear friend, Charles Waterton.” If he was in London, he never omitted to visit the Zoological Gardens, and he went there we believe for the last time to examine the retractile claws of the cheetah. The people stared famously when they saw him enter the cage with the keeper, holding his right hand at a certain conventional distance from the ground. One woman said, “Law! I'l be bound that’s the Doctor.” “ No, madam,” he replied, never taking his eye off the beast as it crouched in the corner, “ you're mistaken, it’s only the Apothecary ;” an answer which gave him great delight, and puzzled the old lady still more. He left home very little, but every Christmas he repaired to his old college at Stonyhurst, for a week, to meet his friends and see the boys act Shakspeare. As a modern medicine man, he believed thoroughly X 2 308 Saddle and Sirloin. in “the late Dr. Marshall’s excellent purgative pills,” and many friends have a box of his presenting by them to this day. It was regarded by him as a special mark of consideration when he took out his cherished wourali poison, and told how the Nottingham Cor- poration had asked him to come and exercise his art ona pcliceman, who died, unluckily for the test, a few hours before the North Mail was due. The cock- ade, “ with which I carried Lord Cochrane’s despatches in 1808,” was another treasure ; and so were the fatal blow-pipe of the Indians, and the hammock which he used when he was a wanderer in the forests from which he drew those inexhaustible chronicles. Stillthe stuf- fing of birds was his great forte, and he spoke with too well-merited contempt of many modern professors of the art. “Every feather is poisoned,” was his in- variable mode of introducing his handiwork. The large picture on the staircase pourtrayed him a hale young fellow of thirty, bestriding the cayman, while all the forest birds of his acquaintance looked on ap- provingly from the boughs. Opposite was the cayman himself, which has been the very idol of three genera- tions of boys, stretched out in all its scaly length, and furnishing a vivid key to the picture. He scarcely ever quoted any other naturalist, but of Mr. Frank Buckland he expressed a very high opinion. As might have been expected, he was very stiff in his own theories, and did not seem to allow that the world had grown older, and other men as well as himself grey and white with thought. He would lay down the law most positively about stags and foxes, which he had not hunted for fully fifty years, and the opinion of men like Charles Davis and Harry Ayris on the point did not weigh one ounce with him. Still it was this peculiar tenacity of upinion which gave his character that unique charm when once you got accustomed to him. While you were looking through the big telescope, yi 4 Mr. Waterton at Home. 309 at the herons by the lake side in all their fishing atti- tudes, he would be donning his tattered sailor’s jacket and his large leather gloves, and then invite you to stroll round his park. Every incident of that walk lingers with us still. First there was a long disserta- tion on the rumpless fowl, which seemed to take bed and board with the jackdaws. Then we paused to hear the history of the half-paralyzed vine near the stables, and to handle “the paragon bull,” of whose august presence he had forewarned us, and of whose qualities, when sorely pressed, we hardly spoke so reverentially as he wished. Wewound our way on- ward to the grove facing the rock, in one of whose recesses he sat like a prophet of the cave, the live-long summer day, ‘“ musing upon many things” in his green chair, and listening to the birds. It was with them far more than insects that he loved to hold communion. A hen-pheasant flew across the drive, and as we heard her mate crow to her in the wood, he recounted to us how that bird is the direct antithesis of the cock, and crows defore it claps its wings. “ Hark / there's ajay,” he would suddenly observe, grasping our arm; “Lutsten! there's a jenny wren; did you ever hear her sing?” Wad he spoken of Kettledrum and Duchess 77th we might have said something, but this was a poser—only to be made a note of. Then a magpie struck in, and he was quite eloquent again. But there our colloquy was interrupted for atime. He suddenly discovered that some rude visitor on the open days had cut his initials on the bark of a tree, near the swings. Hence we had to seek out the car- penter together, and get a neat little piece of wood ; and ere long he had written, in his fine Roman hand, and nailed up against that tree, his love, in most pungent terms, for all such stupid clowns. Once more we were on our way, past the spot where the watercress grew, perhaps looking at his peculiar wickets, and hearing of h‘s charm for cattle. Nota 310 Saddle and Strloin. hedge was cut within the park, which seemed fully two miles round, or else “there would be no berries for the blackbird or the poor man.” Then he paused over the thorn which “bloomed in the winter of its days,” like its sister of Glastonbury, and was rich with white honours on Christmas morning. We saw the keepers’ huts, and then turned, near the spot he had chosen for his burial—over the little bridge by the cranberry tree, and away to the heron nests. On our left were twelve large willows, one of which had been broken during a thunderstorm, and had been spliced up again withiron. “ There,” said he, “are the Twelve Afposiles ; the broken one is Fudas Iscarwt; I hear it groaning likea troubled spirit, when the wind ts high.” And so we left him in his lodge in the wilderness, and we saw him again no more. Like Lord Brougham, his death was forestalled, and he had the rare pleasure of reading during his lifetime a singularly graceful tribute to his memory in the Daily Telegraph. It showed him that a host- of younger men might rise, but that there was still a grateful thought of one who had been foremost among the best in his day. We look with sadness at the last letter (Jan. 22nd, 1865) we ever had from him, written in a firm hand, which told little of eighty-three, and especially at the characteristic postscript, which contained the gist of the whole: “Walton Hall is twelve miles south of Leeds, and the nightingale breeds here and sings here charm- ingly—C. W.” The Telegraph article was written in the winter of the previous year, and he saw the seasons round once more, and then sank from the effects of a slight accident, a fall from the rustic bridge near his future grave, when the insect world had burst into life, and all nature was carolling round hin:, in his favourite month of May. The sympathies o' his earliest years were true to him in death. He directed by his will that he should be rowed to his tomb, Mr. Gully. 311 which had long been erected near the top of the lake under the shade of two venerable oak trees. There he is buried, in a silence broken only by the cry of the heron and the waterfowl, a solitude almost as deep as that in which he had lived so long in the swamps of the Oronoco and the forests of the Amazon. He had written, in Latin, the epitaph meet for a wanderer: “ Pray for the soul of Charles Waterton, whose wearted bones rest here.” We pass on to a neighbour of very different mould. It is seldom, indeed, in a lifetime that you meet with one whose self-respect and manly bearing entitle him to your prompt fealty as a very “king among men,” and yet scarcely a man who knew him if only by sight, would deny that title to John Gully. That calm courage and inflexible decision were written on every feature, which stood him in such stead in those slashing Gregsonian contests, which made even Lord George’s Doncaster Rooms irony return unto him void. It was, we believe, a remark like the “Napoleon of the Turf’s,” which first fired Mr. Gully, on the spur of the moment, to beard the Mexborough influ- ence in person at Pontefract ; and he had not mis- calculated the previous influence of his character, even on that mysterious, voter-bottling borough. He did not care for the honour, except so far as asserting a principle and giving pleasure to his townfolk ; and he retired, to their deep regret, when the first purpose was served, from what would have been infallibly a seat for life. It was a glory to belong to the ring, and to ascend the stage at the Fives’ Court, in the days when he stripped to the buff, and he had no mawkish scruples about referring to it. No one saluted Tom Sayers more heartily with his “ 7 wonder, Tom, how ever you did it ;’ when the champion met him on the Heath during the Wizard’s Two Thousand day ; and he only smiled at Doncaster, as Alfred Day S12 Saddle and Sirloin. cantered Andover down to the starting post for the Eglinton Stakes; and Mr. Padwick prophesied that “The Chicken beat you once, Gully, and hell beat you again.” As a betting man he formed one of the more scientific and daring school, which arose at the Corner, when Gentleman Ogden and his fol- lowers dropped off. Jem Bland, Jerry Cloves, his nephews Peter and Davis, Tommy Swan, Highton, Holliday, Crockford, Briscoe, Ridsdale, Bob Steward, “Goose” Davis and Tanfield, Justice and Gully were its great metallic heroes, and Gully outlived them all. What had once been more of a pastime had now become hard-headed, cautious point dealing, and people learnt to speak of twenty to ten thousand books on the Derby, without any amazement. With the Yorkshiremen, John Gully was always an especial lion, and the young tykes gazed with reverence at the athletic form in the blue tie, and black frock coat, which had stood nearly five-and- © forty years before, in swallow-tails, kerseymere breeches and top boots, on a St. Leger eve, in front of the Salutation, and pencil in hand, led‘ many a dashing assault on those Middleham and Malton favourites, for whom their sires and their grand- sires fought and d/ed. The literary partnership of Beaumont and Fletcher did not cause one whit more speculation among the men of the day, than the joint-book of Mr. Gully and Will Ridsdale, and it was said that they got 50,000/. out of St. Giles for the Derby, and stood to win 80,000/. on little Red Rover, if the dark green of Sam Day, on Priam, had not brought them to grief. With the 4000-guinea Mameluke, over whom he stood with a cart whip at the Leger post, he became a man of mark, and desperately jealous “ George Guelph,” and of course Jack Ratford, were of him, ard his white-faced five-year-old, when they Mr. Gully. 452 seemed likely to beat the Colonel for the Ascot Cup. In fact, the royal vexation at some strictures which he made about the Ascot arrangements to Lord Maryborough gave birth to an exclusive aristocratic clause in the Cup conditions, which prevented Priam among other cracks from having a shy for it. The coffin-headed Margrave won him his only St. Leger, and Robinson remembers to this day his stentorian roar of “I’ve won,” almost before Jim felt sure on the point himself, as he stood on the rails near the Red House; while Mendicant, after a kick, which might have been heard to Leatherhead, and made Sam Day think that all was over, managed to win the Oaks, fetch 4000 guineas, and breed a winner of the Derby. It was with Virago’s sire that he led the forlorn hope for Danebury in ’46; and with his Bay Middleton colts, Andover and Hermit, that he regu- larly circumvented King Tom, after winning a Two Thousand, on which he hardly felt sure he was right to risk even an extra fifty to make stakes. Such double luck at 71 was not to be improved; and after that- he became a mere fancy bettor. He was especially proud of alone holding the triple honours in his hand; but his dream of supremacy was dis- pelled, when on passing through Doncaster in his invalid days, the news reached him that Caller Ou had at last brought [Anson level with him. In his conversation, “ every word weighed a pound,” and we never remember getting so much solid guidance from any one about old times, as we did in a short chat with him when a Heath afternoon was over. Noone could sketch old chums more deftly. One audience which he gave at his Newmarket lodgings was of a less satisfactory character to the person concerned. A most audacious young tout was standing near him as he sat on horseback, cigar in mouth, and book and card in hand at the cords, and hearing him offer odds against a horse, shouted to 314 Saddle and Sirloin. him “J°7/ take you.’ He, of course, took no notice of the impertinence, and booked the bet with some one else, and lost it. To his surprise the tout came up, and claimed the money, and not satisfied with the curt disclaimer, kept dunning “Old England,” at intervals, during the meeting. At last, Mr. Gully told him to come to his rooms after the races, and he would settle with him; and taking him by the collar when he arrived, he used his dog-whip with such stinging effect on his shoulders that he howled out promises of the most hearty repentance, and went to another bet-market in future. However, the story got wind, and the tout finding that he was universally called “ Young Gully,” put a good face on his chasten- ing, and ever after reverentially alluded to the great book-maker as “my father.’ Once, in the May of ’50 he wandered down to Danebury, where there was a solemn Derby council of war, to tout the horses at exercise ; and poor Walter Day remembered how he roared to him, “ Go and tell my father there, that he’ needn't keep looking at Pitsford with Mr. Hill; Voltigeur will be first, and the chestnut will beat the rest.” Hunting always had a charm for him, and during “ The Squire’s” mastership he spent a great deal of time with him at Quorn. His observation of everything, Furrier and Vanquisher included, in the field or on the flags, was so keen, that if he had been obliged to take the horn for a season, he would have given a very good account of his foxes. He was only four or five years older, but a great Mentor to “the Squire” on the subject of condition, and he was so vexed at seeing “The Little Wonder” insist upon riding back into the town after his Newmarket match against time, that he told him he deserved a whip across his back, for trifling with his constitution in that way. “That ’ere friendly expression,” as a jack-tar would have termed it, provee their intimacy ; but a St. Leger Mr. Gully. 315 shadow came the very next year between this Robin Hood and Little John, of the Charnwood Forest. At no time of his life was he a hard rider, and he had once a narrow escape from being drowned when with the Badsworth, from his horse falling on to him ina deep pond, in a farm-yard, whose surface was covered with chaff. Some years before he had very severe jaundice ; but it was only within the last two of his life that he failed so decidedly, and latterly his surgeon had to be in attendance on him three times a day. The strong man was bowed at last; his strength at fourscore years had indeed become labour and sorrow, and he might well long to be at rest near his old Ackworth home. Jealousy he had long lived down, and in the years to come he will continue to point a moral in Englishmen’s hearts, as the especial type of one— ‘Who through the moil and dust of life Went forward undefiled.” When shall we again see such a man as Mr. Osbal- deston, on such a horse as Assheton, with three such hounds as Tarquin, Furrier, and Vaulter at his side, and two such whips as Tom Sebright and Dick Burton? It was a rare combination of human and brute talent. The ambition of “The Squire” from his earliest to his latest day was to be talked about. Modern men have the same aspiration, but the means are very easy and Sybaritic in comparison. They don’t care what prices they give for a hunter, a race- horse, a hack, or a yacht, provided it is duly chronicled. “ The Squire,” on the contrary, trusted not to pocket, but to hand and eye for his fame. He never rested till he was at the head of the hunting, the pigeon- shooting, the steeple-chasing, the cricket, and the billiard world. Now it is enough for a man to be prominent in one branch of sporting science, but Mr. Osbaldeston aspired to nearly all, and not a soul breathing could touch him all round. Cue, bridle, 316 | Saddle and Sirloin. trigger, bat, oar, and boxing-gloves came alike easy to him. When the poets had called him “the very worst huntsmar: that ever was born,” they had said their worst, and perhaps they were not very far wrong. Among gentlemen he was never popular. The Mel- tonians could not outride him, and they crabbed him to make up for it. For society he cared little, and the saddle was the easy-chair he loved. When he got home after a short day he was quite ready to have a second pack out if the humour suited him, and when he got home after a long one, he liked his chop and a pint of port, a chat with his friend Gully, and so to bed. Sport was, in fact, his business, and when he was fifty-four, and generally content to ride 10st. glbs., he wasted to ride his King Charles at 8st. 7lbs. in the Two Thousand. A keen limner describes him even at that age, as “ short and awkward, shrivelled and shrunk, with round shoulders and a limping walk, ill-clothed in a brown frock coat with velvet collar, loose grey trousers, and cloth boots.” Throughout his life he was singularly light of tongue, and the last time we ever saw him, when he was drawn about in a Bath chair, on the beach at Brighton, the unruly member was going with its pristine vigour. Unlike ‘* The shy-fed soda-watering youths, Who now o’er a country sail,” and will not be troubled with kennel cares, Mr. Tom Hodgson succeeded to the Badsworth at twenty-four, when Sir Bellingham Graham resigned, and found, as he expressed it, “twelve couple of hounds, and three hacks, as a nest egg,” Three seasons there, sixteen in Holderness, two with the Quorn, and about one and a half in part of Mr. Foljambe’s country, gave him plenty to do till he was about fifty, when the cry of “ Foljambe and Fox-hunting,’ and his own worth, placed him at the head of the poll by 32 for the Mr. Gully. 317 West Riding Registrarship of Deeds, after a tre- mendous contest (in which 3393 polled) with one of the Lascelles family. It was a lucky day for him when Jack Richards of the Badsworth bethought him of Will Danby as his first lieutenant in Holderness, and Will left his harriers and walked forty-four miles through the night in his top-boots to strike the bargain at a guinea a week. No Crusoe could have had a Man Friday more to his mind. For two seasons there was barely 800/. for four days a week, and once only two horses between them. Still with thirty-six couple they killed their thirty- seven brace, and their spirits never flagged. Between them they claimed the honour of having entered Mr. Percy Williams, and it was Mr. Hodgson’s boast that he had built six kennels and sold twenty couple of bitches for a thousand guineas. The Meltonians made merry with his plain attire, and his gaunt lath-like figure in the brown coat, leggings, and knee-caps; as well as his gloveless hands. Still they had no small respect for him as a thorough sportsman—rather out of his element on Comical in such a flying country, but possessed of a lady pack whose Billesdon Coplow of Jan. 20, 1840, and Thorp Trussel’s run in the same December, were enough to set the seal on any season. The West Riding appointment gave him that com- petence which he so well deserved. He married and settled down after his toils at Snydale Hall, and to the last he might be seen occasionally at the cover side on his pony or in a four-wheel. He did not forget the scarlet interest, and many a huntsman’s son served a clerkship in the Registrar’s office. His friends might well joke him and ask him whether he merely looked to their back ribs and good legs and feet. Woe be to them if they had presented themselves for his inspec- tion with a beard or moustache! There was much to see at Snydale, both inside and outside of the house. 318 Saddle and Sirloin. The old grey mare Twilight wandered near the old hovel on the left of the drive, where the thousand guinea pack were housed a whole season, and where Eclogue foaled her Prologue, Catalogue, and Virgilius. He maintained that “hunting is the sport for young men and racing for old,” and this mare and her foals were a great delight to him. Will Danby’s portrait from the Sporting Magazine was installed above the chimney-piece of his little sazctwm, which he seldom allowed you to leave without bringing down the mys- terious case, which was forwarded to him anony- mously, with a hunting whip, in his bachelor days, and giving you a hint as to his after discoveries on the point. It was delightful to see him after dinner—while the fire lighted up Comical, Ned Oxtoby and other hunting comrades on the oak panels—settle himself into his great easy chair, dive into his capacious side pockets, and produce a large packet of hunting letters. In this respect he was quite a Registrar of Deeds, as. several masters, Lord Middleton among them, made a point of writing to him when they had a great thing. We were in for the record of the Christmas Eve when his lordship’s had run over nineteen parishes, and ~ swum three rivers, and our host’s recital and com- ments, given in his dry solemn way, were as long and thrice as amusing as an inaugural address. He some- times went to the hound shows, and his sinewy six- foot-two form, in black, with a white hat, worn rather on the back of his head, and a light linen cravat, was always to be seen on the Doncaster balcony, or on some hunting friend’s drag opposite the stand at York. Virgilius was his delight, and he made very sure of the Flying Dutchman Handicap in ’62, but he did not care much to back his opinion, and defeat never de- pressed him. We never thought him looking better than he did at Doncaster in The Marquis’s year. We had a word with him on the grand stand stairs, and he Doncaster Moor. 319 told us of the death of Eclogue, and added, “ /?’s an omen for me.” The foreboding was too true, as his hour had come before the next May morning, and three veterans in Yorkshire history, Sir Tatton, John Gully, and Tom Hodgson—ninety, eighty, and seventy—lay dead, in the same county, almost within a month of each other.* Each man sees and puts things from his own point of view. The Learned Blacksmith merely esteemed Melton Mowbray as a veritable Goshen of pork-pies. The Scotch Minister wrote of his spouse that “she was taken by a bilious attack from my bosom to Abraham’s ;” and Drunken Barnaby “saw nothing on the banks of the Don save a lively Levite,” and sang not of racers and horse-copers, but— ** As all things come by natur, Concerning looms from Doncastur, And weaving done by weyter.” It is difficult for any enthusiast to get away from his Doncaster theme. The Moor—with its long line of stands, its historical Red House, and “the hill” which breaks the flat so beautifully—looks more the real racing thing than any other course in the kingdom. The hill especially is big with the memory of Bill Scott. Here, in’37, his horse Epirus (belonging to “the remarkable young 'un,” as he always termed Mr. Bowes) rolled into the ditch, and threw him into the course right on the track of Harry Edwards on Prime Warden. His collar-bone united quick enough, but when, next year, he was on Don John, the first St. Leger winner ever trained at Pigburn, and reached the spot once more, he sent out his horse as if with a savage determination to be by himself this time in front, and Lanercost and every horse in the race felt it “like an electric shock.” The brothers Scott have always been specially connected with Doncaster, and * See ‘Scott and Sebright,” pp. 327-334. 320 Saddle and Sirloin. it is no wonder that there is a regular rush from all parts of the Moor at the Tuesday morning exercise, when the Whitewall fly, with the white horse in, is seen coming across it to its well-known post, two dis- tances frony home. There could have been no finer treat than seeing Blacktock go the first two miles in 3.37 min. of that four-mile race over this course, in which he fairly galloped the St. Leger winner Duchess to death. Old Yorkshiremen may well hate to hear him and his blood abused. They tell how he went four miles at the same pace without a falter, reaching further and further, as it seemed to their enraptured vision, at every stride. His queer forelegs and short tail, and “ half-moon head,” did not improve him, but his stride was what they loved. Mr. Kirby used to tell us about him, as he did of his dealings with the house of Romanoff, and the great Scotch trotting match with Lord Eglinton’s father in it; and once when we sought for a little more information about General: Chassé, the old man rose from his chair, at eighty-five, collared us, and made us support him across the room, while he followed, lifting up his legs, to show how the chestnut stepped on shipboard, when they had blind- folded him, and he had become nervous by hitting the doorstep of the stable. ‘“Chassé” was a savage, but there were many nearly as bad, and Major Yar- borough wouldn’t have Dumpling back to Heslington when, after rearing, he knelt down and bit the ground at York till he was absolutely beaten from the start- ing-post with a rail. We do not remember to have ever seen any demur as to starting, at Doncaster, or to have heard of more than one of those extraordinary waiting races, which sometimes occupy more than twenty minutes, because no jockey will make play.* * The present Duke of Buccleuch was quite puzzled when he once stzrted the horses at Dumfries, and each jockey had orders to wait on a om | Doncaster Moor. 321 Many old customs have departed from Doncaster,* and among others, the late Earl of Scarborough’s, viz., sending a subscription of 4/ every year to the race fund. ‘Those were the days of race-balls and carriages- and-four with outriders, from the great county seats, all freighted with visitors to the stand. The cup was the other. ‘‘Go, go!” said his Grace; but a walk was the only response. ‘‘ Go along!” ‘*T beg your pardon, your Grace,” said *« Sim,” touching his cap, ‘‘ when you've said ‘go’ we can do as we like.” ‘‘Oh, that’s it,” was the rejoinder; ‘‘I thought you were obliged to begin and gallop directly ; so good afternoon.” * A few words will not be out of place anent the sporting antecedents of the owners of the ‘‘ Corporation Harriers,” of which we read such a curious historical notice in the Doncaster Gazette. That distinguished body have always been true to the spirit of the couplet, ** God bless you, jolly gentlemen, May nothing you dismay,” and put this resolution on their archives : ‘27th of April, 1762, That the Corporation do allow twenty pounds a year and a frock of blue shag, faced with red, for a salary for a per- son that will undertake to hunt the Corporation hounds ; and that the Mayor for the time being and six senior members of the Corporation be a committee, to continue for one calendar month, to have the manage- ment of the hunt and the procuring of the hounds ; and at the expira- tion of that calendar month, the next six senior members, with the Mayor for the time being, to have the management thereof, and so on from month to month, to be continued annually from the first day of May next ; and if none of the committee be out a hunting on a field- day, the majority of the Corporation members present to have the ma- nagement that day.” ** Bill Stag,” the huntsman, was equal to the crisis, even with alder- men, on the subject of halloos, and very fond of training his hounds to run a red-herring trial in the four-and-a-half acres of ‘‘ Tryers’ Flatt.” The Cookes, of Wheatley, do not seem to have been very genial in the matter with Bill and his thistle-whippers ; as one of their keepers was repeatedly asked, and not without reason, ‘‘ Who shot the dog ?” When another velveteen laid impious hands on the worshipful Mr. Solomon Holmes, and took a gun out of his municipal grasp, the Cor- poration were fired with indiznation, cnd took counsel’s opinion, and wrote letters, and we know not what beside. Have their harriers they would. They turned a barn in East Laith Gate into a kennel, and built a house for Bill hard by his charges. Such was the spirit with which these merry souls went about the business, that in February, 1770, they vi 322 Saddle and Sirloin. once simply a flagon of honour, which the stewards were supposed to present to the races, and it was. handed round full of mulled wine at the race ball. It was then washed out, and the clerk of the course went the circuit of the ball-room with it, and it was. had a gala day of rejoicing when the first kennel stone was laid, and **took wine” (a delicate expression for sitting the clock round) when they signed the bills for payment. In fact, their hearts were so uplifted with their currant-jelly prospects, that very shortly after the next season began they scorned to see their Bill on foot, and met and passed another resolution. It ran thus :—‘‘ Ordered—that Mr. Merryweather, of Ros- sington, be employed to buy @ good strong horse for the huntsman not exceeding fificen guineas in price; that the huntsman shall not use the horse from the ending to the beginning of the hunting season, and the Corporation shall provide an agist for the horse for the summer season.” This purchase did not turn out well ; but they voted their agent half-a- guinea for all that, and trusted to other eyes. They seem to have been very frugal in these matters, and in 1781 the hounds themselves did not cost more than 14/. 4s. 3d.; but, as they enjoyed a regular 5/. field-day among the sheep the year before, the Corporate purse-strings may have been seasonably tightened. These sheep-killers, by the bye, were beagles, which came into favour in the 12th year (with a view to con- ciliate the running and short-winded burgesses) ; and such was the - force of example, that, besides Sir Rowland Winn’s and the Barmboro” Grange dogs, which were prior to them in time, five other packs of harriers soon hunted in the district. All was done well, and it was a question whether the body looked more venerable and respectable, . starting with all their calvacade from East Laith Gate to quest among the gorse bushes on the Moor, or marching to Church—the mayor sup- ported by eight ex-mayors and three or four mayors expectant—on the race Sunday, behind the pindar and the mace bearer. All the burgesses liked the hunt, and the tradesmen who kept the hounds had many a good hare in their pot. Poor ‘‘ Bill Stag” began after a few years to go down-hill. Like a degraded knight of old, his horse was taken from him and his spurs chopped off; but he followed the hounds and Tom Bell on foot as long as his wilful brandy-and-water legs did not refuse their office, and then he was found dead in his bed. After last- ing just twenty years, the hounds were given up, and Mr. Wrightson, who turned up his nose at them when he had the offer, established what has proved the germ of the Badsworth Hunt, of whose first huntsman, Frobisher, nothing is known, except that he ‘‘ married Widow Halliwell, the heaviest woman in Yorkshire.” The hunt was then opened with a concert of bugles in front of Cusworth Hall, and as the sounds stole down the Don to St. Sepulchre’s, many an inhabitant thought with a pang of the departed glories of their own Stag and Bell, or flung dull care and business to the winds that day, Doncaster Moor. 323 net unfrequently filled to the brim with fivers, one- pound-notes, and sovereigns. Mercutio and Lottery were among the old cup stars, and ran one of the most distressing four-mile cup races ever seen at Doncaster. The start was at the Red House, and some of the jockeys by mistake raced in when they had gone the present cup distance, and began to pull up. The people shouted at them to go on, and George Oates forced Lottery once more along at sucha pace, that at the distance Mercutio was fairly pumped out, and Lottery began to “ crack” as well. George, who was no great rider, took to kicking, and Mercutio’s jockey to nursing, which just enabled him to get up on the post and win. Mercutio was so exhausted that they had to support him into the rubbing house; but he came out next day and beat Sandbeck. This was perhaps the most cruel tax that was ever made on a horse’s powers. Croft, the trainer, had taken 500 to 100 hundred about the horse in the cup. He left no stock, and, in fact, died not very long after of inflammation on the lungs. Lottery was pulled out to defeat Barefoot, the St. Leger winner of the previous year, only an hour or so before he ran with Mercutio, and never was horse more knocked about by his eccentric owner. Laurel was a good Blacklock, and his Doncaster Cup week saw three St.-Leger winners, a Derby winner, Velocipede, and Bessy Bedlam on “ The Moor.” One of the gamest but the slowest of the four-milers was Lord Kelburne’s Purity by Octavian, and she finished up another remarkable Doncaster Meeting, in which Humphrey Clinker (the sire of Melbourne), Emma (the dam of Cotherstone and Mundig), Fleur- de-Lis, Actzon, Belzoni (the sire of so many fine, brown, and forge hammer-headed hunters), and Mem- non, all won, while Mulatto ran second for St. Leger and Cup. It was the last race of the last day, and run in five two-mile heats. Bill Scott won the first bo ay- 324 Saddle and Sirloin. heat on Brownlock, George Edwards running him home on Cfow-Catcher—so called from his having decapitated a crow, which alighted near him in social confiderice when he was in his paddock as a two-year- old..“In the second heat Scott led away, and Harry Edwards on Purity, not fearing anything else, “flapped “his wings a bit,” as he expressed it, as if setting to, and ran in third. Thales won that heat, and Lord Kel- burne began to be very anxious, and couldn’t under- stand it at all. He came down from the grand stand for an explanation, and Croft took snuff in his quiet way, when he was asked what he was going to do, and replied, “fam going to saddle the mare, wy lord: the fun of the fair’s only just beginning.’ It was time to begin with the third heat, in which Purity beat Brownlock by ahead, after a slashing finish. Still the mare had not worn him down to her slow per- petual motion level, and hence it was necessary to get something to makea pace. Accordingly, as the chance of Thales was clearly zz/, his owner accepted 254 to force the running. Tommy Lye worked away, and as Purity’s jockey kept tickling him up with his whip, when he could reach him, Tommy’s horse kept giving a series of marvellous shoots, which were somewhat puzzling at first to the little man. Scott tried to get up between them, but failed ; and when he did come in earnest, he made a dead heat with Purity. Half the people had gone home, and Lord Kelburne, who had backed his mare to win him 500/, said that “ there will be no dinner to-day.” Officials were not so particular then; but still it is remarkable that Bill Scott did not remember that the fact of two horses, which had each won a heat, running a dead heat, dis- qualified even Thales, though he had won a heat, from starting again. This oversight decided the fortune of the day. Away went Tommy, and the tickling, and the “ shooting” began again; and although Purity finished quite black in the flanks with sweat, and Purity’s Five Heats. 325 could hardly be kept out of the judge’s box, she got home first and landed the Plate for “the crimson body, white sleeves and cap,” of Hawkhead. We first looked on Doncaster in the mist and wet of a Sunday morning, when the races began on a Monday. It was then a long coach ride from Swinton Station. Herring’s picture of Attila was part of our burden, and the Colonel’s valet, who was in charge of it, was telling good anecdotes of his master’s mode of shooting. That year some three St. Leger winners were walking together in one field at the Turf Tavern— to wit, Blue Bonnet, Charles XII., and Satirist ; and there were also two Derby winners in the town— Little Wonder and Attiia; and all, save Satirist, started. Crucifix and Bay Middleton were also at the Turf paddocks. The sight of the trio was almost as memorable as Blair Athol’s and Gladiateur’s mock tournay when they marched about in a paddock, and Knowsley neighed his def over the wall. The Cure’s bolt in the St. Leger, two years after, was the only thing of the kind in the St. Leger annals. It began about sixty yards from home, and he seemed to come right across the course, as if he was going to bury his deteated head in the judge’s box—Mail Train’s, in the Cesarewitch, was a trifle to it. The Eglinton pro- cession of Van Tromp led by Eryx, as they came out with their jockeys up through the Carr House Gate, with Black Jemmy as beadle, and addressing the crowd, was a picture of itself; and we never met with such a model of a cup horse as “ Van” was that after- noon, or many neater little beauties than Eryx his equerry. Templeman soon knew that it was not Cos- sack’s day. The stable had pressed him hard to ride Foreclosure, but he had refused to do so, as he felt sure that the bay was not within 21Ilbs. of the chest- nut, and the race proved it; though Cossack was very short of preparation. It was also a very “pleasant bit” when Tom Jen- 326 Saddle and Sirloin. nings took Gladiateur out of his van, behind the Don- caster Arms, but fewer saw that. So were Beeswing hugging the rails as she went round the top turn in the Cup as jealous as a surveyor, lest she should lose an inch of ground; Teddington answering to Job’s searching rowels, as stride by stride he caught Nat on Kingston; Kettledrum flying over the hill in the Cup, and twice the horse he was in the St. Leger; Tim Whiffler cutting down Asteroid at the Butts; Jim Robinson coming up, wide on the outside, and getting level with Voltigeur; “The West” and St. Albans fairly romping home for the St. Leger; the Marquis just getting his head in front in answer to Challoner’s last stroke of the whalebone; Lord Clifden lying away, and then reaching his horses inch by inch, at the Red House; the thick fog and rain which fell like a pall on the Moor, during Blair Athol’s race, and made men look at their fellows and wonder if it really was the end of all things and their hour was come; Lord Lyon, with a jaded, listless air, coming out once: more to met Savernake, whose middle showed that he was at least two weeks short of work; Hermit and Thormanby refusing to face their canters, as if they knew that defeat was before them; and Formosa going to the post with a skin like burnished copper, to show the Yorkshiremen what an “Oaks, One Thousand, and ‘ Guineas’” mare can do. None loved the Town Moor better than poor James White, or “ Martingale.” Thirty years ago he was in his zenith, with his book on “ Country Scenes,” and as a contributor to Bentley ; and his powers knew no decay. He was quite the Prose Poet of Nature, and no man that we ever met with, was so keenly alive to her beauties, and could word-paint them so well. Edlington Wood, which seldom fails to produce a fox, when the Fitzwilliam call, was one of his especial haunts, when he was well and vigorous. He seemed to know the haunt of every badger, the name and the “ Martingale.” 407 note of every bird, and the gevws of every wild flower that grew on its banks and glades. He liked to wander away from Doncaster “ when the mavis and the merle were singing,” and regardless of the prosaic days in which his lot was cast, take his dinner with him and “have a word with the woods.” Weaving an old legend into shape pleased him best. The deserted hut, where a poacher had lived and died, a very lord of the soil to the last, seemed to conjure up in his mind a net- work of dark romance; and Sherwood Forest, and Merrie Barnsdale were themes which never palled. His racing writings were very numerous; but as he rarely left Doncaster, he was too often compelled to take his descriptions second-hand. In dealing with current racing topics he was far too discursive, and pitched his key note so high, that matter of fact readers grumbled, that after wandering through such a labyrinth of fine words, they could hardly find one grain of fact. His strength as a turf writer lay in his “ Turf Characters,” and_ his recollections of the Doncaster past. If he was not in the Gazette office, hard at work at his beautifully small manu- script, with his voluminous velvet cap cn his head, or in a chancel seat in the old church, or in Edling- ton or Wheatley, or Sprotborough Woods, Doncas- ter Moor was a sure find for him, and he was pretty certain to be talking to himself. Seeing those races, and the gallops as well, was his delight, and he gene- rally stationed himseif, from old usage, on the St. Leger day somewhere between the Red House and the Hill, to catch the first symptoms of the “ pace complaint.” St. Leger after St. Leger was to him a scene he could unfold with a master’s hand. Every little incident from the Duke of Hamilton’s day had been treasured and invested with significance ; and as John Jackson, the celebrated jockey, lodged with him for a series of years, he had an opportunity of “ posting himself up” during the week, which he took care to use to the full. 328 CHAPTER? Sat ** Right sacred is our Ox’s rump, And history will evince, If Fame deceive not with her trump, ’*Twas deified long since ; To Mithra’s Bull great Persia bowed, To Apis Egypt preached ; To Baal’s calf whole countries vowed, And Greece her Sous beseeched. *¢ Like Britain’s Island lies our Steak, A sea of gravy bounds it ; Shalots confus’dly scattered, make The rockwork which surrounds it ; Your Isle’s best emblem there behold, Remember ancient story ; Be like your grandsires, just and bold, And live and die with glory.” Captain Morris. The Towneley Herd—The Sale—Great Sales of the Century—Old Favourites—Mr. Eastwood’s Herd—Mr. Peel’s Herd—The Lonks. HE Towneley domains, which have a private station of their own, extended right down to Burnley, and share with it in the discomforts of one of the wettest and rawest climates in the whole of Great Britain. Pendle Hill, whose fame has long been preserved in the not very smooth-running couplet— Pendle Hill, Pennykant, and Little Ingleborough, Are the largest of the hills, if you search England thorough,” rises guardian-like over the town ; and a long avenue from the front-door of the hall points right away, past the gamekeeper’s cottage, to a range of grouse- hills on the north. The Colonel’s home-farm consists of five hundred acres, chiefly grass. It is about one of the last “ bowers” in which a veritable butterfly would Le, = + The Towneley Herd. 329 think of being born. The land is on a cold blue clay subsoil, and the Government draining has done but little for it. Harvests do not “ laugh and sing” there, as corn cannot be got to ripen on it one year in six ; mangold wurzels will have nothing to do with it ; and hence nearly all the roots and straw have to be pur- chased from the Ormskirk neighbourhood. The herd has had a fearful battle to fight, in order to compete with the rich grazing counties, and but for the undaunted energy and science of the farm bailiff, Mr. Culshaw, backed up by the most liberal and spirited of masters, it could never have stood its eround, and brought so many great rivals low in their turn. Mr. Culshaw was bred and born at Broughton, and used to run about and help his stepfather, who was herdsman at Mr., then Sir Charles, Tempest’s, before he could even milk or fasten up a cow. His peeps at the different herds on the banks of the Wharfe had gradually inoculated him with a burning taste for the thing. He was never weary of telling Bob Gill, the farmer, that they ought to have some- thing beyond mere dairy cows at Broughton Hall; and when Sir Charles bought Verbena and her daughter Vestris, and he was sent with the latter to the best bull Mr. Whitaker had at Greenholme, his future destiny was clear. No ambassador to a European Congress had a higher sense of his responsi- bility than “Little Joe” that day. The cow lay down about twenty times in the last three miles, but those toils and woes were forgotten when Mr. Whitaker, admiring the lad’s enthusiasm, showed him all over his herd. He returned home repeating “April Daisy,” “ Whiteface,’ “ Prettyface,” “ Non- pareil,’ and so on to himself, to beguile the road, and at last ventured to speak up to Sir Charles, who promised that he would go over and see them, and take him again. The visit never came off; and 330 Saddle and Sirloin. the appointed day dawned bitterly on the lad, when after lying awake all night, he received a message to the effect that Sir Charles and his party had changed their minds. However, Bell by Bertram was pur- chased on the Broughton account, at Mr. Whitaker’s sale; and it was under Mr. Thomas Mason, who soon afterwards came as agent, that the future “Talleyrand of trainers” gleaned his chief experi- ence. Twenty-four-years of his life were thus spent ; then followed a year and a half with Mr. Ambler; and in 1849 he came to Towneley, and, working on the good material Mr. Eastwood and Mr. Straf- ford had previously collected for him, he soon found himself at the head of a herd which was des- tined to play no second part in the annals of Short- horns.* It was in the Spring of 1859 when we first saw Towneley ; and Vestris III., who won the first prize in the cow class at the Paris Universal Show, when she was only 23 years old, was our first introduction. — She stood with Pride at the lodge byre, and a drive of a mile up the avenue brought us to some farm * Culshaw took the command of the Towneley herd on the tst of Jan. 49. While with Mr. Ambler he took Senator to the York Royal Show, and beat Mr. Bates’s Second and Third Dukes of Oxford. Mr. Bates stood looking at the pair with his hat over his brow, and could scarcely believe it. Mr. Eastwood had just sold his herd to Colonel Towneley, and they were all at the low barn. The lot consisted of Parkinson’s Cressida, Madeline, Mantle, Gipsy (a famous breeder and milker), her daughter Gem, the dam of Ruby by Lax’s Duke, a very thick fleshed one, and the dam of Richard Cceur de Lion, familiarly called ‘‘ Dick,” and the yearling heifers Alice from Madeline, and Beauty from Mantle. Buttercup was also there, in calf with Butterfly, and quite feeble from foot and mouth, Bessy, six weeks off calving Frederick, Parkinson’s Lavinia the dam of Garrick, Lallah Rookh and Duke of Lancaster. Jeweller was another, and so was the yearling Horatio by Hamlet, from Buttercup, one of the first that Colonel Towneley sold. Lord George by Leonard, from Birthday, came soon after that, and got second Duke of Athol from Duchess 54th, which was sold to Mr. Thorne, with Duchess of Athol, at 500 guineas the pair. The Towneley Herd. 331 buildings on the left, which were termed “ Jacob’s Barn,” after a farmer who rented them. Old Butter- fly, the first female, bar a free martin, that Colonel Towneley ever bred, was there, but the days of her glory were o’er, and she lay with her head low and her quarters high on a frame. She was so treated nearly all the time that she carried her last calf, Royal Butterfly. Among her thirty prizes, she won all the female ones at the Royal, and Culshaw considers that she “should have a book to herself.” Precious Stone, a heifer calf and a great beauty, was one of “ Jacob’s lot,” and so was Butterfly’s Nephew, another white and with, perhaps, the broadest back and breast we ever met with in a bull. He was from Beauty 3rd, a half-sister to Beauty’s Butterfly, and was sold for 300 guineas to Australia. Royal Butter- fly held his court at the central barn, and marched out like a soldier at Culshaw’s call. He was bigger than his brother, but not less cylindrical in shape, rather thicker in his flesh and richer in his roan,* and * We should liked to have brought back Master Butterfly to the barn from which he issued in successive years to Lincoln, Carlisle, and Chelmsford, to vanquish Fifth Duke of Oxford, John o’Groat, and Grand Turk ; but the wish was vain, and we could only dwell in memory on that symmetrical form, which knew little or no change, when it was shipped at the East India Docks, from what it was, as a svinning calf at Lincoln. He knew no check to his victories. either in England, Ireland, or Paris ; and such was his luck, that when disease came among the cattle in the French show-yard he missed it entirely. Mr. Strafford nego- tiated his purchase for 1200/. with Mr. Bostock, after he had beaten Grand Turk for the first prize in the Chelmsford Royal Show-yard, and he was taken off to the shippers at once. He went to Mr. Ware, of Geelong, in Australia, and was exhibited soon after his arrival at half-a- crown ahead for the benefit of its Agricultural Society. Nothing could be more docile during his long voyage out, and while the passengers fed him with biscuits, it was quite a diversion among the sailors to see him answer to his name like a dog, and take so very kindly to chewing tobacco. Unhappily, the man who went out in charge of him died, and he showed some temper afterwards. The papers very early made him play in the farce of ‘‘ Twice Killed,” and when he 332 Saddle and Sirloin. “perhaps more noble in his look.” His thighs were always wonderful ; and even in his thirteenth summer when he entered the ring, “a mere shadow of a King bull,” at the Manchester Royal, but with two cows in calf to him in the yard, they had not greatly wasted. Box after box was then opened in the higher yard—out marched the grand prize cow Koan Duchess II., who gave sixteen quarts a day after her first calving ; Rose of Towneley, a future Smith- neld first, and Beauty’s Butterfly going on steadily for the next gold medal. Then we had the Chester ten in pairs, Frederica’s Rosa and Venilia’s Butter- fly, or “ Master Butterfly’s last ;’ Alice Butterfly by Master Butterfly, and Young Barmpton Rose by “Dick,” as also were Emma and Pearl; then came Evadne from Emily and Violante from Roan Duchess 2nd; and lastly Diadem and Fidelity, both of them by Frederick. That strawberry roan bull, then ten years old, was only a ruin, and we never saw his head again till it hung behind Colonel Towneley’s seat along with Butterfly’s at the sale lunch, looking down with glassy eyes on the scene they had called into being. Mr. Carr once claimed from the auctioneer’s rostrum, the premiership of winner getting for Booth’s Crown Prince, but in an instant “ Joe” was at his elbow, and asking him in the most suggestive tones if he “ ever heard of a bull they called Fredcrick.” “ Fred” was never shown, but the tenants used him for three years, and soon found that they were getting something better than their neighbours. The calves rancorously persisted in living, they plunged him into ‘‘a very delicate state of health,” which was also a mere play of fancy. Eighty cowes calved to him his second season in Australia, and then he died of a sunstroke by the roadside, after a long walk, with a stallion, toa Cattle Show at Melbourne ; so he never became beef after all. He must have had a rare constitution, as he was turned out among an almost in- definite number of cows in a large run to fight his way for eighteen months. The Sale. 333 generally fell about equal in sex, and nearly all the heifers possessed that milking specialty for which his dam Bessy was so remarkable. Such were our memories of ’59. Strangers and natives concur in describing Burnley and the parts adjacent as a veritable ‘vale of tears,” all the year round. Mr. Jorrocks would have observed that he was “saliwated by the wet ;” and profiting by our previous experience, we dare not have obeyed Mr. Strafford’s “call of the house” without an un- deniable dreadnought in reserve. “The Drum” has been certs nly a symbol of fair and not of foul weather at To.vneley; but be that as it may, Culshaw, amid his other avocations, had made quite an Admiral Fitzroy of himself for some time previous to the sale, and derived much solid comfort from the deluge on Sunday and Monday. There was quite a house levée in the course of Tuesday afternoon, when the cow-boxes and bull-houses were thrown open to Lady Pigot, Captain Gunter, Mr. Torr, Mr. C. P. Gell, and the other visitors. The entertainment was more quaint than usual, and her ladyship “ dallied with her golden chain, and smiling put the question by,” as Culshaw suddenly thirsted for information, not to say “ paused for a reply,” while Roan Knight's Butterfly and Royal Butterfly’s Duchess were under review, as to why two Hanover Square cheques should have been recently sent to Colonel Towneley with certain names erased. Wednesday’s atmosphere was clear and keen, and the sun went down for the last time on the first Towneley herd with calm promise for the morrow. Knuckles were busy on the weather glasses, from an early hour on Thursday, and the advance of six degrees to the good during the night in the one we noted, had its setoff in a slight fall of snow during breakfast; but twelve o’clock came and de- parted without any more bad symptoms, and an 334 Saddle and Sirloin. afternoon loomed at last well befitting The Butterfly’s Ball. It is calculated that nearly 3000 people were present. Messrs. Atkinson, Woodward, and Barber showed up, as stanch supporters of the Towneley blood ; Sir Charles Tempest and the Hon. George Lascelles came, but they were not to be tempted; the two friends from Norfolk also steeled their hearts; Mr. Noakes allowed Mr. Freeman to have all the “Kentish fire’ to himself; and Mr. J. G. Wood, of Clarionet fame, was the silent “ member for alli Ireland.” Mr. Dodds only looked on, and thought of the firsts he would have scored with Grand Turk and Prince Talleyrand if the “ Brothers Butterfly” had not stopped the way; Mr. Knowles, of course, held “a watching brief” for the Duke of Wharfedale, and Mr. Thomas Booth for the Jeweller blood ; while Mr. Fisher, as spruce as a bridegroom, had deserted his Silver Beards and Golden Dreams for a season, and received some very legitimate chaff on his taste for ‘ The Happy Link.” There, too, was Simmy Temple- man, scanning Rose of Lancashire as respectfully as if she had been a first favourite for the Oaks; while the great Ex-Chief Justice of the leash was surveying Royal Butterfly’s Pageant, and wonder- ing as to whether his favourite Indian corn had a share in those plump proportions. There was also a strong sprinkling of the small dairy farmers from the hills, with their unmistakeable hats, and of course one hand in their pockets, for the fame of Barmpton Rose had spread far beyond Skipton and Settle, even to Langdale Pike and Hel- vellyn. The beautiful condition of the cattle was on every tongue; and even those outsiders who, with very good reason, distrust the “racing shorthorns’ and their breeding powers, were fain, after a turn “through the nurseries,” to believe the testimony of their own | Mr. Eastwood's Ferd. 335 eyes, that thick flesh and fertility can exist together, and especially in the Butterfly tribe.* Mr. Eastwood's career as a shorthorn breeder dates * The heavy artillery, with the exception of that from Penrhyn, seemed to be planted on Mr. Strafford’s side of the ring, and we do no! exactly remember where the Whitworth gun was laid, when its victo- rious boom was heard for Tenth Royal Butterfly. Mr. Freeman (fo> Mr. Betts), whose practice was very fine, took up his position on the right of Mr. Strafford, and Mr. Wetherell looked on as the ‘‘ Nestor” of the assembly at his side. He could have told how the dam of Second Roan-Duchess was sold for 30 guineas at his Kirkbridge sale, how his Barmpton Rose was sold to Mr. H. Watson and calved Butter- cup (the dam of Butterfly) three weeks after she arrived at Walkering- ham, and how he too had bred Bessy (the dam of Frederick) from her, and sold her to Mr. Downs, from whose hands she passed over to Mr Eastwood. Royal Butterfly’s Pageant proved the champion price lot of the day. She was put in at 200 guineas, and in an instant Mr. East- wood covered Mr. Freeman, and had the 350, 400, and the 500. Them came such a rattling cheer all round the ring, and Joe dodged about nea his red and white darling, and rubbed his hands, with a noiseless chuckle. Then their firing grew slower; Mr. Eastwood’s measured ‘and ten” fairly wore his opponent out. ‘‘ Will you have any more, Mr. Freeman? Did you speak?” ‘‘No!” ‘And the glass runs, and your last chance with it,” at 590. And so three Royal Butterflies from Young Barmpton Rose, Alice Butterfly, and Pageant, were bound for Thorneyholme, at an average of 413 guineas. ‘‘ She handles like a lady’s muff,” said Culshaw, drawing his hand daintily over the little 54-months white. Captain Oliver needed no telling on that point, and was not shaken off before 160: but Mr. Freeman would not sepa- rate mother and daughter, and went in boldly up to the finish, which was 170. Culshaw himself took hold of the halter of Duchess of Towneley- Then came a very grand sleight-of-hand scene, as he played with her, and deftly coaxed her to stand up at the mature age of a month and four days, as proudly as if she was in the Royal ring for the ribbons on her own account. It was an immense treat, and certainly we have seen nothing like it, save Rarey at the Round House, or Jem Mason handing one of Elmore’s over a fence. Then ‘‘ Joe” changed his tune, and resigning the rope, he placed his hand on the loins of Duchess of Lancaster, as if he was an anatomical professor, lecturing for the benefit of science in general and Towneley in particular, to rather an extensive class. Phoebe Butterfly, a red, with a spot of white on the quarter, was in consideration of its 17 days allowed to run loose, and with it the female lots were ended, and in an instant Mr. Thornton handed round the average of 123/. 19s. 4d. for the 46. All Mr. Strafford’s assurances that Mr. Booth was getting a 200 guineas hire for bulls not one whit better bred, while here was the fee simple of Baron Hopewell, could not coax Mr. Mitchell, fresh as the 336 Saddle and Sirloin. back to 1843, two or three years after his father died. His first essay was hardly to his mind, and he got rid of everything, and started afresh from Mr. Henry Watson's sale. “ Which do you come for?’ said the late Earl Ducie, when they encountered each other going the rounds on the Walkeringham sale morning. bull was, quite up to half that sum, and Mr. Waldo stalled him off. Then Royal Butterfly marched into the ring, with the white rosette on his head, preceded by the bandmaster and two musicians of the Fifth Royal Lancashire Militia, who had volunteered their services for the day. With all due respect to that gallant corps, we do not think that melody is its forte, and the duet they performed on cornets in honour of that bull made our very blood run cold. He has known many proud days in a ring, where, ‘‘ after the first five minutes, he made every- thing, save Dickinson’s Prince of Prussia, and the mighty Soubadar shrink into nothing by his side ;” but it was ‘‘the proudest of them a’,” when five of his stock averaged 440/. 8s. The world may wax old, and no man ever be able to say what Colonel Towneley can, that at one and the self same time he had a Royal Butterfly with all his four- year-old bloom in the paddock, and a Kettledrum at the post. The real ‘‘champion of England” stood a few minutes while Mr. Strafford declared that a five-guinea bid over 1200 guineas would be taken ; but although many a man thought that he ought to fill a five-and-twenty or thirty guinea subscription list, after such calves as they had seen that day, there was only a respectful silence. ‘‘ 7ha?’s a choker ; take him away! The musicians assailed him in his retreat with ‘* Zhe girl I left behind me,” and after that stroke of genius they collapsed. Royal Butterfly’s Duchess had mellowed into a cow of remarkably grand girth. When a calf she struck us as the living fac simile of her father, on a scale for inches ; and her huggins and loins are so beauti- fully covered that Mr. Strafford might well say—‘‘ She’ll be one of the pictures in my book.” ‘‘ Ninety,” said Captain Oliver, but he stopped at 180; and as Mr. Betts’s and Colonel Pennant’s agents fought it out by tens and twenties to 500, the face of Culshaw, which had wom a most blighted expression up to this point—despite Mr. Strafford’s assurance that ‘‘ the young uns will set you all going’”—quite lighted up at last. Nothing walked more proudly round the ring than Frederick’s Farewell, with her grand depth of rib and well-filled fore-quarter, of which she gave such promise, as, at 10%. 17 min. p.mt., on that Octo- ber night when Culshaw ‘‘lent his soft, obstetric hand,” and ‘‘ The Druid,” watch in hand, at last saw this rich roan heroine of nine firsts ‘* blowing her nose in the straw.” There was a bottle of wine uncorked forthwith in her honour, even without the aid of the ‘‘ judicious bottle- holder.” Every ring motion of Culshaw’s was very keenly scanned, and he ie =... = > ee hh ie ee Mr. Eastwood's Herd. oa7 “ Well, my lord, that’s hardly a fair question,” was the rejoinder ; “ but tf you like, as I'm pretty certain we're both after the same two cows, we'll each write their zames ona slip of paper.’ And write them they did, and both wrote “ Buttercup” and “Princess Royal,” and it was settled that his lordship would not oppose was much more demonstrative than when we found him some years after in front of the eland’s cage at Smithfield, and deciding, after a protracted survey, that such beef regenerators are ‘‘not for Joseph.” On this occasion he was very calm until Barmpton’s Butterfly came out, and when he advanced and patted her head all knew that a rally was nigh. Flesh, hair, and fore-quarters were ‘‘all there,” and so was Mr. Eastwood when he came up under the sale waggon to give battle for this fine combination of Royal Butterfly and ‘‘ Dick.” The fight was short and sharp. ‘‘ /?’s against you at 300, Mr. Eastwood,” *fand ten,” ‘‘against you again,” ‘‘and fifty,” and Thorneyholme was her destiny. Mr. Young, who was on the look out for Forth’s successor at Keir, took Royal Butterfly 11th at 400 guineas, and at Newcastle that very summer he avenged himself on The Hero for his Worcester defeat. The results of a day which will be a red letter one as long as Englishmen love shorthorns, may be summed up in 7180/. 7s., or a total average of 128/. 7s. 74d. for 56. On reference back, we find that Robert Colling has an average of 128/. 14s. 1o$d. for 61 ; while Charles Colling, thanks to Comet, has 1517, 5s. 54d. for 47. It must also be remembered that eighteen of the Towneley lots were under a year, and seven born within the year. The Willis’s Room Sale, when 17 averaged 481/. 3s., hardly comes into the sale category, except merely by way of comparison with the average made by the Duchess blood on the two previous occasions of its being put up, viz., 116/. 5s. for 14, at Kirklevington, and 442/. 1s. for 10, at Tortwoith. Taking the greater sales in order since Lord Ducie’s, they stand thus :— Average. Lots. a ee a, Mr. Betts’s eee eee eee 63 sso) 150 19 oO Lord Ducie’s ... eee ove 62 aS ORIG? LE Colonel Towneley’ Poche ose 56 soa! 120) 7 Mr. MaclIntosh’s aes “or 57 poo KAORI Mr. Marjoribanks’s (1857) ae 59 ao Ne) Mr. Ambler’s .. ous 50 fogs tele}! Mr. H. Combe’s ea “+ 63 5 Sir Charles Knightley’s ane 77 oe SO I Mr. Tanqueray’s ee IOL Mr. Marjoribanks’s (1862) oe 80 Th fs oo ° -_ iS) PMO MO AN The average of the three leading bulls at Towneley was thirteen Royal Zz 338 Saddle and Sirloin. Mr. Eastwood for the former, which he bought for 130 guineas. His lordship was equally pleased with his own purchase. Looking round the herd at Tort- worth, some years after, with Mr. Eastwood and Mr. Knowles, he stopped at each of them, and said, “There's that dreadful tribe again ;” but when his com- Butterflies at 252/., the same number of Dukes of Wharfedale, of all ages, from July 12th, 1863, to Feb. 29th, 1864, at 690/. 4s., and seven Baron Hopewells at 115/. Is. The six tribes averaged as follows :— JES 1 Mantalini = sis se “6: es, LO} O 8 Pearly ... =e ste coe a0 dae LOOM OE 5 Vestris 3rd ie Bs 286 aoe sv. (ROSH EO g Second Roan Duchess . noc oo ss (X70 ET 28 Barmpton Rose.. oot oe zee Foy ts 5 Alice 2nd se oe bas ate oe 138 R2 Having settled this little matter, we must run over, chiefly in the words of one who knew them well, a few of the Towneley cracks. We'll miss Royal Butterfly and Master Butterfly, and get to Royal Butterfly roth ; he was from Parade by Duke of Glo’ster ; his head. was not first-rate ; he was a great fine bull with such a back, and such dash about him ; he should have been a rich roan. Richard Coeur de Lion, or ‘* Dick” as they called him, had as good a head as was ever stuck on a pair of shoulders. At the Dublin Show Mr. Baxter handled ** Dick,” and Culshaw led Master Butterfly—he never would walk, but seemed to go on springs, as if Irish soil wasn’t good enough for him. Mr. Douglas’s Captain Balco, a splendid bull, was second that day, and ** Dick” third. At Chelmsford, one of the judges said ‘‘ he walks like a gentleman,” and Culshaw nodded to Dodds at those words, and said, “