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The Estate of 
David Prescott Barrows 


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O^% 7 cV 6' ^ , 










PORTION of the following work, which the 
Author has here endeavoured to blend, with a 
very large amount of new matter, into a Turf manual, 
recently appeared, under two distinct titles, in The 
Sporting Review. It has been his wish to make it 
as little as possible a mere invoice of men, horses, or 
races ; and hence, even at the risk of disturbing the 
context, he has often gladly turned aside to pick up 
" a bit of character " by the way. With the secret 
lore of veterinary surgeons and book-makers he has 
not presumed to meddle. He has simply written of 
the Turf as he has known it for some years past, not 
through the feverish medium of the betting, but as 
its leading features have been brought to his mind 
by an occasional stroll on to a race-course on a crack 
afternoon, through the boxes at TattersalFs, or among 
the paddocks of a stud-farm. Although he has 
taken the utmost pains to avoid them, by seeking 
the best available means of information, he cannot 
but fear that, having to deal with times and scenes 
in so many of which he bore no part, he may have 
fallen into error on some few points of detail ; and 
he pleads guilty to having converted a very cele- 
brated chesnut hunter into a " grey" one. Having 
thus taken his " preliminary canter," it only re- 
mains for him to thank those who have so kindly 
favoured him with their advice and aid during its 
' ' preparation," and to start his little volume on its 
race for life. 

London, May -morning, 1856. 


HE sale of a two-thousand edition in something 
under three months, and at a season of the year 
when hunting and racing men are in anything but a 
reading mood, is the Author's best excuse for court- 
ing Fortune a second time. Twelve of the chapters 
have been carefully revised, while that on the Breed- 
ing of Hunters has not only undergone the process, 
but has been enlarged by upwards of twenty pages. 
Thanks to the kindness of several hunting men, a 
majority of whom were only known to him by name, 
he has been corrected on three or four points in the 
latter, where the memories of his original informants 
had been at fault, and furnished to boot with several 
new facts and incidents within their own immediate 
knowledge. Hence (seeing that he has also called 
Mr. Herring junior's pencil to his aid) he trusts that 
it can no longer be urged against his book, as it has 
been hitherto, that the hunting- field has had by no 
means its due share of notice ; and he confidently 
indulges the hope that in this, its race for the Derby, 
it may show at least a 71bs. improvement over its 
Two Thousand form. 
August 1st, 1856. 

LTHOUGH the Author does not scruple to 
admit, that his hunting experiences have been 
very much confined to watching the cubs at plajr 
near the earths on a summer' s evening ; taking notes 
of hunters at crack meets,, much after the same 
fashion as he was wont to do in ' l Turf Pencillings ;" 
and seeing, by dint of short cuts, a goodly number of 
foxes pulled down in the woodlands, he is not altoge- 
ther sure that this is not an advantage to his readers 
in more ways than one. Beckford, Delme Rad- 
cliffe, Apperley, Smith, Vyner, Grantley Berke- 
ley, "Scrutator/' "Cecil," "Harry Hieover, " 
" Gelert, " " Jorrocks, " and John Mills have 
written so much and so well on the science of 
the sport, that he has been obliged to try and hold 
his own line, and confine himself to its gossip. Hence 
he has added some ninety fresh pages on hunters, and 
the packs of " Auld Lang Syne," to the present edi- 
tion, for the closing chapter of which he is indebted to 
the renowned Dick Christian, the droppings of whose 
sage lips he has reported pretty nearly word for 
word. He may remark, at parting, that his book 
has now reached its final limits, as far as length is 
concerned ; and he regrets that, being a maiden 
author, he was not in a position to treat the hunting 
part of it as fully in his earlier editions as he has 
done at this third and last time of asking. The best 
answer he can give to those epistolary critics who 
complain of his too great " concentration," is that he 
hopes in due time to concentrate his energies on a 
companion sporting work. 
February 18th, 1857. 





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GEORGE IV. .... 



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" And, pray, what is a gentleman without his recreations ?" 

Old Sony. 

liF we swell the crowd which blocks up the Strand 
II in front of The Life office, whenever a St. Leger 
or Derby telegraph is due, into about four millions, 
we shall not be overstating the number of those to 
whom " TattersalPs" is the Shibboleth, and whose 
best sporting affections are bound up in " Ruff." It 
is not to the United Kingdom merely that we have 
to look for this mighty host of turfites. The roving 
Briton needs no law, even by the Black Sea wave, to 
remind him that the "fortuitus cespes" is never to be 
despised. Wherever he sets foot, it is at once brought 
into play, either for cricket or horse-racing, More 
than a century ago, the Jamaica meetings figured 
with especial honour in the " Racing Calendar ; " 
and natives who have long since tutored themselves 
into the belief, that British batters run about in the 
sun expressly to catch the fever, have alike ceased 


to wonder at the vigour with which our officers 
" set-to" on their Arabs beneath the rock of Gib- 
raltar or the minarets of Calcutta. The races, 
paper hunts, and steeple-chases on the Tchernaya 
and at Shurnla, will be engraven on the retinas of 
Cossack, Turk, and Sardinian for many a year to 
come ; and even when the horrors of the first winter 
before Sebastopol were barely over, officers were 
writing home about nominations for the Grand 
Military at Leamington. Both our Jockey Club 
and Tattersall's are reproduced at the Antipodes, 
whose race-courses, pastern-deep in the erica, the 
heath, the wild strawberry, the rich-scented dwarf- 
acacia, and all the countless varieties of the world 
of flowers, contrast strangely with the " hard- 
going,^ which breaks down the West Australians 
and the Wild Dayrells of the old country. The 
abstract fame of our race-horses is also rife in hemis- 
pheres where "Ruff" is still unknown. On this 
point we have the positive assurance of a Transat- 
lantic Rambler, that the only artifice by which he 
could disperse an extempore procession of street 
boys, and pacify a Brazilian landlord, on whose 
shaggy pony he had been compelled to confer a 
racing tail in his travels, was, by assuring him in his 
most polished Portuguese, that it was now, in all its 
bearings, " the exact image of the Flying Dutchman 
the finest horse in England." 

The wonderful success of their St. Leger colts has 
given Irishmen a still stronger bias towards the turf 
than they had even in the days when Hark away was 
the champion of Goodwood and the Curragh. Still 
steeple-chasing nestles nearest their hearts ; and the 
remembrance of Brunette and Abd-el-Kader will be 
green when Faugh-a-Ballagh, The Baron, and Knight 
of St. George are forgotten. Scotland's pride has 
been occasionally awakened by the victories of " the 
tartan " but racing feeling in her has waxed fainter 


and fainter, since Mr. Ramsay died and Lord Eglin- 
ton retired. The finest modern races in its calendar 
are those between General Chasse and Inheritor at 
Ayr, and Lanercost and Beeswing, twice in one 
afternoon, at Kelso. Still, even then the plaided 
and snooded spectators were anything but demon- 
strative : the real current of their sporting being sets 
towards "A Graham" and the slips, and Philip, 
Chanticleer, and Zohrab sink into historical insigni- 
ficance by the side of Waterloo, Gilbertfield, and 
Hughie Graham. 

Seven or eight of the English counties seem to 
care as little about race-horses as they do for griffins ; 
and perhaps the most genuine Olympic taste is to be 
found among the quoit-loving Cumbrians, in whose 
Carlisle race -festivals wrestling plays a very promi- 
nent part. Although their style is so widely differ- 
ent to that of the Cornish men, who still hurl their 
traditionary scorn at Devonshire, in the ballad, which 
tells that 

" Abraham Cann is not the man 
To wrestle with Polkinghorne," 

they are not one whit less enthusiastic in the praises 
of Weightman, Chapman, Jackson of Kinneyside, 
and the other " Belted Wills" of their ring ; and, in 
fact, it is only when the afternoon is pretty far spent, 
and his enraptured backers have borne off the prize- 
belted victor to the booth which he specially deigns 
to honour, that the starting-bell tinkles out its sum- 
mons. The Northumbrian " black diamonds" have 
always enjoyed most being above ground, in a clean 
face and shirt, when X. Y. Z., Beeswing, or some other 
local star, required the stimulus of their gruff voices 
"in t'coop;" and it would have been as judicious a 
step to abuse Edwin Forrest's acting before a " Bow- 
ery boy," as to breathe a word against "fould mare's" 
fame, when one of them was within ear-shot. The 


crowd which attends Manchester Races is something 
past belief; but they seem to go much more because 
it is the conventional mode of passing the Whitsun- 
tide week, than from any constitutional interest in 
race-horses. Before there was a railway from Liver- 
pool to Aintree, the very mud-carts used to be 
pressed into the service for the day, and sixpence 
there and sixpence back was the tariff. A fiddler 
and twelve or thirteen mates, male and female, were 
squeezed into that narrow compass. On one occa- 
sion (1843), we were passing along the footpath, 
when a troop of these Bacchanals sturdily refused to 
alight at the entrance of Liverpool ; but in an instant 
the linch-pin was drawn, and they were all shot out. 
Their fiddler, nothing daunted, rallied them like 
another Tyrtseus, and the dancing went on merrily 
in the dusty road, till the next vehicle rudely broke 
the ring. We doubt whether one of them had looked 
at a race that day. 

A blood-horse, on the contrary, has always been 
the idol of Yorkshiremen, who were the first to 
chronicle his deeds; and attendance on his race- 
course levees is an honest broad-bottomed custom 
which they will never resign. Before the South 
Yorkshire line was opened, the Sheffielders, man and 
boy, thought nothing, year after year, of walking 
through the night to Doncaster, taking up a good 
position next the rails, which they never quitted from 
ten to five, and then walking the eighteen miles 
home again; and till within the last fou*r years, a 
Devonshire man used always to make a St. Leger 
pilgrimage both ways on foot; and accounted for 
this strange whim on the grounds that his " grand- 
mother was Yorkshire/' They do not care so much 
to come if it is an open race, but love best to see a 
Derby winner stripped to hold his own. One very 
glorious occasion, when there was a remarkable 
crush, " the hardware youths," on their return to the 


station, rushed pell-mell at the carriages, and said 
"they did not care where they went, as long as 
they went somewhere." Accordingly they wandered 
to all parts of the compass ; some got to Wakefield, 
others travelled unconcernedly off towards London, 
and some astounded the natives of "Old Ebor" that 
evening with their marvellous recitals of the York- 
shire triumph of the day. Still the West Eiding 
does not raise men of the late Michael Brunton 
stamp, with heads like a stud-book, and ready, like 
him, with an offer, then and there, to back his opinion 
at f ' six to four" on a legal point, when he chanced to 
differ with the Richmond bench, or the clerk to the 
magistrates during his mayoralty. It is in the North 
and East Ridings that the racing taste of the county 
is most especially apparent. Little oval country 
courses, dotted with white posts, and approached by 
wide rustic gates, through which generation after 
generation of country families who vied with each 
other in importing the best blood, and toasted a per- 
fect bede-roll of winners, from Buckhunter to Catton 
have driven proudly in their day, open on you by 
the wayside in nooks where you least expect them. 
A bitted, curvetting blood-yearling meets you there 
still : but a sheeted regiment of racers, with their 
saddle-bags on their backs, and their tiny grooms at 
their heads, marching in Indian file, on their way to 
a meeting, is a sight which is rare in these railway 
days. The inns all along the Great North R/oad, 
where, twenty years ago, the postillions had to sleep, 
spur on heel, when a great division, or the Twelfth 
of August was at hand, and the ostler muttered 
" Horses on" in his dreams, are nearly all merged 
into farm-houses ; but racing recollections will hover 
about them, albeit the bar-snuggery has become a 
cheese-room, and H erring 5 s St. Leger winners, which 
once adorned their walls, are dispersed into all lands. 
These were the texts on which the jolly landlord dis- 


coursed without any bidding, to favoured groups by 
the hour, till the mail bugle was heard in the dis- 
tance, and the guard and the coachman bustled in, 
to deliver themselves of the news, and receive " some- 
thing hot" in exchange. " What's won ?" was in- 
yariably the first question from April to November -, 
and Boniface as invariably remarked to the company, 
" I told you so." For racing news, and, in fact, for 
every other kind, guards were at that date as good as 
a telegraph. Only in 1843, a quiet clerical friend 
remarked to us that he could get no rest all night 
in one of the Lancashire mails, because the guard 
would roar out "THE CURE," in reply to some 
speaker, at nearly every house they passed. He 
looked seriously into this mystic and somewhat per- 
sonal pass-word in the morning, and found that a 
colt of the name had just won the Champagne 
Stakes ; but even the satisfaction of knowing that 
sixty miles of querists had been put out of pain, did 
not atone for being deprived of his night's rest. 

As Mr. Orton has been unable to trace the ac- 
counts of York races further back than 1709, we 
may presume to fix that as the year of turf memory. 
Under Henry II/s auspices, the fame of Epsom 
faintly dawned, while Smithfield became resonant 
with the hoarse yells of both spectators and jockeys, 
as "the hackneys and charging horses" ran their 
matches of an afternoon. Before Henry VIII.'s, or 
rather James I/s reign, races were not placed on a re- 
gular footing. Turks, Arabs, and Barbs then began to 
scatter their image over the land ; but their luckless 
juniors found themselves in a rough world, if we are 
to judge from the volume of maxims which a horse- 
breaker of the Elizabethan age published in Nor- 
folk. " If a horse does not stand still or hezitates/' 
he observes, " then al rate him with a terrible voyce, 
and beate him yourself with a good sticke, upon the 
head, between the ears; then stick him in the 


spurring place, iii or iiii times together, with one 
legge after another, as fast as your legges might 
walk ; your legges must go like two bouching betles." 
Other racing sovereigns had not sent their studs 
farther north than Newmarket ; but Queen Anne, 
who, as Dean Swift wrote to Stella, " drives furiously 
like Jehu, and is a mighty hunter like Nimrod," was 
a firm supporter of York. Although her Pepper 
and Mustard both failed to win back the gold cup 
which she gave to be run for by six-year-olds (12st. 
each), in four-mile heats, her Star was successful, 
after running sixteen miles, for a I4t Plate, the 
very afternoon before she died ; the Lord Chamber- 
lain politely finishing second with Merlin for the 
" Ten Guinea Stakes." One hundred and fifty-six car- 
riages were counted on Rawcliffe Ings that day ; and 
Lord Fauconberg's coach-and-six formed only on$ 
out of thirty such equipages, when the meeting was 
removed to Knavesmire. Balancing the respective 
merits of these princely turnouts, was long the 
chosen pastime of the Tykes between the heats. 
This high-born company must have been much more 
easily pleased than their descendants ; as, although 
one "Monsieur Dominique, musician/' gave " a purse 
of guineas for hunters," and extended their 1750 
meeting from Monday to Saturday, there were only 
fifteen races, including heats, and* only twenty-eight 
horses to run for them. 

We do not care to inquire with Southey whether 
hyaenas really "prowled over what is now Doncaster 
race-ground, and green lizards, huge as crocodiles, 
with long necks and short tails, took their pleasure 
on Potterie Carr ;" nor to make nearly as crab-like 
running to the days when Robin Hood roamed with 
his merry gang of outlaws through the dells of 
Barnsdale, and looked in at Roche Abbey to taste 
the Hatfield eels with the jolly abbot ; nor to peep 
in fancy under the cowls of the Cistercian friars, as 


they stealthily move down Baxter Gate. We simply 
like to think of those grave old card-parties, which 
" The Doctor" loved one hundred years ago ; of the 
joyous old bells, which seemed to ring in his ear, 
" Daniel Dove, bring Deborah home/' when he drew 
on his small-clothes on his wedding morning ; and of 
the grand organ, " whosh pipes" as its foreign maker 
observed, "were made for to speak" by one of our 
greatest English composers, and which was apostro- 
phised by the excited curate in his sermon on its 
opening Sunday, as " thou divine box of sounds" 
Nor would we forget the right jolly Corporation 
going down to Potterie Carr (where Flying Childers 
was nearly drowned in his foalhood) to see four-mile 
races between galloways from 12 to 2, and then 
returning to the platters and tankards of the Man- 
sion House, for a misty ten hours' discussion on 
the winners and the Pretender. This worshipful 
body had begun to take its pleasure with its friends 
and faithful burgesses on the Town Moor, towards 
the close of the sixteenth century; and had even 
built a stand there ; but disputes ran so high, and 
were so often settled by an appeal to the rapier, 
that it was finally agreed, "for the preventynge of 
sutes, quarrells, murders, and bloodshed, that may 
ensue by the continyinninge of the same race, the 
standes and stoopes shall be pulled upp, and imploid 
to some better purpose." This fell decree continued 
in force until 1703, when the racing spirit of the 
corporation once more rose within them. They for- 
got how their great-grandfathers "did swear that 
oath at Doncaster," and began to subscribe four 
guineas annually to a Revival Plate. No return- 
lists are extant, which tell the results of this daring 
experiment before 1728. Even in 1751 the meeting 
only consisted of three days, with a solitary race on 
each. A new Grand Stand arose some seven-and 
twenty years later, under the auspices of the Marquis 


of Buckingham, who won the first St. Leger; the 
cry of the Corporation harriers began to be heard in 
the land, and their merry proprietors rode stoutly at 
their sterns, or " ate in dreams the custards of the 
day," till they found themselves saddled with a debt 
of 99,700. Their estate at Rossington, whose 
partridge and pheasant preserves had year after year 
been laid under contribution for the Mansion House 
kitchen-range, which was rarely allowed to cool, 
fetched nearly that sum at the hammer ; and their 
less toothsome and more business-like successors 
have turned these sporting propensities to better 
account, and make an annual seven or eight per 
cent, out of a 25,000 race-course outlay. 

Although its general history is wrapped in much 
obscurity, the turf had made no small advance when 
one Reginald Heber published the first number of 
the Racing Calendar, in 1751. The preface, which 
is in itself a literary curiosity, announces <: the sacred 
estimation" in which the publisher holds " my muni- 
ficent and voluntary subscribers"; and, further, pro- 
mises the most lucid details of cocking matches, 
<l where and who were the looser s of them." The 
races in Hyde Park had long been done away. Sir 
Phillip Neil, and his four Flemish mares, which were 
fed with Rhenish wine and cheese-cakes on one of 
those gala-days, were forgotten. Snipes, unconscious 
of General Oglethorpe's fowling-piece, were still 
drinking in the marshes on the present site of Con- 
duit-street. Wild fowl were almost tempted to linger 
at evening among the bulrushes of the willow-walk 
ofPimlico. Islington still gloried in its mineral 
water and its custards. Roystering benchers had 
ceased to lose dice between the boards of the Middle 
Temple floor > and Mrs. Hudson, of Covent Garden, 
had not yet devised her " stabling for one hundred 
noblemen and their horses." The apprentice lads 
chased ducks on the Moor-le-field ponds all Sunday 


morning ; and then paid pennies to the old women 
as they came out of church, to tell them where the 
text was, that they might have wherewithal to answer 
their church- going masters at dinner ; and the short, 
sharp bark of the fox still broke on the ear of the 
waggoner, as he drove his lumbering wain at mid- 
night past Kensington Gardens, and stopped for a 
draught at the Half- way House bowl. 

Two or three were still living at Newmarket, who 
could remember how the Court hurried back to Lon- 
don at the news of the Rye House Plot ; and how 
Nell Gwynne held her infant out of the window, as 
her royal lover passed down the Palace Gardens to 
his stables, and threatened to drop him if he was not 
made a duke on the spot. Although he had, both 
by word and gesture, roasted little Sir Christopher 
Wren for thinking that the apartments at his Hunt- 
ing Palace at Newmarket were quite high enough, 
there were none at Whitehall that he loved better. 
One day His Majesty might be " seen among the 
elms of St. James's Park, chatting with Dryden 
about poetry," and on the next, " his arm was on 
Tom Durfey's shoulder, and he would be taking a 
second to his ' Phyllida Phyllida/ or ' To horse, my 
brave boys of Newmarket ! to horse ! ' }> The races 
had not degenerated since the Merrie Monarch and 
his minstrel crew crossed that threshold for the last 
time. A writer of Queen Anne's reign speaks of 
" the great concourse of nobility and gentry on the 
Heath, all biting one another as much as possible" ; 
and draws no very flattering contrast between them 
and the horse-coursers in Smithfield. 

When Heber commenced his labours, the sport at 
Newmarket principally consisted of .50 subscription 
plates, and matches over the beacon. The Rev. 
Mr. Goodricke and John Hutchinson, the Malton 
trainer, had not as yet made the match which 
brought two-year-old racing into vogue. Ancaster, 


Gower, and Patmore, were names of renown in its 
lists ; and " Old Q." who had then hardly seen 
seven-and-twenty summers, and was able to go to 
scale at ten stone with his racing-saddle, had already 
established his fame as one of the best gentleman- 
riders of the day, by his perpetual matches with Mr. 
Duncombe. " Brown-and-black cap first " was the 
Judge's report in the Second Spring of 1757, when 
he rode a match against the Duke of Hamilton ; but 
lie could not draw his weight to half-a-pound, and 
was disqualified accordingly. It is difficult to con- 
ceive how one who always "set-to" so well, conformed 
so readily to his flippant era, and could, when he 
was only forty-two, be found writing to George 
Selwyn at Paris, and assuring him that " I like the 
muff you have sent me much better than if it had 
been tiff re, or any other glaring colour/' Muff or 
no muff, he stood manfully by his brother-sportsman 
in the Regency business, and lost his office as Groom 
to the Bedchamber in consequence- a slight for 
which a man with so many friends cared but little. 
He scarcely missed one York Meeting for half a 
century, and did not wholly quit the turf for his bow- 
window in Piccadilly (where Lord Campbell, when a 
law student, used to behold him with awe), till he 
was verging on eighty, having then owned race- 
horses for about sixty years ; and he now rests, not 
many paces from Tom Durfey, and Beau BrummelFs 
poor relations, in a vault beneath the communion- 
table of St. James's Church. 

The North was the Marquis of Rockingham's 
especial battle-ground : and in 1759 his chesnut, 
Whistlejacket (J. Singleton), defeated Brutus in a 
2,000 guineas match over four miles, at York. 
Another seven years' cycle brings us to the death of 
Brutus's jockey, Thomas Jackson, who was (as his 
tombstone remarks) " bred up at Black Hambleton, 
and crowned with glory at Newmarket" : and the 


commencement of Singleton's triumphs on the six- 
year-old Bay Malt on, for whom, in spite of Lord 
Buckingham's offer to give 71bs., no competitor 
could be found either over the Flat or the Six Mile 
Course. Eclipse was then only an obscure three- 
year-old, in the hands of a City meat salesman; and 
Bay Malton had quite lost his form, when this king 
of the chesnuts came out for his two seasons, in 1769- 
70. The establishment of the St. Leger, Derby, and 
Oaks in 1776-80, was coeval with the short and 
brilliant career of Highflyer, at whose christening 
feast Charles James Fox " assisted " with as much 
vivacity as he did in after-years, at the house-warm- 
ing of the banker-poet of St. James's Place. Dress, 
gambling, politics, and horse-racing, all fought for 
absolute dominion over as kind a heart as ever 
beat. He was a macaroni of the first water, and not 
only rejoiced in red-heeled shoes, but undertook a 
journey from Lyons to Paris with the Earl of Car- 
lisle, for the express purpose of buying waistcoats, 
which formed their sole theme there and back. The 
Sgavoir-Vivre Club would have been as nothing 
without him, and he was the first to propose that 
every man they ruined should be allowed a 50 
annuity on condition that he never took up a dice- 
box in it again, and thus caused the club " to play 
against their own money." He was, too, a heavy 
bettor, and a constant visitor at Newmarket, where 
his portly frame was ever to be seen on his hack, 
tearing wildly past the Judge's chair, close up with 
the leading horses; and until the late Mr. Clark 
defended a disputed decision by the remark that he 
" ought by rights to have placed a tall gentleman, in 
a white macintosh, first," Lord George Bentinck 
keenly pursued the precedent. Colonel Hanger had 
not long ceased to be the bully of its coffee-room, 
about whose portals it was his wont to lounge, with 
a ratan, which in grim playfulness, he christened 


" THE INFANT," when Sam Chifney, senior, took his 
rank among the first jockeys of the day. Sam wot 
as little as they did, when he saw a pale, sharp- 
featured stable lad of Mr. Vernon's try his weight 
(3st. 131b.) for Wolf, in the May of 1783, that he was 
the Prank Buckle for whom Fate destined " all the 
good things at Newmarket " and elsewhere during 
the next half-century, and whose very whip would 
become a coveted race-prize among the German 
Barons. The Prince of Wales only enlivened New- 
market with his presence and his practical jokes for 
a brief space, but his love of the turf ended only 
with life. His Escape and Selim troubles, added to 
the thoughtless manner in which he compromised 
himself with the Duke of Bedford, about the "first 
call" of Chifney, were recollections quite bitter enough 
to make him adhere to his '91 vow, that he would 
set foot on its heath no more j and even the famous 
North and South Matches, between Hambletonian 
and Diamond, and Filho da Puta and Sir Joshua, did 
not tempt him down. Hambletonian, the greatest 
of the four, ceded the championship of the North to 
his stable-companion Cockfighter, and the name of 
" Darlington" began to be one of dread to owners 
with the new century, and his Haphazard, who set Sir 
Solomon, Cockfighter, Chance, and every other horse 
north of the Trent at defiance for four seasons. The 
racing spirit of the Tykes flourished apace as the 
century rolled on ; and even Sydney Smith, who was 
flung so often over his horse's head into an adjacent 
parish that he began to consider it " a great proof 
of liberality in a county, where every one can ride as 
soon as they are born, that they tolerated him at 
all," fulminated in vain from the Malton pulpit, in 
1809, " against horse-racing and coursing, before 
the archbishop and sporting clergy of the diocese," 
The most noted equestrian feats of his Edinburgh 
Review chief, Jeffrey, seem to have come off in this 


neighbourhood. He may or may not have ridden 
" Peter the Cruel/' but it is written of him in his 
friend's Life, how he mounted his " little jackass" in 
the garden at Foston-le-Clay ; and, furthermore, 
when he went in for Malton, some one-and-twenty 
years after this sermon, he is careful to note how he 
" was helped up about eleven o'clock on to the dorsal 
ridge of a tall prancing steed, decorated with orange 
ribbons, and held by attendants in the borough 
liveries." We know not how he behaved on such 
occasions, but we never walk down Rotten Row 
during the season without feeling it a mercy that 
the master-spirits of our land, who will persist in 
riding, are still spared to us year after year ; and 
deciding that as a body the bishops ride a great deal 
better than the great laymen, and sit much firmer 
and shorter in the stirrup. 

Epsom had already conferred that prestige on Sir 
Peter Teazle and John Bull which waxed stronger 
and stronger in their stud days. Sir Charles Bun- 
bury confirmed the popular belief that he was the 
best judge of a race-horse out, by winning both Derby 
and Oaks with Eleanor. The Fitzwilliam " green'* 
achieved its second St. Leger with Orvile ; and even 
Sancho's and Staveley's success could not prevent 
the decay of the Hellish fortunes, nor postpone the 
farewell carnival which he gave to royalty in what 
had been his own, but was then merely his borrowed, 
house at Blythe. The matches of Sancho and Pavi- 
lion were the talk of clubs, coffee-rooms, and ale- 
houses for weeks, and were perhaps still more heavily 
betted on than that between Flying Dutchman and 
Voltigeur : while the luck of the Duke of Grafton 
with the Waxy, of Lord Jersey with the Phantom, 
of Lord Egremont with the Whalebone, of Lord 
Exeter with the Sultan, and of Mr. Watt with the 
Blacklock and Dick Andrews blood, are still proudly 
dwelt on by breeders. The Squire of Riddlesworth 


was fated to draw very few of the Emilius prizes for 
himself; but his memorable connection with the 
brothers Chifney in the Sam., Sailor, and Shoveller 
days, had done enough for his name. The rapid rise 
and fall of these brothers, when Shillelah dealt them 
a reeling blow, and Emilius sent no more Priams to 
the rescue ; Pierse's St. Leger victories with " the 
Bedale horses," and the still more wizard-like career 
of Mr. Petre, on the same ground, under the auspices 
of John and William Scott ; Sir Mark Wood's rare 
brace of mares, one of whom bore part in an Ascot 
Cup race of little less interest than Zinganee's ; and 
Lord Westminster's Cup monopoly with Touchstone, 
are all proud landmarks in turf history, until Lord 
George flung aside the flimsey mask of " Mr. Bowe," 
and avowed himself the owner of Grey Momus and 

The Bentinck era comprises the seasons of 1839-45, 
when the hoister of the " sky-blue and white cap " 
banner ruled the destinies of his much-loved turf 
with all the genius and energy of a Napoleon. Even 
Westminster Hall acknowledged the polished skill 
with which he welded together all the links of evi- 
dence in the Eunning Rein case ; and considering 
how often (unless rumour is a sad liar) five and six- 
year-olds were broken twice, that they may bear a 
hand in two and three-year-old races, it was well that 
he then arose in his might to give such knavish 
times a wrench. During one of those years, he had 
forty horses in Kent's hands ; and a notion that the 
stock of his Bay Middleton must take the turf by 
storm, led him into playing a deep game with them, 
which would have ruined half a-dozen less clever 
turfites thrice over. Farintosh had no less than 33 
engagements in the 1842 calendar, for which the 
forfeits alone amounted to 2,590, and his loss in 
stakes and expenses on this colt must have reached 
3,000 ! No man had a more eagle eye to catch 


the precise instant when every horse was on the move, 
as he walked by their side, flag in hand, at the start- 
ing-post ; but his riding practice hardly corresponded 
with his precepts. He was ordered to be fined for 
not being ready, when he rode his Cup Course match 
at Goodwood in 1844 against Lord Maidstone on. 
Larry McHale; and many a jockey-boy grinned 
derisively when he saw him making all the run- 
ning, and shaking and punishing his roarer Cap- 
tain Cook right furiously, long after the colt had hung 
out distress signals. The maxim of " Cave de resig- 
nationibus" which an ancient head of a college was 
wont to impress on all his departing B.A.'s, loses 
none of its point in turf matters ; and hence the 
troubled sea of politics brought him even less rest 
than the constant ebb and flow of the odds at Tatter- 
salPs. Mr. Disraeli has placed on record, in his 
memorable "blue ribbon of the turf" passage, how 
he gave a " splendid groan " in Bellamy's, when he 
realized the bitterness of his defeat on his cherished 
West Indian motion, and the Derby triumph of his 
still more cherished Surplice, in the colours of an- 

His Lordship's stud averaged between thirty and 
forty during the time Mr. Mostyn had it ; and this 
gentleman's winnings in stakes are said to have been 
about 22,500 in 1847 a sum which has, we believe, 
never been exceeded. In value, the .6,325 Derby 
of 1849 still keeps the lead, while the 3,378 which 
was taken at the Doncaster Grand Stand in Stock- 
well's year, is said to be the largest sum of the kind 
on record. The subscribers to the Dutchman's 
Derby numbered 237, and the luckiest of handicaps 
was the Chester Cup of 1853, when 131 out of 216 
horses accepted. This Cup also brought out 43 
starters in 1852, which is more than have ever been 
seen at a starting-post in the memory of man, before 
or since the handicap era, that inevitable result of 


railway facilities for " getting a length/ 5 set in with 
such intensity. None of these " great facts " bear 
date in 1855; but taking Weathe.rby as our guide, 
we may characterise the turf of that year as a vast 
institute for sport, comprising 144 meetings in Great 
Britain and Ireland, which were attended by 1,606 
horses, of whom only 680 were winners, fed by 
^60,000 of added money, inclusive of the value of 
cups and whips, and diffusing 198,000 in added 
money and stakes, " be the same more or less" In 
1856 the meetings fell to 138, at which 1630 horses 
were stripped, to wit : 7 yearlings (!), 526 two-year- 
olds, 455 three-year-olds, and 642 four-year-olds 
and upwards; the whole being divided among 182sires. 
Few modern racing men, until "The Squire of 
Wantage" appeared above the horizon at last, have 
been able to keep up a regular series of turf successes, 
year after year, with the most carefully chosen blood, 
to say nothing of cast-offs. Still, however unlucky a 
man may be, if lie does not suddenly come to a 
resolution to part with his stud, there is certain to 
be some hidden yearling or two-year-old in it, who 
would have retrieved his luck. Surplice would have 
compensated Lord George for many a defeat ; King- 
ston was not fated to carry the " purple and orange 
cap " of Colonel Peel ; Gemma di Vergy might have 
enabled " Mr. Hope " to hope on ; the Duke of Rich- 
mond sold Wild Dayrell back to Mr Popham ; and the 
Marquis of Exeter had all but parted with Stockwell 
and his whole stud at the Northampton meeting of his 
St. Leger year. Phryne and Barbelle together have 
been the fruitful mothers of upwards of sixty thousand 
pounds, in sales and stakes, to the Eglinton and Caws- 
ton stud racing accounts ; but perhaps no stable ever 
produced so many good runners in one season, as Sir 
Joseph Hawley's in 1851. Three out of the four 
bore part with Clincher, in the clearance which the 
<f cherry jacket" made of race after race at Doncaster 


on theCup dayinNewminster's year; and "B. Green" 
kept well to the fore with " his dauntless three " 
Beverlac, Flatcatcher, and Assault (the latter of whom 
was tried to be the best) throughout their two-year- 
old season in 1847. One of the strangest gleams of 
luck visited Lord Glasgow, when he swept away five 
matches and a forfeit on the '52 Houghton Saturday. 
Lord Exeter also sent an express to Burleigh in 1843, 
and brought Keversion from his Burleigh paddock, 
who, fat and unprepared as he was, contrived to break 
down Tedworth for an <810 stake, before they had 
reached Choak- Jade ; and not a man was at Doncas- 
ter in 1849, who does not remember how Semi-franc 
was equally hastily summoned from the Easby straw- 
yard, the moment it was ascertained that Belus could 
hardly move a leg, and how, after bolting all over the 
course, he "lost the cripple," who hobbled home in 
the course of the afternoon, long before they got to 
the Neatherd's house. When Chatham and Attila 
bade each other defiance, at four years old and the 
A.F. post, the betting was merely on the point which 
would break down first ; and the crowd and the pair 
were luckily put out of pain, by a compromise in the 
presence of the starter. 

For actual excitement during a race, we never saw 
anything equal the deciding heat for the Voltigeur 
St. Leger, as the crowd pressed onto the course from 
the bend, and left to all appearance scarcely a four- 
yard space for the horses. Poor Bobby Hill's state 
of mind was wondrous to mark. He had been 
dreadfully put out, because some of the crowd had 
ironically advised him to put some brandy into the 
water which he had brought for his horse from Mid- 
dleham; and even gone so far as to allude to the 
honoured cow which had been specially put into the 
Turf Tavern box, to air it over-night. Burning 
for revenge, he had stationed himself close by the 
judge's chair, to hear his doom, and even then his 

TURF HIST011Y. 19 

admiring friends would not let him alone. "He's 
beat Mr. Hill/' said one of them, as the vast crowd 
closed in behind the twain from the distance, and 
the roar of a hundred and fifty thousand iron lungs 
rent the air. "Is y er beat ? is 'er beat ?" retorted 
the little man, skipping frantically upwards, to obtain 
a good line of sight ; "Ye mau'nt tell me ye mau'nt 
tell me ; I know him better Job's a corning !" Sure 
enough, Job was coming ; and then Bobby's yell of 
" I 3 that's right ! Which wins now? Oh, my horse! 
my horse ! " might have been heard to Bawtry, as he 
dashed through the crowd, butting his way like a 
bull, to get to his favourite's head. Voltigeur-spotted 
handkerchiefs were waving everywhere; hats were 
recklessly flung away into mid-air, as if their owners 
intended to trust to a natural growth or a wig for life; 
and it was all poor Leadbitter could do to keep order 
among the countless enthusiasts, who would try to 
wipe some of the sweat off the winner with their 
handkerchiefs, and keep it as a toilet memento. 

After the Dutchman's defeat on the Friday, the 
scene was quite different. The crowd seemed to be 
paralyzed, and utterly unable to believe that such a 
giant had fallen at last ; his backers wandered about, 
as pale and silent as marble statues, and Marlow 
stood near the weighing-house in a flood of tears, 
with Lord Eglinton, as pale as ashes himself, kindly 
trying to soothe him. The pace at which The Dutch- 
man, after getting his pull, fairly flew over the hill, 
was such as we have never seen, either before or 
since; and the only animal that ever seemed to us 
to go so fast was Officious, in the early part of an 
Ascot Vase race. The Richmond men became quite 
alive, as evening drew on, to the greatness of their 
victory. Such a strange night of jollity was never 
witnessed in Doncaster before, and the inns were 
overflowing to the very kitchens. Strolling into one 
of the latter about midnight, we espied a large group 


of grave clothiers; one or two of them smoking pipes, 
to which the monster cigar at the Exhibition seemed 
a trifle in length; while others, with eyes solemnly 
fixed ceiling-wards, insisted on waltzing with the 
cook and the other domestics. We are bound to 
state that the former seemed by no means to dislike 
this pleasing recognition of the close of her labours. 
" You're going to bed, arn't you?" we said to an 
enthusiastic double-event Richmond man; but 
"Go to bed indeed! You arn't half a man ! Who'd 
go to bed when Voltigeur's won the Leger and the 
Cup?" was the scornful reply. At Chester they have 
hardly this bed option ; and he was a lucky fellow at 
one time who did not object to being bodkin, or 
taking his turn between the sheets on alternate 
nights. A visitor once vowed to us that he slept with 
his head on his great coat and a door-mat in the pas- 
sage for three entire nights; and we quite believe 

Much as was said and written about the Dutchman 
and Voltigeur, we are inclined to fancy that neither 
of them, in their best day, were so high-class as Ted- 
dington and West Australian ; but still, it is worthy 
of notice that these four, and Virago, Stockwell, 
who was taken out of training long before he was on 
the wane, and Fandango were foaled in seven succes- 
sive seasons. t 

We have thus traced the shifting Turf drama 
through all its varied phases, up to the ever memo- 
rable era of Wild Dayrell "the right horse in the 
right place at last." Hunting men may sneer at 
him and his class as being, one and all, in the con- 
dition of the Frenchman's purchase, "who had three 
legs var good, but de oder not qu-uite so good"; 
commercial men may be scandalized at the strange 
union of odds and Consols which so often salutes 
their ears on 'Change, when one of " The Baron's " 
horses is in the betting, and ponder in private over 


Boz's query, whether horses are really " made more 
lively by being scratched " ; John Bright may op- 
pose the Queen's Plates in supply, and express his 
supreme pain and disgust when the House adjourns 
in honour of the Derby; and even Stewards in high 
places may not give the most carefully weighed deci- 
sions in the world ; but, despite of all its imperfec- 
tions, racing is the only sport which acts like a load- 
stone on the masses, and furnishes the never-failing 
nucleus of an English holiday. 

NOTE The following is the Newmarket song, or rather recitative, 
of Tom Durfey's, alluded to above : 

" To Horse, brave boys of Newmarket ! to Horse ! 

You'll lose the Match by long delaying ; 
The Gelding just now was led over the Course ; 

I think the Devil's in you for staying. 
Run, and endeavour all to bubble the Sporters ; 
Bets may recover all lost at the Groom Porters ; 
Follow, follow, follow, follow, come down to the Ditch, 
Take the odds, and then you'll be rich. 

" For I'll have the brown Bay, if the blew Bonnet ride, 
And hold a thousand pounds of his side, Sir ; 
Dragon would scower it, but Dragon grows old ; 
He cannot endure it, he cannot, he wonnot now run it, 
As lately he could : 
Age, Age, does injure the Speed, Sir. 

" Now, now, now, they come on, and see, 
See the Horse lead the way still ; 
Three lengths before at the turning of the Lands, 
Five hundred pounds upon the Brown Bay still ; 
Plague on the Devil ! I fear I have lost, 
For the Dog, the Blew Sonnet has run it, 
Plague light upon it ! 
The wrong side of the Post ; 
Odzounds ! was ever such Fortune ? " 

Pitts for Purging Melancholy, 1699. 

It was with reference to this production, that a 
critic of the period remarked, "You don't half know 
our friend Tom ; he'll write a deal worse than thnf: 




" There he sat, and, as I thought, expounding the law and the 
prophets, until, on drawing a little nearer, I found he was only ex- 
patiating on the merits of a brown horse." Bracebridge Hall. 

j|\ S a trainer, and judge of the horse, John Hut- 
^\ ehinson, the breeder of Hambletonian, held 
the very highest place among his brother- Yorkshire- 
men in the eighteenth century. His first venture on 
Miss Western for "The Guineas" at Hambleton, 
when he was only fifteen, included every halfpenny 
he possessed in the world ; and when he had led his 
chestnut charge home, and counted and jingled his 
winnings in his hat for minutes, he tossed the whole 
of it on to the corn-bin, and exclaimed " There, 
thank God I shall never want money again !" Early 
betting success is happily a reed, which pierces a 
young man's hand, if he leans againsc it; but in 
this case, the ejaculation proved prophetic, and when 
he died at three-score-and-ten, in the November of 
1806, he left a very large fortune behind him. Lord 
Grosvenor and Mr. Peregrine Wentworth were his 
earliest employers, and his own best horses were 
trained on Langton Wold, except during three of 
the summer months, when they changed the venue 
to Hambleton. Among the other well-known 
Northern trainers of the period, were Isaac Cape, of 
Tupgill; Hoyle, of Ashgill; Christopher Jackson, 
the trainer of Matchem and John Pratt of Ask- 


rigg's horses; Scaife, who played the same good 
part by the Buckingham and Fitzwilliam studs ; 
George Searle, the genius of Sledmere ; Tessyman, 
the steerer of Euryalus and the tutor of Cavendish 
and Windleston; Michael Mason, of Hambleton 
House; John Lowther alias "Black Jack/' of 
Bramham Moor ; Charles Dawson, of Silvio Hall, 
who was well called ' ' The famous - old Jockey ; " 
Earl Stratkmore's John Lonsdale ; and William 
Collisson, who latterly managed for Mr. James 
Croft, of Middleham. 

This last-named trainer, who did so much in con- 
junction with HarryEdwards (to whose care the horses 
were confided for a short time after his death) for the 
"white-and-red- sleeves," of Lord Glasgow, died in 
1828 ; and Collisson was killed shortly before, by a 
fall from a colt he was breaking for him. John and 
William Scott were brought up in his stables ; and 
when Mr. Howldsworth bought Filho da Puta, after 
the St. Leger of 1815, he recommended him to 
transplant the brothers, as trainer and rider, to the 
pleasant glades of Sherwood Forest. Croft was 
for many years a sad invalid, which prevented him 
from taking in one-third of the horses which were 
pressed on him, and he did not even live to see his 
forty-second birthday. His great Belle-Isle contem- 
porary and senior, William Peirse, lived till 1839, 
and his span would in all probability have been 
lengthened far beyond 75 years, if he had not had 
a dose of colchicum sent him neat, by the careless- 
ness of a dispenser. Robson, the veritable Emperor 
of Newmarket trainers, did not die till ] 838, but he 
had then retired ten years from the profession, and 
his retirement had been marked by the presentation 
of a splendid piece of subscription plate from the 
first turfites of the day. Robinson, the late Joe Ro- 
gers, Starling, and a host of other Newmarket cele- 
brities, were Drought up in his stables, and he led 


seven 'Derby winners, including Waxy, Whalebone, 
Whisker, and Emilius, back to scale, besides ten Oaks 
winners. He was considered so facile prmceps in 
his art, that his example was not only potent enough 
to alter the barbarous training-hours at Newmarket, 
but also to shame not a few out of the " perpetual 
motion" system to which their charges had hitherto 
been doomed. His father, who trained Highflyer, 
came originally from the North to the Valley, or 
rather Eight-mile Bottom (now sacred to University 
hack-races), where he trained for the Duke of Bed- 
ford, Mr. Shafto, &c., until the offer of a large salary 
induced him to become a private trainer at Kingston 
House, Newmarket, at which place he died in 1797. 
Robson, who had been up to that date training for 
Sir F. Poole at Lewes, then took to the business, 
and made sixty thousand pounds out of it. Between 
1828-38 he lived at Exning; but he loved Kingston 
House best, and the last six months of his life were 
spent there. 

Training is no longer the occult science it was 
considered when Robson's word was law, and Tiny 
Edward's horses could " be known in a crowd ;" and 
jockey-lads, when their too solid flesh refuses to melt 
below 8st. 71bs., bring their horses quite as " fit " to 
the post as the oldest trainers. " The DukeV mode 
of keeping his cavalry horses in form, was to allot 
them two hours a day for doing six miles out and in 
from Brussels, eight miles of which was done at a 
sharp trot, and the rest in a walk ; and even with 
seven out of ten racers, it is almost equally plain 
sailing; but when a delicate-constitutioned one comes 
to hand, mere routine fails, and the union of great 
care, experience, and mind (we use the word ad- 
visedly) can alone bring him fit to the post. Still, 
as a general rule, talent among the clever trainers is 
very equal, and it rarely happens that when one of 
them has failed to make a horse run, things are 


made any better by a change of stables ; and in fact, 
if the first trainer has had the animal since it was a 
yearling, they are often made worse. We seldom 
hear of a horse going blind during his training, 
although Phantom, Sweetmeat, and several other 
good horses have done so when it was over ; and on 
the whole, blindness is not nearly so prevalent in 
England as in Ireland, which is attributed by some 
to the much dryer climate. Robson's system, like 
that advocated by Sir Charles Bunbury, was far 
from being a severe one ; and his horses were full of 
vigour and muscle, and by no means low in flesh. 
The Chifneys professed to be great admirers of his 
regime, but their practice and profession hardly cor- 
responded; still their brilliant luck with horses whose 
constitutions would permit of their being always sent 
along, procured them many copyists. Their rivals 
represented them as giving Priam eight-mile sweats ; 
whereas they affirmed that owing to his being a narrow 
light-fleshed horse, he was seldom sweated more than 
three miles once a-week, and without his clothes. 
John Bay, senior, was one of the admirers of strong 
sweats, more especially in his treatment of two-year- 
olds ; but his notions have become very much modi- 
fied of late years. His son John never held them, 
and stands up so stoutly for strong walking exercise, 
as to furnish grounds for a joke to the effect that 
Pyrrhus the First did nothing else in the 25 days 
between the Newmarket Stakes and the Derby. 
William Day is popularly supposed to adopt the 
severe system ; but be this as it may, we do not think 
that we ever saw a horse brought to the post in 
more perfect form than Lord of the Isles was for the 
Two Thousand. " Grandfather Day" used to train 
at Houghton Down, where he was right ably assisted 
by his fine old Saxon dame, who knew as much 
about condition and farriery (strangles was her great 
subject) put together, as the ablest member of the 


Royal Veterinary College. The late Miss ^nn Rich- 
ards, of Ashdown Park memory, used to leave her 
coach and six, and head the beaters all day " with 
her kirtle \\p to her knee ;" but she was not one whit 
more knowing and enthusiastic about " long-tails " 
than Mrs. Day was about thorough-breds. Her 
family maxims, moreover, were quite as sound as her 
stable ones, and she impressed " The Whole Duty of 
Man " on her children, if our memory serves us, in 
the following wholesome couplet : 

" Fear thy God, speak evil of none, 
Stick to the truth, and don't be done." 

Training as a system is very much lighter than it 
was twenty years ago ; and heavy-clothed sweats are 
fast going out of fashion, except a horse is fearfully 
gross ; and then, if his legs are shaky, he is trained as 
a forlorn hope " through the muzzle." Tiny Edwards 
used to say that he was obliged to keep Glencoe per- 
petually at it, or "he would have got above himself, 
and every one else into the bargain." Springy Jack 
was also one of the fat kine, inside and out ; and so 
was Voltigeur till his heart was so broken in his 
match preparation that his form wholly left him, 
and he could not even be coaxed to feed in John 
Scott's hands. Nancy was an odd instance of a 
mare who required no work beyond a few half-speed 
gallops; and it has always been a peculiarity of 
Phryne's stock and the Venisons, that they run in 
flesh, while the Bay Middletons generally bear draw- 
ing fine. To convert flesh into muscle is, however, the 
great problem. Railway facilities enable trainers to 
keep their horses always at it in public; and the 
Parr-Osborne principle suits the majority of hardy 
ones. Perhaps the most extraordinary specimens of 
modern hard-workers are Clothworker, who won 80 
out of 59 races in two seasons ; Rataplan, who owns 
to 38 out of 62 in the same time ; while Fisherman 


scored 23 gut of his 34 three-year-old, and Lord 
Alfred, 9 out of his 24 two-year-old races, or nearly 
three times as many as Crucifix ran. The training- 
ground at Danebury looks as if it would never be hard 
in any weather, though the Day lot has, we believe, had 
to gallop occasionally on a down beyond Stockbridge, 
in a very dry season ; while John Scott's two-mile tan 
gallop on Langton Wold renders him equally inde- 
pendent all summer. This gallop was only laid down 
in 1850 ; and there has never been any other in York- 
shire except the temporary one which William Scott 
used in Mr. Wyse's big field at Malton, when he and 
William Gates trained Sir Tatton Sykes for the St. 
Leger. The "Thellusson Trust " crops now wave 
upon the little Pigburn racecourse, where John 
Scott was wont to adjourn with his lot, during the 
dry season, for nearly twenty years, and billet them, 
horse and boy, among three or four of the Brodsworth 
farmers. Newminster, who had good reason to re- 
member one of these mornings, did not return to 
Pigburn after his York defeat ; but no less than seven 
of John Scott's St. Leger winners, beginning with 
Margrave, had the finishing touches put to them there, 
and made their six-mile pilgrimages to Doncaster to 
run their trials, when the Newmarket of the North 
was still deep in dreams, and not a soul except the 
landlord of the Salutation and the corporation ste- 
ward was cognizant of their stealthy approach, in the 
grey morning mist, down the Carr House lane. 
Frank Butler was invariably on the trial horse ; and 
Earl Derby used to slip down after the house was up, 
by the mail train to Swinton with a friend, and 
form, one of the select group at the post. Ilsley, 
Holywell, Hambleton, Hungerford, and Richmond, 
have " good -going/' and are superior in this respect 
to Hednesford, Delamere Forest, and Langton Wolds. 
The Low Moor at Middleham is often dry, being 
upon a rocky substratum, and hence, in summer the 


strings exercise on the High Moor, whose surface is 
composed of beautiful mossy peat. A lofty pillar 
stands at one end of it, to mark the spot where Bay 
Bolton was honourably buried in his shoes ; but the 
grave of " Amato, 1843," in Sir Gilbert Heathcote's 
grounds, near Epsom, with its little iron railing, sur- 
mounted by many a gilded fleur-de-lis, shaded by 
lofty chesnut trees, and within earshot of the yearly 
thunder-clap which tells that another name has been 
entered on the Derby scroll, by the side of the " Ve- 
locipede pony/ 5 is the neatest specimen of a horse's 
tomb which the Turf can press upon Mr. Buskin's 

Still we look upon Hambleton as the best train- 
ing ground in Yorkshire, and Ilsley as the best in the 
South. Some of the Newmarket trainers fancy the 
Bury or the Warren Hills, while as many are faithful 
to the heath. There never has been a tan-gallop at 
Newmarket; and in default of one, the lime-kiln- 
gallop on the left side of the Bury road is generally 
resorted to during a drought. A ploughed one has 
at last been achieved, so we may look for tan here- 
after. The best country tan-gallop we know of is 
Wadlow's, at Stanton, which is about one-and-a- 
quarter miles round, and beautifully situated at the 
foot of Lizzard Wood, a favorite meet in the Albrigh- 
ton Hunt. No wonder that old Alonzo, our ten- 
year-old Turf Nestor, is always ready for his spring 
work. Veteran trainers have told us that to their 
eyes not two horses in a thousand gallop exactly alike, 
and we have known them detect their old pupils 
years after by the test (one great mystery was revealed 
this way) when their names have been changed, and 
every other trace of identity purposely concealed; 
while a great Boston character, on the contrary, once 
sold his mare at Horncastle in the morning, and 
bought her again in cool blood at night for a new 
one ! The severest four-mile gallop we ever saw 


was that which Fobert sent The Dutchman, at Don- 
caster, on the Wednesday morning before he was 
beaten for the Cup : and we doubt whether the Town 
Moor was ever witness to a stronger one, except on 
the Sunday, that Peirse, out of a sort of bravado, 
gave Reveller and " the Bedale horses'* their last 
spin, amid a perfect cloud of dust, when scarcely 
another trainer dared even to let his lot canter. Tt is 
not, however, every trainer who has, like Fobert, a 
piece of genuine sound stuff to work upon. 

Occasionally trainers take a whim into their heads 
not to let the public see their horses gallop, and bring 
them out at most uncouth hours. Two Derby 
horses at Newmarket, and two in the provinces, 
have been trained on this principle during the 
last few years, and no good has come of it. The 
system is, in fact, as the Scotch say, " no canny," 
and the old trainers shake their heads ominously 
when they hear of it. 

Lord Exeter's Newmarket stables to which a 
covered riding- school, open in the centre, and very 
tastefully planted with trees and flowers, is annexed 
have accommodation for forty horses or more. 
The Duke of Bedford's, which are also remarkably 
good, can take in fully thirty; and those which 
were built about four years since, for Mr. Mare, are 
on the newest and best principles. John Scott's and 
John Day's can each take in upwards of seventy 
horses in training, but the latter has perhaps the 
largest number of boxes of the two. John Scott 
succeeded Joe Ackroyd at the Whitewall stables 
about thirty years ago, and removed thither direct 
from Sherwood Forest. Since then the premises 
have been very much enlarged, and the adjoining 
premises of Belle Vue, which Job Marson senior 
vacated when he went to Beverley, have been added 
to them. The average charge for a horse at a train- 
ing stable is 2 2s. per week, but a few of the smaller 


ones will take in a single horse at l 10s. 6d., or 
from that to 35 shillings. Quiet owners who do not 
like the responsibility of running horses on their 
own account, and yet, with the precedent of Alice 
Hawthorne (the easiest creeping goer we ever saw) 
and Rataplan before their eyes, do not like to let 
them for the season, make bargains with trainers to 
take charge of them gratis, and to keep half their 
winnings. Private trainers, who number some 32 out 
of the 160 odd who teach youthful pasterns the way 
they should go in Great Britain, have a house and 
other perquisites, exclusive often shillings a-week for 
boarding each lad, and salaries varying according to 
the size of the stud, from 200 to 400 a-year. The 
yearlings generally reach them, if possible, early in 
July, and go into the breaker's hands at once, with 
a view to being tried before the important January 
nominations are made. Horses used formerly to go 
home during the winter months, but as the racing 
season has gradually crept on from seven to nine 
months, this system is fast going out. Trainers also 
set their faces against green meat, and like to have 
their horses kept well up during November and De- 
cember, that they may put them into gentle work 
early in January for the spring handicaps. There is 
one point of etiquette on which they are very justly 
tenacious, viz., that owners should not drop into the 
stables to see their horses without giving them some 
notice, if it be only ten minutes, as they naturally 
consider that such sudden visits savour of a want of 
confidence. Small owners, on the other hand, are 
obliged to be very careful about sending one or two 
horses to a great public stable, where there are more 
influential owners with large strings, as the trainer 
generally cares very little about their patronage in 
comparison, and their horses, unless very first-rate, 
too often get used in trials without their knowledge, 
or made thoroughly stale with leading gallops. The 


news of an important trial is sent by telegraph to the 
owner, to disgest with his breakfast, and any change 
in a horse's health is often communicated in this 
way without waiting for the post. To show the im- 
portance of it, an owner once wrote to his Tattersall's 
commissioner to back his horse for him, and received 
as his reply that he had not done so, as he had posi- 
tive information that it was amiss, and had been so 
for three or four days. The trainer was called upon 
for an explanation, and it turned out that he had 
sent an announcement of the fact by letter, which 
had followed its owner from place to place, but still 
the non-telegraphing was considered an omission, 
and the horse soon after changed quarters. There 
is a wide difference in the talent of different trainers 
for " getting a line," and some few are perpetually 
leading owners on to the white ice by their over- 
confidence in judging of trials. It is, however, seldom 
that a trainer and an owner differ very much on an 
animal's merits ; and the pretty recent defeat of a 
Derby favourite goes far to prove that both ought to 
bow to the opinion of the jockey, if he has ridden the 
animal in all his two-year-old races, and deliberately 
installed him amongst the order of the " White 
Feathers." We remember once askiug a jockey's 
opinion about two Derby horses in a stable for 
which, of course, he did not ride, and he simply re- 
plied that " one is a race-horse and the other's a pig' 1 
And yet strange to say, the trainer stuck to the " pig" 
to the last, and the owner had to pay very dearly for 
the fancy. Trainers have, however, their triumphs 
in turn, and especially in one instance, where a noble- 
man was so incredulous about his mare's merits, that 
nothing could induce him to match her, although 
the trainer invariably clenched his arguments by say- 
ing that he would gladly back her for his year's 
salary. At length his lordship came to his stables 
one morning, and said that he had matched his mare 


at the Rooms the night before, and added in his 
quiet way, " I think, *******, you had better get 
that salary ready in advance." The result was that 
the mare won, and proved by her subsequent matches 
that the trainer's measure was the correct one. 

The present system of handicapping we believe to 
be vicious in the extreme ; and our impression of a 
true English handicap is, that no horse should carry 
more than 9st. 91bs., or less than 5st. 51bs., thus giv- 
ing GOlbs. to the handicapper, if he chooses, to work 
on. In a steeple chase, lOst. and 12st. 71bs. should 
be the limits. If animals cannot carry that weight, 
they may fly at lower game. There have been in- 
stances of feather weights, like Howlett, Bell, 
Kitchener, Wells, Carroll, Fordham, &c., riding the 
weights between 4st. and 5st. to perfection; but it 
is generally impossible for all owners of horses, when 
they lack the call of a phenomenon, to get any clever 
and strong lad to ride their animals under 5st. 51bs. 
in a large handicap. Either these "Aztecs" (or 
" dolls," with an epithet, as the heavier stable-boys 
generally term them) are utterly unable to get a 
lazy animal out, and tire long before they reach the 
distance ; or if they are put on free-goers, they are 
equally unable to hold them, and let them go raking 
away till they run themselves out. Hence, owners 
are obliged to sacrifice several pounds to get their 
horses ridden at all. In fact, as there are very few 
young jocks who can ride these light weights, their 
services are regularly bid for ; and if they are still 
under articles, the owner who will lay their masters 
the longest odds to secures them. Thus, the deci- 
sion of superiority among the horses under 5st. 51bs. 
turns pretty much on which owner has the longest 
pocket not which has the best horse at the weight. 
The heavy-weight jockeys also suffer severely from 
the weights beginning so low ; and really and truly, 
the calculations on which the most elaborate thought 


is professedly expended by handicappers, are handed 
over for their test to a mass of the least experienced 
riders we have ; many of whom are obliged after all 
to ride several pounds over- weight, while jockeys with 
twenty years of experience over their heads look on 
from the top of the stand. Handicappers do well in 
a large handicap if they get two-fifths of the horses 
to accept, and a third of the acceptors to the post. 
They are of course anxious to secure as many accep- 
tors as they can, and defend their sadly low scale pro- 
pensities by the plea that the only way to get a heavy 
acceptance is to make a light handicap. The Jockey 
Club has at last acted on the suggestion of The Life, 
and made its raising point 8st. 121bs., instead of 
8st. 71bs., a slight instalment of justice to the senior 
jockeys, who are fairly driven out of the saddle at 
scores of meetings. The miserable low-weight system 
quite destroys the sneaking sympathy which hunting 
men, and many who cannot be called racing men, 
feel for the turf. They look on it as un-English, and 
naturally enough revert to the weighting before the 
Chester Cup of 1844 (where Lord George's "feathers" 
were so prominent) - 3 and it is quite remarkable to ob- 
serve the hearty feeling which is elicited on a race- 
course, when a horse with a good thumping 9st. to 
9st. 51bs. gets gallantly through a sea of "weeds 5 ' 
in a handicap. We should have been glad to see 9st. 
made " the raising point" at once for every handicap ; 
as it has often struck us that it is as much the great 
touchstone of weight with the majority of race-horses, 
as one-and-a-quarter miles is of distance. Many very 
fair ones seem never really comfortable if they have 
to carry a pound beyond it ; and those who can stay 
and finish strong at that distance, when the pace is 
true from end to end, can invariably travel on for 
two miles at least. Now-a-days, a severely-run seven 
furlongs will find the majority of horses out, though 
some of the Comfort tribe cannot get a yard over 



half-a-mile, even if they possessed the wonderful Nelly 
Hill knack of starting. The system of a limited handi- 
cap where a sliding scale of 121bs. for each age, which 
might be adjusted not more than a fortnight before 
the race, would be substituted for penalties might be 
very well adopted in high-class all-aged races, especi- 
ally in Cups, as penalties act most clumsily and un- 
fairly on horses when they are past their prime. 

There was a good deal of crossing and unfair work 
among the inferior jockeys in old times, which would 
be more heavily noticed now, and in fact it was often 
thought rather a good joke than otherwise. Captain 
O' Kelly, whose definition of " the black-legged fra- 
ternity " took such a very sweeping range, expressed 
his sentiments on the point at the Abingdon race 
ordinary (1775),when the terms of a 300 gs. match 
were being adjusted, and he was requested to stand 
half. " No ," he roared ; " but if the match had been 
made cross and jostle, as I proposed, I would have 
stood all the money ; and by the powers, I'd have 
brought a spalpeen from Newmarket, no higher than 
a two-penny loaf, that should have driven his Lord- 
ship's horse into the furzes, and kept him there for 
three weeks." Some odd scenes of this kind came 
off on the race-courses of Yorkshire, whose calendar 
of native jockeys begins with the Heseltines, William 
and Robert. This pair flourished in the saddle 
nearly a hundred years before their decendants, 
<f Lanty " (who never recovered The Shadow's defeat 
at Croxton Park), and his nephew " Bob," who was 
clever and dodgy as ever in his last race (1851) with 
Lord Cardross, were enrolled among the Hamble- 
tonians. Samuel Jefferson and Match em Timms, the 
rider of Buckhunter, were then great rivals; and 
Fields, Rose, Garnett, Charles Dawson, Cade, John 
Singleton, and three other Singletons, Thomas Jack- 
son, Kirton, and the one-eyed Leonard Jewison, suc- 
ceeded. The latter, who had a very long awkward seat, 


had more songs made in his honour than even Kirton, 
who won more gold cups than any of them, and in 
spite of heavy "wasting," not only for the saddle 
but in a Chancery suit, lived till he was 93. Pratt, 
who died within three months of him at Newmarket, 
was only four years his junior ; and Eclipse-Oakley, 
Dick Goodison, South, and Dennis Fitzpatrick were 
among his principal Heath opponents. Besides these, 
there was William Peirse, who in early life played 
Tom Thumb at a strolling theatre, and was picked 
up as he ran wild about the Turk's Head yard, at 
Newcastle, by a relative of Lord Darlington's, whose 
horses he trained and rode for many years. Among 
the other "Northern lights" were John Shepherd, 
who was reputed the best four-mile man of the day, 
and was transplanted from Yorkshire to Newmarket 
to ride for Lord Foley ; Ben Smith who was so ter- 
rible in the all-black of Lord Strathmore . William 
Clift, the pet of Wentworth, and the only man who 
perhaps ever had pensions from three different mas- 
ters, or won the Derby " in a trot " ; and John Jack- 
son, whom Peirse considered the best horseman of 
his time bar old Chifney, and whose only bitter recol- 
lections of his fine career were his misunderstanding 
about Marion with Mr. Watt, and his dreary anx- 
ious wait for the chaise, which never came, when he 
was retained to ride Filho da Puta for his match at 
Newmarket. Thomas Goodisson, the son of the 
great " Dick," was put up in his place on that day, 
and Jackson had the consolation of hearing that he 
had been beaten by a head. Goodisson was, how- 
ever, by no means inferior to the Northallerton crack. 
The Duke of York was especially partial to him, and 
he won perhaps more races at Newmarket, on the 
Duke of Grafton's horses, than any man of his time. 
JR-obert Johnson, who gave up riding at the close of 
1836, and handed over Beeswing (whose sire, Dr. 
Syntax, he had ridden with wonderful success) into 


Cartwright's hands, was the last of the old school of 
Yorkshire jockeys. We saw the old man in his great- 
est glory in 1841, when he succeeded Mr. Orde on 
the table in the garden behind the Newcastle Grand 
Stand, to return thanks for the toast of "Robert 
Johnson and the old mare" which the latter, though 
he must then have been verging on seventy, proposed 
with even more than his wonted fire, and wondrous 
facility of language. Nature never fashioned a more 
universal genius than the Laird of Nunnykirk. He 
was not only a " full mau " upon almost every sub- 
ject, but when his tongue was once loosened with a 
glass of wine, he fairly made the air crackle round 
you with his sparkling eloquence and dexterous 
arguments. The late Professor Buckland, who was 
starring it at the British Association at Newcastle 
in 1837, rued the day that ever he tried to run the 
rig on him about geology, at a private dinner party, 
quite as much as he did his encounter with Sir 
William Follett, at Dray ton Manor, .anent Robert 
Stephenson's great theory of telling whether a line 
of railway could pay, by putting your ear to the 
rails, and marking the " wear and tear " vibrations. 
Of his dress and person he was utterly careless. We 
have seen him travel second class with his grooms to 
a race meeting, and when one of the latter remarked 
that his hat was shabby, he immediately rejoined 
that he'd change with him, which he did on the spot, 
to the no small chagrin of the lad, who got deci- 
dedly the worst of the bargain. On another occa- 
sion, he was dining out before going to a race ball, 
where he was to be the Steward ; and on the host 
asking him, when they had concluded a long argu- 
ment about the wild imagery of Ossian, if he wished to 
dress, he merely drew his fingers through his hair, 
and went off in his plaid trowsers and blue coat, and 
gloveless, just as he had been all day, and fairly 
danced the band and the ladies weary. 


But we have wandered away from the jockeys. Will 
Arnull was only a year senior to Sam Chifney, but 
he died nearly ninteen years before him. Lord G. 
H. Cavendish and Lord Exeter were his principal 
masters; the "narrow blue stripes" of the latter 
having been confided to his keeping when his Lord- 
ship and Robinson differed about a match between 
Kecruit and Goshawk. He was a good jockey, but 
not quite first-class; and shortly before he retired 
and became trainer to Lord Lichfield, he had grown 
rather idle in the sweaters. His luck at Epsom com- 
menced when he was nineteen; and he won two 
more Derbies, the last of which was in 1814 on Blu- 
cher. When the real Field Marshal, who had won 
as much renown with the dice in St. Jameses-street 
as he had done in the preceding year at the baths of 
Pyrmont, visited Newmarket that summer, after his 
Cambridge fete, Will had the honour of mounting 
this son of Waxy in his presence and of showing his 
namesake, in a strong canter over the D. M., "how 
fields were won " in the preceding May. He was a 
merry little fellow, up to all kinds of queer games ; 
and many were the tricks of which he was both the 
soul and the butt. This made him a little sus- 
picious, and he never forgot how the " Black Dwarf 
of Newmarket" was sent him, quite drunk, in a wine- 
hamper, and roused the whole house with his midnight 
yells from the cellar. Once, too, when Mr. Gully's 
colt " Hokee Pokee" walked into Newmarket, he de- 
manded the name from the lad, and then went off to 
Sam Day in no very good temper, to tell him that 
the stable-lad had been poking his impudence at him ; 
and Sam could scarcely persuade him that he had 
been told the right name. 

Without any disrespect to the memories of Thomas 
Goodisson and Will Arnull, whose selection from the 
mass of Northern and Southern jockeys to ride Filho 
da Puta and Sir Joshua in their great 1816 match 


is their best epitaph, we may safely aver that a more 
brilliant quartet of horsemen than Buckle, Chifney, 
Robinson, and Harry Edwards, never issued side by 
side from the Ditch stables. Yorkshire was " Old 
Harry V great battle-field, where the unvarying brilli- 
ancy and power of his set-to and finishes not only con- 
ferred no small lustre on the Fitzwilliam, Kelburne, 
and Houldsworth jackets, but terrified Tommy Lye 
at times to that degree, that he confided to a friend 
he would " quite as lieve ride against Sattan." The 
club wits were not wide of the mark when they said 
of Buckle, in 1823, 

" For, trained to the turf, he still stands quite alone, 
And a pair of such Suckles was never yet known " 

as a faultless build for horseback, and forty years of 
incessant practice, had combined to make him perfec- 
tion. When he sent over his whip by the hands of 
Mr. Tattersall, in 1826, to become a challenge prize 
in Germany, he was enabled to add, by way of com- 
mentary, that he had " won five Derbies, two St. 
Legers, nine Oaks, and nearly all the good things at 
Newmarket" In his sixty-first year, he wasted to 
7st. 81bs. for his favourite Rough Robin ; but though 
he required no " walks" latterly, he kept himself in 
such fine form, by constantly riding from Peterboro' 
to Newmarket and back, a distance of ninety-two 
miles, to say nothing of trials, that he was quite the 
first four- mile man of his day. Sir Tatton Sykes 
and Mr. Osbaldeston were his only compeers in horse- 
back endurance ; and, strange to say, he rode his last 
race, on one side of the Ditch, only an hour before 
Mr. Osbaldeston completed his great 200-mile match 
on the other. With his saddle strapped for the last 
time round his white cape coat, " the governor" can- 
tered off to cheer " The Squire," as he finished on 
Tranby, but made some remark to the effect, " that 


though he was fifteen years older, he could ride fur- 
ther and longer" ; and was very nearly challenged to 
the proof. "To ride for twenty-five days, or till 
either of them dropped/' were the terms which the 
public proposed for the match. Buckle's great forte 
was to wait and then set-to on an idle horse ; and he 
seemed to finish, to the very last, quite as strong over 
the Beacon Course as the T.M.M. One of the most 
dashing mile races he ever rode was on Orlando 
against Dennis Fitzpatrick on Gaoler. Each jockey 
did his utmost to " get a pull/' but was jealously de- 
termined not to let his opponent get one, and the 
consequence was, that the race was run from end to 
end, and Gaoler just stayed the longest. He de- 
lighted in a little gammon, and even if he had 
been slipped at the post, as he was on Mortimer, 
nothing could induce him to hurry; hut/ as then, he 
crept up the sixty yards inch by inch, and just 
caught Slim in the last two strides. . It was this 
peculiar game of patience which made the North- 
ern jockeys of that day such especial admirers of him 
and Robinson ; and it may be safely said of these 
two and Chifney (whom they never loved after his 
dashing debut at York in 1805), that when they had 
once won their race, they never gave it away again, 
as second-raters are apt to do. There was no jealousy 
whatever between the three, except during the race 
itself; and, in fact, Sam very often begged them as a 
favour to take some of his best mounts off his hands. 
For some time after Robinson first came out, Sam 
only thought him a moderate rider ; but at the close 
of a Newmarket Meeting, as he rode home from the 
Heath with his brother, he broke out suddenly, after 
a long thoughtful pause, with " By-the-by, Will, have 
you observed Robinson this week ? " " Yes indeed I 
have" was Will's answer, whose eye never failed to 
catch in an instant anything brilliant, or the reverse, 
about man or horse. "Well!" was the low re- 


joinder, "he's taken to riding like the very devil.'' 
Will did not fail to report to Robinson what Sam 
had been saying of him, and he at once confessed 
that he was quite right, and that a more decided 
style of riding seemed to have flashed on him all at 
once. In point of judgment and knowledge of pace, 
there was little to choose between them ; but while 
the one was more powerful, the other was more ele- 
gant in his manner of finishing, and did not sit so 
much back in his set-to. Sam's mode of drawing 
his horse together, and then bringing it with his 
unique and tremendous rush of nearly half a length 
in the last three or four strides, was a picturesque 
contrast to the exquisitely neat "short-head," by 
which Robinson used to nail his opponents on the 
post, and send Will Arnull, especially, growling 
back to scale, with a maledictory " done me again, 
Jim, by a head. 33 In the one case you saw the 
whole, and wondered at the fearful concentration 
of man and horse power with which the deed was 
done ; in the other, you wondered how it could be 
done so instantaneously that you hardly saw it. Poor 
little Pavis used often to tell about a match which 
he rode with Sam, and had his orders " never to 
leave him/' Accordingly away they cantered, Pavis 
lying about a length in front, and Sam lobbing be- 
hind. When they had got about two hundred yards. 
Sam slowly ejaculated, " Well, young -un, arnt you 
going to make running ? better take a cigar at once 3 ' 
Pavis took no heed, but cantered on till about a hun- 
dred yards from the chair, when he took his mare 
by the head, and dug the spurs into her. " There 
was Clark's box close at hand, and I thought Fd 
slipped him/' he used to add ; " No, no ! might as 
well try to slip Old Nick : he was at my neck like a 
flash of lightning, before I had got two strides ; my 
mare swerved and cannoned him, but he pulled his 
horse straight, and just beat me a head on the post. 


They tried to make out he had crossed me, but I 
would' nt have it, and stuck to it he had fairly out- 
ridden me he's a rum-un to ride against, is Sam." 
To see Sam and Robinson eyeing each other's horses 
before a great race or match, and to hear their dry, 
quaint mode of chaffing each other on the point, was 
no slight treat ; and when they were once off, Sam 
would invariably keep lurching behind so directly 
in his leader's track, that with all his glances, he 
could hardly tell on which side the challenge would 
come, till he found him suddenly at his quarters. 
The Chifney rush became so famed, and was so dan- 
gerous an experiment in the hands of any one who 
was not a consummate judge of exactly what was left 
in a horse, that scores of races have been thrown 
away by a feeble imitation of it. Frank Butler had 
many a hint and lesson from his uncle, but his style 
was principally modelled upon Robinson's, and was 
more neat and less powerful than "uncle Sam's." 
In his earlier days, he was apt to wait off too long, 
and not steal up to his leaders till the race became 
too severe for him to get on to terms with them. Still 
as a tryer and rider of a race-horse, he had but very 
few equals ; and he was alike suited whether he was 
winning a match or lying away on a roarer, a class 
of horse on which he was pre-eminent. It was one 
of his especial whims to be last out of the Epsom pad- 
dock, and he was equally tenacious on this point "for 
luck," whether he was on little Daniel O'Rourke or 
West Australian. 

Frank Buckle weighed in for the last time on No- 
vember 5th, 1831, and before that time next year, the 
antique quaintly-carved tomb of " Samuel Buckle, 
merchant, Peterborough," which forms such a mas- 
sive object on the south side of the beautiful church- 
yard of Long Orton, had received its new tenant. 
There are scarcely three jockeys in the saddle now, 
who witnessed the energetic set-to of that Pocket 


Hercules, who had nothing large about him but his 
heart and his aquiline nose. Sam Chifney, Scott, 
Pavis, Wheatley, Will Arnull, Conolly, Frank Boyce. 
Nelson, and George Edwards, all of whom rode with 
him in his last Oaks, are in their graves. Old John 
Day, whose fine riding was never seen in greater per- 
fection than when he was in the all- scar let of the 
Duke of Graftoii, has not wasted these twelve years; 
in fact, only one of the eight Days takes silk now ; 
and the shads of George Guelph would be puzzled to 
find even one of those Edwardses whose numbers 
struck him as inexhaustible. Harry Edwards has not 
ridden since the Beverley meeting of 1852 ; while 
Chappie, who made a grand finish with the brace of 
great autumn handicaps in 1850, has declined all en- 
gagements, and does not care to ride except he espe- 
cially fancies the horse. In his day there was no 
more consummate judge of pace than Tommy Lye; 
and perhaps he won more two-mile heat races than 
any man who was ever out, from this cause, as the 
lads on the three-year-olds had not a tithe of the 
practice of the modern juniors, and were sure to 
" come back" to him in the second and third heats. 
If it came to four or five heats, Tommy was abso- 
lutely invincible. His attitude, when he was finish- 
ing, was not perhaps all that could be desired ; waggish 
writers, in fact, have spoken of him as ' ' two feet of 
silk, and three feet of boots and wash leather, in con- 
vulsions" ; and he also looked anything but pictu- 
resque as he rode the odd-tempered Italian and 
Zoroaster one or two races in their sheets ; but he 
was wonderfully powerful for his size, and his energy 
on the Duke of Cleveland's monster Sampson, in 
two four-mile races in one day, quite astonished us. 
Robinson is now, perforce, only a spectator on the 
scene of his " short head" triumphs ; but those who 
were cognizant of his worth, and the heavy sacrifices 
he made to assist others in the summer of his days, 


have taken care that he should not lack an annuity 
or the joint lives of himself and his wife. 

Jockeys generally increase about two stone, or a 
stone-and-a-half, in the winter ; but with medicine 
and vigorous wasting, they can come to their weight 
again, without fever, in three weeks. They have 
been known during the summer to get off 7 lbs, or 
even more on an emergency, in twenty-four hours, and 
Nat is said to have managed 4Jlbs. for Vulcan in two ! 
If they are at all weak from illness, they will lose much 
more in their "walks" than they have calculated on ; 
and we remember seeing one of them bring a 3 Ib. 
saddle to the weighing-house, and have to borrow a 
5 Ib. one from this cause. The old generation of 
jockeys were, taking them throughout, taller and 
larger-boned than the present ; and as some of the 
weights in many of the great races were much lower, 
the wasting process was still more severe. It was 
a piteous spectacle to see Sam Chifney, who always 
went to work after every one else, stepping with his 
ears down, and a grim perspiring visage, along the 
Dullingham-road, and boiling himself by ounces to 
8st. 21b. for an Ascot Cup mount. Poor Frank 
Butler did not look one whit more happy on these 
occasions, and wasting even to 8st. 71bs. was the 
very curse of the latter ten years of his jockey life, 
though out of compliment to Scott and Songstress 
he drew 8st. 41bs. at the last Ascot Meeting he ever 
attended. The weather is most favourable, and as 
time also hangs rather heavily on their hands in 
those Berkshire villages, jockeys ride their very low- 
est weights at Ascot, and look like him, as if they had 
been quite determined " to take off their flesh and sit 
in their bones." William Scott doing his last mile up 
the North-road elm avenue on a St. Leger morning, 
with a sprig of heather he had gathered near Eossing- 
ton Bridge jauntily stuck in his wide-awake, and his 
merry joke and nod to his friends as he swung past 


them to his lodgings on the Hall- Cross hill, where, 
on the last occasion, Parson Dennis was in attend- 
ance to "valet him," invested this species of fire- 
torture with a much more pleasant hue. Jaques 
tried himself more heavily in this respect than any 
man we ever met with ; as, after leaving the profes- 
sion for some years, and growing corpulent as a 
licensed victualler, he resumed the sweaters, and 
wasted himself down to a ghastly 7st. 31b. shadow, 
in order to don the white and blue for his old master, 
Colonel Cradock, when " Sim" could not ride the 
weight. George Nelson did not ride for some years 
before his death, but lived on his Royal pension, and 
commanded "The Fleet" of roysterers in Tickhill. 
Stephenson and Dockeray made themselves into 
walking skeletons, till increasing weight obliged them 
to leave the saddle ; and so did Heseltine, Holmes, 
and George Francis, the latter of whom used to 
waste to half-ounces. Wells, in 1853, fainted on a 
Malton race-morning when trying to get down to 
5st. 51bs., while Job Marson, (who, like poor Bill Scott, 
always will have the rails), after not declaring so low 
for more than eleven years, astonished the Richmond 
people last year by scaling only 7st. 7lbs. for his win- 
ning mount on Skirmisher. How Sam Day, after so 
many years of ease, contrived to waste for nearly two 
seasons, and get so low as 8st. 41bs. in 1846, was a 
wonderful instance of family loyalty and self-denial ; 
and he seemed to suffer much less than his brother 
John, from such " a pig-skin revival," though he had 
been far longer estranged from the sweaters. If, as 
a general thing, a jockey is asjted to ride much below 
his weight, he had better not ride at all, as a fair 
second-class veteran, not so many years since, lost the 
last remnant of his riding practice by trying too low 
a weight, and being palpably beaten from sheer ex- 
haustion when he tried to finish, although he had 
declared some 31bs. over. 


The heavy punishment in which Clift and some of 
the old school delighted, is very much gone out, and 
if a foolish lad punishes his beaten horse unnecessa- 
rily, he is pretty certain to hear of it in the news- 
papers. Salaries and expenses are a matter of private 
arrangement between a jockey and his masters, the 
former varying according to the reputation of the 
receiver, and the order in which each claims him. 
In other cases 3 for a mount and 5 for a win are 
the regular fees, though the latter is always the com- 
pliment for a mount in the St. Leger, Derby, and 
Oaks, and ten guineas was the Liverpool steeple- 
chase tariff, when that event was in its zenith. 
Robinson had a 100 special retainer for the Hyllus 
and Charles XII. 1,000 guinea a-side match, in 
which, as well as that for the same amount between 
Teddington and Mountain Deer, Job Marson's luck 
was in the ascendant. He also generally received 100 
when he went down special from Newmarket to ride 
in any of the three great races, success in which 
uusally ensures a 300 or 500 cheque from the owner, 
besides presents from other winners varying in amount 
from a 500 note to a box of cigars, or a Belcher- 
tie. Jim can most truly say to himself, in General 
Evans's version of the Crimean telegraph, " Remem- 
ber Dowb," as Captain Dowbiggin sent him a 1,000 
note in an envelope as he was sitting at tea at Mr 
Herring's house in Doncaster, the evening he won the 
St. Leger on Matilda. His host, to whose pencil the 
turf owes so much, was then only in the dawn of his 
splendid fame as a delineator of the horse, and had 
not long quitted the coach-box for the studio. He 
was, we believe, entirely self-taught, although he 
may have occasionally watched Mr. Abraham Cooper 
at work, in whose well-known battle-piece he is said to 
figure as Saladin. Of late years he has rather faltered 
in his allegiance to the Turf, and wrought with won- 
derful art upon some Ironsides stabling their horses in 


a cathedral, and countless peaceful farm-yard groups, 
but he has more than kept up his title of " Master of 
the Horse" by his forthcoming " Illustrations of the 
Race," in which it is plain to see that Teddington, 
The Dutchman, and West Australian have been among 
his principal models ; as were Sweetmeat, Alarm, and 
The Baron in his Stable series. 

But to resume. The luck of jockeys, who number 
about 180 in Great Britain, professing to ride all 
weights from 8st. 71bs. to 4st., is very variable. Till 
the great light weights Wells and Fordham arose, Nat 
had for a long series of years kept at the head of 
the winning list, and in 1849 he won no less than 
101 races, out of 306 ; and bore a hand in three dead- 
heats to boot ; while Frank Butler in his last four 
seasons won, excluding walks-over, 143 out of 384. 
The foreigners might well say, when they went to 
Newmarket, " This Misterre Butler and Misterre 
Flatman they do win all the money." Fordham's 
1856 season, however, has never been surpassed, as 
he won 107 and divided three out of his 353 
mounts. It is not, however, the jockey who has the 
most winnings, who is, as it were, considered the 
lucky jockey of the season. Looking merely at the 
seniors in ' ' the pigskin/' it was Job Marson's season 
in 1851, Butler's in 185.2-53, Alfred Day's in 1854, 
and Bartholemew's in 1855. But for his accident, 
" Ben," who is one of the biggest limbed of the pro- 
fession, would have been again at the head of the poll 
in '56, as up to that point he had won 31 races out of 
66. Nothing is generally more fatal to a young jockey 
than to quarrel with his early employer, and to get 
turned adrift for splitting about a trial, or a horse 
" not being meant this journey ;" the cold-shoulder 
is at once given him everywhere, as being a lad of 
no really sound principles, and unclean lips, and he 
has to hang for the remainder of his days, shabby and 
forlorn, among the " outer ring," or adopt the tout 


and the tipster- trade. Stakes are much larger than 
they used to he, and so are jockey presents in propor- 
tion. We once heard an old farmer pressing his "best 
Alderney coo" on a jockey, who was obliged to de- 
cline, on the ground that he had no paddock for her. 
The winner of a recent Derby presented his jockey 
with a cool thousand ; while " the double event" was 
acknowledged by a thousand a-piece to jockey and 
trainer, and 500 has been given for one handicap. 

Taking jockey ship as an art, it has not gone back, 
and it would be strange if it had, seeing the immense 
practice which boys get in handicaps all over the coun- 
try. In fact many clever young jocks, like Basham, G. 
Gates, Osborne, Charlton, Aldcroft, Ashmall, Wells, 
Cliffe, Fordham, Mundy, Bullock, Challoner, &c., will 
have ridden as many races by the time they are five- 
and-twenty, as their less lucky coach-travelling pre- 
decessors had done when they were five-and-thirty. 
Mr. Waterton used to say that it was his practice with 
the Badsworth, which gave him l< such a fine hand on 
a crocodile;" and hence it is no wonder that strong 
lads are soon qualified to ride anything, even if it 
have the size of a dromedary, or the mouth of a zebra, 
and finish with such brilliancy and precision. They 
know their work so well, that whereas twenty years 
ago, it was ten to one on the man if he was finishing 
alongside a youngster, the former now finds it almost 
impossible to come the old trick of gammoning 
Young Artful that the race is over, and then when 
he sees him beginning to take it easy, catching him 
with a rush on the post. Lads, however promising, 
were held quite cheap then by their seniors ; but in 
the case of Sam Rogers, a regular row was raised after 
one race at Newmarket, because some of his craft 
had kindly sung out some directions to him. The 
nicest ridden finish we ever remember was one be- 
tween Old England ( J. Day, junior), Plaudit (Mar- 
son), and Prologue (Robinson), over the Abingdon 


Mile, in the Houghton of 1844. Old England made 
his own running all the way, and the set-to be- 
tween him and the two others, who challenged him 
right and left in the cords, after he had got his pull, 
was a perfect masterpiece. Young John, as fine a 
horseman, both for power, seat, and science, as ever 
held a bridle, certainly never rode better ; and those 
who remember the half-sluggish half-roguish way 
in which Old England invariably finished, can ap- 
preciate the exquisite mouth-touching he required at 
such a crisis, when the two were at his neck in the 
last stride. Besides this bout, Harry Edwards out- 
riding- Bill Scott over Knavesmire on the two-year- 
old Naworth, or Connolly over the Beacon, on Don 
John ; Chappie making running from end to end, 
and winning a head on Lugwardine at Cheltenham, 
or waiting on Landgrave for the Cambridgeshire 
with such agonizing patience, till the last two strides, 
that we felt that if we had possessed the aim of a Ca- 
melford, we could have gladly taken a pistol out and 
shot the reins in two ; Robinson doing Sam Dar- 
ling by a short head on Barrier at Ascot, or rallying 
Eathmines home for the Audley End ; Sam Rogers 
holding ungenerous brutes like Vasa and "Walmer, 
hard in front, and just coaxing them, after being 
beaten once or twice in a race, to make one more 
effort ; Sim Templeman getting his pull, and coming 
again on the post with the British Yeoman for the 
Doncaster Two-year-old Stakes, or lifting Catharina 
home first by about a nose for the Manchester Cup ; 
Alfred Day nursing the sinking Dervish at Goodwood, 
or screwing in Vivandiere half a-head in front of 
" Frank" on Iris ; Frank Butler biding his time 
with Daniel O'Rourke in the Derby, or bringing up 
Ninnyhammer in the last few strides at Ascot ; Nat 
just getting up on Typee at Nottingham, and Meaux 
at York ; Bartholomew, when he was quite a lad, rid- 
ing a long rally home against Sam Day for the Port 


on Jericho, or getting Porto Kico through for the 
Prendergast ; Marlow winning the Suburban on 
Elthiron, and the Port on Knight of Avenel, within 
a week of each other ; and Job Marson squeezing 
Voltigeur's last effort out of him for the Spring 
Handicap at York, or taking the rails from Elling- 
ton (Aldcroft), and all but napping him (as he did Nat 
with Sir Rowland Trenchard) by a flash of light- 
ning rush on the post ; are some of the finest mod- 
ern " bits " we remember to have seen among the 
senior jockeys. 

Trial riding is very lucrative, especially at New- 
market, and at Middleham too, when Lord Glasgow 
goes over to have a taste of his whole stud. Many 
first-rate jockeys have not the art of "tasting" a 
horse in private ; but, although Bill Scott could be 
hardly called a first-class jockey for ten or twelve 
years before his death, he was always A 1 as a tryer, 
and Frank Butler was nearly as good. Jockeys who 
have salaries ride trials gratis for those particular 
masters, but are generally put on at 25 or 50 to 
if it is a great race. The talent for giving the points 
of a race to reporters varies very much, and few, if 
any, excel young Osborne in this respect. The dif- 
ferent phases of the art, such as cutting down the 
field from end to end, or getting in front to stop the 
pace ; making the running up to a certain point, and 
then letting yourself be headed and coming again; ly- 
ing away from your horses if you are on one which 
cannot be hurried, and creeping up inch by inch to 
them before the pace becomes too great ; all require 
an intuitive knowledge of pace, which not one jockey 
in thirty thoroughly attains to. The great test of a 
jockey's nerve is his coolness when he finds himself 
among the leaders for the Derby, about two distances 
from home. If they have an ounce of flurry in their 
composition, that moment will bring it out ; and we 
could not help, in the course of the last few years, as 



we stood there, remarking how an able rising jockey, 
of whom we expected better things, seemed "all 
abroad," while the future winner was pulling his 
horse together, and waiting on him, as coolly as if 
he was in his own arm-chair. Leading jockeys have 
generally fancied one horse above all the rest of 
their mounts. Buckle swore by Violante, Chifney 
by Selim, Scott by Velocipede, and Butler by 
" The West." Robinson goes for Bay Middletoii, 
and John Day, sen., for Crucifix. Nat, we have 
heard, inclines to Glencoe ; " Job" is faithful to 
Teddington ; and " Sim," despite of Cossack and 
Surplice, cannot be weaned from the memory of the 
elegant chesnut Battledore, whom he rode for his 
good old master Sir Thomas Stanley in the only race 
he ever ran. 

No profession is more trying in every way ; as, in- 
dependent of the strong "walks" and appetite pri- 
vations which they have to undergo, it takes years 
to retrieve even a false suspicion, much less a false 
step. There are not only a number of morbid 
minds among racing men, who will undertake to 
prove that hardly a race yet was run on the square, 
but every spectator, gentle or simple, who loses his 
money, feels himself quite competent to criticise the 
style in which the pet of his fancy has been ridden, 
and to pronounce the most sweeping judgments ac- 
cordingly. Jockeys can survive this sort of criticism; 
but owners and trainers are often unduly fretful, 
and too anxious to find an excuse at some person's 
expense, rather than their own or their horses', for 
being beaten. They forget that trial-horses, however 
great their form may once have been, cannot keep 
it for ever ; the jockey is at once made the scape- 
goat; and although the owner may continue to 
give him a retainer, he seems to think nothing of 
taking him off entirely, or superseding him sud- 
denly in all the good mounts in the middle of a 
season, with as little justice, and as little regard 


to his feelings, as if lie were a mere silken puppet. 
Oddly enough, vicars always tell you that if there is 
one thing more difficult of attainment than another, 
it is the getting rid of a curate they don't like. 
Jockeys are just in the opposite difficulty, as what- 
ever sort of treatment they may experience, Jockey 
Club law does not acknowledge such a process as 
" sending in a jacket." Its argument is, that 
masters bring forward jockeys from boyhood, and 
that therefore it would be hard that the latter should 
be able to give them up just when their services be- 
come most valuable, or make masters bid against 
each other for a priority of call. This may be true as 
regards boys up to a certain age ; but it falls very 
hard upon the elder jockeys in two ways : If a master 
unhandsomely persists in retaining his call, and yet 
refuses to let them have mounts for his stable, the 
fact of their not riding for the stable naturally be- 
comes noticed to their detriment ; and they are also 
in a great measure hindered from making engage- 
ments with other stables, who can never feel sure 
that they will be able to get them, seeing that this 
dormant prior claim is pretty certain to be inter- 
posed for a single race or so, just when they most 
want them. The principle on which the jockey 
Club goes is no doubt correct, as jockeys would have 
sore secret temptations to give up masters perpetu- 
ally, if a rival stable did not care what it paid to 
have a Derby crack ridden; but if masters are of 
necessity allowed this power over jockeys, they have 
no right to abuse it. If they force a senior jockey 
to retain their jacket, they are bound to give him 
their mounts, and not to indirectly cast a slur on 
him, and prevent him from seeking for more consi- 
derate masters elsewhere. The jacket and the con- 
fidence are, in common justice, inseparable : both 
should be given, and taken away together The 
proper mode, as it seems to us, would be that if either 

E 2 


party want to get off an engagement, they should 
not be able to do so unless by a six months' no- 
tice, commencing from the Monday in the Craven 

Sir Tatton Sykes is now the father of the gentle- 
men-rider craft, and though it is long since he 
mounted it, on Kutusoff, or "All Heart and No Peel/' 
&c., he thought nothing in his day of putting a silk 
jacket into his pocket, and riding seventy or eighty 
miles to a meeting, to oblige a friend. His great 
characteristic was his patience, which he carried, if 
anything, to an extreme. On one occasion, we believe 
that he was beaten for the first two heats on a mare 
of Mr. Kir by 's, and thought it was not worth while 
starting for the third. As, however, the lad who 
had the charge of the mare was so sorely distressed 
at this resolve, and almost went on to his knees to 
him, exclaiming, " Do mak a bit more running, Sir 
Tatton ; I'meer can run for a week, I knaw we'll beat 
-em yet? the baronet kindly relented, and acting on 
the hint, won the two next heats cleverly. Mr. Os- 
baldeston (of whom Bill Scott left on record that 
" he rode like an angel"), although he will never see 
seventy again, rode wonderfully well till a very late 
period, in spite of the twice-broken leg ; but Lord 
Wilton confines himself to Croxton Park. General 
Gilbert, who was brilliant in the saddle 10 the last in 
India, sleeps his last long sleep under a granite column, 
on the left-hand side as you walk up the Kensal 
orreen Cemetery; and now that so many gallant 
spirits have been swept down " in their majestic march 
up to the Russian gun/' there are only about fifteen; 
among whom the names of White, Williams, Little, 
&c., suggest the remembrance of something more 
than mere flat-racing ability ; to whom a trainer 
will resign his horse without a pang, and whom bet- 
ting men will dare to back. 




" Dost trifle in the Ring ? " 

Old Play. 

MOWEVER strange and interesting may be the 
" subjects" which delight the eyes of the St. 
George's student in the Anatomical Museum, the 
lover of morbid anatomy may find an equally rich 
field of contemplation if he will walk a little farther 
down the lane at TattersalFs, and scan the alphabet 
of faces who congregate in and round the Rooms, 
He will there,, amid that hoarse and multifarious 
miscellany of men, and under exteriors which are at 
times unpromising, find as clear cutting wits as ever 
nestled in a brain-pan, and he can only regret, as he 
sits on that strange " bench of the grand-world 
school," that men who were framed for better things 
should be so Unitarian in their devotion to the odds. 
The room, which bears silent witness to these cease- 
less flirtations with the goddess Fortune, is 45 by 28 
feet, and capable of holding about 400 persons. In 
the middle of it is a sort of circular counter, round 
which and at the fireplace the business is principally 
transacted ; but in summer the room is nearly de- 
serted, and speculation adjourns on to the steps and 
green, outside, and holds communication with its less 
favoured votaries through the iron bars of the gate. 
At present, although the numbers fluctuate con- 


siderably, the Eoom has about as many subscribers as 
it can hold : a great increase on the number who ad- 
journed there inAttnVs year, from their small try sting 
place lower down the lane. Candidates are elected 
by the committee of the Room ; they must find a 
nominator and a seconder, and the names must be 
up for at least a month. Above the fireplace at the 
end of the room is a painting of Eclipse, from the 
easel of the grandfather of the present Mr. Garrard 
(whose oxydized silver race cups are not favourably 
regarded by country race-goers, from the belief that 
"they must be old uns"), representing the immortal 
chesnut when he ruminated near Epsom in his proud 
stud-days. A brood-mare and Young Eclipse are 
also there, with two or three of the series of great 
winners ; and a couple of engravings of Lord George 
Bentinck, and race-lists and notices fastened up near 
the fire-place, complete the tout ensemble of still life 
within. The left side- windows open out on to the 
terrace green, where the Ring, weather permitting, 
stand or saunter about on field days ; and masters of 
hounds, &c., earlier in the morning, try the paces of a 
hack they may have been eyeing in some of the 120 
stalls in the adjacent yard ; but on off days it is 
more associated in our minds with a walnut-tree, an 
Alderney cow, and a pail. Such are the leading fea- 
tures of the great betting mart, whose quotations are 
to racing men what those of Mark Lane are to the 
farmer, Lloyd^s to the insurer, the Stock Exchange 
to the broker, or Greenwich Time to the horologist. 

The whole system of betting has undergone a com- 
plete change in the last sixty years. Betting between 
one and the field was the fashion which Turf specu- 
lation assumed in the days of powder and periwigs, and 
Ogden (the only betting man who was ever admitted 
to the Club at Newmarket), Davis, Holland, Dear- 
den, Kettle, Bickham, and Watts, ruled on the Turf 
'Change. With Jem Bland, Jerry Cloves, Myers (an 


ex-butler), Bichards (the Leicester stockinger), Mat 
Milton, Tommy Swan of Bedale (who never took or 
laid but one bet on a Sunday), Highton, Holliday, 
Gully, Justice, Crockford *, Briscoe, Crutch Robin- 
son, Ridsdale, Frank Richardson, and Bob Steward, 
&c., the art of book-making arose, and henceforward 
what had been more of a pastime among owners, 
who would back their horses for a rattler when the 
humour took them, and not shrink from having 
5,000 to 6,000 on a single match, degenerated 
into a science. All the above with the exception of 
two have passed away, like the mastodons, never to 
return. Nature must have broken the mould in which 
she formed the crafty Robinson, as he leant on his 
crutch, with his back against the outer wall of the 
Newmarket Betting-Rooms, and, with his knowing- 
quiet leer and one hand in his pocket, argued about 
Staley Bridge Radicals with the then Lord Stanley, 
or offered to " lay agin Plenipo." 

The two Blands, Joe and "Facetious Jenirny," 
were equally odd hands. Epsom had fired up the 

* Mr. Timbs, in his admirable Curiosities of London, gives the fol- 
lowing sketch of this Turf Baring of his day. " Crockford," he says, 
" started in life as a fishmonger, in the old bulk shop next door to 
Temple Bar Without, which he quitted for play in St. James's. He 
began by taking Walier's old club house, where he set up a hazard 
hank, and won a great deal of money ; he then separated from his 
partner, who had a bad year and failed. Crockford now removed to 
St. James's Street, had a good year, and built, in 1827, the magnifi- 
cent club house which bore his name ; the decorations alone are said 
to have cost him J 94,000. The election of the club members was 
vested in a committee, the house appointments were superb, and Ude 
was engaged as mditre d'Jiotel. " Crockford's" now became the 
high fashion. Card tables were regularly placed, and whist was 
played occasionally, but the aim, end, and final cause of the whole 
was the hazard bank, at which the proprietor took his nightly stand 
prepared for all comers : this speculation was eminently successful. 
During several years every thing that any body had to lose or cared 
to risk, was swallowed up ; and Crockford became a millionaire. 
He retired in 1840, " much as an Indian chief retires from a hunting- 
country, when there is not game enough left for his tribe ;" and the 
club then tottered to its fall. After Crockford's death in 1844, the 
lease of the club-house (thirtv-two years, rent 1400) was sold for 


latter's desire to come on to the Turf, and he de- 
scended from his coachman's box at Hedley for that 
purpose, and sported his " noble lord" hat, white 
cords, deep bass voice, and vulgar dialect on it for the 
first time about 1812. He did not trouble it much 
after he " dropped his sugar" on Shillelah, though 
that contretemps did not completely knock him out of 
time. His acute rough expressions, such as " niver 
coomed a-nigh," and so on, as well as his long nose and 
white flabby cheeks, made him a man of mark even 
before he got enough, by laying all round, to set up 
a mansion in Piccadilly. Joe, his brother, had origi- 
nally been a postboy, and rose from thence to be a 
stable-keeper in Great Wardour-street ; but the great 
hit of his life was his successful farming of turnpike- 
gates, at which he was supposed to have made about 
2?25,000. " Ludlow Bond" was not so coarse in his 
style as this par nobile fratrum, but ambitious and 
vain to the last degree. It was the knowledge of this 
latter quality on the part of Ludlow's real owners, 
tc The Yorkshire Blacksmith and Co.," which induced 
them to put him forward as the ostensible owner, as 
no one would back a horse which was known to be 
theirs. Bond liked the notoriety which this nominal 
ownership conferred on him, and was no doubt a 
mere puppet, without exactly knowing who pulled the 
strings. Discreditable as the affair was, he always 
gloried in it ; in fact he was so determined not to let 
the memory of it die out, that he christened a yearling 
which he bought from the Duke of Grafton, "Ludlow 
Junior." At times he appeared on the Heath with a 
grey hack, and went by the nickname of " Death on 
the Pale Horse ;" and, shortly after the Doncaster 
outburst, he came on in a handsome travelling 
carriage, with two livery servants in the rumble. 

Mr. Gully, although he did great execution at the 
Corner in Andover's year, may be styled a mere fancy 
bettor now, and as a judge of racing and the points 
of a horse combined, he has scarcely a peer among 


his own or the younger generation of turfites. His 
fame at the Corner was at its zenith a quarter of a 
century ago, when he was a betting partner with 
Ridsdale. Rumour averred that they won .35,000 
on Margrave for the St. Leger, and .50,000 on St. 
Giles for the Derby ; and it was in consequence of a 
dispute as to the Margrave winnings, which is rather 
too complicated for explanation here, that the Siamese 
link between them was so abruptly dissolved. Their 
joint books also showed a balance of 80,000, if Red 
Rover could only have brought Priam to grief for the 
Derby. There was a joke, too, soon after this time, 
that Mr. Gully and his friend Justice descended on 
to Cheltenham, and so completely cleaned out the 
local Ring there, that the two did not even think it 
worth while stopping for the second race-day. One 
of the lesser lights was found wandering moodily 
about the Ring on that day, and remarked to a sym- 
pathizer that he was " looking for the few half-crowns 
which that Gully and Justice had condescended to 
leave." Lord George Bentinck is still allowed to be 
the cleverest man that the Turf ever had, but the 
loss of .27,000 in one year was the crucible in which 
he learnt his experience. Strictly speaking, he was 
a very fancy bettor; and he would do what hardly a 
man alive dared do make a book to any amount, 
and back horses as well. 

The Ring par excellence may now be said to con- 
sist of some four hundred strong, of whom about a 
hundred are looked upon as emphatically "safe men/' 
and nearly half of the twenty score belong to the 
" Manchester Division," who congregate under the 
Bush, or at the Post Office Hotel. The betting on 
the Derby is at least five times as great as that on 
the St. Leger, and while about eight safe men " go" 
every year on the former, the two or three who have 
received a heavy blow on the latter, frequently, by 
the grace of their creditors, contrive to hobble on till 


the Cesarewitch is past. This race, as well as the 
Cambridgeshire, for which men in despair seem to 
play double or quits, has countless victims; and 
among those who "went" in ; 55, was one who, 
whenever he heard long odds laid, would offer five 
points less, and clench it with " You'd better take it ; 
you know my money's good" a strange conceit 
which almost rose to the dignity of a Ring proverb. 
There are sometimes some strange chases between 
creditors and debtors at Doncaster. We have seen 
the latter driving off madly to the station, after the 
St. Leger, to catch the first train either way ; and 
the former, when they have failed to discover the 
much wished for face in the enclosure, following in 
hot haste. On one occasion a couple met on the 
platform, and the erring one immediately dashed into 
the Crimpsall Meadows, and pointed at his best pace 
for the Conisboro' Woods, where he stayed till night- 
fall, and then sent an emissary to pay his lodgings 
and bring his carpet-bag. His pursuer expressed 
strong fears that both of them would be " roarers " 
for life, in consequence of the severity of the pace up 
to the Don, where he was beaten off; and remarked 
that if the horse could only have gone half as well as 
his backer, he would have won in a trot. 

A suicide in consequence of Ring- losses is seldom 
heard of now, but the stricken deer generally levants 
without coming near the rooms, or else arrives with 
a forehead of brass, receives all he can, " retires" 
with his gains without offering to pay, and nods gaily 
to his creditors when he next meets them. A pan of 
charcoal or the Serpentine is about the last thing he 
would dream of; and even Scrope Davies, who cut 
his throat regularly after every Newmarket Meeting, 
till the doctors knew exactly when to expect a sewing- 
up summons, can find no imitators. About two-hun- 
dred men may be said to have books now-a-days, 
and Messrs. Ives, Harry Hill, Warrington, Morris, 


Aaron Worsley, G. Desboro', Hargreaves, Islimael 
Fisher, G. Reed, Howard, Onslow, Brabazon, Barber, 
F. Swindells, Sargent, Adkins, Kimpton, C. Snewing, 
Sherwood, Justice, Portman, Whitbourne, Saxon, 
W. Robinson, Jackson (who is "the coming man"), 
Pedley, G. Hill, Bennett, &c.,are popularly supposed 
to make them at all figures, from 10,000 to 1,000. 
Foal books have gone out of fashion, but Mr. Harry 
Hill has a 10,000 yearling one, and lays his hun- 
dred, seventy-five, or fifty to one odds, according as 
he fancies the pedigree of the yearling he lays against. 
To speak, however, with any degree of accuracy as to 
book-making would baffle even " The Wise Woman," 
as the strangest canards are always floating about as 
to " books " and winnings, and it is morally impos- 
sible to separate what a man does on commission, 
from what he achieves on his own account. Some 
few confine themselves to commission business, the 
recognized remuneration for which is five per cent., 
the commissioner taking all the risk. Old Michael 
Brunton used to boast that he visited Doncaster 
(whose High Street is always so redolent of toffy and 
( c mellow peers ") for sixty-one years in succession, 
and made a grand wind-up with Voltigeur's Cup day. 
Perhaps, at present, Frank Garner, a farmer in Sur- 
rey, is one of the oldest Ring-men we have, and visit- 
ed Newmarket last year for his fifty-first consecutive 
season ; and Fred Swindells is one of the cleverest. 
When the " Swindells attack" once opens on a horse, 
it rarely fails to be his crack of doom. A meteor oc- 
casionally starts up for a season or two. Nine or ten 
years ago, two rose almost together, and it was said 
that if Nottingham had won the Cesarewitch, or Sting 
the Cambridgeshire, they would have hit the Ring 
twice over for about 130,000. One of them was just 
as careless about the odds he laid, as the latest con- 
stellation was upon receiving days ; and if the last- 
named had trusted to the infallible inspiration which 


used to come over him as the flag dropped, he might 
have won any sum. Cobnut and Adine were two of 
his great triumphs, and he won J5,000 about Daniel 
O'Rourke, though he had not pencilled a bet till the 
horses went up to start. The gentlemen of the Ring 
hang very much together when they fancy a horse. 
Flying Dutchman's and West Australian's were de- 
cidedly a gentleman's year, and so many of them were 
within the mystic circle which knew of the great Fy- 
field trial, that Teddington cost the King something 
Hke 1 50,000. Voltigeur's, on the contrary, was a 
" gentleman-gentlemen's " year, as valets and coach- 
men won so immensely; while Little Wonder's and 
Merry Monarch's were the greatest triumphs the 
Ring has known. Mr. Howard might almost have 
broken it with Virago, for the triple events of the 
Great Metropolitan, Suburban, and Chester Cup, 
if he had not taken two ten-thousand books at 
Shrewsbury about them, before the year was out ; 
and thus given an inkling of the secret to the Chester 
handicapper, though certainly not to the world. The 
match which has of late years produced the heaviest 
post-betting was that at Newmarket, in 1849, be- 
tween Beehunter and Clincher, which appropriately 
ended in a dead-heat. The term "hedging" has 
been quite superseded by " laying off "; and we had, 
in fact, quite forgotten it till we saw it seated in the 
papers lately, by a clergyman, who did not answer a 
question on doctrine as the Bishop of Exeter exactly 
liked, that his lordship addressed him to this effect : 
" You are hedging' Sir ; you are hedging " ! Enough 
was heard about it in 1843, when old John Day took 
such liberties with Gaper for the Derby, and Lord 
George made him cry out " Perquavi " to some pur- 
pose when he got him writhing in his vice. This is, in 
fact, the most memorable instance of " hedging " on 
record, and the ancient rupture between the parties 
lent it no small flavour. " Honest John," from a 


firm conviction that the horse could not stay, had 
offered 15,000 to 100, and 10,000 to 100 
against him, as he was journeying by rail to New- 
market, and was snapped immediately by a " com- 
missioner," who happened to be in the carriage. 
Lord George's faith in his bay continued unabated 
to the last, and he took 16,000 to 2,000 about 
him not many hours before the race; and hence 
Day was glad to come to terms with him, and lost 
3,000 by meddling with the |" sky-blue," though 
his balance on the race was a favourable one. 

Since the abolition of the betting-houses, which 
dealt an immense blow to the Ring by cutting off 
the supplies which dribbled in through them from 
all parts of the country, and so found their way to 
the Corner, Mr. Davis has occupied a much less 
prominent part in the eyes of the public ; and he 
has, in fact, almost ceased to make a Derby book, 
and confines himself to post-betting. He has 
made one so high as 100,000, but now he scarcely 
pencils a Derby bet till a fortnight before the race. 
He says with truth that he has lost all his money on 
the Derby and Oaks, while on the St. Leger and at 
post-betting he is uniformly lucky, and a great advo- 
cate for the abolition of the P. P. system. We be- 
lieve that he made his first bet of half-a-crown at the 
Silver Cup in Cromer Street, Gray's Inn Road, about 
fourteen years ago, when he was in Mr. Cubitt's 
employ. A long time elapsed before he entered any 
public betting-rooms, but he simply joined the noisy 
outer circle ; laying generally a point or two more 
than were attainable inside. When he began to be 
a man of mark, this difference was soon taken copi- 
ous advantage of, and in self-defence he went within. 
His first heavy hit is said to have been for 12,000 
over The Cur for the Cesarewitch. Hotspur's not 
winning the Derby made a difference to him of some 
50,000, and Barbarian's failure, of nearly twice that 


sum. The Londoners also backed Yoltigeur to such 
an extent with him,, that nearly 40,000 was paid 
over his list-counter alone about "the lusty Rich- 
mond stallion." He was also hit heavily "in Ted- 
dington's year, and the 15,000 cheque which he 
sent Mr. Greville the morning after the race, stamped 
him at once as a very mine of Peru. Mrs. Taft and 
Truth were great pulls for him that autumn, and the 
public set the joint gain at 45,000. After his 
winter Derby deposits came in, he was supposed to 
have entered on his 1852 campaign with 130,000 
at the Westminster Bank (whose heads would, as the 
story ran, rise to accommodate him at any hour of 
the night !) but on this as well as every other calcu- 
lation, " be the same more or less " must be the 
conveyancing motto ever present to the reader's 
mind. He resembled, in fact, Captain O'Kelly 
in his zenith, who, when he was asked, after taking 
a heavy bet, where his estates lay, responded that, 
" By the powers, I hev the map o } them about me," 
and produced a perfect roll of Bank Notes ; or the 
old miser near Doiieaster, who went to a great land 
sale in his filthy rags, and a hay-band round his 
waist, and astounded the auctioneer, who wondered 
where the deposit was to come from, by holding up 
alOO,000 Bank Note (one of thefew evermade), and 
saying " Here's the cock ; Pve got the old hen at home!" 
Henceforward, the tide of ill-luck always flowed 
steadily against him at Epsom. Daniel O'Rourke 
is said to have cost him 30,000, as he had been 
duly "got " at 100 to 1. Catherine Hayes cost him 
about the same, and West Australian 48,000, of 
which 30,000 went in a cheque to Mr. Bowes. At 
Chester, in 1852, he was fairly beset by the infatu- 
ated backers of Nancy ; and there he stood, while 
they almost fought who should first thrust their 5 
notes into his hands, and see themselves pencilled 
down at 55 to 0. Although, perhaps, not abstract- 


edly a great judge of a horse, he has a capital eye for 
finding out when they are in trouble, and keeps bet- 
ting on till they are some twenty yards from the 
post ; and if it is a very near thing, after they are 
past it. Teddington was a horse he never liked to 
be against, after the Derby; but he is, perhaps, 
more disposed to back riders than horses, and is very 
liberal with them at times. Fordham, or "the kid," 
as he always terms him, is his favourite, and he very 
frequently declines to lay against the horse he is to 
ride ; and other men in the King had a like fancy for 
always backing Quint on. His constant habit has been 
to come to Tattersall's after the Derby, however great 
his losses, and pay on the Monday, instead of wait- 
ing till the conventional settling Tuesday : and while 
his lists were in force, he returned every night from 
Newmarket to attend to them, and provide the need- 
ful for paying next day. In fact, all his dealings 
have been based on the ' ' broadstone of honour/'' and 
conducted with a business-like precision such as we 
may almost in vain hope to see again. One of his 
rules is never to subscribe to a handicap, as he would 
be pestered to death with applications if he did. We 
never remember his nerve failing but once, and that 
was when Bon Mot won the Liverpool Cup. He was 
just beginning to fire heavily into this strange 3,000 
guinea impostor, when he found himself compelled, 
in consequence of a nervous head-ache, to close his 
book and sit down, and, as luck would have it, he 
won 3,000, instead of losing nearly twice that 
amount. His philosophy was reported to have been 
most severely tested in 1850, when he had laid very 
heavily against Canezou for the Goodwood Cup. On 
that day, Cariboo was declared to start merely to 
make the running for Canezou; but he went so 
well that it was all Charlton could do to pull him 
up in front of the Stand, in order that Butler might 
win with the mare. 

With the history of the Tattersall's battalion we have 


nothing to do. Recruits come in from every rank 
and every place ; but the Ring is not in so healthy 
a state as it was ten years ago, and far below what 
it was in the ten-year cycle before that ; and welchers, 
regardless of pumps and mobbing, begin to wax rife 
in the land. Those who have seen members of this 
fraternity hauled out of the Ring at Doncaster, 
when even the massive Leadbitter, the only man 
whom we ever saw really manage a crowd, was no 
tower of strength to them, can judge of the full 
meaning of the expression " falling into the hands of 
man," especially when the Timour Mammon is in 
the question. The rush on the helpless Stock Ex- 
change intruder, when the pack are cheered on by 
the " Who wants to buy five hundred per cents. 33 
tallyho, is merciful in comparison. At Newmarket 
the thing is done more neatly, as about forty couple 
of groom boys resolve themselves into merry harriers 
for the nonce ; and if the hare is started half way 
across the flat, his coat and waistcoat are fluttering 
wildly in the breeze, his handkerchief has been 
made a leading rope of, and his hat a foot-ball, 
long before he finds a peaceful hermitage in some 
back alley of the town. The Catterick clerk of the 
course, hearing of the motly crowd which had shown 
at Lincoln, is said to have considerately provided 
some stout labourers and a tar-barrel for the special 
benefit of the welchers, at one of his meetings. Al- 
though we cannot coincide in his views, it is still to 
be regretted that there is not some conventional or- 
deal to which such gentlemen could be consigned ; 
and we often think how one Moore, the unworthy 
incumbent of the "Suffolk Curacy," dedicated a 
book to " Duke Humphrey," and was then entirely 
lost sight of by his old college friends, till one of 
them espied him slung up in " the basket/ 3 for not 
paying his bets at a cock -pit. 

Savage as they may be at the sight of a welcher, 
the Ring men, on the whole, are creatures of fine 


rough impulse, whenever it is called forth. Few men 
are more charitable if a case of real distress comes 
within their notice ; and we have known one of them 
pay 200 to take a man, who had no claim whatever 
on him, out of jail. It was also only last year, too, 
that a bookmaker received a letter from a breeder, 
soon after a colt he had purchased from him had won 
a race, to remind him that a 100 contingency had 
become due. His answer was simply to the effect 
that there must be some mistake, as he had promised 
150, not 100, if ever the colt won; and a cheque 
for the larger sum was ,duly enclosed. Ring jokes 
are unique, and those who have heard the popular 
stories of " the gilded watch," and " Jenny bring the 
sledge-hammer 9 " well know what quaint humour can 
make out of slender materials. They delight in per- 
verting names : II Penseroso, Gemma di Vergy, La 
Fille Mai Gardee, and Springy Jack, became Bill 
Spencer the Grocer, Jemmy the Virgin, The Female 
Guard, and Elastic John; and Grasculus , Esuriens 
seemed to have his nomenclature altered as each 
Monday came round. Paying in copper was a freak 
which delighted everyone amazingly, except the 
victim, who went scouring off in a cab up to his 
knees in the baser metal; and so did the sundry 
speculations as to the height of The Trapper, who 
was such a giant, that young John Day solemnly as- 
sured Nat, as he was saddling him for the St. Leger, 
that he ' ' had ordered a pair of steps in the town," 
and that they would be there directly; and added, for 
his comfort, that Dr. O'Toole would " very probably 
run slap under him if he got in front." The where- 
abouts of The Reiver, the long or short O in Iliona, 
and all Nuch strange things, were also worked in their 
turn. Their " chaff" is unrivalled; but their retorts 
are perhaps rather rough and ready than neat. We 
never heard any of them rival the poacher who sauced 
the late Bishop of Carlisle (when he told him who he 


was, and asked him how he dared to pick up a hare 
on the Rose Castle grounds before his very eyes), 
with " You're the Bishop, are you ? and a devilish 
good place, too ; MIND YOU KEEP IT." 

Between the owners of horses and the King there 
never will he any very perfect understanding. The 
former consider that they may milk and scratch their 
horses if it suits their book, or start them purposely 
short of work ; while the latter and the public look 
pretty much upon the horses as their own property 
as soon as the acceptances are made. In fact, it is 
a battle of kites and crows ; and it is matter of ob- 
servation that those who are the most unscrupulous 
themselves are always the most stern and talkative 
moralists when their own interestshave been thwarted. 
Lord George Bentinck gave the turf a serious blow 
when he dictated to the backers of Elis the only 
terms on which he would allow him to start for the St. 
Leger. Hence his copyists have been " legion," and 
many a horse has been sent home because the owner 
has been forestalled, and cannot get anyone to lay 
him the original odds, in spite of his thumbscrew, to 
a 5 note. Not a few of the Ring have horses, or an 
interest in them ; but out of the 800 men (including 
Lord Jersey, the father of the turf, and the other 66 
members of the Jock eyClub) who declare their colours, 
not more than 220 run them in their own names. 
A nom-de guerre in sporting used to be principally 
used by University men when a steeple-chase or a 
boat race required them to dare the anger of proc- 
tors or anxious relations. It was at first rather 
frowned on by racing authorities in " Mr. Gordon's" 
case, but they have become as plentiful now as 
" spots" were after Voltigeur's victory, or " garters" 
in later years, among the list of race- jackets, and at 
least a dozen peers and commoners adopt this very 
ostrich-like idea of secrecy. 

As regards the morale of the Ring, it must be al- 
lowed that speculation is a normal vice in man, and, 


that the world, with its usual unfairness, will persist 
in frowning on it when it is applied to horses and 
dogs, and smiles complacently when it views it in 
connection with " bulls" and " bears." The very 
men who gamble without scruple in time bargains 
and lives, would think their credit as fathers of fami- 
lies compromised if they were known to bet on a 
horse-race. Still, while we point out this inconsist- 
ency, and believe that the turf would sicken and 
droop without betting, as completely as commerce 
and business without speculation, we cannot but 
deeply deplore that men with ample means will not 
consider such a noble sport quite amusement enough 
of itself, without the extra stimulant of " the jingle 
of the guinea." We do so more especially, because, 
as long as those who ought to be considered its leaders 
will make a business of the odds, instead of occa- 
sionally backing their fancy, it is impossible that they 
can exercise that healthy influence which the turf so 
much requires to raise its tone, or speak with any 
real weight in a crisis. Looking at the system 
of betting generally, not five men in twenty can 
afford to lose, and certainly not one in twenty afford 
to win. This may seem a paradox ; but few men, 
unless they have a very large fortune indeed, can 
take betting quietly. It can't be done. A young 
man drawing his first winnings is like a tiger tasting 
his first blood ; he seldom stops again till he is brought 
to a dead-lock as a defaulter : the finer the fleece, the 
more the rooks (who began their career as pigeons) 
come about him ; his visits are extended from a few 
afternoons to weeks after weeks of race-meetings, and 
the mind becomes untuned for everything else. The 
Legislature knew this when they stepped in and 
smashed the deposit system in the list houses. It 
may be a very Arcadian notion, but still we hold 
that, to really enjoy sport, a man should never go 
on to a race-course more than thirteen or fourteen 

F 2 


picked afternoons in the course of the year, and 
never bet a penny. 

The great list era, and all its attendant Ripe-for- 
a-Jails, as Punch termed them, began with Messrs, 
Drummond and Greville, who "kept an account at 
the Westminster Bank," in 1847. Up to that time, 
" sweeps," where every subscriber drew a horse for 
his ticket, had been amply sufficient to satisfy the 
popular thirst for speculation on a Derby or St. Leger 
eve; and, although in one instance we ascertained 
that our ticket horse was a leader in a Shrewsbury 
coach, instead of being "prepared/' it was satisfac- 
tory to know that there was at least fair play. Stimu- 
lated by the example of D. and G., the licensed vic- 
tuallers took it up and a nice mess they made of it, 
with 10,000 "pictures," &c. till the licensing magis- 
trates stepped sternly in. From ] 850 to the end of 
1853 the listers were in their glory ; and at one pe- 
riod about four hundred betting-houses were open in 
London alone, of which, perhaps, ten were solvent. 
Among these proprietors, Mr. Davis never laid the 
odds to less than 1; one or two others adopted 10s. 
as their limit, and some 5s., while not a few would 
do the odds for a lad at 6d. Their odds were gene- 
rally very liberal, and we never espied a real mistake 
but once, when a first-rate office laid 8 to 1 against 
Teddington for the Ascot Cup a fortnight before the 
race ! In York the system did not thrive, as the 
Tykes generally knew too well what horses were in 
work ; but in London, for instance, at least 100 out 
of 150 Cesarewitch or Cambridgeshire horses would 
be fancied, and thus the proprietor could always get 
round. Even the appearance of a horse with 200 
to 1 against his name did not deter the adventurous, 
as the luxury of the bare thought of such a haul was 
too much, to withstand. The wild fever among the 
houses on the Saturday night when Hobbie Noble 
" came" for the Cambridgeshire, was such as we can 
never forget. Every lister seemed to be rushing 


wildly about, as if some great and long pent-up revo- 
lution had burst forth, at last ; and near the Picca- 
dilly Circus especially, that favoured haunt of the 
Ring, the delirium raged furiously. The rise and 
fall of the odds on the eve of a great race were such 
delicate operations that the listers had outlying pic- 
quets watching at each other's shops, to give instant 
intelligence if there was a commission to skin them. 
The news flew like wildfire from house to house, so 
that a commissioner often found the odds altered 
long before he had half finished his rounds. They 
had also paid spies among the railway porters, espe- 
cially at the Eastern Counties, to tell them what 
horses were put on to the boxes for Newmarket there ; 
but the " velveteens" had but little notion of their 
business, and when one of them had spent all his 
dinner hour and several shillings in cab hire, rushing 
about to his employers, to tell them that Vermuth 
and not Aphrodite had gone down for the One Thou- 
sand Guineas, it turned out that the little groom had 
only been 'quizzing him. These little episodes were 
of constant occurrence. A London chambermaid 
happened, in the fulness of her heart, to tell an old 
gentleman that she had won 8, like a true-hearted 
lass that she was, by backing Daniel O'Rourke (be- 
cause he came from her own county) for the Derby, 
and her confidante instantly wrote to the Times, de- 
manding to know if his dressing-case could any 
longer be safe near such a dangerous maiden. There 
was the metropolitan beadle, too, who backed Ninny- 
hammer at 5 to 5s., and spent a most restless Sun- 
day before the Derby, in consequence of some one 
stealing his list ticket for a joke. Little did the 
charity children know what an agitated but yet 
"noble sportsman" preceded them, cocked-hat on 
head and staff in hand, to church that day ! Then 
there was the widow, who would have had to apply to 
the parish for a coffin for her groom-husband, if she 
had not found a 100 winning Glauca ticket in his 


corduroys, and got some " friend" (who, first by per- 
suasion, and then by bullying, tried to make her be- 
lieve he was to "stand in") to give a hint of what it 
meant. To show the hold that this epidemic took 
on the lower classes, we have heard that a poor man, 
when he was asked for his child's name at the font, 
gave the minister by mistake a betting ticket with 
" Springy Jack" on it ; and a Yorkshire gamekeeper 
showed us, in that very year (1848), three tickets on 
which he had expended three guineas for the St. 
Leger alone ! He had withstood three poachers, 
and fought with his teeth when they disabled his 
arms ; but the list lure was too strong for Sampson, 
and his wife seemed equally infatuated on the point. 
The system had become so complete by the exten- 
sion of the telegraph wires to the race-course, that 
owners could be backing their horses in London and 
the enclosure at the same time. A great Northern 
trainer had, in fact, two horses, each in two races at 
York, on one afternoon ; and about twenty minutes 
before the first came off, he received a telegraphic 
message, which showed him that his town commis- 
sioner had backed the wrong horse very largely for 
that race, and he had only just time to get the 
other from the stable and send it to the post. The 
list-houses still do a strong business ; and certainly, 
as long as they do not take deposits (?j, they have 
quite as much right to pursue their calling as Tatter- 
salFs, where, under this new act, no one can be called 
on to " cover." Albeit the bill of 1853 has done its 
work, and the fatal facility induced by the open de- 
posit system is nipped in the bud. Inspector Brennan 
and his cohorts no longer produce piles of betting 
tickets as the sad results of their station-house search, 
and those who merely regard the turf as a pleasant 
pastime on an occasional holiday afternoon, are spared 
the shame of hearing that another poor fellow has had 
to rue the day he ever saw or read of it amid the 
mint and rue of the Old Bailey. 




" Loud roar the dismal breakers, 

Loud shrieks the wild sea-gull, 
Round barks with golden cargoes 

Of thorough-breds from Hull ; 
High-blowers, cracks, and weedy ones, 

As slow as any man, 
From whose pyramids of forfeits 

Their owners cut and ran." 

rOKEIGNERS do very little in the way of young 
blood stock, but confine their attention almost 
entirely to mares and sires. They are much more 
particular about blood than they used to be; and 
taking them as a nation, the Germans are most kno vy- 
ing on the points of a horse, and as the stud-grooms 
phrase it, te ivant no telling" Baron de Maltzhan, of 
Yollrathsrah, in Mecklenburg, has about 160 brood 
mares, including half-breds, and he is quite as learned 
on stud pedigrees as ever Person was in Greek roots. 
Count Wladimir Baworioski, of Polish Gallicia, has 
also an enormous stud ; and Count Hahn, of Schlop 
Basedow, Mecklenburg- Schwerin, who first sent Tur- 
nus to England, has imported some of our choicest 
stock, among which Grey Momus, Figaro, and Black 
Drop were not the foremost. Baron de Biel, of Zie- 
row, Mecklenburg- Schwerin, is also a great stud- 
owner, and he may be said to have been the original 
Jenner who inoculated the dwellers in Fatherland 
with such a yearning for our thorongh-breds. One 


of these continental Bentincks is a great iron-master 
so great, in fact, that when he intimated to his 
Government, during the troubles of 1848, that he 
intended to close his works, they replied that if he 
did not carry them on they must, or the revolution 
would sweep works and Government away together 
like an avalanche. Among the most constant attend- 
ants at our race-courses, season after season, is a 
magnificent twenty-stone German, connected, we be- 
lieve, with the leather trade at Berlin, and, without 
exception, one of the very finest judges of racing that 
ever set foot on Newmarket Heath. 

Foreigners are not very particular as to the colours 
of the sires, but are rather prejudiced against chesnuts, 
especially if they have much white about them, 
although Count Henckel did not let this stand in his 
way when he took a fancy to Ephesus. Dark bay mares 
suit them, but they prefer black-brown if they can be 
got. At one time the Russians had an immense fancy 
for greys ; but they ceased to import them, in conse- 
quence of the complaint of Hetman Platoff, that his 
officers, who always rode them, were much more liable 
thereby to be picked off. France has imported a con- 
siderable number of sires since Diamond, the great 
match opponent of Hambletonian ; and Lottery, Tar- 
rare, The Emperor, Inheritor, Brocardo, Auckland, 
Assault, Nunnykirk, Gladiator, Prime Warden, Sting, 
Physician, Collingwood, Cossack, Elthiron, Foig-a- 
Ballagh, lago, Minotaur, Weathergage, Saucebox, 
and Lanercost, are well-known names in her stud- 
book. In addition to those we shall mention in their 
place, and countless others of lesser note, Cetus, Cha- 
teau Margaux, Margrave, Glencoe, Riddlesworth, 
Scythian, and Buzzard are naturalized in America ; 
Hungary claims Conyngham, Frantic, and Recovery ; 
Russia has Wanota, Coronation, Jereed, Andover, 
Uriel, Peep-o'-day Boy, Ithuriel, The Squire, and Van 
Tromp ; Austria boasts herself in Cardinal Puff, Gold- 


finder, Clincher, Chief Justice, and Old England ; 
Prussia followed up her Woful purchase with Brutan- 
dorf, Elis, Sittingbourne, Talfourd, and Mundig ; 
while Germany purchased Taurus twice over, and has 
not a few scions of The Nigger, Wolfdog, Sheet 
Anchor, Buckingham, Glaucus, Augustus, Erymus, 
St. Nicholas, and Chief BaronNicholson, in her stalls: 
The Colonel was repurchased from them, but for very 
little purpose ; and Euclid and Attila both died on 
shipboard. Cobnut is now in the Sardinian domi- 
nions, and even "John Chinaman" has got Black Jack 
and Little Bo-Peep. A great number of our blood 
horses also go to the colonies, and a.bout a hundred 
of them have landed at the Cape alone during the 
last fifteen years, many of them with pedigrees a 
foot long, but sadly unsound outcasts withal. In 
its paddock list we find the names of the symmetrical 
Battledore, Middlehanr, Fancy Boy, Evenus, Tra- 
verser, Misdeal, Gammon-Box, Sylvan, Gorhambury, 
Mr. Martin, and Cockermouth. The Cape turf is 
said to have reached its zenith under Lord Charles 
Somerset; and the late Sir Walter Gilbert bore high 
testimony to the style in which the Dragoon Guards, 
weighing on the average about twenty stone, were 
carried through their long marches by its hackneys. 
Unhappily, the present colonists do not pay such a 
high price, or import nearly such good horses as they 
used to do; and the Mynheers "cultivate assidu- 
ously many of the continental prejudices regarding 
colour and marks, and are particularly solicitous 
about small pointed ears, a pretty head, and peacocky 
carriage; legs and feet, strength and substance, being 
minor considerations."* 

The Russians, who were once among our largest 
customers, turn their sires out of the stud at twenty- 
three, thus virtually folio wing the spirit of the Celtic 

* Sporting Review. March, 1856. 


triplet which says that "Thrice the life of a horse is 
the life of a man/' and so on to stags and eagles in 
geometric progression. Mr. Kirby, of York, who is 
the oldest living exporter of horses, did a great busi- 
ness with them for about half a century. This won- 
derful octogenarian first set foot at Cronstadt in 1791, 
when he was little more than twenty-one, in charge 
of a string of horses, which a speculative Market 
"Weighton brewer sent out at a venture, and repeated 
his visits till he was nearly sixty, bearing with him 
on Jiis dreary three-weeks' voyages the choicest blood 
of Yorkshire. As his business increased, he gene- 
rally chartered a vessel there and back again, and on 
one occasion he took out no less than forty -two in 
the Mary Frances. They were stabled in the hold 
on the ballast- sand, and each of them was allowed a 
stall of six feet by four and a-half, while the whole 
space devoted to them was seven feet high, and well 
ventilated through the hatches. What with stall fit- 
tings, corn, hay, straw, water-casks, and freight, they 
each cost about 10 on the voyage. He only lost 
one of them at sea during the whole of his journey- 
ings; but as if to make up for it, fourteen were 
drowned in his sale stables in one night, by a sudden 
inundation of the Neva. These were not his only 
perils on Russian soil. He had once scarcely bedded 
up a lot for the night, after their walk from Cron- 
stadt to St. "Petersburg, and written circulars to his 
principal customers, who, like the Emperor Alexan- 
der, were wont to convert his stables into a sporting 
lounge, than he received notice that the Emperor 
Paul had ordered all the English ships to be seized. 
The fact of his being a well-known character in Rus- 
sia saved him from being personally annoyed as his 
countrymen were ; but still he felt so apprehensive 
lest his horses should be confiscated, that he deter- 
mined to sell everything off at once. Accordingly 
he asked Count Kotoschpin, who had been betimes 


at his stables, to make him a jSSOO offer for Brough, 
if he knew of any one who would buy that horse 
and ten out of the eleven mares in one lot. " I 
know a gentleman, or at least one who calls himself 
a gentleman, that Count Koutightsoff, who'll take 
them !" was the response, and to him Mr. Kirby 
accordingly went. The Count asked him their names, 
and ordered him to go home and bring a list with 
the prices marked. As he somewhat suspected how 
it would be, he returned with a list headed with 
" Bay horse Brough, 500." " The mares are culled 
ones, I conclude," said the Count, as he glanced at 
the list ; and then, pointing to Brough' s price, he 
added, " I'll give you that for the whole eleven, or 
Til take them to-morrow for nothing; take your 
twenty minutes to think of it :" and with this he left 
the room. Punctual to a moment, he reappeared in 
full uniform, and sardonically inquired of Mr. Kirby 
if he liked his offer. " I should be cheating myself, 
sire/' replied the representative of all the Tykes at 
the Court of St. Petersburg ; ( ' I should not clear 
my expenses if I took your price/' " And you're 
trying to cheat me, you English rascal ; I'll pinch 
your ear for it" was the fierce rejoinder. Remon- 
strance was a dangerous game ; so Mr. Kirby sor- 
rowfully led the eleven, as he was directed, to the 
Emperor's stables, and received Brough's price for 
the lot on delivery. One mare, sister to Hambleto- 
nian, had not been included in the lot ; and on the 
very morning that the news of the Emperor Paul's 
death brought smiles into every face except Kou- 
tightsoff's (who went flying across the Neva, not on 
Brough, but on foot, in a grey peasant suit), Mr. 
Kirby sleighed five or six miles out of St. Petersburg 
to close with a nobleman who had been nibbling at 
her from the evening she landed. " Any news at St. 
Petersburg, Kirby?" was the apparently off-hand 
question which was put to him when he entered ; 


and when he reflected on the nonchalance with which 
both his customer and his brother, who were seated 
at an early breakfast, received the news, he did not 
altogether disbelieve the rumour that the twain had 
with their own hands drawn the fatal searlet sash 
the night before. With true John Bull curiosity, our 
hero joined in the privileged stream of Muscovites, 
which flowed through the little room where the tra- 
gedy was enacted. The ex-tyrant lay where he fell, 
on a little sofa, in a morning gown and cap, with a 
face as black as a Mulatto, and the left jaw all awry, 
and broken by a. fist-blow from a third conspirator, 
who must have "blushed to find it fame." This pri- 
vate view was succeeded by a public lying-in-state, 
and the corpse, dressed in uniform with a blaze of 
orders on its breast, met the fierce gaze of its late 
subjects for three days and nights at the foot of the 
throne. Koutightsoff retained his presence of mind 
in money transactions to the last; and when Mr. 
Kirby gained an interview with him during the 
twenty-four hours which were allowed him by the 
police to set his house in order, he observed that it 
did not lie in his mouth to dispute the valuation of 
the man who knew better than any one in Russia 
what Brough was worth, and that he was therefore 
quite welcome to have him back for 500 ! Never 
was Yorkshireman so checkmated before. 

The Emperors Alexander and Nicholas invariably 
smiled on Mr. Kirby, whether his country was in 
sunshine or in shade with them, and not only gave 
him four valuable rings, but granted him permission 
to emblazon the two-headed black eagle of Russia on 
the front of his white jockey caps. His racing days 
were over before the late Emperor visited Ascot Heath 
in 1844, or he would have taken care that his "cho- 
colate jacket and white cap" should have been un- 
furled for the fray. It has always been a subject of 
congratulation with him that the Imperial visit did 


not take place two years sooner, when his favourite 
Lanercost staggered in last for the Cup, which he 
had won so cleverly the year before. No light has 
ever been thrown on this sad transaction, except 
that when the horse stopped in his van for a few mo- 
ments at the door of an inn between Leatherhead 
and Sunning Hill, a man in a sailor's dress jumped 
in an apparently off-hand way on to the side of the 
van, remarking to another tar, "Jump up, here's 
Lanercost ; I never saw him before !" and took a long 
survey of him. One of the pair is supposed to have 
administered some very powerful narcotic powder in 
his handkerchief, while his comrade took off the at- 
tention of the groom. The result was, that Temple- 
man found him " as dead as a tar-barrel " in his 
hands, long before he had reached the Swinley Post ; 
and in the course of the next month he completely 
changed colour. 

But we have not told all Mr. Kirby's Russian ad- 
ventures. After the bombardment of Copenhagen, 
and before Alexander separated himself from the 
Northern League, he found popular feeling begin- 
ning to run so high against Nelson's countrymen, 
that he deemed it best to come home. As there was 
not a chance of getting an ordinary pass under three 
weeks, he prevailed on Count Waroff (who vowed 
that he dared not ask such a favour for himself) to 
station him at the private door of the palace when 
the Emperor came out to parade his soldiers. He 
accordingly made his obeisance, and after a passing 
remark about his last lot of horses, he was graciously 
asked by the Emperor if he wanted anything, and 
informed that he might come to him on the parade 
ground when all was over. This was no easy matter, 
as the guards told him he was an "impudent Eng- 
lishman," and ought to be " ashamed to show his 
face;" and one more delicately ironical than the 
rest persisted in following him, and taking care that 


he did speak to the Emperor. " You must bring 
me good horses, Thomas Kirby, if you do go/' was 
the only condition imposed upon him. The appeal 
of the red-tape Chamberlain against suph a heretical 
proceeding as getting a pass signed and countersigned 
in twenty-four hours was quashed almost without a 
hearing ; and punctually at the end of that time, he 
was gliding out of Cronstadt, pass in pocket, in a 
Russian war frigate. As they neared Revel, they 
met Nelson's fleet coming out of it in three divisions, 
and Mr. Kirby was straightway elevated on to the 
poop by the side of the Russian Admiral, and 
interpreted to the captain of a British flag- boat the 
news, of which up to that moment he had been, kept 
in the profouiidest ignorance, that the Emperor had 
signed the treaty with Great Britain. This was the 
first intimation Nelson had of the fact, as the im- 
perial courier had not arrived overland from St. 
Petersburg. On receiving the official confirmation 
of Mr. Kirby's poop story, he at once signalled to 
" send that Englishman on board," and accordingly 
the Englishman and his trunk were hoisted into 
his flag-ship, the St. George. During the two days 
that he spent under the shade of the Union Jack, he 
had no conversation with the " poor thing like a 
shadow,* 5 but merely watched him as he paced the 
quarter-deck. Still he was not forgotten ; but was 
sent off free of expense by the Speedwell to Yar- 
mouth, and kept his promise right faithfully to the 
Emperor by re-appearing in less than three months 
at the palace, with a list of forty culled ones. 

The late Emperor was nearly as fond of horses as 
his brother, and one of his last purchases was a 
splendid black charger from Mr. Ashton, of Lincoln- 
shire. He made a tempting offer to Frank Butler 
in 1842, to go over and ride and train for him at 
Sarkasello ; but fears of the cold climate, and his 
brightening saddle hopes at home, deterred him from 


taking it ; and the late Henry Neale, who was glad 
to leave it for the milder air of St. Germain-en-laye, 
the veritable Reesh-mond of France, emigrated in his 
place. The highest prices Mr. Kirby ever received 
from Nicholas were 2,000 guineas for Van Tromp, 
and 2,250 guineas for General Chasse. The latter 
was rather a compact, very good-looking horse, 
though a trifle too short in the neck and barrel, dark 
chesnut, with a light-coloured, high-set tail and 
jnane, and, as Sir Robert Peel said of his great name- 
sake, "a most unsurrendering countenance." He 
was up to very high weights, but his victories, which 
Jack Holmes had fairly to cut out of him with steel 
and whalebone, were the most bloody we ever wit- 
nessed, and in temper, as Mr. Kirby was wont to 
say, "the Emperor Paul was nothing to him." He 
bought him from Sir James Boswell in the winter of 
1837, and shipped him as early as he could, in the 
ensuing spring, without letting him see a mare. 
In all his experience with horses, Mr. Kirby never 
spent a more weary four months than he did with 
this son of Actaeon. His first owner's impression 
was that he " would not lead/ 5 but the lad eventu- 
ally contrived to coax him from Gullane to York. 
He commenced operations with his new groom when 
he first walked him down a narrow lane near Walm- 
gate Bar, and was kneeling 011 him and trying to 
tear him to pieces, when a squadron of labourers 
charged him with sticks and dung-forks, and made 
him loose his hold . No one but Mr. Kirby dared give 
him a ball, and his wild frenzy when he found him- 
self hoppled for the occasion was fearfully beautiful 
to see. As a last effort to sober him he was walked 
to Hull without his shoes ; but foot-sore and tired as 
he was, he resolutely refused to do more than put his 
head out of the stable the next morning, so long as 
the crowd, who had been attracted by his turf fame, 
remained in the yard. When they were turned out 


and his eyes had been bandaged, he obeyed orders 
rather more readily ; and as he chanced to hit one 
of his front legs against the step as he left the stable, 
he stepped so ludicrously high on crossing the move- 
able stage to the vessel that he took very little note 
of it. Once more in the light he had another frenzy- 
fit, and was sadly uproarious all the voyage. 

Mr. Kirby might well say, in the language of his 
country, "he was a parlous horse " but we have 
been told that his old trainer, Fobert, has still a ten- 
der recollection of the days they spent at Holywell 
together, and had sent a commission to purchase him 
at something under a hundred, when war was pro- 
claimed. Merlin was also one of the brilliant sa- 
vages, and was obliged to be double-chained to the 
rack in the painting-room, when he visited Mr. 
Herring senior, at Six-Mile Bottom. His temper 
failed him when he was slung for a broken leg, and 
he made an early use of his liberty by killing his 
groom. The Bard, we believe, committed homicide 
once, if not twice ; and Mundig is said not only to 
have meant well on a similar occasion, but not to 
have allowed any one to go near him for a fortnight. 
Una and Malton could hardly be got into a van or 
railway box ; Chanticleer took such a strange preju- 
dice against the latter mode of conveyance on a sud- 
den, that it was found impossible to taKe him to 
Goodwood one year ; and we think it was Cranebrook 
who steadily refused for three weeks to let any one 
shoe him. Violante had a permanent horror of a 
blacksmith, and Mr. Robert Heathcoate's Georgiana, 
one of the first horses that Sam Chifney rode, was 
always obliged to be backed out of the stable and 
backed in again. There is also a story in Northamp- 
tonshire, to the effect that the celebrated fifteen-one 
" Candlestick horse " took offence at his groom's 
style of friction, and was only cleaned for several 
seasons by a series of judicious dashes with a besom. 


This horse was originally bought by Dr. Hill, of 
Hinckley, for a few pounds, as he stood ragged and 
forlorn from the Welsh hills, and tied to the rails in 
Leicester market. His new owner, who was no 
feather-weight, little thought what " a proud sea " he 
was bestriding, till he suddenly took the bit in his 
teeth, when he heard the music of the Atherstone 
near Hinckley, and carried him over the hills and far 
away from his patients to Loughboro' ! However, a 
thorough-bred chesnut was made, some forty years 
ago, the scape- goat for all the troubles which the 
temper of his race has inflicted on men. His master 
was an eccentric squire, whose ire had been specially 
excited against the horse for not winning a race in 
which he had started dead lame. After a formal 
trial, the poor wretch was sentenced to seven years' 
transportation, which was subsequently altered to 
imprisonment for life. He was thrust into a loose 
box, and kept in perpetual darkness ; no straw was 
given him, his corn was interdicted, and just enough 
hay and water to keep life and body together was 
handed to him through an aperture. No one cared 
or dared to interfere, and not until the old man died 
was the door opened and his victim allowed to wade 
forth, after fifteen months, into the light of day. 




"'Tis sixty years since." 


were lately killing a little time in a circulating 
library, when we stumbled on the biography of 
our greatest English entomologist; who died at the 
age of ninety. Making allowance therefore for in- 
fancy, he must, to judge from his published senti- 
ments, have lived for nearly seventy years in an insect 
world of his own. The lamp of his zeal never waxed 
dim. A year or two before his death, he was seen 
trudging forth, with his lantern, into the wood be- 
hind his parsonage, to learn if the Formica rufa (red 
ant) really worked or shut up at midnight ; and he 
was in perfect ecstacies, one afternoon, when he 
found a golden bug sporting on the window-sill. 
Half a century before, he had shown equally strong 
emotions when he discovered something of the same 
genus y " but new to me," on his stocking, at a little 
inn in Norfolk. A sociable gig-ramble of a month, 
which he had undertaken, through some of the east- 
ern counties, with a friend (after whom he had christ- 
ened several insects), caused him to be dressing there 
on that memorable morning, and brought him, on 
the evening of July 3rd, 1797, to the friendly portals 
of The Bam at Newmarket, into which Lord Orford 
had driven his Stag four-in-hand with such hot haste 
when the Essex hounds ran their slot. The incidents 
of the visit are thus handled in his journal : 


" July 3rd, arrived at' Newmarket 6 p. M. where The Ram, wide 
opening its ravenous maw, stood to receive us. We regale ourselves, 
after an expeditious journey, upon a comfortable up of tea, and 
then take a walk to the race-course, as far as the stands. By the 
way we observe Centaurea calcitrapa plentifully. At some distance 
we see the Devil's Dyke, and terrified with the prospect, retreat 
with hasty steps to supper. Soham cheese very fine. July 4th. On 
going into the quadrangle of this magnificent inn, I observed a post- 
chaise, with episcopal insignia ; it belonged to our worthy diocesan. 
On the panel of the chaise door I took a new Etnpis." 

Having thus violated the sanctuary of a Bishop's 
carriage, and stowed their victim in the specimen- 
box, they seem to have taken a detour of two or three 
days, during which they slew a Tabanis bovinm, 
which had bitten the gig horse till it was covered 
with blood. Their next Newmarket entry is as 
follows : 

" July 6th. Left Cambridge early. A little before eight we reach 
the Devil's Dyke : we dismount to look for insects, and find in -vast 
abundance the Scarabceus ruricola of Fabricius, and the Scarabceug 
variaMlis of Mainham. This unexpected success acted as a cordial 
and reviver to our spirits. Once more enter The Ram, and here 
breakfast ; and after settling our new colony of Scardbcei in their 
boxes, set off again for Barton Mills." 

We carefully copied these quaint remarks into our 
pocket-book ! and our reflections on them, as we 
strolled home, were on this wise : First, we thought 
what a mercy it was these sages were not challenged 
for touts, and how very little the trainers would have 
believed in them and their mild explanations. Again; 
we felt not a little nettled that they should have 
passed through Newmarket when George the Third 
was king, and yet handed nothing down to posterity 
but a few enthusiastic reflections on its inns and its 
insects. Alas ! they wot not, poor harmless souls f 
of the high-bred sportsmen and the sound lunged 
steeds, who had so often terrified their Scarabai, as 
they galloped over that heath, which is not without 

G 2 


its charm for those, who love the traditions of the 
past. " It was here/' says the author of Historic 
Fancies, " that the Duke of his day felt a much 
greater excitement than in chasing the rebels at Cul- 
loden ; here that Junius Duke of Grafton when Prime 
Minister, would come with that fair lady from whom 
he had abandoned that fairer Duchess whom Chauve- 
lin had so adored ; here that a quarter of a century 
before Walpole had won Cups with more pleasure 
than he was to wear a coronet ; here that his great 
rival felt all that interest in racing, which produced 
his charming paper on Newmarket in the World." 

At the very time when this great beetle-digging 
match came off over its Bunbury Course, the Racing 
Club of the " little town in Suffolk " was in its very 
hey-day of renown. The ink with which Boswell 
had chronicled its glories was scarcely dry when he 
became acquainted with Dr. Johnson; and if the 
grave had not but just claimed him, the incidents ot 
another five-and-twenty years might now have fur- 
nished him with ample materials for an additional 
canto. He would not have failed to sing how pow- 
der and pigtails were seen there no more, and how 
the solemn league and covenant, which was entered 
into and carried out on a perfect field-day of cutting 
and combing in the powder-room at Wobnrn Abbey, 
had wrought this wondrous change. The troubled 
state of the continent prevented the patrons of racing 
from roving away in quest of Parisian novelties and 
Italian skies ; and hence the axle-trees of the Ches- 
terford post chaises were seldom allowed to cool 
during seven months of the year. Nearly every 
trainer was a private one, and out of the three or 
four hundred nags who (until Robson introduced the 
eight o'clock plan) took their breathings at four in 
the morning and four in the afternoon, at least half 
were stout enough to be matched at high weights 
over the D.I., or enter the lists for a B.C. plate. 
Very few two-year-olds were then trained, but year- 


lings were at times called upon to exhibit, over their 
especial 2 fur. 52 yds. course on the Flat. Matching 
was the very heart-blood of the meetings, and when 
ten or twelve choice souls, each with the spirit of a 
Bedford or a Glasgow, met in earnest round the 
Club decanters, both jockeys and trainers knew that 
there would be heavy work cut out for them before 
dawn. Five harvest moons had waned since the 
merry heart and splendid presence of " George 
Guelph " had ceased to enliven these revels. The 
Newmarket breakfast tables were no longer on the 
qui vive for the news of some fresh practical joke 
which had been played off by him at the Club over- 
night. No French Prince had now to be coaxed 
vigorously for twelve hours before he would forgive 
the royal thrust, which sent him suddenly over-head 
into the pond before its windows, as he bent forward 
to examine " de beautiful fish of gold ;" and even 
Bow-street Townsend had ceased to look grim and 
discomfited, when the wags would persist in asking 
him, if he had "found the door key ? " The royal 
string, with their lads in scarlet liveries, was no longer 
to be seen issuing out of the Palace stables, when 
Baker or Neale was in command, and streaming across 
the flat, or up the Bury hill, in Indian-file ; and a 
massive but finely-formed outline, in an over-coat with 
a fur collar, was no longer dimly descried at the end- 
ing post by Samuel Chifney, as he rode the trials at 
five o' clock, on a grey September morning. The bit- 
terness with which some, who were all smiles to the 
Prince's face, commented behind his back on the run- 
ning of Escape, had driven him in disgust from the 
spot, with a hasty vow that it should know him no 
more. Still his temporary desertion did not make the 
Heath a desert. Francis Duke of Bedford had up- 
wards of thirty horses at the Valley, or Eight-mile 
Bottom, which, with the grandfather of the Stephen- 
sons as their trainer, and Samuel Chifney as jockey, 
nobly upheld the prestige of the " buff and purple 


stripes." Pratt had a large string of Lord Grosvenor^s, 
at Hare Park ; and there was, too, no mean cluster 
of trainers at the Six-mile Bottom. It was here that 
the Prince had his stud-farm, which with the house 
annexed passed as a gift into Colonel Leigh's hands, 
and became memorable in Mr. Hunter's day as the 
birthplace of the grey Gustavus ; and still later, of 
many a young scion of the straight-thighed Partisan, 
whose inamoratas might be seen working at the 
plough, till within a month of foaling, on Lord Low- 
therms farm. In Newmarket itself, Sir Frank 
Stan dishes stable was among the foremost, and had, 
within the two previous years, nailed the plates of 
two Derby winners, and one Oaks winner, on its 
doors. Messrs. Panton and Vernon, too, not only 
resided and kept private trainers there, but the 
former was an equal enthusiast with hound and horn, 
and hunted a part of the Cambridgeshire and Essex. 
countries. Although he had some good racers in his 
time, he always said that his Childers was the flying 
Abyssey-wood fox, who stood before the hounds for 
five- and- twenty miles without a check, and was 
pulled down, after running straight along the A. F., 
within a few yards of the weighing-house, as it strove 
in its death agony to rise the hill. Crockford pur- 
chased his estate after his death; but n ,s yet the 
pale flabby features and white " hay-wisp-fashion " 
neckcloth of the great speculator were unknown to 
fame. The colours of Sir Charles Bunbury and Mr. 
Christopher Wilson, both of whom were in turn 
"Fathers of the Turf/' not unfrequently caught Mr. 
Hilton^s eye at the finish, and earned a still less-fleet- 
ing notice on the canvas of Stubbs. Ben Marshall 
had not as yet set up his easel, and Kobson had not 
become the Leviathan trainer of Suffolk, but was 
engaged to Sir F. Poole, at Lewes, and waxing greater 
and greater after Waxy's victory at Epsom ; Lord 
Clermont never tired of looking into his own stables, 
where Hammond's Bank now stands; and Perren 


had the charge of Lord Barrymore's string. It is told 
of his eccentric lordship, that on one occasion he came 
forth on to the pavement in front of his stables, and 
collected a large crowd by roaring ' ' O yes ! O yes ! 
O yes ! who wants to buy a horse that can walk five 
miles an hour, trot eighteen, and gallop twenty ?" 
and then discomforted a bidder by assuring him that 
" when I see such a horse,! will be sure to let you 
know," " Hell Fire Dick," so called from his mar- 
vellous knack of getting horses on to their legs in 
half-mile and quarter-mile matches, trained for " old 
Gt" at Queensbury House, where the Prince had been 
a constant dinner guest during the meetings. The 
old ' { sallow leather " peer, with his three-cornered 
hat (on which point Lord Clermont imitated him), 
his sharp aquiline nose and keen sunken eye, was then, 
both here and everywhere, owing to his extraordinary 
carriage and cricket-ball matches, &c., an object of 
the utmost interest; and he thought nothing of riding 
his pony right up to the best windows in the High- 
street, and ogling the fair maids and matrons within. 
His character for acuteness may be seen from the 
high place he holds in the following " Recipe to 
make a Jockey/* which was handed about the coffee- 
houses of that day : 

" Take a pestle and mortar of moderate size : 
Into Queensbury's head put Bunbury's eyes : 
Cut Dick Vernon's throat, and save all the blood ; 
To answer your purpose, there's none half so good : 
Pound Clermont to dust, you'll find it expedient; 
The woi'ld cannot furnish a better ingredient : 
From Derby and Bedford take plenty of spirit ; 
Successful or not, they have always that merit : 
Tommy Panton's address, John Wastell's advice, 
And a touch of Prometheus 'tis done in a trice." 

Newmarket has undergone endless changes since all 
these choice spirits exchanged minds on the Heath. 
The mind of the venerable waiter, on whose head no 
race-goer or villager could ever remember to have 
seen a hat, and the ghosts of the chaises which rum- 
bled that seventeen miles, year after year, past Bourne 


Bridge, may be soothed when they see the Chester- 
ford line rank with grass and weeds ; but this is the 
only " pull " they have. Time, that gentle innovator, 
has silently done his work in Newmarket, and in some 
respects, not for the better. The outline of the Club 
buildings is the same, but the greater part of the 
Palace has been pulled down, sold, or converted into 
shops, and the late Duke of Rutland was its latest 
race-occupant. " Queen Jamie " had first built it for 
a hunting residence, and in 1647 the Koundhead sen- 
tinels hummed a surly hymn at its portals as they 
kept watch and ward for a fortnight over their captive 
King. Under their grim hospices the cockpit, in 
which James had so often delighted, quickly became 
desolate ; but cocking from ten till dinner-time, races 
from three to six, and then to the cockpit again, was 
the summer order of the Merrie Monarch's Newmar- 
ket day. His time was divided between Windsor, 
Newmarket, and Winchester, and when nothing but a 
few blackened walls remained of the much-loved 
racing seat, his autumns were principally spent in 
hunting excursions in the New Forest. These royal 
visits to Winchester, on the site of whose ancient 
castle he laid the foundation of a palace, which Sir 
Christopher Wren had designed partly after the model 
of Versailles, did not lack his wonted retinue, who 
broke the stillness of the grey cathedral cloisters 
with their glee songs and their dances. The Duchess 
of Portsmouth, his most favoured mistress, furnished 
out of hand a house for herself; but Nell Gwynne 
had reason to sigh for her snug Newmarket " Nun- 
nery"' beneath whose roof Frank Butler died, and 
which was said to be connected in old times with the 
Palace by a subterranean passage. When the 
" Harbinger/' whose duty it was to provide lodgings 
in a royal progress, arrived at Winchester, he marked 
the prebendal house of Dr. Ken for Nelly's residence ; 
but that dauntless King's chaplain refused her ad- 
mittance, and she was forced to seek lodgings else- 


where, until the more complaisant Dean Meggot 
built her a room at the south end of the deanery. 
Ken's holy courage met with its reward, even from 
the sovereign whom he had defied ; and two years 
later, and within one short week of his consecration 
as Bishop, he was summoned to administer to him 
the last consolations of the Church. On the very 
evening of the Sunday that he was consecrated (Jan. 
25th. 1685), says Evelyn, "I was witness of the 
King, sitting and toying with his concubines, Ports- 
mouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine, &c., a French boy 
singing love-songs in that glorious gallery, while 
about twenty of the great courtiers were at Basset 
round a large table, a bank of at least .2,000 in gold 
before them. Six days after, all was in the dust ;" and 
great was the wailing at Whitehall and Newmarket. 

About the close of the eighteenth century the 
town had no more earnest patron than the future 
Duke of Dorset, whose horses were under the care 
of Samuel Chifney. One Derby and four Oaks had 
already fallen to the lot of the latter ; and although 
Pratt, the two Arnulls, Hindley, Dennis Fitzpatrick, 
and the then juvenile Frank Buckle were powerful 
opponents, he was universally looked upon as the 
first horseman of the time. In fact, with all his fond 
partiality for the brother who shared his triumphs, 
Will Chifney considers to this day that his father 
was a shade the superior. He was about 5ft. Sin. in 
height, walked about 9st. 51b. in the winter months, 
and could ride, if required for a great race, 7st. 121b. 
to the last. With the exception of Frank Buckle, 
perhaps no man was ever so exactly built for his pro- 
fession. His science was, however, far from being 
confined to the saddle, and hence while he ceaselessly 
initiated his son Sam into all its mysteries, he took 
equal pains to instruct the elder brother William in 
the minutest details of training and stable practice. 
His own knowledge on these points was so great, 
that calumny soon marked him for her own ; and the 


undercurrent of jealousy which was always steadily 
flowing against the Prince was not likely to spare his 
jockey. Hence it was that the very year after he left 
Mr. Panton's service, and engaged himself to the 
Prince at a 200 salary, the Yorkshiremen made their 
venomous attacks upon him for his riding of Traveller 
and Creeper. This was followed up by the Escape af- 
fair in the autumn of that year (1791) ; but Chifney, 
conscious of his innocence, bore these attacks and 
their consequences with the utmost calmness ; and 
when some eight years after, the far seeing tykes 
again blamed his riding of Mr. Cookson's Sir Harry, 
he requested that gentleman to put up Singleton on 
the following day, and had the quiet satisfaction of 
seeing the horse beaten off again in a very much worse 
field. The malice of his persecutors tempted him in 
after-years to speak with his pen, through the pages 
of fc Genius Genuine," the very same remarks as to 
condition, &c., which he had privately tendered to his 
employers after each of these races. His great theory 
of slack-rein riding, for which the Duke of Bedford 
had been so unmercifully teased at the Club parties, 
that he very nearly requested him to send in his 
jacket, was copiously treated of in this work, and the 
few following sentences may be said to comprise the 
kernel of his sentiments on the subject : 

'' The first fine part in riding a race is to command your horse to 
run light in his mouth; it is done with manner; it keeps him the 
better together, his legs are the more under him, his sinews less ex- 
tended, less exertion, his wind less locked; the horse running thus to 
order, feeling light for his rider's wants ; his parts are more at ease 
and ready, and can run considerably faster when called upon than 
when he has been running in the fretting, sprawling attitudes, with 
part of his rider's weight in his mouth. 

"And as the horse comes to his last extremity, finishing his race, 
he is the better forced and kept straight with manner, and fine touch- 
ing to his mouth. In this situation the horse's mouth should be eased 
of the weight of his rein ; if not, it stops him little or much. If a 
horse is a slug, he should be forced with a manner up to this order of 
running, and particularly so if he has to make play, or he will run 
the slower, and jade the sooner for the want of it. 

'* The phrase at Newmarket is, that you should pull your horse to 


ease him in his running. "When horses are in their great distress in 
running, they cannot bear that visible manner of pulling as looked 
for by many of the sportsmen ; he should be enticed to ease himself an 
inch a time, as his situation will allow. 

"This should be done as if you had a silken rein as fine as a hair, 
and that you were afraid of breaking it. 

" This is the true way a horse should be held fast in his running. 

N.B. If the Jockey Club will be pleased to give me two hundred 
guineas, I will make them a bridle as I believe never was, and I be- 
lieve can never be, excelled for their light weights to hold their horses 
from running away." 

His name was so inseparably connected with this 
style of riding, that when Stubbs painted him on 
Baronet he represented him sitting backward, as 
was his wont, with an apparently slack rein. It was 
the son who caused " the Chifney rush " to pass into 
an English proverb ; but, although many affected to 
consider him a pedant, Paganini had not more com- 
plete mastery over a violin than the father acquired 
over a horse's mouth, however hard and unformed. 
This was strikingly proved in the case of Knowsley, 
at Guildford, whither after being purchased by the 
Prince out of Yorkshire for one thousand guineas, 
he was sent to run for the King's Plate. This horse 
had run away with every jockey as yet, and therefore 
a large party of the Prince's friends came down ex- 
pressly to see how Chifney would handle him. " Take 
that silly gimcrack away, and bring me a plain snaffle" 
was his remark when they handed him a tremendous 
curb-bridle for inspection in the weighing-house; 
and then sallying forth, snaffle in hand, he not only 
went first past the judge with a slack rein, but re- 
peated the feat on him shortly after at Winchester. 
He was as great on idle horses as he was on pullers 
of the Knowsley stamp; but perhaps one of his 
greatest triumphs in mouth-touching was when he 
rode Eagle. He had advised the Duke of Dorset 
to buy the horse from Sir Frank Standish, and run 
him for the King's Plate at Newmarket. When the 
two emerged from the rubbing-house, Sir Frank rode 


up to the Duke, and advised him not to back the 
horse for a halfpenny, as no jockey yet had been able 
to make him do his best. Chifney had never been 
on him before ; but he simply replied, when the 
Duke reported this speech to him "I'll let Sir 
Frank Standish see whether I can get him out or not ; 
and what's more, I'll neither use whip nor spur to 
him" The other jockeys were so fully aware of 
Eagle's sluggishness, that they positively walked 
the first three miles and a quarter of the Round 
Course, and then came along as hard as they could 
split for the last three furlongs. However, these 
tactics did not answer, as Eagle could not withstand 
the masterly bit pressure which was at once brought 
to bear on him, and won a very fine race by a neck, 
without being touched by whip or spur. 

If our old friends the beetle-hunters had chanced 
to turn their steps towards the Bury Hill, on that 
pleasant July evening, instead of .taking a clerical 
reconnaissance of the Devil's Dyke, they might have 
passed a merry cricketing group, in which Will and 
Sam Chifney were bearing a hand. Frank Buckle 
was then in the very prime of manhood ; Robinson 
and Harry Edwards were only teething, and Sam 
Chifney still wanted some months of eleven. Will 
Chifney, who was two years senior to hi* brother, 
was thrice as active in all his ways and movements ; 
and even at cricket, while the former might be seen 
indefatigable and hot-faced in batting, bowling, and 
fielding, the latter -stretched himself lazily on the 
grass till his innings came round, and then made 
the pace so bad between wickets, that his scorer had 
generally a sinecure. The very different tempera- 
ments which even cricket practice elicited, had full 
scope under the rigid but ever affectionate tuition of 
their father ; and while he carefully grounded Will 
in the rudiments of that training lore of which Priam 
and Zinganee were destined to be of such enduring 


monuments, he gave Sam lesson after lesson in race- 
riding, from the moment he dared trust him on a 
pony alone. To leave the whip and bit, which he 
had handled so long and so worthily, in the hands 
of another S. CHIFNEY of his own teaching, was the 
great wish of his heart. Hence, as if with a melan- 
choly foreboding that his child would soon be called 
to take his own place on the Prince's horses, he used 
to slip off with him into the stables when he was 
barely three stone, and after putting a racing saddle 
on to Kit Karr, Silver, Sober .Robin, or Magic, show 
him by the hour how to sit and hold his reins. 
Aided by lessons of this nature, and constant prac- 
tice twice a day in the gallops, Will had already be- 
come a very expert horseman; and while he was with 
the string at exercise, his father and Sam, one on his 
Heath hack, and the other on a pony, would mark 
out a 300 yards course under the cover of the fir 
clump on the Warren Hill, and run twelve or thir- 
teen races in an afternoon. Every phase of finishing 
was compressed into the lesson. Sam would make 
the running ; and then his father would get to his 
girths, take a pull, and initiate him into the mysteries 
of a set-to. These tactics would then be reversed, 
and Sam taught to get up and win by a head in the 
last stride, or to nurse his pony and come with a tre- 
mendous rush. The rush did not, however, super- 
sede the favourite slack-rein system, at which both the 
boys practised with the most intense perseverance. 
Sam almost lived on his pony; and poor Dennis Fitz- 
patrick, who died in his forty-second year, from a cold 
caught in wasting, only six months before Chifney 
senior, used to look jokingly forward to the days when 
the father and son would challenge him right and left 
at the winning chair. "By the Powers, it's not fair 
anyhow,' 3 he used to say, as he cantered past them 
when they were at this game ; " Buckle and I will be 
having Sam and SAM-SON clown on its soon. 1 ' 




u And Yorkshire sees, with eye of fear, 
The Southron stealing from the rear. 
Aye ! mark his action well ! " 


fHE autumn of 1799 brought with it Sam's thir- 
teenth birthday ; and as a lad of that age, who 
could still scale 4st. 21bs., had not the chance of three 
Newmarket mounts a year, his father determined to 
send him to his maternal uncle, Mr. Smallman, who 
was then private trainer to the Earl of Oxford, at 
Brampton Park, in Herefordshire. Although he was 
sorrowful enough, in his quiet way, at bidding good- 
bye to all at Newmarket, the little fellow looked 
eagerly forward to the rides on the " Welsh circuit/' 
which his uncle held out to him. He bujyed him- 
self up too with the hopes that the Prince's heart 
was still true to racing, and that he and his father 
would in due time share the Royal mounts. When 
the " Escape affair" happened, he was little more 
than five ; but still the image of a handsome stout 
gentleman coming down, over and over again, to his 
father's parlour, with Colonel Leigh, and not only 
insisting on him and Will staying in the room while 
they chatted there, but often leaving a bright new 
guinea in their hands, was one calculated to haunt a 
child's memory for many a long day. With such 


high, hopes to cheer him, he took to riding for Lord 
Oxford with no little energy and success, and over 
and over again discomfited Dick Carr and the other 
leaders of the circuit,, by "waiting till they had ridden 
each other to a standstill, and then pouncing on them 
at the post/' His capital riding atoned to his uncle 
for his impatience of stable discipline ; and his lord- 
ship's French valet, after receiving many a gallant 
heel-and-toe assault from him when he tried to put 
him out of the still-room, was fain at last to make 
peace with him on the same grounds. The Earl was 
a man who went strictly on John Osborne's principle, 
that " if a horse wants sweating, you may as well 
sweat him for the brass" and his numerous victories 
in 1800-1 so raised the reputation of Sam and Small- 
man, that the Prince engaged the latter as his trainer, 
and in 1802 again ranked among English turfites. 
His new training quarters were fixed at Albury 
Grange, near Winchester, and his stud consisted, 
hunters and all, of about sixteen. Sam accompanied 
his uncle thither, for a few weeks, and mounted the 
magnificent "purple jacket with scarlet sleeves, and 
gold-braid buttons, and black cap with gold tassel^ 
of the Prince for the first time at the Stockbridge 
Meeting of that year. Chifney senior was still one 
of the turf- lions of the day, and hence there was no 
little anxiety among the Hampshire yokels to see his 
little son perform. Nothing could have been abler 
than his riding, but he was beaten a short head on a 
Fidget colt. This day was always pleasantly marked 
in his mind as the real and long-wished-for begin- 
ning of his riding career, and his favourite farm was 
christened after the colt's sire. 

The brothers met next at the Grange, after a two- 
years' separation, and it was settled that Sam should 
return to Newmarket, and be attached to the stables 
of Perren, who was then in considerable repute as a 
trainer, and Will take his place as assistant to his 


uncle. The Albury arrangement did not, however, 
last long ; and the royal stud, after a short sojourn 
at the sadly small Old Pavilion stables at Brighton, 
was finally removed, under Smallman's charge, to 
Perren's stables, at Newmarket. Lord Darlington 
was at this time one of Perren's principal masters, 
and a Haphazard confederacy was entered into be- 
tween him and the Prince, which shortly came to an 
end in consequence of some difference about a 
match between this horse and Dick Andrews, at 
Lewes. Chifney senior had still the Prince's riding, 
but Perren was enabled to give young Sam some 
mounts among his other masters, when an unfortu- 
nate outburst of indignation on the part of Will, who 
was now about eighteen, in the High Street of New- 
market, not only brought him for six dreary months 
within the bolts of the Cambridge jail, and broke off 
the connection between his family and the Prince, 
but induced the Duke of Grafton and several other 
leading owners of horses to withdraw their riding 
retainers from his brother. On the real nature and 
circumstances of this painful affair there is no need 
to dwell. The utmost that could be said of Chifney 
senior was that he showed a want of firmness. His 
riding fame in this instance was his bane, and it was 
hardly to be wondered at that owners should do their 
very utmost to secure the " first call" of him. Four 
out of the five concerned in it have passed away, and 
though the indignation of Will was only such as a 
lad of high principle had a right to feel when he 
considered that his father had been hardly dealt with, 
his wrath was unfortunately vented on one who was 
after all only an involuntary agent in the matter. 
Suffice it to say, that time soon applied its healing 
touch, and that the kind feeling and intercourse 
between Colonel Leigh and William Chifney were 
renewed before twelve months had passed away, and 
continued unbroken till the Colonel's death, in 1850. 


Young Sam's friends soon began to flock round him 
again ; but his father's saddle career was over, and 
he quitted Newmarket for London in 1806, never to 
return to it. William Edwards had been riding for 
the Prince in the interim, but his heart was still with 
the Chifneys. A 200-guinea pension was bestowed 
on old Sam for the life-time of his patron, which he 
assigned, according [to the report in Bosanquet and 
Puller, to one Sparkes, the year before he died, for 
1,260 ; and when Sam had won his great New Claret 
victory, in the First Spring Meeting of 1805, on Lord 
Darlington's Pavilion, he received the royal jacket 
which his father had sorrowfully " sent in " some 
two years before. This memorable race was also 
the means of permanently bringing him into the 
Darlington riding. Pavilion was a fine dark-bay 
horse, without any white ; but his private and public 
performances so little entitled him to cope with his 
opponents, that he was only quoted at 7 to 1 at start- 
ing. Three such animals had never before been 
stripped at Newmarket since the Derby, the St. Leger, 
and the Oaks, had become lustre-giving names ; and 
here each of them, in Hannibal (W. Arnull), Sancho 
(Buckle), and Pelisse (Clift), sent forth its champion 
of the preceding year to join in the D.I. fray, the 
anticipation of which had fairly thrilled through 
turfites for many a month before. Sancho' s fine size 
and rare performances, to say nothing of the fascina- 
tion which attached to the great " Frank" of that day, 
brought him to 6 to 4, while Hannibal was at 3, and 
Pelisse at 5 to 1. Sam, who still wanted some months 
of nineteen, did not think that the trio were very far 
out when they asked him, as the starter drew them 
in line at the Ditch, if he had " come to look on ;" 
but he patiently waited off, while Sancho forced the 
running, made a rush a little beyond the Duke's 
Stand, and astonished none among the thousands pre- 
sent more than Lord Darlington and Perren, by com- 


ing in some two lengths first. Sancho could not have 
run to his form, as he easily defeated Pavilion after- 
wards in a 3,000 guinea match at Lewes, and was 
repeating the feat for the same sum, over the same 
course, when he broke down. 

When Sam thus gained his first great laurels at 
Newmarket, he was not unknown in Yorkshire, as 
his maiden appearance on Knavesmire, in * ' Mrs. 
Thornton's year/' had been signalized by a winning 
mount on Lady Brough, against their three great 
jockeys Jackson, Clift, and Peirse. The slack-rein 
doctrines of his father had been so much sneered at 
by these Northern cracks, that he determined to sup- 
port the honour of the family, and show them, on 
their own ground, that he could ride his mare in that 
fashion, and win. Accordingly (as the somewhat 
puzzle-headed turf reporter of those days remarks), 
" Young Chifney, in the last sixty yards, threw down 
his reins loose on Lady Brought neck and flogged 
her, and afterwards held up his whip loosely to threaten 
her; by this she was thrown in with more precipita- 
tion, as it were head-foremost, and was thought to run 
no risk of the filly changing legs, which is sometimes 
the case from additional whipping." The tykes, who 
were very jealous of the honour of their jocks, did not 
relish their defeat at all; and when Sam informed his 
brother, on his return, that he could " lick their heads 
off," Will, with all that admiration of his father, and 
that true Newmarket contempt of provincial riding 
(which has received a considerable check for some 
years past), replied that " it would be a shame, Sam, if 
you could 3 nt, after such tuition as you've had" 

Having thus fairly fought his way to eminence, Sam 
had the best mounts for nearly all Perren's masters, 
among whom Mr. Thornhill had just begun to rank. 
The mount he had for Lord George Cavendish, on Flo* 
rival, against Petronel, produced some very great 
riding on both sides, and Buckle had the mortification 


of being worsted by a head. In the Violante v. Selim, 
four-mile match, Sam was not so fortunate, as Selim 
gave in dead-beat, about a quarter of a mile from 
home. Although some of Buckle's best victories were 
gained on the world-famed mare Violante, he always 
felt a little sore when he won on her, as she ought 
really to have been his own. She had been at one 
time turned out of Lord Grosvenor's stud as useless, 
and was open to any purchaser at .50. Buckle heard 
this, and accordingly rode over to Hare Park, and told 
Pratt that he would have her at that price, and send 
for her in a day or two. Lord Grosvenor was told of 
this purchase in the interim, and felt so sure that if 
Buckle had looked over her and liked her, there 
must be more in her than had met his own and 
Pratt's eye, that he sent and begged him to give up 
his bargain, which he very reluctantly did. Selim, 
a fine lengthy chesnut with a white heel and immense 
speed, was also celebrated in that day for more rea- 
sons than one, as his running in a sweepstakes, when 
Sam was not te up," was so suspicious that the Prince 
sent a peremptory message to the trainer, to the effect 
that the whole of his horses were " to be sold or given 
away immediately" Reubens, on whom Sam had 
finished a very close fourth in a rattling finish for the 
Pan Derby of that year (1808), and whom Dan Daw- 
son boasted that he had once " got at," was among the 
fifteen which went up to TattersalFs to be sold in the 
autumn, and eighteen years passed over before the 
Prince's third and last time of asking began. Chif- 
ney senior had died in London in the January of 
the preceding year, within the dismal bars and bolts 
of the Fleet Prison, where he had been consigned by 
one Latchford the saddler, (who had been connected 
with him in the manufacture of the Chifney bits,) for 
a debt of .350. He was scarcely fifty-two when his 
wife and six children followed him to his last resting- 
place in the city churchyard of St. Sepulchre's ; but 


anxiety and illness had made him old long before his 
time. A more united family than the Chifneys, both 
in trouble and prosperity, has rarely ever been wit- 
nessed ; and the consciousness that he would now be 
able to make a good May offering to his mother's 
slender domestic funds not a little nerved Sam's stout 
heart and hand, when he found himself cleverly win- 
ning the Oaks of that year at Tattenham Corner, on 
the eighth favourite, General Grosvenor's Briseis. 

After this very unlooked-for victory, he quitted 
Perren's Stable, and the Epsom spell being once 
broken, he again won the Oaks in 1811, for the 
Duke of Rutland, on his very smart mare Sorcery, 
the first favourite. The successful five-years' con- 
nection between him and Perren was not severed by 
his departure, as in 1812 he became his son-in-law. 
It was now no easy task for him to go to scale under 
8st., and his field of action was almost entirely con- 
fined to Ascot, Epsom, and Newmarket. He had a 
few mounts at York and Doncaster, for Lord Dar- 
lington, Sir Mark Sykes, &c. ; but north of the Trent, 
he was always singularly unlucky, and during his 
long career, he only won twice at the former place, 
on Serab and Lady Brough, and once at the latter 
on Amadis-de-Gaul. 

His early Oaks career was always as green and 
fresh as his nephew's, and in 1816 he won that stake 
for the third time on another first favourite, General 
Gower's Landscape ; repeated the feat for Mr. Thorn- 
hill by a head on Shoveller, against Buckle on Espag- 
nolle in 1819 ; and for General Grosvenor, on Wings, 
in 1825. The last-named mare of whose son, Vates 
thus spake with keen Derby foresight some eighteen 
years after : 

" 'Twixt here and the distance, great Caravan sings, 
! that my mother would give me her wings /" 

was low and lengthy, and apparently so moderate 


that even her trainer, Robson, with all his acumen, 
thought her only fit to enter in a selling stakes on 
the first day of the meeting, and had arranged that 
Sam should ride the General's other filly, The 
Brownie. Will Chifney had formed a very different 
opinion of the relative merits of the pair, and got 
Mr. Charlton, the owner of the second horse in 
the selling stakes, to claim Wings for him,, at 250 
guineas. After the sale, he asked Robson to take 
her home for the night, and promised to send a 
cheque and a man for her the next morning. Some- 
thing detained him till nearly every one had quitted 
the Grand Stand, and on passing through it, the 
General suddenly beckoned him to his side. " Well ! 
Mr. Chifney/ 3 he said, " you ivont take my mare, will 
you ? I want her to force the running for Brownie, in 
the Oaks, fyc." " / will give her up, sir, only on one 
condition, 3 ' replied Will, " and that is that Sam rides 
HER, and not Brownie, for the Oaks. 3 ' Will was 
pressed very hard to ascertain the reasons of his 
preference, but declared that they were based on 
nothing but his own idea of the two ; and hence, 
finding that the mare would be restored on no other 
terms, it was settled that Sam was to ride Wings. 
Neither owner or trainer trusted her with much of 
their money, but the race came off exactly as Will 
anticipated ; Wings, who did not " leave her wings 
at yam" (as a Yorkshireman in after-years expressed 
it), winning a very splendid finish by a neck, while 
The Brownie was beaten off. "The Four-in-hand 
Club " turned out in great style this year, and Sir 
Henry Peyton had two sets of greys on the road. 
Sam's riding was no ordinary treat, and the patience 
with which he waited off, when Will Arnull jumped 
away at score on Tontine, and defeated Pastime 

(who only headed Tontine 100 yards from home) in 
her turn in the last three or four strides, stamped it 

n the eyes of the Jockey Club as his very finest 


performance. The rare old General was in a great 
state of delight at his second Oaks success, and sent 
a splendid pipe of port from. White's, as a present to 
Will, who comforted himself, as he sipped it, with 
the reflection that he could not have had Sam to 
ride Wings for him, and that no other disengaged 
jockey could have won on her. Unrivalled as Sam's 
" fiery rush " has always been, Will Chifney still says 
that his great races on the flat were invariably won 
before the horses reached the cords, and when the 
crowd knew nothing of it. As in the case of Wings, 
it was his innate knowledge of pace which enabled 
him, although seemingly beaten at the start, to steal 
up inch by inch to his opponents, and still have the 
materials of a rush left in his horse when they were 
close at home ; and his riding of Bloomsbury and St. 
Francis were very brilliant specimens of this peculiar 

At this period both brothers were fast approaching 
their zenith on the Turf, and well-known in the 
Thurlow country, whose staunch master, Charles New- 
man, in spite of the tempting proximity, could never 
be drawn into blending the gorse with the Heath. 
Sam was still on the right side of forty, and had won 
five Oaks and two Derbies, and was installed in one 
of the best houses in Newmarket. Mr. Thornhill's 
horses had been nnder his charge since the autumn 
of Sam's Derby year (1818), and Lord Darlington's 
horses came to his stables in the following spring. 
Will, who managed their training, refused every offer 
to enter into an engagement, but kept himself clear 
and independent of all employers, and stood what 
money he liked about the horses. Mr. Thornhill 
was often anxious to become Lord Darlington's con- 
federate; but although he allowed Will to communi- 
cate with him fully about his horses, his Lordship had 
not forgotten his dispute with the Prince, and refused 
to run such risks again. The Prince, too,, had not 


forgotten his old Chifney associations, when, with 
Mr. Delme Radcliffe as manager, and William Ed- 
wards as trainer, he again appeared on the turf in 
1826, and he accordingly selected Sam to ride Der- 
vise for the Oatlands at the Ascot Meeting of the 
next year. Taking one year with another His 
Majesty had 20 seasons on the Turf, and won 313 
races, including 1 Derby, 30 King's Plates, and 10 
Cups, the value of which reached in all about 57,628 

When his growing days were past, Sam was a trifle 
over five feet six inches, and fully an inch taller than 
his father, but considerably shorter in the legs and 
arms than his elder brother, who had nearly an inch 
the advantage of him in height. He was a large but 
still a light-boned man, and at the best of times a very 
bad waster. At eighteen, 7st. Tibs, was the very 
lowest weight he could scale, and as he soon walked 
9st. 71bs. in the winter, 8st. 41bs. became his nominal 
lowest weight. As may be imagined, the weary 
weeks before Epsom, Doncaster, and Ascot, when the 
foolishly low racing scale of that day invariably called 
upon him to boil two pounds more off his lean frame, 
were looked forward to with no very pleasurable feel- 
ings. Will was so fond of exercise, that he walked 
by Priam's side nearly the whole way to Epsom, while 
Sam loved the saddle quite as much because it was 
not walking, as for its own sake, and used to delay 
going in to physic, and putting on the sweaters, till so 
near the day, that he invariably found himself sadly 
feverish when the task was done. Many were the ex- 
hortations which Will Chifney used to give Robinson 
and Harry Edwards (whom we can see sitting as of 
yore, after half his walk was done; smoking on a 
corn-bin, and enveloped in horse-cloths,) to take 
plenty of exercise in the winter, and to act neither 
winter nor summer as "that lazy Sam does.' ; Both 
of them were large-boned men, who stood in ample 


need of such advice ; but with all his exertions, the- 
weeks before the Craven Meeting of 1837 were so cold, 
that Robinson could only just ride 8st. 71bs., and 
Sam gave up his wasting in utter despair, about three 
pounds beyond it. His dislike of wasting did not, 
however, interfere with his regular masters ; but un- 
less he liked the horse, he did not care to trouble 
himself for any one else, and by this indifference to 
his profession, he lost hundreds of mounts. He was, 
in short, not a little perverse on this point ; and when 
a riding retainer was offered him by Lord Chesterfield, 
who merely wished him to take the best mounts and 
leave the rest to Conolly, he declined it, and thus, 
missed winning some of the finest prizes of the day. 
He had, however, gallantly earned his spurs many 
years before he flung this offer to the winds, and 
while he felt truly that his fame would not suffer from 
lack of mounts, he felt still less the necessity of laying 
by funds against an evil day. The term " Old Screw" 
unfortunately had no origin in his handling of money. 
Like his brother, Will was also far too easy and open- 
handed in these matters, and hence he has now to 
mourn over many thousands, which the short memo- 
ries of losers and borrowers have deprived him of- 
" Pipes and Peace" was Sam's creed, and his consti- 
tutional indolence was so great, that he could often, 
be hardly got on to the Heath in the morning to ride 
important trials, even when a favourite master like 
Lord Darlington was concerned. Once for instance, 
whem Memnon was matched for 1,000 guineas 
aside, against Lord Exeter's colt Enamel (whose 
Two Thousand Guinea victory caused his lordship 
and Mr. Tattersall to race by proxy into Devon- 
shire, and knock up her owner at midnight to 
bid for the dam), he had arranged to meet his 
brother at the Ditch stables. For two hours 
did Will wait there with the horses, but no Sam,, 
and he accordingly mounted the winner of the 


St. Leger himself, and won the trial in a canter. 
" A pretty fellow you are to bring me back this way 
without trying the horses !" was WilPs remark, when 
he met his brother at his own stable-door; and " No y 
no ! that won't do, Will / know you too well to briny 
them back without having it out of them/' was the dry- 
good-humoured response. The result of the confer- 
ence was that a good stake was put on Memnon, and 
Will won 650 guineas by his trial mount. 

As might have been expected in a man of his tem- 
perament, Sam was slow to anger, and of few words. 
He was never happier than when sauntering along,, 
gun in hand, and watching his favourite yellow-and- 
white pointer, Banker, wriggling his stern down the 
stubbles ; and this silent system was much more to 
his mind than the " fast and furious" sport of which 
he and his brother often partook with Mr. Thornhill, 
among the pheasant preserves of Biddlesworth. He 
was a great cocker, and delighted in a breed of 
" Vauxhall Clarke" game fowls, which he kept at his 
seventy-acre Fidget Farm. This stud-farm was per- 
fect of its kind, and situated about a mile and a 
quarter from the town, at the extremity of theBury- 
hill gallop. It was here that he had a small plant- 
ing, regularly fenced with wire, and laid out with 
artificial earths for his pet foxes ; and he would sit 
for hours in a summer evening, watching them come 
out to feed and play. Many a gallant bagman drew 
his breath in this little nook ; and when Lord Dar- 
lington visited Newmarket (which he never did in the 
October meetings), he generally went on there, not 
so much to look over the young things, as to get a 
summer wind-scent of the " Charlies," to keep his 
spirits up till he could again throw his leather horn- 
belt across his shoulders, and again enter in his diary 
that the <( darling hounds behaved like jewels." If 
the two Chifneys were not well up with the jewels 
in some of their fastest things across the Bedale 


country, it was not for the lack of having the best 
mounts that his lordship's stables at Newton House 
could afford ; and they not unfrequently went on to 
stay at Kaby, and look through the racing stables. 
Even Sam's phlegmatic nature enjoyed these York- 
shire outings quite as much, in its way, as his 
brother's more mercurial one ; and it is on record 
that, though he had no pretensions to a voice, he 
would be worked up, at long intervals, into taking 
his pipe out of his mouth, and chaunting right lustily, 
in honour of The Duke, the chorus of " With my 
Ballymonoora the hounds of old Raby for me," when 
it was once fairly set a-going in his little snuggery, 
or in the chimney-corner of his favourite inn. 




" Let the song that is borne on the echoes of June, 

Whether sung by the Jones's or Coxes, 
Still have this loyal burden, whatever the tune, 
A good King ; Fleur-de-lis ; and good foxes*" 

t is not our intention to give more than an outline 
of the frivolous, unsatisfactory scenes amid which 
the lot of " George Guelph" was cast, and which he 
only too readily sanctioned. The historian will take 
him as their reflex, and deal out a full and bitter 
measure to him, for all that vice, heartlessness, and 
flippancy which earned him his title of " Florizell." 
Still, to give him his due, we are bound to mention, 
that the one man who had the best means of know- 
ing, steadily maintained the belief, that the public 
sadly maligned a titled beauty, with whom his name 
has been so studiously connected ; and that what- 
ever might have been the pride he felt in seeing her 
grace his court, the two were never even alone to- 
gether. We have now simply to deal with him in 
the one character, in which he pre-eminently shone, 
that of an English sportsman, and only regret that 
he had not ridden at least ten stone lighter. The 
Turf will always reckon him amongst its most devoted 
lovers, although it would be remarkably difficult to 
say from whom he inherited the taste. His father 
never did much more for it than give 100 guineas, to 
be run for annually by horses that had been hunted 


with, his two packs; and if the " ugliest woman in 
Europe 5 ' had fully understood what it meant, it is 
probable,, that like the Glasgow Baillie, she would 
not have admitted a rocking-horse into her nursery, 
" just for fear o' the tendency." The Duke of York's 
devotion to it was scarcely less marked than his 
brother's ; but the Duke of Clarence, on the con- 
trary, although he retained the royal stud for a short 
time, and (" starting the whole fleet," as he expressed 
it), ran first, second, and third for the Goodwood 
Cup, with Fleur-de-lis, Zinganee, and the Colonel, 
in the very year of his accession, cared so little about 
it, that he was often seen to turn his back on the 
horses while they were running at Ascot. In fact, 
he liked George Nelson for his jockey more for the 
sake of his nautical name than anything else ; and 
he was much more in his element when he went be- 
hind the scenes of Old Drury, and tied Jack Ban- 
nister's black handkerchief for him before he rol- 
licked on to the stage in his sailor part. This little 
act is exactly illustrative of the graceful and yet 
dignified bonhommie which the three royal brothers 
always displayed towards those about them; and 
there is very little doubt that nothing but rank jea- 
lousy of the popularity which the eldest acquired by 
it, caused a few turf rivals to join in thai, dead set 
which drove him in disgust from Newmarket. His 
maiden turf career lasted for some seven seasons, 
during which time he had several fair horses, Tot, Sir 
Thomas, Anvil, Hardwicke, &c., and opened some- 
what inauspiciously on May 8th, 1784, when he was 
in his 22nd year. Hermit, lOst. lllb., with 6 to 4 and 
Mr. Panton on him, had to strike the royal colours in 
a 50 sovereigns a-side match over the last mile of 
the beacon, with Surprise, lOst. lib. (Sir H. Feather- 
stone) ; but jockeys were substituted for gentlemen- 
riders in a second edition of the match, at the same 
weights and distance, that afternoon, and although the 


betting veered round to 2 to 1 on Surprise, the for- 
mer verdict was reversed ! Uppark in Sussex was a 
favourite race-meeting in that day, and in addition 
to the Duke of Dorset and his brother, the names of 
Featherstone, Lade, Lake, Hanger, Delme Red- 
cliffe, and Tarlton were never absent from its silken 
fray. A 60 Plate with Anvil over the D. I. in the 
autumn of his maiden season was the first race 
which the Prince ever won at Newmarket, and his 
stud, which then only consisted of four or five, rose 
in 1790 to forty-one ! Chifney senior had only 
ridden for him about two seasons before the Escape 
affair, which took place in 1791. The first sale of his 
stud at TattersalPs was delayed till Dec. 2nd of the 
following year, and then the twenty-eight lots pro- 
duced five thousand guineas. Those who wonder 
now why the Prince nobly chose rather to leave the 
turf altogether than sacrifice his jockey, when Sir 
Charles Bunbury intimated to him that no members 
of the Jockey Club would make matches, or run 
horses in any stake where Chifney rode, are not 
aware of what occurred with Escape in the Ascot 
Meeting of that year. It would have been well if 
he had broken his fetlock in his yearling days, when 
he embedded it with a kick in the wood work of his 
loose box, and caused his astonished owner (Mr. 
Franco) to exclaim, when he heard the story of his 
extrication from the groom " Oh, what an escape !" 
and to christen him on the spot. Soon after going 
into training he became a complete " rabbit" in his 
running " in-and-out," and so delicate withal, that 
in spite of all Neale's care, he seldom kept his con- 
dition for many days together. To give a man such 
a treacherous blute to steer, and then to condemn 
him because he could not always win upon him, 
would, as the Prince felt, have been the height of 
injustice. In the Ascot instance, to which we are 
alluding, he had entered four horses in the Oatlands; 


to wit Escape, Baronet, Pegasus, and Smoker. 
Some five days previous to the race, the four were 
tried at the Oatlands distance and weights, and 
Escape, with Chifney on him, won easily by three or 
four lengths the rest running in as we have named 
them. On the Sunday before the race, Chifuey got 
a message from the Prince to meet him at the 
stables at four o'clock on Monday afternoon. The 
four horses were looked over, and Chifney, the 
moment the sheets were taken off Escape, begged 
the Prince's permission to ride Baronet instead of 
him. Both Neale and Mr. Warwick Lake protested 
against the change, and declared that the horse was 
never better j while Chifney as strongly maintained 
that he had lost his form so completely since the 
trial, that it was impossible to win with him. 
The Prince very soon settled the question, and not 
only decided that Chifney should ride Baronet, but 
added " Whenever I have two horses in a race, I 
wish you, Sam, to ride the one you fancy most on 
the day, without consulting us about it." The race 
was a severe one, but Baronet won it, beating nine- 
teen of the best horses out, while Escape was abso- 
lutely " nowhere." The King and Queen were pre- 
sent, with all their family, to see it, and were not a 
little pleased when the Prince told them the anec- 
dote. Chifney's picture was shortly afterwards taken 
on this horse, by Stubbs; and Nimrod tells us in his 
immortal articles of " The Turf, The Chase, and The 
Road," that the print still occupied, in his time, 
the post of honour over the Old Club chimney-piece 
at Melton, though a generation of sportsmen had 
passed away, and the room had been three times 

With the remembrance of this stable scene fresli 
in Ms mind, it was no wonder that the Prince felt 
sure that Chifney would never play him false ; and 
that Chifney, more sorry for his royal master than 


himself, bore the temporary blasting of his riding 
hopes with such manly fortitude. The Prince was 
also endeared to him for his long and consistent 
kindness ; and, in truth, none but those who knew 
that royal sportsman intimately, could at all com- 
prehend the fascination which he exercised upon all 
who came in contact with him. No man knew bet- 
ter, and was more careful not to overstep the narrow 
line of demarcation between condescension and fa- 
miliarity ; and hence none, save and excepting the 
incorrigible dealer, Mat Milton, when he coolly pro- 
posed to him (i the royal treat" on horse-back, dared 
to take a liberty with him,* however great an opening 
there might seem to be. Even amid the socialities 
of the Beef-steak Club, which was enlarged from its 
chartered 24 to 25 for his sake, he was still " the 
first gentleman in Europe." With Chifney he was 
peculiarly gracious, and he would often walk for 
hours with him on the Steyne, at Brighton, or beckon 
to him to come and sit by his side in his carriage. 
Music was nearly as much his Dagon as a thorough- 
bred. He hung with delight over Wilberforce, who 
was in his earlier days the life and soul of York 
Races, and whose voice was as sweet and powerful to 
his own piano accompaniment, as when it had been 
heard and cheered to the cost of the Coalition Min- 
istry, by assembled thousands of Yorkshiremen, from 
a platform-table in their Castle-yard ; and no one 
regretted so deeply that he should have silenced his 
songs, for conscience sake. His German band is 
said to have cost him 7,000 a-year ; and he used to 
walk round and round them when they played in 
private, and at times would take half a book with 
the leader, and join lustily in one of Handel's cho- 
russes. The late Sir Henry Bishop once came to 

* Beau Brummell always denied, with the utmost indignation,, the 
story of " Wales, ring the bell." 


hear them, and did not care to be seen, as he was 
not in full dress ; but the Prince merrily routed him 
out from behind a screen, where he was drinking in 
the melody, and bade the band strike up " The Chough 
and the Crow" in his honour. The Pavilion might 
be said to be his head- quarters at this period, and 
" the voluptuous charms of her to whom he had in 
secret plighted his faith" were then well known to 
every Sussex gazer* Those who still remember her 
there, when in the heyday of her beauty at forty, 
speak with no small rapture of her stately well- 
rounded figure, her deep blue eyes, and her long 
dark ringlets. She died in the March of 1837, 
faithful to the last to the memory of him who had 
shown himself so little worthy of her love, and only 
three months before " The Sailor King," with whom 
she was always an especial favoured guest whenever 
he visited Brighton. "Perdita" had sent The 
Prince a lock of her hair as a death-bed memento of 
the forsaken ; while Mrs. Fitzherbert is said to have 
addressed some touching lines to him when his own 
hour was come, as from a wife offering her services 
to a sick husband, which he did not peruse without 
emotion ; and she held the pleasant belief that he was 
buried with her portrait round his neck. Dr. Carr 
in a measure confirmed this report, when he was 
questioned by Mr. Bodenham, and replied " Yes it 
is true what you have heard. I remained by the 
body of the King, when they wrapped it round in 
the cere-cloth ; but before that was done, I saw a 
portrait suspended round his neck it was attached 
to a little silver chain." 

Brighton will never see such picturesque Watteau- 
like groups again, as those which were then presented 
by the Prince's court, as it sallied forth from the 
Pavilion, for the evening promenade on the Steyne ; 
the ladies with their high head-dresses and spreading 
"peacock tails," and the two Mannerses, Sir 


Bellingham Graham, and Colonels Mellisli and Leigh, 
as their esquires. Nothing but a dark black-legged 
bay was in those days harnessed to the royal car- 
riages, and they were all chosen with the most scru- 
pulous care by Sir John Lade, whose four bays and 
harlequin postillion liveries formed a turn-out very 
little inferior to those over which he held sway at the 
Pavilion stables. Sir John came of age in 1780, and 
his riches and extravagance in that year were so no- 
torious that even Dr. Johnson wrote a poem on him, 
which he repeated four years afterwards with unwon- 
ted spirit to his attendants, as he lay on his own 
majestic death-bed. Croker's edition, vol. viii., p. 
414, gives the seven stanzas at full length ; and it is 
not a little quaint to find the great philosopher 
ironically exhorting the great whip of that day to 

" Call the Betseys, Kates, and Jennies, 
All the names which banish care ; 
Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, 

Show the spirit of an heir ! 
" Loosen'd from the minor's tether, 

Free to mortgage or to sell, 
Wild as wind and light as feather, 

Bid the sons of thrift farewell." &c., &c. 

The best pen-and-ink sketch of Brighton on a race 
morning when the Prince was in his meridian, and it 
was crowded with " tandems, beautiful women, and 
light hussars," is thus given in Raikes's Diary : 

" In those days, the Prince made Brighton and Lewes Races the 
gayest scene of the year in England. The Pavilion was full of guests, 
and the Steyne was crowded with all the rank and fashion from Lon- 
don. The ' legs' and bettors, who had arrived in shoals, used all to 
assemble on the Steyne, at an early hour, to commence their opera- 
tions on the first day, and the buzz was tremendous, till Lord Foley 
and Hellish, the two great confederates of that day, would approach 
the ring, and then a sudden silence ensued, to await the opening of 
their books. They would come on perhaps smiling, but mysteriously, 
without making any demonstration. At last Mr. Jerry Cloves would 
say, ' Come, Mr. Mellish, will you light the candle and set us a-going?' 
Then, if the Master of Buckle would say, 'I'll take three to one about 
Sir Solomon,' the whole pack opened, and the air resounded with 
every shade of odds and betting. About half an hour before the de- 



parture for the hill, the Prince himself would make his appearance 
in. the crowd. I think I see him now, in a green jacket, a white hat, 
and light nankeen pantaloons and shoes, distinguished by his high- 
bred manner and handsome person. He was generally accompanied 
by the late Duke of Bedford, Lord Jersey,Charles Wyndham, Shelley, 
Brummell, M. Day, Churchill, and oh! extraordinary anomaly! the 
little old Jew Travis, who, like the dwarf of old, followed in the train 
of royalty. The Downs were soon covered with every species of con- 
veyance, and the Prince's German waggon and six bay horses (so were 
barouches called when first introduced at that time) the coachman 
on the box being replaced by Sir John Lade issued out of the gates 
of the Pavilion, and, gliding up the green ascent, was stationed close 
to the Grand Stand, where it remained the centre of attraction for 
the day. At dinner-time the Pavilion was resplendent with lights, 
and a sumptuous banquet was furnished to a large party ; while those 
who were not included in that invitation found a dinner, with every 
luxury, at the Club House on the Steyne, kept by Raggett during 
the season, for the different members of White's and Brookes's who 
chose to frequent it, and where the cards and dice from St. James's- 
street were not forgotten. Where are the actors in all those gay 
scenes now ? '* 

To get high-caste sportsmen round him was the 
Prince's prime pleasure. Few can forget his graceful 
introduction of General Lake to Mr. Lockley that 
brave old rider, who seemed, like Lord Lynedoch, 
almost ready to eat the fox, and went so well in a 
run of an hour and forty minutes from Cheney's 
Gorse, through Ranksboro' Gorse and Whissendine, 
to Lord Harboro's, when he was upwards of seventy, 
that "The Squire" twice took off his cap in the 
middle of it, and gave him a rattling chejr. Cf Gene- 
ral Lake, let me introduce Mr. Lockley to you ; two 
men so eminent in their lines ought to know each 
other," was the Open Sesame of their evening's chat. 
Horses, and everything connected with them, were his 
idols ; and no man had a finer eye for them ; while 
the little Norwegian dun pony, which at one time 
would run about the rooms at the Royal Lodge, and 
sleep on the rug before the fire, was far more precious 
in his eyes than any dog. Hacks and hunters he never 
seemed to tire of trying ; and hence the constant en- 
treaty of Mat Milton the dealer, who used to spend 
hours with him in the stable-yard adjoining Carlton 
House, viz,, to " throw your thigh over him, Your 


Highness, and you'll find him to be the sweetest goer 
you ever mounted," was invariably responded to. 
Hunting, to a man who stood not very much short of 
six feet, and latterly weighed more than 23st., was of 
course out of the question ; but when he was able to 
don his blue coat with gilt buttons, and top-boots, and 
buckskins, after the fashion of the bucks of those 
days, he cared very little what Milton or anyone else 
chose to ask for a clever hack. It used to be a saying 
of the period in Brighton, that, heavy as he was, "he 
rode so well that he never soiled his nankeens/" but 
the exact meaning of the remark is too deep for us. 
He was more fortunate than the late Mr. Thornhill, 
who was as nearly as possible his weight, and 
gave up riding on the heath at Newmarket, " not 
because I can't get a horse to carry me, but because 
/ can't get a horse to stand still under me ;" as his 
hacks, Tiger and Tobacco-Stopper, carried him to 
perfection. Of the former, when he was at last told 
that his legs were so unsafe, through age, that he 
was certain to come down with him, he remarked 
" No, no! Tiger scorns to fall down " while the latter 
was, strange to say, the lightest horse below the knee 
in the whole of his stud. 

Asparagus and Curricle did all that pluck and 
muscle could do under his weight, when he hunted 
with Mr. Villebois in Hampshire; and the Princess 
Feathers are still preserved on the buttons of the 
H.H. When he gave up Kempshot Park, the Duke 
of Richmond's hounds were purchased and installed 
in the Ascot kennels, and the yellow-pied Minos 
was its most favoured occupant. Still race-horses 
and the Hampton Court paddocks lay nearest to his 
heart. Arabs used to be perpetually arriving there 
from Eastern donors, and one Bassora sent him a 
inare and sire of the CEil Nugdy breed, with a cer- 
tificate that the blood had b3en preserved stainless 
for 300 years. Jack llatford used to declare, on his 


honour, that he talked about nothing else in his sleep, 
and even his physicians said that " it was all horses 
horses with him, by night and by day, to the very- 
last/' If he liked a racer, he was perfectly lavish as 
to price ; and when, on his last return to the turf, 
William Chifney bid up Pucelle, the grandam of 
Virago, and then a brood mare, to 1,100 guineas, for 
Lord Darlington, at Lord H. Fitzroy's sale, he 
received a hint that it was no use going on, as Mr. 
Delme Ratcliffe had instructions from the King to 
buy her at any price. Still he was not always able to 
get all he wanted, even in horseflesh ; and the late 
Sir Fowell Buxton, for reasons which he never cared 
to conceal, sturdily refused to listen to his 1,000 
guineas offer for his park horse John Bull. He had 
one peculiarity as regards money that he was most 
liberal with it as long as he did not see it. Cheques 
he would sign away to any amount ; even 390 for 
" Pea-Green HaynesV ; dressing-box seemed as no- 
thing in that form ; but when he had a fifty-pound 
note in his pocket, it was a bitter pang to him to 
spend five pounds of it. If he had paid the bills every 
Saturday night, those Carlton House banquets, which 
saddened the heart of Komilly as he sat and thought 
of the haggard and iron-bound fact of distress from 
Land's End to John o'Groat's ; and the building of 
the Royal Lodge, which so roused the indignation of 
the press and the people, and brought down Mr. 
Whitbread, M.P., in a severe Hampden mood, all 
the way from the House of Commons to Windsor for 
a survey would have very soon been discontinued, 
and peradventure the especial capabilities of Virginia 
Water would have been still unknown. As it was, 
these woodland haunts served to delight him when, 
as a great Edinburgh reviewer wrote to his friend, 
"he was fat, nervous, and lazy," and " arthritic ty- 
ranny" had acquired its deadly dominion over his 
limbs and spirits. 

The year after he returned to the turf (1827), he 


renewed his acquaintance with the Chifneys, by his 
Dervise retainer to Sam, and followed it up by send- 
ing special messages to both of them after Wednes- 
day's races,, to meet him at the Swinley Mile-post, 
and let him see Lord Darlington's Memnon, who was 
to take a gentle canter at four o'clock, previous to 
running for the Cup next day. When all the com- 
pany had gone, His Majesty drove up to the tryst, 
with the Marquis of Couyngham in the pony phaeton 
by his side, and his factotum, Jack Ratford, on an 
Irish mare behind, Jack reigned supreme in the 
Royal household to the last, and many got an 
audience through his agency, who otherwise might 
have waited in vain. He had been a lad in Dick 
Goodisson's stables, and was thence promoted to be 
pad-groom to Old Q," who insisted to the last that 
he should lead the horses about daily from twelve to 
three, in front of his house in Piccadilly, that he 
might still have the pleasure of fancying that he was 
going to take a ride. He knew all the Duke's ways, 
and the latter repaid his care by leaving him his 
coach-horses and several of the things in his London 
house, besides recommending him to the King, who 
kept him. a cab, while he was in his service. 

His royal master had well kept his 1791 vow, that 
he would visit Newmarket Heath no more, and from 
that time to the day of his death, he only once viewed 
its white ghost-like posts and venerable rubbing- 
houses, as he swept along the London road, after 
sleeping all night at the palace, in Mr. Douglas's 
time, on his return from a visit at Holkham. It was 
therefore with great difficulty that Mr. Delme Rad- 
cliffe now got him to train his horses there, on 
representing to him that they got bruised at Ascot ; 
but Jack had seconded the proposition with no little 
earnestness, as his heart yearned to bear his part in 
some Newmarket visits. Still, although the King 
chose to forget his gracious answer to the Jockey 
Club address at Brighton, in which they begged him 


to return to the haunts of his youth, and " earnestly 
entreated that the affair might be buried in oblivion/' 
he felt an immense interest in everything that con- 
cerned the Heath ; and when, on this occasion, Mem- 
non had cantered past him, with Sam "up," he 
rattled away with " Well, William, how are you all 
going on at Newmarket ? How's Pratt ? does he still 
feed his horses on potatoes ? He's Irish, too, is my 
friend here" (pointing with an arch look to the Mar- 
quis) ; and then, with a melancholy thought of old 
times, he added " 1 wish I was among you again, 
William ; but I am very happy here ; I've everything 
to make me so I've my hunters, and my hounds (mo- 
tioning with his whip to the Royal Kennels), and my 
racers again, and Virginia Water and the Lodge; 
but the old enemy' 3 and he shook his head as he 
glanced at his large lace-boot. He had no idea of 
beating Memnon with Mortgage the next day, as the 
latter was a very middling animal, and was shortly 
afterwards turned into a hack in the Pimlico stables. 
Memnon also retired quite worn out before another 
Ascot Cup day ; but at present the King was anxious 
to make a match between him and Fleur-de-lis, whom 
he had just purchased from Sir Matthew White Rid- 
ley, for 2,000 guineas. This idea came to nothing, 
as the Chifneys had never a very exalted idea of 
Memnon in his best day, and Lord Darlington was 
too good a judge to make a match when the horse 
was beginning to lose all form, with one of the very 
finest mares that ever looked through a bridle. But 
for her tumble at the Intake turn, it is very probable 
that she would have beaten him in the St. Leger; 
and as it was, she got as much in the way of The 
Alderman, who was gradually stealing to the fore, 
that Sam was obliged to chuck him up in his stride 
to prevent his falling over her, and only finished a 
fair second. The mare had had another tumble in 
running against Longwaist (for whom 3,000 guineas 
had just been refused), for the Silver Tureen, at 


Manchester, two or three weeks before the purchase, 
and the King was very desirous to match her against 
this crack as well. This subject, of course, was dis- 
cussed, and the King declared that he would write 
proposals forthwith to Mr. No well, for a 1,000 guineas 
a- side match, at Ascot, the next year. " Sam, you 
shall ride her," he added, as that jockey got off 
Memnon, and joined his brother at the phaeton side. 
" Bun them at Newmarket, your Majesty \" chimed 
in the ever- wakeful Jack ; but " No, no ! William, 
they treated your poor father and me very badly ; 
I wont run there" was all the response he received 
to his officious suggestion. Jack having thus thrust 
himself into the conversation, was made to furnish a 
little sport in his turn, and told to canter his mare. 
Away they went the mare gaily cocking her tail, 
and Jack leaning forward in his stirrups, to the in- 
tense amusement of the four; and when he was fairly 
out of ear-shot, the King began with " There's a 
nice mare look at Jack, too, how he sticks himself 
out ; he thinks he can ride quite as well as you, Sam." 
Just as he was going, he added, " You must both look 
in at the Castle, on Friday, and III show you a hunter 
the very image of a horse we had at Albury Park, 
when you were both little fellows with your uncle 
there ;" and so saying, he shook them by the hand, 
and laughingly bade Sam to " have a little mercy on 
my poor Mortgage to-morrow." This was the last 
private interview the brothers ever had with the King, 
and it formed an appropriate pleasant close to their 
then five-and-thirty years' recollections of him, which 
dated from the day they sat at Newmarket, one on 
each knee, and then ran to show their mother the 
guineas he had given them. 

Ascot, in those days, was the delight of the King's 
heart, and for three or four years before his death, 
he had two meetings annually, at a week's interval. 
In 1825, he came for the first time in the royal pro- 
cession up the New Mile, Lord Maryborough leading 


the van, and sitting his horse as few men at his age 
could do, while Mr. Jenner received the cortege at 
the Stand. The Bow-street officers, Townsend and 
Sayres, who were especially attached to royalty, kept 
their Argus-eyes open, and the former sported a hat 
exactly similar to the celebrated one which his royal 
master invariably wore. Its brim was not very broad, 
but the rim of it was very large, and the band in 
proportion. Townsend pushed the resemblance to 
the farthest point, and therefore wore it a little on 
one side ; but his worth was so great, that this curious 
bit of affectation was overlooked. He died very rich, 
at the age of 73, during the fatal cholera season of 
1832, leaving the Court Circular, which was esta- 
blished at his suggestion (( to prevent the public in- 
venting falsehoods, by giving them something real to 
talk about," as a monument for all time to his 
memory. The wags would have it that he bought 
his hats at a high price, and second-hand, from Jack 
Ratford, under the same idea of inspiration which 
incited Captain Barclay to secure the fighting-leathers 
of the lion-hearted Jackson. This modern Eryx also 
stood very high in the favour of the King, who was 
an ardent believer in English beef, bottom, and box- 
ing, and he confided to him the selection of the twelve 
pugilists who kept the Abbey doors at his coronation. 
" Prince Lascelles" had also in earlier times carried 
his imitation to such a height, that Fox, Sheridan, 
and Wyndham, all members of Brookes^s (the club 
which the Prince especially delighted in), prevailed 
on the latter to hide his queue in the collar of his 
coat, when he met him ; and the result was, that he 
immediately rushed home and had his own cut off. 

Once fairly on the turf again, the King entered 
into it with as great interest as ever. Sam Chifney 
rode for him at intervals, but had not a regular 
engagement, as Robinson, Dockeray, Nelson, and 
Pavis enj oyed during the time. Robinson, on his beau- 
tiful mare Maria, was, in his eyes, a perfect picture ; 


and they looked as well together as Nat on Lady 
Wildair in more recent days. He cared but little what 
price he gave for racers. Jour-de-Noces came into 
his hands at 1,500 guineas,, and 1,500 guineas more 
if he won the St. Leger ; and a 3,000 guinea cheque, 
with contingencies, would soon have found its way 
into Colonel King's bank, if he would only have sold 
Bessy Bedlam before the St. Leger, for which she 
was beaten off at the Ked House. When that race 
was over, his affections had veered towards Fleur-de- 
lis, and thus Bessy lived and died in her native Lin- 
colnshire. The Colonel (whose colt out of Fleur-de-lis 
hardly lived two hours) was his most expensive pur- 
chase ; but 4,000 guineas did not stand in his way 
when he was determined to win the Ascot Cup, and 
present it to the pride of his court. Zinganee was, 
however, destined to foil him, and Lord Chesterfield, 
who had made an offer for the horse after he had 
won the Oatlands on the Tuesday, not only men- 
tioned the negociation to him at the Castle that even- 
ing, but gracefully expressed his readiness to break 
it off, and not be in any way the instrument of de- 
priving him of a trophy on which he had evidently 
set his heart. ' ' My dear Chesterfield, never mind !" 
was the frank, jovial answer " Buy the Chifneys* 
horse by all means ; if you dont beat me with him, Gully 
will-, and I don't mind been beaten by you." The 
purchase was accordingly made, and as the Chifneys 
predicted, The Colonel could not live the pace, which 
became very strong, when Sam " sent out" Zinganee 
in the last half-mile ; and we may observe how truly 
the second place of Mr. Gully's Mameluke bore out 
the King's after-dinner prophecy. After a very poor 
career in Lord Chesterfield's hands, Zinganee even- 
tually became the King's property, for, it was said, 
2,500 guineas ; but he was too ill to see him run for 
the Ascot Cup in the following year. Lord Dar- 
lington had nothing in it ; and Sam Chifney received 
a message from the King that he was to settle 


whether Fleur-de-lis, or The Colonel, or Zinganee, or 
all started, and to ride which he liked. He accord- 
ingly choose Zinganee ! but the horse was so light, 
and wasted on the day, that he was quite unable to 
make a shadow of a fight, and was a bad last to 
Lucetta. His royal owner was then on his death- 
bed, and had he ever risen from it, there is no doubt 
that he would have given the Chifneys their price, 
3,500 guineas, for Priam, after the Derby, and made 
a last St. Leger effort. Still, ill as he was, he felt 
so anxious about the result, that he sent Jack Rat- 
ford specially over to Epsom, charging him to come 
back express with the news, the instant the horses 
had passed the post. The love of the sport was with 
him to the very last ; and, as far as royalty is con- 
cerned, with him it seems to have died. Hence, 
despite all his faults, real turfites can never think 
of him but with deep pleasure, and wish that in 
these more degenerate days of light-weights and 
handicaps, they could see fewer money-grubbing 
propensities among our chiefs at the Corner, and 
more frequent glimpses of the genuine racing spirit 
which pervaded their sires on those Heath afternoons 
of old, when 

" The Royal heart of Wales was there, 
Still rushing to the front." 

The Duke of York, Colonel Hellish, and Beau 
Brummell," whom a few still remember to have seen 
together on the Heath about the commencement of 
the present century, were each an epitome in them- 
selves. Brummell used often to be a guest along 
with the Duke of York when the Duke of Rutland 
kept court at Cheveley Park during the race meet- 
ings, and had a bed-room sacred to him both there 
and at Belvoir. He generally dressed for the course 
in a tight green shooting-coat, leathers, and top- 
boots, and was rather a carriage man than one 
of the regular ^Newmarket Cavalry, with whom he 


every now and then indulged in a bet, just to keep 
up a wholesome excitement, and be in the fashion. 
He was, in fact, a mere kid-glove sportsman, and kept 
a few hunters at the Peacock, near Belvoir, and sub- 
sequently at Grantham ; but his stud-groom, Fryatt, 
had the lion's share of the riding, and if he did cross 
a few fields, it was only to get to a good farm-house, 
where he could indulge his inordinate appetite for 
bread and cheese. His pleasantries were the salt of 
the Cheveley battues, but he is not remembered 
to have shot much more than a brace of tame 
pigeons, right and left, on a house-top, as the spoils of 
the morning were being counted over. Those were the 
days when he could really play the magnifico, and 

" Threaten at times, in a superfine passion, 

To cut Wales, and bring the old King into fashion ;" 

or think that a creditor had ample " value received " 
for a 500 loan, because he had hailed him with, 
" How do you do, Jemmy ?" from the door-step of 
the crack club in St. James'-street. Byron's return 
of the great race of European celebrities, when he 
was at his very zenith, was Brummell (1), Napoleon 
(2), self (3) : and the winner was the survivor of the 
only three that were placed, dipping, thanks to the 
kindness of a few old friends who never deserted 
him, his biscuit de Rheims in maraschino to the last ; 
and writing, from his Calais lodgings, to Lord Sefton, 
to say that he was " grinning through the bars of a 
prison, and eating bran bread; think of that, my 
Lord bran bread \" 

The Duke of York was almost as much attached 
to Newmarket as his royal brother, and trained with. 
Butler for a time at the Palace Stables, till William 
Edwards brought the stud of " Fee ! Fi ! Faw! Fum !" 
(as the Heath wags termed the King), thither from 
Ascot. In personal appearance and manners he was 
a true Guelph, and seen to greatest perfection at 


the head of a table. The quaint old toast of " I 
drink to Cardinal Puff " may be said to have died 
with him, and perhaps there is hardly a man alive 
who would know how to propose it with all its intri- 
cate but graceful honours. Thomas Goodisson was 
his favourite jockey, and won the Derby for him by 
a head on Moses, after making his own running 
nearly all the way. He had carried off this race 
six years before, with Prince Leopold, who was such 
a bad-tempered animal that he was placed in Sche- 
dule G. next season, and died in consequence. His 
Highness got well on him at all prices from 30 to 20 
to 1, and won about 8,000 over the race. The 
fancy of the Duchess was dogs and monkeys, and 
she is said to have had nearly a hundred favourites 
of the kind at Oatlands, which had a small cemetery 
especially devoted to their remains. This dog expe- 
rience did not always avail her husband, as, to his 
great sorrow, he once shot the Duke of Rutland's 
liver-coloured Venus dead at a Cheveley battue, under 
the same hare delusion which made Professor Sedg- 
wick fire fourteen times in one afternoon at a keeper's 

Nearly thirty years before his Moses victory, the 
Duke made his celebrated Northern visit, in company 
with the Prince of Wales, who had the satisfaction 
of seeing Sir Thomas (his Derby victor of the pre- 
ceding year) and Tot win three races over Rawcliffe 
Ings. Such days of pleasure and nights of revelry 
have never since wakened up the sober old capital of 
the Tykes ; and even " The Farren " never received 
the plaudits of a more brilliant assembly than that 
which crowded the boxes of its dingy little theatre 
to witness her Beatrice. And yet the festivities of 
Old Ebor paled before those of Wentworth House. 
Twenty thousand spectators ate their fill, and drank 
eighty hogsheads of ale in the Park ; bonfires turned 
night into day in its avenues ; ten thousand coloured 
lamps gleamed in its corridors, and the quiet card 


parties at Doncaster might well nigh have heard the 
ringing shout, as the Prince, with the present Earl 
Fitzwilliam in his arms, stepped forth into the por- 
tico, and gave " The King's Health," " Happiness to 
the People/' and ' ' Prosperity to the Manufactures of 
Yorkshire/' as his toast, through a speaking-trumpet. 
Tot's Doncaster Cup victory formed a sporting finale 
to the visit, in the course of which Traveller was 
added to the royal string for 1,500 guineas. 

The Duke's stud of thirty-two animals, including 
seven hacks and ten grey ponies, was brought to the 
hammer on February 5th, 1827, just three months 
from the date of his death. The Duke of Richmond 
gave 1,100 guineas for Moses, who was very beautiful 
in every point except his feet, which were sadly in- 
firm ; while Mr. Payne bought Figaro, who had run 
Moses in for the Derby, at 200 guineas more. The 
King also gave 560 guineas for Rachel ; but racers 
hacks, carriages, and dogs, only produced 8,804 
guineas a mere molehill,, compared with the 
Skiddaw-like pile of debts which he left behind him. 
Rundell and Bridge, his jewellers, had such an ac- 
count, that Cape Breton was ceded to them in lieu 
of it by the Government of the day : and his taste in 
their line may be judged of by the fact that his rifle, 
which brought fifty guineas, had a gold pan and 

Nimrod has dashed off Colonel Mellish's whole 
contour with such a masterly hand, that our own 
touches would seem clownish after it. We will there- 
fore simply add that that quick-looking, pale-faced, 
and black-haired "Crichton" measured 5 feet 10 
inches, and weighed list. 71bs. He was no Sir Fop- 
ling Flutter, either in dress or mind ; and his friend, 
the late Earl of Scarboro' was never more delighted 
than when he heard him set two disputatious young 
Oxford divines right, over the Sandbeck dinner-table, 
about the whereabouts of a certain passage in Livy, 


His wonderful talents stood him in good stead in the 
Peninsular War, where he was on the Duke of Wel- 
lington's staff, and at times entrusted with the draw- 
ing up of despatches. He had gained some little 
experience of bloodshed at home, as in 1807 he fought 
a duel with Martin Hawke, in a field by the roadside, 
as they were returning in their drags from the York- 
shire election. On this occasion he was wounded 
near the elbow joint, and on perceiving it he imme- 
diately ran up to his opponent, and said, " Hang it, 
Hawke, you've winged me ; but give me your hand. 33 
They were great rival whips, and some ill blood on 
the point, as well as election matters, brought about 
this extempore determination to resort to thirty paces 
and the saw-handles. About this time he also got 
up a prize-fight at Blyth Whitewater, Mr. Gully 
doing duty as bottle-holder. His fighting dog " Jack" 
won no less than 104 battles ; and when Lord Camel- 
ford was very pressing to buy him, it was agreed 
between them to pay for him by weight. He was 
accordingly put into the scales after a hearty meal 
of tripe, and was found to weigh 421bs. ; but it was 
thought derogatory to barter such a piece of gallant 
stuff for coin, and hence a gun and a case of pistols, 
which were valued at eighty-four guineas, formed the 
medium of exchange. The way in which he trained 
his pig to run a match, by feeding it at a certain 
trough, which he choose for the goal, was especially 
characteristic ; and anything connected with a race, 
if it were but two rival drops of rain on a window- 
pane, he loved beyond compare. As a gentleman 
rider ^he also excelled, but his great delight was to 
" put up " Buckle as often as he could, though he 
chose the wrong horse for him (Sir Launcelot) in 
Staveley's St. Leger. He called one of his fillies 
Miss Buckle, but LuckVall was the best animal he 
ever had in his stud, which could also boast of win- 
ners in Quid, Stockton, Little Joey, Peter, and Off- 


she-goes. At the close of 1807 he left the Turf, but 
luck attended him in his last 500 gs. matches,, as his 
opponent's horse (Warrior) broke down while win- 
ning in the first, and Lord Darlington paid to him 
with Trafalgar (who had beaten Mr. Watt's Shuttle- 
cock in a 1,000 gs. match that year) in the second. 
He had, however, long passed his meridian, when he 
kept open house for a fortnight at Blyth Hall, on the 
occasion of the Prince of Wales' and the Duke of 
Clarence's Yorkshire visit, in 1806. Even then the 
title-deeds had departed from him, in spite of San- 
cho's and Staveley's St. Leger victories in the two 
preceding years, and he only kept possession of the 
Hall by virtue of a friendly stipulation to that effect. 
It was a " finish" in every sense of the word, and the 
Prince was said to be the only one who walked up to 
bed without help each night. The little table on 
which the two flirted, long and deeply, with the 
elephant's tooth, is still preserved as a relic in Don- 
caster; and when this melancholy wake of his de- 
parted treasure had ceased, Hellish turned his back on 
Blyth, and resided, whenever he was in the country, 
at Hodsack Priory, a portion of his estate which was 
entailed. Shortly afterwards he married, and devoted 
himself principally to farming and shorthorns a 
pursuit in which the late Charles Champion, of Blyth. 
a very famous breeder, was his principal mentor. 
Mr. Rudd, the vicar of HoJsack, was also very inti- 
mate with him, and, as far as the eye of man could 
scan him, no one tried more earnestly or prayerfully 
to atone in maturer years for the follies of his spring. 
His hour-glass had, however, nearly run out, and he 
died in 1818 of pulmonary consumption, when he 
had barely reached his thirty-sixth birthday. 




" Lately passing o'er Barnsdale, I happened to spy 
A fox stealing on, with the hounds in full cry : 
' Tis Darlington, sure, for his voice I well know, 
Crying 'Forward! hark forward!' for Skelbrook below. 
With my Ballymoonoora, 
The hounds of old Raby for me !" 

j& LT HOUGH Lord Darlington's heart was so 
$ty truly with his " spotted darlings/' as to justify 
Mr. " Antonio" Ferguson's regular remark to those 
who visited his pleasant wayside inn, that " his lord- 
ship never looks like himself after these London 
visits, till he's had a hit of fox-hunting/' we shall 
give no sketch of him in scarlet here. Is it not 
dashed off to the life in the pages of The Chase/' 
and engraved in the memory of Bedale sportsmen ? 
We are about to deal with him, not as he appeared 
with an embroidered fox on his collar, and his horn 
at the saddle-bow, waving his hounds into Gatherley 
Moor, but as he was known to every lover of the 
Heath, quietly cantering towards the Ditch stables, 
with Sam and Will Chifney on either side of him. 
He was born in the same year as Frank Buckle ; and, 
although he only died in February, 1 842, at the age 
of seventy-six, he had begun to run horses in 1794. 
Hence, even in 1827, he seemed to feel so acutely, 
when he visited Newmarket, that 

" Well-a-day ! his date was fled : 
His sporting brethren all were dead I" 


that he hardly cared to join the party at the Club- 
rooms in the evening. However, he found his way 
there, for the first time after a long interval, during 
the Craven Meeting of that year, and after matching 
Memnon against Enamel, with Lord Exeter, knocked 
up Will Chifney, about twelve at night, to learn his 
opinion of this 1,000 guineas A. F. venture. Four 
thousand guineas had been refused for Memnon 
before the St. Leger; and the Chifneys generally 
believed that his lordship gave something like 3,000 
guineas for him. He was a long, loose, big, and 
leggy horse, and supposed to be game a point on 
which the brothers Chifney always considered that 
Bill Scott had overrated him. He had, nevertheless, 
run remarkably well in the hands of the latter, as he 
defeated The Alderman, after a desperate punishing 
race, in the Champagne; carried off the York Spring 
Leger cleverly ; and came in three lengths ahead of 
thirty, the largest field that ever showed at the St. 
Leger post. The tumble of Fleur-de-lis, and the 
consequent disappointment of The Alderman, con- 
tributed greatly to this last result ; but the elegant 
Actaeon, who was third, defeated him in the follow- 
ing August, for a Subscription Purse, over Knaves- 
mire, in one of the very finest finishes ever ridden 
there. The race was over the Old Two-mile Course ; 
but it was only run in earnest three-quarters of a mile, 
which suited Harry Edwards, who knew that his horse 
could go the fastest, to a nicety, and enabled him to 
defeat Sam's terrific rush by a bare head, when he 
brought Memnon, with a stroke of the whalebone, 
which might have been heard to Bishopthorpe, in 
the last three strides from the chair. " By Jove, 
Sam's nailed him ! " was the extatic expression of 
"Will at this moment, as he fairly sprang into the air, 
from the form outside the weighing-house, nearly 
upsetting the present Tommy Shepherd and a group 
of Yorkshire jocks in his descent. Lord Darlington 


was so convinced that his "waiting" orders to Sam 
were wrong, that he immediately challenged Lord 
Glasgow to run him, at the same weights, for a 
thousand guineas a-side over Doncaster. His offer 
was, however, declined, although the subsequent 
running of both the horses, with Florismart, there, 
showed that there was very little between them. 
Early in 1827, Memnon left the Raby training- 
stables for Newmarket, and arrived at the Chifney's 
along with Abron, who had been purchased for 
450 guineas at Mr. RusselPs sale, on purpose to lead 
gallops for him. In the Ascot Cup of that year, he 
triumphed over some very mean opponents ; but at 
Doncaster he fell before the prowess of Fleur-de-lis 
(a fine lengthy mare, with well-let-down quarters 
and big hips), and then ran a dead heat with her for 
second place in the Cup to Mulatto, when Actseon, 
Starch, Longwaist, and Tarrare figured among the 
glorious slain. The Craven Meeting of 1828 saw 
him give in, dead beat, at the Turn of the Lands, in 
the Oatlands, and the turf knew him no more. He 
returned to Raby as a stud-horse, for a few seasons, 
before he crossed the Atlantic ; but King Cole is the 
only winner of note that he left behind him, and he, 
too, is dead now, and The Mummy alone remains. 

Memnon was far from being a solitary instance of 
Lord Darlington's fancy for high-priced horses: and, 
as is invariably the case, the bloom was off the peach 
before it came into his hands, and nothing but dis- 
appointment was the result. In short, he carried 
his whim to such a height, that he is said to have 
invested the half of a 20,000 lottery prize, which 
he had shared with Mr. Heeley, in four or five 
horses, which hardly produced him as many shillings 
in stakes. No one, too, could ever tell why he set 
his mind on Mr. Batson's Serab ; and Will Chifney 
in vain endeavoured to impress on him that the 
horse was a clumsy, unsatisfactory animal, who was 


only overrated because his owner knew his form to a 
nicety, and did not choose to inform the public of it 
by being* provoked into a match. His lordship 
nibbled at the purchase for weeks ; and after having 
his offer of 2,600 guineas refused, he boldly sent a 
cheque for 3,000 guineas, and was soon so disgusted 
with his purchase, that, although Sam screwed him 
in before Lottery for the King's Purse at York, and 
got him second to Bizarre for the Ascot Cup, he 
positively gave him away to a foreign nobleman ! 
Eventually, he found his way to America, along with 
Barefoot, whose price was 2,500 guineas. This son 
of Tramp was barely 15 J hands, with thighs and legs 
like a waggon-horse; and his noble owner was long 
playfully reminded of his wretched bargain by the 
sight of Sir Bellingham Graham's cover-hack, who 
was so completely his fac-simile, both as regarded 
shape and white stockings, that he was duly christened 
after him. So high was the opinion which Lord Dar- 
lington formed of this chesnut after his double race 
for the St. Leger, in the harlequin colours, that he 
forwarded an ineffectual 2,000 guineas a-side match 
challenge to Mr. Udney, the next November, to run 
his Derby winner, Emilius, over the Flat, in the First 
Spring. Barefoot had a strange trick of rearing 
whenever he was brought out of the stable ; the con- 
sequence of which was, that ere Easter arrived he 
had a sad pair of broken knees. Three years before 
that, his lordship had sent Will Chifney to York, to 
make a 2,000 guineas bid for St. Patrick, in case he 
liked him; but Will descried the erring joint which 
subsequently gave way, and would not make the bid. 
Tamboff, Trustee, and Emancipation, all of whom he 
bought for about 2,000 guineas a-piece, were also 
among his other long-priced nags, whose luck was very 
little better ; and he gave 1,500 guineas for Liverpool, 
after he had defeated Chorister at Doncaster. He 
also purchased Wat Tyler, for a very long price, from 



Mr. Thornhill, when he was a yearling ; and such 
was his strange prejudice against Priam, that he can- 
didly said he " could not bear the horse/' and not 
only lost 7,000 about him for the Derby, but backed 
Wat very heavily for that event. The two were never 
put together either in private or in the race, as Wat 
broke down at Mickleham, a few days previous, and 
it was all Crockford could do to get off Lord Dar- 
lington's money. The faulty leg which gave way 
had been a source of uneasiness for some time, and 
began from the very smallest pea-like spot, on a 
small tendon, that ever fell under veterinary eyes. 
The Chifneys examined it anxiously morning after 
morning, and could hardly persuade themselves that 
it boded such deep mischief. Swiss was also another 
of his lordship's expensive 2,500-guinea fancies. Bill 
Scott had won the Champagne as far as possible with 
him, as his owner (Peirse, of Richmond) wanted to sell 
him, in consequence of his Derby nomination be- 
coming void by Lord Clarendon's death. Colonel 
Cradock, who had the refusal of him, and also trained 
with Peirse, pressed his lordship very much to buy 
him, but Will Chifney was very much against the 
purchase, and took care that his lordship should see 
the horse before he had been out in the morning, in 
order that he might not "walk fine." Eventually, 
declining the Colonel's offer to stand half, Lord Dar- 
lington bought the horse outright, and had the mor- 
tification of seeing him break down so seriously on 
the near fore- tendon (which was slightly enlarged), 
in his next gallop, that it was not only six weeks 
before he could be removed, but he was never saddled 
for a race again. He was a slashing, attractive- 
looking animal, of the Whisker get ; lengthy, with a 
deep shoulder, big ribs, and a very coarse head and 

It is no part of our purpose to give an invoice of 
the victories which Sam gained in the "pink-and- 


black-stripe" jacket, during the thirty years it was 
in his keeping. The connexion began with Pavilion ; 
and, though he rode a Memnon colt for his Grace in 
the Derby of 1835, it might virtually be said to end 
with Shillelah. One of the most extraordinary 
matches in the course of it was one in which Merry- 
go-round beat Sorcery at equal weights, A. F. The 
pair had met before at the same weights and distance, 
and the Oaks winner had won in a canter ; but the 
Chifneys were so sure that the horse had not run to 
his form, that they persuaded Lord Darlington to pur- 
chase him, which he did through Mr. Shakespeare, 
and match him over again at the same weights. 
His new owner quite entered into the spirit of the 
speculation, and backed his horse so heavily, that the 
odds soon changed from 4 to 1 on the mare to evens; 
and very cleverly she was beaten. One of the finest 
D.I. finishes that Sam and Robinson ever rode 
against each other was for the Claret, in 1833, the 
former on Lord Darlington's Trustee (a fair-sized 
smart sort of horse), and the latter on Lord Conyrig- 
ham's Minster. Beiram and Margrave were also in 
the race, which, however, lay entirely between the 
other two, and was won by one of Sam's almost 
superhuman efforts of hand and knee, in the very 
last stride. The two ran a match across the flat 
shortly after, and with the same result, though 
Trustee won more easily. Muley Moloch's Port 
victory, the next year, was a much more decided 
one. He was a fine large horse, of whom Sam 
thought very highly, and was purchased as a year- 
ling, for a short price, from Mr. Nowell, of Under- 
ley, during the Doncaster week. Mr. Nowell's fame 
as a breeder stood so well at this time, that a Spring 
Underley Stakes was established at Newmarket; and 
Sam gave a fine specimen of his art by winning it 
on the Duke's very bad Sheldrake colt, in 1830^, 
against Will Arnull, on Prima Donna. 


He had no more luck for Lord Darlington in his 
St. Leger than in his Derby mounts,, and hence " it 
was no wonder/' as The Life remarks, " that he so 
often departed up the North-road like a ' Knight of 
the Rueful Countenance/ and in no great cue for 
the banter and nut-brown ale of the cheery Boniface 
of Barnby Moor." Accident foiled him on The Al- 
derman ; Priam began to give in before the saperior 
stride of Birmingham and the heavy ground at the 
Intake farm; and Mameluke only scuffled off at 
the eighth attempt, about 100 yards in the rear of 
Matilda. It was fully believed at the time that the 
false starts in this last race were got up by the 
Northern jockeys, who were dreadfully jealous in those 
days of having their great prize snatched from them by 
a Southern Derby winner, and still worse by a New- 
market jockey. Perhaps, however, the animals on 
which many of them were mounted had as much to 
do with making a scene as the jockeys themselves. 
It used, indeed, to be a common bet among divers 
low parties, that a certain number of horses, say 
twenty-five, would come to the St. Leger Post; and 
accordingly they would scour the country for horses 
which were certain, in the ordinary course of things, 
not to start bring them up from grass, or anywhere, 
put a jockey or a bumpkin on them, and give them 
orders to pull up as soon as they decently could. Of 
course, owners did not demur to lending their ani- 
mals for 25 sovs. for the day, as it just covered their 
p. p. stake liability ; and thus the taker of a 1,000 
bet of this kind was known to clear nearly 900, 
after all his spirited outlay ! Geloni, who owned to 
white legs and a white tail and mane, was suspected 
to have been run on this system in Mameluke's year, 
as he was ridden by a lad in gaiters, who pulled him 
up before they reached the road; and horses like 
those, whose own chances were nil, were just the 
ones, designedly or undesignedly, to kick up a 


devilry when a Derby winner came to the post in 
a fret." 

There were those who thought that Sam had 
waited too long with the magnificent Voltaire, in 
Rowton's year, and that if he had come sooner, or 
if the race had been fifty yards further, he would 
have won. The latter notion is probably correct, 
but no man with Chifney's fine knowledge of pace 
dared hurry his horse, and try to live with Rowton, 
at the tremendous bat at which Scott sent him along, 
without the semblance of a pull, from the hill. All 
he could do was to keep creeping up inch by inch, 
and trust to the little chesnut " coming back " 
under such terrible treatment, and then catching 
him close at home. It was one of Bill Scott's 
bruising days ; and when he and Sam talked over 
the matter privately, he confessed that he was so 
confident that he could win by twenty yards, that 
he c( drove the horse till he was fairly drunk/' The 
Voltaire party, headed by John Smith, his trainer, 
who was always very jealous of the Duke's southern 
division, were anxious to have a match, and to put 
John Day up; while the Chifneys and Bill Scott 
were so eager to bring them up to the scratch, that 
they offered, with Mr. Petrels permission, and through 
Col. Cradock, to lay 2,000 to 1,000, and run the 
two at even weights, or to lay 1,000 even, and give 
71bs., on the following Friday. Chifney was to have 
ridden Rowton in the second bout, as it was his 
riding which had been so especially attacked ; but 
Lord Darlington, seeing that Scott and Sam were 
so perfectly agreed as to the St. Leger running, 
declined to lend his horse, and defeated Laurel, 
Fleur-de-lis, &c., with him for the Cup on the 

In the case of Marcus, Sam's St. Leger luck was 
more gloomy than ever. This son of Emilius who 
was purchased by the Duke from Mr. Thornhill, 


when a yearling, for 250 guineas had won a race 
at Newmarket in the spring of that year, and had 
beaten Chorister easily in a rough gallop, when the 
Duke's Northern and Southern lots met at exercise 
on Doncaster Moor. Although the decision has 
always been most bitterly impugned by the Sad- 
dler's backers, Chorister (on whom his owner won 
7,000 at very low odds) had the race given him by 
" a short head ;" while Marcus, like Plenipo three 
years afterwards, was the last but one. Before Sam 
dismounted, he had come to the firm conclusion that 
the horse had been poisoned ; and when a pony and 
one or two more racers who had stood at the same 
inn, died, and were found on dissection to be full of 
arsenic, many called to mind how a certain ill- 
favoured stranger had sat by the Doncaster Arms 
copper on Sunday afternoon, pretending to read a 
newspaper, as the stable-lads came for warm water ; 
and how he casually, as it were, warned the servant- 
maid when she arrived with her kettle, not to use 
the water, as " it looks so yellow and greasy-like." 
This, and the Ludlow affair of the following year 
when Lord Darlington delivered as vigorous a dia- 
tribe against horse cheats, on the betting-room table, 
as Lord Stanley had done shortly before against 
borough-mongers, on the table at Brockes's in- 
flicted blots on the racing escutcheon of Doncaster 
which a meeting with less innate vitality and less 
powerful prestige could never have effaced. 

If Lord Darlington and Sam had met their match 
in Bowton, when they tackled him with Voltaire at 
Doncaster, they were doomed to a still more decisive 
disappointment when they encountered the " chesnut 
bullock" with Shillelah at Epsom. Connolly soon 
placed all opposition at a discount, when he found 
that Sam (who had lain much forwarder throughout 
than was his wont) had settled "Our Jim" on Glen- 
coe, and was trying to close with him. For five or 


six strides he lost sight of Sam altogether, and then 
found him, as if by magic, at his girths. Jem Bland, 
who stood to win along with Halliday some 60,000, 
and whose well-known slogan of " Whool lay agin 
Shey-lay-lee ?" had pierced the ears of the Ring for 
months previous, was never the same man again. 
Stevens, the sporting fishmonger, was also left la- 
menting over the 20,000 which had suddenly faded 
into thin air, and both the Chifneys were hard hit. 
Shillelah was a big, leggy, brown horse, excessively 
speedy, but not powerful, and withal very delicate 
and difficult to train. He was made second favourite 
for the St. Leger at starting, and it was after this 
memorable Touchstone triumph, in which he assisted 
by running eighth, that Sam bade adieu to the 
saddle in Yorkshire. 

But we must now leave the pink and black stripes, 
and have a peep at Sam in the white body and red 
sleeves of Mr. Thornhill. His engagement to Perren's 
stable had given him several mounts for The Squire 
of Biddlesworth previous to 1818, but it was not till 
the Derby-day of that year that the two were espe- 
cially identified in the public mind. Such was Mr. 
Thornhill' s opinion of his talent, that he had christ- 
ened his Derby colt of that year " SAM/' in his 
honour. This son of Scud was a low, lengthy, and 
plain sort of horse, with a sour countenance, and a 
delicate constitution ; and ten days before the race 
he went so much amiss, that Mr. Thornhill thought 
seriously of hedging the greater part of the 15,000 
which depended on the result. Owing to the fretful- 
ness of Prince Paul, the first favourite, the horses 
only got off at the tenth attempt, and then Chifney 
quietly waited till Prince Paul had run himself out, 
disposed of Raby, and won cleverly by three parts of 
a length. Raby, against whom 50 to 1 was laid at 
starting, was in the same stable, and the property of 
Lord Darlington, who had given up his first claim on 


Sam Chifney for the day. He had nominally come 
to Epsom in Perren's charge ; but as it was thought 
better that there should be a divided duty, a friendly 
arrangement was entered into, and Will Chifney had 
the sole management, for the fortnight, of the horse, 
which his brother was to steer. The series of false 
starts rather upset ft Sam," who consequently gave 
his namesake not a little trouble at the post. Owing 
io the hard state of the ground, the race was run 
from end to end in a cloud of dust, and it was only 
when they neared the distance post, and the beaten 
horses dropped out of the front rank, that Sam 
caught a glimpse of the one horse (Prince Paul) 
he at all feared, and quickly crept up to make his 
challenge. Robinson had won his maiden Derby on 
Azor in the preceding year, and though Sam had no 
brace of St. Legers on his list, the luck of the two at 
Epsom was in a measure equal, as the one won two 
Derbies and five Oaks, and the other vice versd. 
When the two Sams returned to Newmarket, Ben 
Marshall was commissioned to paint a picture of 
them, which was hung forthwith in the dining-room 
^at Riddlesworth. In the following year he painted 
one of Shoveller to match it, in which Will Chifney 
holds the mare by the head, while a lad is rubbing 
her down. Sam was fond enough, in after-years, of 
strolling into one of his stables, in which Marshall 
perpetually set up his easel, on account of its excel- 
lent lights, and peeping over his shoulder while he 
was at work ; but no one disliked sitting for his like- 
ness so much. "Never easy, Mr. Chifney, when 
you're near an easel," was the old painter's favourite 
pun; but on this occasion, while his first Derby 
laurels were still fresh, he was pretty patient in Ben's 
hands, and, though the lips are perhaps rather thick, 
the Riddlesworth portrait aptly represents the coun- 
tenance and long easy seat of the jockey of thirty- 
two. Herring painted his likeness in after-years in 


the great picture which he executed for Lord Kel- 
burne, of the York Match, and also in his start for 
the Derby ; he never sat to Harry Hall, but a most 
capital full front likeness of him in the Darlington 
colours, by Spalding, is to be seen in the centre of 
the sheet-picture of Southern Jockeys. 

Ben Marshall, the painter, was, as we have said 
before, a great ally of the Chifneys, who admired him 
as a painter nearly as much as they did Robson in 
his more practical art. He came into especial notice 
on the death of Stubbs, who had a great run among 
our forefathers, which none of his pictures quite seem 
to justify. Stubbs painted figures and landscapes as 
well as horses, and especially excelled in the first of 
these three walks. The late Frank Butler had a 
picture by him of his grandfather the first Sam 
Chifney riding a horse in and setting-to with a 
slack rein, in which the figure is most beautifully 
painted, while the horse is very moderate. We 
have, however, seen some of his horse groups, one 
especially of some mares and foals at the Marquis of 
Westminster's, in London, most capitally drawn and 
painted. His chief failing was a lack of anatomical 
knowledge, and his horses in motion were stiff and 
unnatural to the last degree. He adopted the old 
style of making the hind pasterns bend inwards in 
the gallop, instead of outwards, as they are now more 
correctly drawn. Marshall was originally a West- 
end valet, and did not set up his easel till he was 
above thirty. At first he confined himself to portrait 
painting, but as he soon found that " gentlemen 
would give 50 guineas for the portrait of a horse 
when they grudged 10 guineas for their wife's," he 
migrated from London to Newmarket. He was an 
idle painter, and a great bon vivant ; very full of 
humour and anecdote, and seldom, if ever, worked 
after his two-o'clock dinner. Those who watched 
him at his easel used always to declare that he painted 


much more with his thumb than his brush. The 
Margravine of Anspach was one of his first patrons, 
as were also Mr. Thornhill and Lord Sondes, at 
whose house he made long visits. His early style 
was entirely original ; he painted mostly for effect, 
with wonderful feeling for light and shade, which 
with his brilliant colouring, brought him hosts of 
admirers. The treatment of his subjects was quite 
Cuyp-like in its breadth ; while his feeling for aerial 
perspective gave immense power to his groups. 
Latterly his style became careless and coarse, and 
his once-brilliant colouring degenerated into vul- 
garity. Although for many years it was the fashion 
to have every great winner painted by him, it was his 
figures rather than his horses which made his racing 
pictures so life-like and attractive. Still, in this 
point Harry Hall has quite equalled, if not beaten 
him ; and we know of nothing of Marshall's which 
can bear comparison with the study of Nat and his 
pony in Lord Clifden's picture of Surplice, or of 
Harry Stebbings leading Knight of St. George to the 
St. Leger post. Even when he put forth his greatest 
powers, his horse-drawing was rather that of a well- 
taught man than a lover of the four-legged subject ; 
and in his picture of the match between Sir Joshua 
and Filho da Puta, the portrait of the latter (who 
was trained, as a writer of the period [1817] observes, 
"by a very civil and apparently deserving young 
man of the name of John Scott") hardly gives one a 
worthy idea of the magnificent sixteen- and-a-half- 
hand son of Haphazard. He quitted Newmarket 
in 1832, and died in London two years after- 
wards; and his most enduring monument is to be 
found in the long series of engravings from his 
works which embellished the pages of the Old 
Sporting Magazine. 

In the course of the autumn of " SALT'S " Derby 
year, Mr. ThornhilFs horses left Perren's, and were 


placed under Sam's charge, as trainer, although his 
brother William looked principally after them. With 
brothers less attached to each other, an arrangement 
of this kind might have led to some misunderstand- 
ing ; but during the whole of their long connection, 
both as regarded the management of Mr. ThornhuTs, 
as well as Lord Darlington's stud, which came from 
Perreir's to Sam's some few seasons afterwards, they 
never ceased to be of one mind. The very next 
Epsom meeting saw them successful for Mr. Thorn- 
hill in the Oaks with Shoveller a small, lengthy, 
and blood-like whole-coloured bay mare, of whom 
they gave him so good a report, that he won nearly 
20,000. In this race, Sam convinced Frank Buckle 
that the high opinion he had long entertained for 
him was not unfounded, as he waited on him from 
the moment he took up the running with Espagnolle 
at Tattenham Corner, and making one of his magni- 
ficent rushes in the last two strides, defeated " the 
governor" on the post by a head. His Thornhill luck 
had not, however, run out with the half-sister to Sam, 
as the Derby of the following year (1820) again fell 
to him with Shoveller's full-brother Sailor, who won. 
the Derby on his third birthday. Such a delicious 
Epsom sandwich for one owner as two Derbies, with 
an Oaks between, has never been known either before 
or since. Sailor was a plain, light-fleshed, chesnut 
colt ; rather leggy, but at the same time very power- 
ful, and though he had by no means a large foot, 
deeply devoted to mud. This last quality was most 
opportune, as the whole of the night preceding his 
Derby was a perfect hurricane of wind and wet. Sam 
was lying comfortably in bed, recruiting himself after 
a heavy walk in the sweaters on the preceding evening, 
and knew nothing of his brightening prospects till he 
called for his slender tea-and-toast breakfast ; while 
William, on the contrary, was exposed to the pitiless 
tempest at four in the morning, as he rose from his 


bed at Headley, and wended his way down the hill to 
Mr. Ladbroke's, where Sailor was standing, with the 
remainder of Mr. ThornhilPs horses. The booths on 
the race-course were cracking and flying abont every- 
where "'neath the breath of the howling blast" ; but 
although Will had to wade through a perfect Balak- 
lava of liquid slush, and was wet through long before 
he reached his charge, he told his friends that he felt 
as if he could have stopped and danced with pleasure, 
as he knew that none of the fourteen could touch his 
Sailor now. If Jem Bland had still been Mr. Lad- 
broke's coachman, he might have perhaps had this 
weather secret confided to him, instead of losing so 
heavily on Sailor as he did. As it turned out, Will 
had taken the mud measure of his horses most ex- 
actly ; and Mr. Thornhill was so confident from the 
same cause, that he made Sailor as good a favourite 
as anything before starting, and won 23,000 on 
him. At this period Mr. Thornhill was about forty 
years of age, and weighed 23st. 31bs., or about 31bs. 
more than a sporting Suffolk farmer, one Mr. Dobito, 
who had a great love for trotting horses, and used 
often to sell him a nag. These had been so well 
accustomed to Mr. D's. weight, when they came to 
hand, that Mr. Thornhill regularly rode on the 
Heath, and only took to the yellow phaeton and the 
greys in the few last years of his life. Sam's racing 
career after the Derby was most ignoble, as he was a 
bad-constitutioned horse, and, like Shoveller, lost 
all form ; but Sailor's chance was cut short by death 
during that very autumn. Will Chifney had taken 
him out on the Heath as usual one morning, and was 
watching the string as they rose the hill from the 
bushes, when he suddenly observed him stop in his 
stride, cross his legs, stagger about two hundred yards, 
and then drop. He had broken a blood-vessel in the 
chest, and was quite dead before Will could gallop 
up to him and get off his hack. The horse must have 


lost all consciousness in an instant, as, for the first 
time in his life, he crossed the road at the Turn of the 
Lands, without taking it at a flying jump, as was his 
eccentric and unvarying practice, even though he 
might be in the iron grip of Sam himself. He fell 
dead about seventy yards on the Newmarket side of 
it, and it darted instantly through Will's mind that 
there could be no hope, as he had forgotten to 
rise at his favourite spot. Albert died on the Heath 
not many years after, with Connolly on his back : 
but he died in his stride, and did not go nearly so far 
before he fell : and Orinoco's death was equally in- 
stantaneous. It was said at the time, that Will Chifney 
gave Sailor unduly heavy work, and had horses regu- 
larly posted for him in his sweats. Both he and his 
father were good match trainers, but not great for two 
or three races together. Their match horses were 
brought to the post as fine as wax-work, but very 
light : they set them very sharp, stinted their water, 
had them out for exercise, varied with frequent four- 
mile sweats, four or five hours a day, and bled them 
upwards of a couple of quarts a week, till within a 
fortnight of the race. Such at least is the testimony 
of their still surviving cotemporaries, who will stick 
stoutly to the over-training of Priam. 

Mr. Thornhill's Epsom luck with the Chifneys 
reached its acme on the terrific Sailor day ; and dur- 
ing the ten years more that his horses continued under 
their charge, none of them were ever again placed for 
either of those two races. Mustard was " nowhere " 
to Gulnare in the Oaks ; and an own sister to Sam 
and Sailor was equally unfortunate in Zinc's year. 
The same may be said of Reformer, who was first fa- 
vourite when Sir John Shelley won the Derby with 
Cedric, and had been purchased for 1,500 guineas 
some six weeks before. His colt Merchant (who 
failed hopelessly for this race in 1828) was always an 
especial fancy of his owner's: low, lengthy, and strong ; 


and tried to be so good after he won the Prendergast 
and the Column, that a third Derby seemed distinctly 
to loom in the future for Riddlesworth. The winter 
blasted all these hopes, as he went dead amiss, and 
was never really in form again. Once more, however, 
his bankrupt spirit seemed to revive, and Sam asto- 
nished the Heath considerably, and Lord Exeter still 
more, by defeating the much-vaunted Varna in 1829 ; 
while his friend Robinson, on Lucetta, had an equally 
noted triumph over her fair stable friend Green-mantle. 
It was on the strength of the high opinion which 
they entertained of Merchant that the Chifneys were 
first tempted to buy Zinganee from Lord Exeter. 
Sam had of course ridden Merchant in his two-year- 
old races ; and both he and Will were so convinced 
that Wheatleyhad not made enough use of Zinganee 
when he ran second in the Prendergast, that they 
soon afterwards made an offer of 1,200 for him. 
His Lordship returned them an answer to the effect 
that, considering the horse's good engagements, 
1,500 was about his price; and a cheque for that 
sum was at once forwarded. Reformer never did 
much to wipe out his Derby failure, and Sam's prin- 
cipal performances consisted in winning a match on 
him against Don Carlos, and running a dead heat 
with the same horse in a second match. Ringleader 
also won a somewhat extraordinary match against 
Strephon. The horses had run a match before, which 
had come off easily in favour of Strephon ; but Will 
Chifney had kept his weather-eye open, and con- 
sidered that Buckle had so completely out-generalled 
Will Arnull, that, if Mr. Thornhill would only buy 
the horse, and put Sam "up," things, as in the 
Merry-go-round match, would be altered. He was 
so set in his opinion, that Mr. Thornhill acquiesced, 
invited Mr. Lechmere Charlton to shoot at Riddles- 
worth between the Second October and the Hough- 
ton meetings, and succeeded in making another 


match at the same weights and distance. Mr. Charl- 
ton jumped at such an apparently foolhardy offer, 
and was not a little chagrined at the result. 

During the seasons 1830-42, Mr. ThornhilPs 
horses were in the hands of Pettit ; and Connolly had 
nearly all the mounts above 7st. 71b. Still, auld ac- 
quaintance could not be entirely forgotten, and Sam 
appeared in the Riddlesworth colours at intervals, 
and won two matches in them on Menalippe in 1840. 
It was owing also to the express wish of Mr. Thorn- 
hill, who was very intimate, and trained with Mr. 
Gurney, that he rode and won the Ascot Cup on that 
very peculiar horse St. Francis. In 1843, the season 
after poor Connolly died, Mr. ThornhnTs horses were 
placed under his charge, both to train and ride. The 
lot consisted of Extempore, Elixir, Example, Eringo, 
Elemi, and one or two others ; and were certainly 
not calculated, in cardsellers' parlance, " to do much 
for the owner's name," although the blood of Emilius 
coursed in their veins. This magnificent son of Or- 
ville, whom he purchased for Mr. Udney, for 1,800 
guineas, was quite as dear to Mr. Thornhill as ever 
Touchstone was to the late Marquis of Westminster. 
The old horse survived Buckle, who rode him for the 
Derby, when he made all the running to Tattenham 
Corner, was headed, and then " came again, 57 nearly 
seventeen years, and his owner, who left special in- 
junctions that he should never be sold, for nearly 
four years. He was buried near the ruins of Easby 
Abbey, at whose stud farm he died (within a few 
months of Mulatto, The Colonel, and the Saddler), 
leaving Priam, Plenipo, Mango, Euclid, and Oxygen 
to keep his memory green in the Epsom and Don- 
caster annals. Of the high-bred " EV which Sam 
Chifney had in hand, Extempore, own sister to Eu- 
clid, was quite the flower; and the old jockey, who 
was then not many years short of sixty, donned the 
sweaters again with no little heart, to take off some 



12lbs., in order to ride her for " The One Thousand" 
in 1843. Nine started, and George Edwards on 
Spiteful fought it out till the very last stride, when 
" The Old Screw" made his effort, and just won a 
head. It seemed quite like old times again, when 
he mounted his hack and rode alongside Mr. Thorn- 
hilPs phaeton to receive his congratulations and de- 
scribe the race. His two last matches were on the 
same mare, and in both of them he had the pleasure 
of beating his old friend Robinson once on Cowslip 
and again on Semiseria. The latter match, for 500 
sovereigns, h. ft., came off on May 7th, 1844, and 
was a .worthy finish to a great Newmarket career, 
which had then extended over nearly half-a-century. 
He was perforce obliged to abandon his waiting sys- 
tem, as he knew that Semiseria could go much faster 
than his mare ; and, in fact, her match with Queen 
of the Gipsies was said to be the fastest thing ever 
run at Newmarket. Sam, consequently, started at 
score over the A.F., and cut her down before they 
reached the cords. The appearance of the veterans 
created quite a sensation, even among the matter-of- 
fact Ring-men. There was even betting between 
the two -, and Sanr's grim weather-beaten visage was 
not altogether proof against the roar of delight which 
welcomed him as he rode back to scaie, casting a 
knowing look of triumph at Robinson, who gave him 
the warmest of greetings in the weighing-house. 

Only twice more was the well-known name of 
" S. Chifney" entered in the book of a Clerk of the 
Scales once opposite Elemi in the Derby of that 
year, and again, and for the last time, opposite Ex- 
ample in the Oaks. In 1843 the issue of this race 
had been between himself and his nephew Frank 
Butler, and he had then been forced to alter his 
waiting tactics, and come on in front a quarter of a 
mile from home. The old tutor was, however, des- 
tined to be beaten by the pupil, and there was no 


resisting Poison's challenge at the Stand. This 
struggle might be said to be decisive of the point, as 
to whether the uncle or the nephew was to win the 
largest number of Oaks. Already had the uncle won 
five on Briseis, Sorcery, Landscape, Shoveller, and 
Wings while the nephew won five after this one; 
and, in fact, just commenced his great career in the 
saddle when the uncle quitted it. Mr. Thornhill 
and Sam might have jogged on comfortably for some 
years to come, but the fatal escutcheon was above 
the hall-door of Biddlesworth before the next New- 
market July, and the latter settled down in the pre- 
mises which his late master was found to have left 
him for his life, and never attempted to waste again. 




" Now fitfully by gusts is heard, 
He's fifth he's sixth he's fourth he's third : 
And on like an arrowy meteor flame, 
The stride of the Derby winner came." 


THE years 1829-31 may be said to have seen the 
Brothers Chifney at their zenith. Up to that 
time they had kept no private horses of any high 
stamp, although Pendulum was a fair country runner; 
whereas in 1828 they brought out Zinganee, in 1830 
Priam, and in 1831 Emiliana. The latter filly won 
the Clearwell and the Prendergast Stakes, with 
Robinson on her, in such style that both Derby and 
Oaks seemed almost mortgaged to the stable ; and 
even the quiet Sam is reported to have taken his 
pipe out of his mouth, and remarked, in one of his 
unwonted inspirations, that " if he did not win them 
he would be hung to the nearest tree." The backers 
of the chesnut at the Corner derived much comfort 
from this handsome proposal; but during the winter 
she "got a leg," and was so out of tune on the 
Derby day, that Sam (who rode 21bs. over-weight) 
could make nothing out of her, although she re- 
covered her running in a measure towards the close 
of the season. The coarse, coffin-headed Margrave, 
whom she had beaten cleverly in the Clearwell, was 
fourth, and Beiram fifth. Mr. Petre's Rowton came 


to Newmarket about the same time, after keeping up 
in the North for two seasons the character which he 
had acquired by making his own running and defeat- 
ing such horses as Voltaire and Sir Hercules in the 
St. Leger. The Chifneys had kept an eye on him 
ever since Sam got his measure on that memorable 
day with Voltaire ; and even when he came into their 
hands for his fifth season, they declared him to be 
" the best horse at all distances from half a mile to 
four miles that they had ever trained" no small 
praise from the owners of Priam and Zinganee. His 
sire wasOiseau,who also distinguished himself through 
Revolution and some rare four-mile horses in the 
north ; while his dam Katharina was by Woful. The 
price was 1,000 guineas ; and at one time John Scott 
thought of taking half of him, but changed his 
mind, from a feeling of delicacy towards Mr. Petre, 
whose luck was then sadly on the wane. In shape 
he was, perhaps, as nearly perfection as possible; 
low and lengthy, perhaps rather light-timbered, but 
with beautiful quarters. His head was small, clean, 
and deer-like, with an exquisitely expressive eye; 
and casting our memory back over the thousands 
of thorough-breds we have seen stripped, we know of 
few that we would not more readily have spared to 
the foreigners. One leg had required a good deal of 
care before he arrived at Ascot to encounter Cama- 
rine for the Gold Cup, in 1832; and this coarse, big 
mare, whom Robinson always considered some pounds 
better than Lucetta, presented a quaint contrast to 
her elegant little opponent, who looked little qualified 
to give her 171bs. for the two years. The race was 
one of the most extraordinary and interesting ever 
run, and The Saddler was soon beaten off. Chifney 
walked 150 yards, and then cantered in front till 
about three-quarters of a mile from home, when he 
went on at a terrific pace Robinson waiting with 
the mare till about 70 yards from the chair, where he 


challenged, and a most punishing head-and-head 
struggle, in which the great Newmarket rivals seemed 
to ride for ( ' Westminster Abbey or Victory," ended 
in a dead heat. The Chifneys would have been glad 
to compromise the race, and let the mare walk over ; 
but the crowd was so great in those primitive days, 
when Grand Stand enclosures were unknown, that 
they could not find Sir Mark Wood. It is not likely 
that the baronet would have fallen in with the offer, 
as he had taken up some warm notions about a collision 
which had occurred between the pair as Robinson 
closed up, and would have it that Sam jostled his 
mare; while Sam as stoutly maintained that the 
mare had swerved on to his horse, and knocked him 
out of his stride. In the second bout Rowton made 
the running, Camarine waiting two lengths off; but 
his leg failed him after he passed the Brick Kilns, 
and the mare won easily. The produce of the two 
or rather the two and Cetus in 1835, was the ches- 
nut Glenlivat, who was brought to the hammer, when 
a yearling, after Sir Mark Wood's death. He was 
so wonderfully handsome and blood-looking, that 
Lord Exeter bid him up to 1,000 guineas; but Lord 
George Bentinck who then used Mr. Bowes' name 
in his nominations went on with another ten-guinea 
bid, and secured him. Will Chifney had told Mr. 
Thornhill, who was anxious to bid, that he was not 
worth a fifty-pound note ; and he turned out to be 
nearly correct. He contrived, however, when re- 
ceiving 361bs,, to break down Hetman Platoff in the 
Leamington Stakes, in the same fashion that his 
dam had eight years before treated his sire. Rowton 
was also honoured with the smiles of the 1,100-guinea 
Pucelle, when she was in the Duke of Cleveland's 
stud; and from their union sprang Virginia, who 
was in her turn the dam of Virago. 

Zinganee was tried so highly during the spring of 
1828 that Mr. Thornhill, as well as his owners, stood 


heavily upon him for the Derby. He beat a field of 
ten for the Newmarket Stakes (825) very cleverly, 
although he was up to his fetlocks in dirt ; but fate 
was against him in his Epsom preparation ; and he 
had barely reached that town when his throat swelled, 
and he ran profusely at the nose almost up to 
the hour of starting. In spite of his distemper, he 
looked a winner all over till within eighty yards from 
home, when his Tramp stoutness could avail him no 
longer ; and he was fain to finish a fair third to Cad- 
land and The Colonel, who made a dead heat of it. 
The race took a great deal out of him, and he was 
very weak all the summer, and got beat at the turn 
of the lands, in the Oatlands. Few could have 
guessed that so much racing power lurked under 
such an unpromising exterior. He was a lengthy 
horse, rather more than fifteen hands, lightly built, 
and with very thin thighs. His back ribs were very 
good ; but, in addition to a pair of white heels, he 
had a very sour countenance, which deeply-sunken 
eyes did not tend to light up. The Newmarket 
season of 1829 was inaugurated by his victory, with 
Sam again on his back, for the Craven Stakes, when 
Fleur-de-lis (Pavis) was only beaten by a short head. 
The mare ran at a great disadvantage, as she carried 
about 321bs. of dead weight; but still she was so 
vastly superior in stride and power to her opponent, 
that nothing but Sam's herculean style of riding his 
little horse home just brought him through. To 
quote the vigorous report of Mr. Ruff, ( ' he absolutely 
lifted his horse in first by a bare head." In the Claret 
Stakes the pair were again successful. Buckle had 
seldom been more disappointed than on losing this 
race, as, after making 7st. 121b. his lowest riding 
weight for years, he had specially reduced himself to 
7st. 81b., in order to ride his favourite Rough Robin. 
Robinson, on Cadland, was disposed of half-way be- 
tween the turn of the lands and the Duke's Stand, 


and at the latter point Chifhey " got to evens with 
Buckle, made his terrific rush, and won easily by 
two lengths/' Zinganee's condition was so perfect 
on this day, that he hardly turned a hair on pulling 
up ; but he had a cough for nearly five weeks after- 
wards, and was only able to take sixteen days of 
strong work before the Ascot Cup. 

The entry for this race was one of the most splen- 
did ever known, and comprised two Derby, one St. 
Leger, and one Oaks winner. It was calculated 
that the eight which came to the post had had 24,000 
guineas refused or paid for them at one time or 
another. There was the leggy and powerful-quar- 
tered Mameluke, for whom Mr. Gully had paid 4,000 
guineas to Lord Jersey, after he had won the Derby ; 
while The Colonel, who had passed out of Mr. Petre's 
hands into the King's, at 4,000 guineas, for the sake 
of winning this one great prize, was once more side 
by side with his old rival Cadi and, who was said to 
be priced at 1,000 guineas less. The latter offer had 
also been refused for Lamplighter, and Lord Exeter 
would certainly have not taken less for his favourite 
Green-Mantle. Mr. W., a betting man, made an 
offer of 3,000 guineas for Zinganee the day before ; 
but, as the Chifneys did not like the party for whom 
it was made, and felt some apprehension chat it was 
intended to square him, they declined to treat. His 
victory in the Trial Stakes on Tuesday had put them 
on velvet, as regarded their Derby losses, and, re- 
membering the good old maxim, "Sell when you 
can/' they parted with him to Lord Chesterfield for 
2,500 guineas on the eve of the race, with the stipu- 
lations not only that Sam was to be in the red-and- 
blue, but that they were to receive the 340 sovs. 
stakes, and his Lordship the Cup. Tho opinion of 
both brothers as to their certainty of success ic best 
shown by the following letter, which William Chifney 
despatched to Lord Darlington, who was anxious to 


be guided by his advice in his TattersalFs operations 
on the Monday. It ran as follows : 

" Sunningliill Wells, Monday morning, 8 o'clock. 

" My Lord, 1 lose no time in answering your lordship's note de- 
siring me to remit my opinion of the horses in the Ascot Cup. 

41 Cadland and Mameluke are good horses; the latter, at times, 
shows temper, and will require the most skilful management to make 
him run to his best form amongst a field of horses, and the slightest 
mistake in this respect will be fatal to him for the race. The Colonel 
is badly shaped : his ribs and quarters are much too large and heavily 
formed, and will cause him to tire and run a jade ; independent of 
this defect, the course, of all others, is especially ill suited to him, 
and will cause him to fall an easy victim. Still his party are so ex- 
ceedingly fond of him, as to think no horse can defeat him, and they 
have backed him for an immense sum. In the face of all this, I 
entertain the most contemptible opinion of him, for the distance of 
ground, and I fear nothing whatever from him. Lamplighter is not 
sufficiently good to cope with the company he will have to meet ; and 
neither Green-Mantle nor Varna, although good mares, can have a 
chance with the old horses over this strong course. 

" I have the best horse in England at this moment in Zinganee ; 
and if the race is desperately run, which I hope and anticipate it will 
be, and my brother sends him out the last three-quarters of a mile, 
to keep the pace severe, I shall be very much surprised and greatly 
disappointed if I do not see him with the Cup on Thursday without 
the slightest degree of trouble, notwithstanding the powerful field of 
horses he has to contend against. 

" I am. your Lordship's most obedient servant, 


"The Earl of Darlington." 

Such a Carnival, as far as carriages were con- 
cerned, has never been seen at Ascot, either before 
or since. " Through the wood follow me ! " was the 
key-note of every Justice Shallow, Falstaff, and 
" Merry Wife " for twenty miles round Windsor on 
that great Cup day, whose next anniversary saw the 
pulse that beat highest in the royal stand faintly 
ebbing away. The carriages were in some places 
nearly twenty deep by the side of the cords, and the 
verderers declared that nearly ' ' half a mile of them" 
never reached the course at all till the Cup was run 
for. After three false starts, George Edwards, on 
the 2,000-guinea Bobadilla, made the running till 


far beyond the Swinley post, Zinganee lying off 
about seventh, and Wheatley on Mameluke, watch- 
ing him so jealously that whenever Sam eased his 
horse for a few strides, he instantly followed suit. 
Three-quarters of a mile from home, the Windsor and 
Belvoir Castle chances were quite out, aud, as Will 
Chifney had foreshadowed in his prophetic note to 
Lord Darlington, Zinganee suddenly went through 
his horses like a minie-ball, Mameluke still hanging 
on to his quarters until half way up, when he could 
live the pace no longer, and Sam landed the Bretby 
colours amid loud shouts enough to scare every 
faun and dryad from the shade of Herne Oak for 
life a clever first by two lengths. The Chifney s 
won about 1,200 on the race, and took 500 of "it 
at 2J to 1 through Mr. Greville, just before starting. 
Mameluke's running did not surprise his friends, as 
he was always suspected to be rather a jade over a 
distance of ground. His temper had been perfect 
when he was in Tiny Edwards' s hands ; but it had 
been sadly ruined, as Bloomsbury's was in after* 
years, during his St. Leger training at Hambleton. 
After his gallops on the Moor, he had been allowed 
to walk about among the horses which were grazing 
there, until at last he politely took to noticing them, 
and rearing whenever he passed one. This habit 
utterly nullified his training ; and when he came to 
the St. Leger post, among a very large field of 
horses, he could hardly be got to face it at all. By 
the aid of Mr. Gully's cart-whip and Sam Chifney's 
whalebone, he did get off at the eleventh hour of 
asking, but he was nearly one hundred yards behind 
Matilda ; bad as the mare was, it was ' ' her day/' 
and he could not, with all Sam's nursing, give 51bs. 
and hold his own, when he crept up to her within 
the distance-post. Robinson always entertained the 
highest idea of Mameluke before the Derby, while 
Tiny Edwards (who was always one for quick work) 


as strongly believed that lie was inferior to Glenart- 
ney. Lord Jersey sided with Robinson ; and Crock- 
ford often used to tell, with a chuckle, how Tiny fairly 
groaned with horror when he rode up to him on the 
Heath during the First Spring, and said " Holloa, 
Tiny ! if you see the Peer, tell him I have got another 
hundred for him out of Glenartney. 33 The public 
made Glenartney, who was ridden by Harry Edwards, 
first favourite at starting, against a field of twenty-two 
(which comprised Sam in the royal livery on Winder- 
mere, and "Will Wheatley on Mr. Sadler' s Defence), 
and relieved their feelings when Jem came sailing 
past him on Mameluke, by saying that " he could'nt 
have lost if the bridle had broke ." Over a short dis- 
tance of ground, perhaps no horse of the day possessed 
such a high turn of speed as Mameluke, and hence 
the Chifneys knew that their only chance of winning 
at Ascot depended on their making the running too 
severe for him. Zinganee received lOlbs. from him 
for his year in the Cup, and the handicappers reduced 
this difference to 41bs. when they adjusted the 
weights for the Garden Stakes. 

Zinganeer's day was virtually over when he passed 
out of the Chifney's stable, and Lord Chesterfield's 
trainer, Prince, had never any luck with him. This 
failure was not extraordinary, as he was a delicate- 
constitutioned animal, and although he stood the 
strong preparation for which the Chifneys had be- 
come so famed, he equally baffled William Edwards 
when he became the property of the King for 2,000 
guineas. Cadland beat him a head for the Audley 
End Stakes in the autumn of his Ascot Cup year. 
Will Arnull having orders to force the running, a 
mode of tactics which made his horse show temper. 
In fact, he could never bear hurrying, in his best 
day, and never fairly waked up till he had gone 
nearly three-quarters of a mile. An odd proof of 
this was given in a trial he had with one of the late 


Duke of Portland's horses over the Bunbury Mile. 
Lord George Bentinck and a friend were looking on, 
about half way, while the Duke of Portland, accord- 
ing to his wont, stood at the ending post. As the 
two passed them, Zinganee seemed beaten off, and 
hence they were not a little surprised when the Duke 
told them that he had only given it by a neck against 
the old horse. He only once got as far as Doncaster, 
where he ran a " half head " second to Tyke for the 
Fitzwilliam Stakes, and was forthwith scratched for 
the Cup, where Voltaire would have shown him 
monstrous little mercy. Sam was engaged to ride 
him for both races ; but he was so confident, on see- 
ing him, that there would be no Cup mount, that he 
begged off, and Will Arnull took his place. After 
winning such an Ascot Cup but three months be- 
fore, he could not bear to be beaten on him, and he 
felt that a fond public would lay 7 to 2 on a horse 
whom he knew to be some 121bs. below the form 
which he had run to in his own and his brother's 
hands, and not put the most charitable constructions 
on his defeat. In fact, he was only once more on 
his back, and then the horse was " as weak as water," 
and had some trouble in being a decent last for 
the Cup, which he had won so proudly the year 
before. His leg gave way in the First October of 
that year, when he met Cadland for the Whip, and 
his chequered career soon afterwards came to a 
close. For a few seasons he was put to the stud in 
England, but his stock were generally very light, 
and although Beggarman and Chymist, out of Oxy- 
gen, ran fairly, he did but little for the fame of 
Tramp, and ended his days, like Kowton and Priam, 
in America. 

It was on a fine morning (as the novelists remark) 
just before the July meeting of 1828, that the Chif- 
neys sauntered out together to look at Sir John 
Shelley's young things, which had come up to New- 


market for sale, and were taking their airings at the 
foot of the Warren Hill. A report had reached them, 
that there was a wonderfully fine colt by Emilius, out 
of Cressida, among the lot. The blood of this re- 
nowned son of Orvile was just coming into fashion, 
and as they were both stricken with a deep fancy for 
the colt the moment they set eyes on him, Will boldly 
determined to make a dash for a second Zinganee, 
and to have him at any price. He was quite un- 
broken at the time, and the stable were so anxious 
to keep him, that they ran him up to 950 guineas. 
Beyond that point they would not go ; and Mr. Tat- 
tersall knocked him down for 1,000 guineas to Will 
Chifney. There was no room for him at either 
Will's or Sam's stables, and hence he stood for a few 
months at Sam Day's, and learnt his first lesson in 
the way he should go from the hands and lips of 
Martin Starling. During the whole of his two-year 
old season he was untried, either in public or private. 
Dilly had a share in him along with the Chifney s, 
and the three were so confident in his powers, that 
they engaged him very heavily, trusting to their no- 
tions of his form, and a rough gallop or two with 
Zinganee before Ascot. The first horse he ever gal- 
loped with was Flacrow, and Will declares that he 
never saw any young thing run so raw, or get beaten 
off so far. He was a dark-bay animal, about whom 
good judges formed the most opposite notions. Lord 
Darlington took a violent dislike to him, and never 
believed that he would stay the Derby course ; while 
Lord Chesterfield used enthusiastically to declare 
that he could look at him all day, and that he was 
" the only blood horse he had ever seen." If the 
shaggy Russian Major, who attended on a pony at 
our recent Spring Meeting on the Tchernaya, had 
looked him over, he would indeed have said he was 
" English hoarse, fleet as winds for course, as would 
gain the reward." At the first glance, he seemed 


rather a tali, short horse; but although he was 
slightly leggy, he could hardly be said to want length. 
In height he was a trifle above fifteen-three, rather 
light-limbed, and with lightish back-ribs, from which 
his opponents especially drew their " short-coursed " 
inferences. His great beauty lay in his fore-hand ; 
and he had deep oblique shoulders, and one of the 
most expressive and blood-like of heads. Lord Dar- 
lington had well-nigh proved his evil genius, as the 
horse caught a violent cold from a long inspection 
which he made of him when he passed through New- 
market, to see his darling Derby hope, Wat Tyler, 
on his road from the North, during a very cold 
March. Priam's throat swelled so much, that he 
refused his corn, and at one time it seemed doubtful 
whether he could come to the post for his Craven. 
Meeting engagements, for which his owners had 
backed him very heavily. In the Biddlesworth race, 
Will Chifney stationed himself half- way up the D.M., 
and the horse was running so unkindly when he went 
past him, that he sung out to Buckle some extem- 
pore directions. " Frank " got a 50 douceur for 
his win, as the Chifney s were always exceedingly 
liberal on these occasions, and was thus apostrophized 
by Will, when they met in the weighing-house, 
' ' Why, Frank, what the devil was you about for the 
first half-mile you rode him so contrary to your 
usual good style ?" Buckle jokingly answered that 
Will was quite right, but that the horse had been so 
awkward at starting, that he could not get him set- 
tled into his stride till they were nearly in the cords. 
Kean, who had run second to Patron for the Two 
Thousand Guineas the year before, and Flacrow, who 
afterwards became a Melton crack, and distinguished 
himself by winning a great steeple- chase in that dis- 
trict, gave him his Derby work turn about, along 
with Wat Tyler, whom Sam was to have ridden at 
Epsom. When the latter's leg gave way at Mickle- 


ham,, Will Chifney was in great hopes that he could 
have secured Sam for Priam, and offered to lay Lord 
Darlington 1,000 to 100 against the horse, if he 
would consent ; but his Lordship was inexorable, and 
claimed him for the Sheldrake colt. Mr. Hush was 
applied to for Bobinson with equally ill success, as 
he was also heavy against Priam, and firmly insisted 
on his first call far a wretch called Ivanhoe ; and 
therefore the " green and black cap " of the family 
was intrusted to Sam Day, who had won the Derby 
on Gustavus nine years before. 

To get from Newmarket to Epsom in those days 
was no May game. Priam and his four companions 
started at four o' clock in the morning on the Friday 
week before the Derby day, and Will Chifney caught 
them up on his pony long before they had completed 
their twenty-one miles 5 walk to Newport. Will, who 
was a great walker in his prime, put some of the 
commissariat across his pony's back on the second 
day, and walked all the remainder of the way by the 
side of his favourite, who excited not a little interest 
among the sporting innkeepers on the road, who had 
been anxiously looking out for " t' Newmarket nag." 
A twenty-two miles' tramp brought the procession 
to the Cock at Epping, on Saturday; and long before 
morning church was finished, it had passed down 
Piccadilly, and reached Smith's stables, which stood 
at that time near the head of Sloane-street. A quiet 
' ' office " had been given to a few of the Jockey Club, 
to whom Priam granted a long audience in the course 
of the afternoon. He was far on his road to Mickle- 
ham Downs before any more visitors could arrive in 
the morning, and had thus a clear nine days of quiet 
preparation before the Derby, which, from its esta- 
blishment in 1780 (when Dioined, Priam's great- 
grandsire, won it) up till Amato's year, was always 
run on a Thursday. The facts of the race, for which 
twenty, three started, are easily told. Little Red 


Rover was supported with such spirit by the great 
betting twins of that day, Messrs. Gully and Rids- 
dale, that Priam could never be got to shorter odds 
than 4 to 1. The latter showed, as in the Riddles- 
worth, his strong dislike to seeing fresh faces at the 
post ; and hence, when after a profusion of false 
starts the flag dropped in earnest, Sam Chifney looked 
back grimly in his saddle as they swept oif in a per- 
fect cloud of dust, and saw Priam still dancing on his 
hind legs in most approved Ducrow fashion, at the 
post. However, " the sprig of myrtle" got him once 
more on all-fours, and although he was last off, and 
lost several lengths, Sam and Robinson (who were 
in difficulties already) had the pleasure of seeing him 
shoot past them like a swallow before they had gone 
400 yards, and get on to good terms with Little Red 
Rover, Mahmoud, and Augustus, at Tattenham Cor- 
ner. Once there, Sam Day took his pull, and waited 
with them to the Grand Stand, where the " narrow 
blue stripes'" declined, and all Templeman's efforts 
on his chesnut could do nothing against Priam when 
he came in earnest. " Two lengths " was the fiat, 
and the Chifneys won about 12,000, including the 
stakes much less than public report chose to attri- 
bute to them. Priam walked over for the Ascot 
Derby in the course of the next fortnight, and be- 
came an immense favourite for the St. Leger, for 
which they very fairly concluded that he could not 
be beaten. 

No horse could do better during the summer ; and 
it was with high hopes of making a more brilliant 
stroke than ever, that Will Chifney again set out on 
his walking pilgrimage with him to Doncaster early 
in September. Stilton was their goal on the first 
day ; and on the next they pushed forward to Exton 
Park, the seat of the late Sir Gerard Noel, some five 
or six miles from Stamford. Here a halt was made 
for nearly a week, during which Priam was sweated, 


and did some good work each morning in the Park. 
Bebington was the third stage, and Retford the 
fourth. Mr. Clarke was not at home when Will 
gave a passing call at his cheerful hostelrie at Barnby 
Moor; but his good spouse took a look at Priam, 
and sent out her best ale to the lads to drink the 
Derby winner's health. When they reached the In- 
take farm stables, Will Chifney was disposed to con- 
sider Birmingham, by Filho da Puta a great brown 
seventeen-hand horse, with the Haphazard and Or- 
vile strains in him as his most dangerous opponent ; 
till Sam Day, who had ridden Cetus against him at 
Warwick, assured him that Priam had nothing to 
fear, and that in his opinion Birmingham would not 
like the distance. The horse did strong work (though 
by no means so severe as the Northern trainers chose 
to report) on the Town Moor up to the Sunday be- 
fore the race, which was then always run on a Tues- 
day ; and, mindful of Malek's celebrated bolt to his 
corn-bin, Will would never lead him on or off it by 
the Intake-farm Gate, but skirted it through gaps 
purposely made in the hedges of the Corporation 
Meadows, and so through the gate near the Rubbing 
House. The weather for some days before the St. 
Leger had been so bad, that, as old Will Carter was 
wont to say, the course was " deluded with wet," and 
the twenty-eight starters were nearly up to their 
fetlocks between the T.Y.C. post and the Red House, 
at which latter point the water literally stood in pools. 
Sam did not at all relish the immense stride of Bir- 
mingham, as he took his canter alongside of him, amid 
thunder, rain, and lightning. The brown was so 
powerful that Connolly could hardly hold him ; and 
it was all he could do to pull him from the edge of 
the ditch, into which the pair nearly rolled head- 
long. Before they reached the Intake turn, the heavy 
ground had brought Priam to grief ; but he struggled 
gamely home, and was only beaten by half a length. 


The Chifueys made no excuse for the horse on the 
score of condition, as they believed him to be some 
pounds better than he had been on the Derby day; and 
it was apparent to his backers that sound ground would 
have made all the difference, Hence Mr. Tattersall 
made an offer to run him against Birmingham over 
the same course at even weights on the Friday, and 
lay 2,000 to 1,000 on him, or to run him for 
1,000 even, A.F. at Newmarket in the First Spring, 
and give 31bs. ; but both these offers were declined. 

After a day's rest, Priam was all fresh again ; and 
with 2 to 1 on him, and receiving -nly 51bs. for his 
year from Retriever, beat the latter q^ite easily in a 
500 sovs. (h. ft.) match at a mile and a half. This 
defeat sent Retriever to 20 to 1 for the Cup, which 
he won from Medora, Laurel, Fleur-de-lis, See., 011 
the next day ; and caused Lord Glasgow to fall back 
on Harry Edwards for an explanation of his horse's 
running in the match, and to make proposals for an- 
other at Newmarket in the spring, which eventually 
went off by consent. About the November of this 
year, Mr. Payne and Will Chifney had some nego- 
tiations about Priam; but, fortunately for Will, who 
was not indisposed to sell for 2,000 guineas, they 
also fell through. He had lost none of his form 
when the doors of the Newmarket Stands and 
Rubbing Houses once more creaked, after a winter's 
idleness, on their rusty hinges ; and with Robinson on 
him, won both the Craven Stakes and the Port. In 
the former of these races he beat a field often, among 
whom was Tranby, who distinguished himself so much 
in Mr. Osbaldeston's 200 mile match in the Novem- 
ber of that year. Sir Sandford Graham was rather 
sweet on him about this time, but he thought too 
long about it; and Lord Chesterfield who then 
owned his half-brother by Middleton, and had got 
back Zinganee from the Royal Stud purchased him 
fqr 3,000 guineas the evening after he had won the 


Port. High prices for tried horses were more fre- 
quent in those days than they are now, and the Chif- 
neys seemed always to be in the thick of them. Lord 
Darlington would have gladly given 4,000 gs. for 
Mameluke shortly after the Derby, and Mr. Thornhill 
bid Mr. Batson 5,000 guineas for Plenipo a few weeks 
before the memorable Ascot Cup of '35. Mr. Gully 
in the one instance just anticipated the Earl, and Mr. 
Batson, at, we believe, the instance of his eldest son, 
declined to part with his horse at any price. 

Priam's first essay for Lord Chesterfield was at the 
First Spring, in a 200 h. ft. 8st. 71bs. each match, 
over the T.M.M., against Lucetta, who was a year 
his senior, and had won the Ascot Cup in the pre- 
vious June. Sir Mark Wood had originally given 
2,000 guineas for this mare, on the strength of a 
private trial, and in the plenitude of his confidence 
gave orders to Robinson to try and cut Priam down. 
The spirit with which each animal was supported was 
akin to that in which the backers of St Hubert and 
Lord of the Isles indulged for " The Two Thousand/' 
when "The Squire" observed that, " to hear them 
talk, their horses must be more than clippers they're 
alarmers." It was a very severely run match, and 
created enormous interest ; but Sam made very short 
work of the Hare Park mare when he challenged in 
the ropes. This was the last time Sam was on him ; 
and in the whole of his victories, except this, either 
Buckle, Connolly, or Robinson were his steersmen. 
The latter knew him to a nicety ; and, in fact, Lord 
Chesterfield's regular jockey, Connolly, thought he 
went so oddly in his gallop on the Tuesday before the 
Goodwood Cup (1831), that he called to Robinson, 
who was on the ground, and requested him to give 
him a canter. " Our Jim" returned the horse with 
an assurance that he was all right, and he won the 
Cup easily enough, and repeated the performance in 
the following year under 9st. 131bs. Weight and 



distance were no particular object to him, as he beat 
Lucetta cleverly over the Queen's Plate Course at 
Newmarket in the same week they ran their match, 
carrying list, to her list. 91bs. Perhaps his great- 
est performance was in the Second October of 1831, 
when he gave 161bs. to Augustus in a 300 sovs. (or, 
as it was generally thought, a 500 sovs. p. p.) match 
across the Flat. Augustus had always been a name 
of dread to the Chifneys, long before the Derby, and 
they had endeavoured to buy him out of Priam's 
road ; but their fears, which were somewhat increased 
after he won the Two Thousand Guineas, proved 
groundless, as he was only fourth to him at Epsom. 
In the present match, which was the most dashing 
that Lord Chesterfield ever made, and caused some 
heavy betting, Augustus made all the running at a 
great pace, and put Priam into such desperate diffiU 
culties at the Bushes, under his 9st. 21bs., that it was 
all Robinson could do to prevent him running out 
on to the lands. The Sultan blood of Augustus was, 
however, none of the stoutest, and he died away so 
completely in Will Arnull's hands, as he rose the 
hill, that Robinson, who had got a pull at his horse, 
was just enabled to catch him a few strides from the 
chair, and win by half a length. He did not start 
in 1831-32 for the Doncaster Cup, in both of which 
years his old rival Birmingham was fifth for it to 
The Saddler and Gallopade ; and he never went 
through the great Ascot Cup test of Derby and St. 
Leger winners, which brought fresh laurels to Mem- 
non, Touchstone (twice), Van Tromp, Flying Dutch- 
man, Teddington, and West Australian ; and which 
Mameluke. Rowton, The Colonel, Cadland, Rocking- 
ham, Plenipo, Bloom sbury, Attila, Foig-a-Ballagh, 
Cossack, Voltigeur, Stockwell, and Saucebox all 
essayed in vain. Although Will Chifney knew that 
Priam would not be allowed to start for it in 1831, he 
entered him, for a sort of sale advertisement, as well 


as a protest against the exclusiveness of the new rule. 
In the following year he was " off" ; and Rowton, 
Camarine, and The Saddler were the only starters. 
The rule that no horses should start, except they were 
the property of members of the Jockey Club, or 
Brooke's, or Whites, was established in 1830. It 
really and truly arose out of the annoyance which was 
felt by the King and his Court (just as the course was 
cleared for the Zinganee Cup race) at a non-titled 
owner going to the door of the Royal Stand, and 
requesting, in what they deemed too authoritive a 
tone, to speak to Lord Maryborough about some 
defect in the course arrangements. 

At the close of the season of 1832, the confederacy 
between Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Greville was dis- 
solved, and his lordship's horses quitted Prince's 
charge for John Scott's. Priam never reached Mai- 
ton, but retired into private life along with Zinganee 
at Bretby Park, where his fee was 30 sovereigns, or 
thrice as much as that of his less esteemed compa- 
nion, which, however, subsequently rose to 15 sove- 
reigns. The latter, in spite of his ill-luck, had 
always been a great favourite with his lordship, as 
he was the first heavy purchase he had made, at a 
time when his stud, which increased in after-years 
to nearly thirty, only consisted of five. Sultan was 
the premier of that day, and fifty sovereigns were 
charged for his services, while Emilius was priced at 
forty, and Partisan at twenty. On the turf Priam 
was only twice defeated, and he remained in England 
for nearly four seasons. Green Mantle was one 
of the first mares that arrived at his paddocks, 
but Troilus was no very worthy son, and, in fact, 
with the exception of the Dey of Algiers, he can 
hardly be said to have got a colt of any note. His 
fillies were very superior, and he left behind him a 
yearling and a two-year-old (Miss Letty and Indus- 
try), both of whom took Oaks honours, as well as 


Octaviana, in foal with Crucifix. Lord Chesterfield 
parted with him in the Second October Meeting (the 
very week that Sam's Fidget Farm was sold) to 
Mr. Tatter sail, who bid 3,500 guineas for him, on 
behalf of an American breeder. Brother Jonathan 
was determined to fly at high game, and have no 
ring-tailed roarer, and hence the fame of the pur- 
chase spread so far and wide through the States, 
that he got back a great part of his purchase -money 
in the very first season ; and all attempts to redeem 
him at 4,000 guineas for England were utterly use- 

Epsom had nothing more for the Chifneys in its 
lucky-bag after they drew its great prize with Priam, 
but they started two for the Derby in the following 
year to wit, Exile with Macdonald "up," while 
Sam rode the Surprise filly at 41bs. overweight. The 
filly was equally unfortunate in the Oaks, though 
Sam wasted 21bs. on the evening of the Derby, in 
order to start her on even terms with Oxygen and 
her other lady-friends on the morrow. Will lent 
her to Mr. Osbaldeston, when he rode his great 
match on the Round Course against time, in the 
following November ; and she did her four miles in 
9 minutes 10 seconds no bad performance for a 
three-year-old over such a course, and uncier llst.41bs. 
Emiliana made nothing out in the Derby of 1832 ; 
but Harry Edwards and Sam were both in the 
Chifney green on the Derby day of 1833 ; the 
former on Prince Llewellyn, and the latter on Moor- 
hen, whose dam (Shoveller) he had just shoved in 
first for the Oaks some 14 years before. The two 
brothers did not agree on this occasion about their 
nags' forms, as Will Chifney thought very highly of 
Prince Llewellyn, while Sam would not have it, 
and preferred wasting down to 8st. 21bs. for Moor- 
hen, who beat the Prince in their places. This filly 
had the honour that autumn of giving Frank Butler 


liis first winning mount at Newmarket, in a han- 
dicap plate, against a field of ten. Frank (who rode 
7st. 21bs. in the above race) was never in his uncle's 
stables, but attended occasionally to gallop their 
horses, and ride trials ; and he always owned with 
honest family pride, that the eminence which he 
afterwards attained in the saddle was not a little 
owing to the valuable hints he received from them. 

Although William was hard hit by Prince Llewel- 
lyn, he was so far from being disheartened, that he 
gave John Scott 1,400 for Connoisseur, who had 
run second for the Derb}^ and determined to make 
a last effort for the St. Leger. The Whitewall form, 
however, could not be improved upon, and the brown 
son of Chateau Margaux and Frailty was sold; soon 
after his Doncaster race, for 600 guineas, to Count 
Batthyany, and died on ship board, en route to 
Hungary. The defeat of the Duke of Cleveland's 
Shillelah for the Derby, and the building of a hand- 
some house at Newmarket, which was recently occu- 
pied by the Bradleys, dealt a decisive blow to the 
Chifney fortunes; and in the June of 1834, their 
stud was brought to the hammer. The elegant 
Rowton passed into Jem Eland's hands at 1,000 
guineas, and Shillelah's dam and Emiliana at 320 
guineas each ; while the Marquis of Westminster 
bought a Whisker filly at 260 guineas, the same 
price as was given by Lord Darlington for a Sam 
mare. An Emilianus colt also went to Eaby, and a 
Sam gelding was bought in. But once more were 
the colours of the family seen at Epsom, where they 
were sported by Frank Butler in his maiden mount 
for the Derby, on The Athenian, in 1836. Frank's 
luck on that occasion very faintly foreshadowed the 
two St. Legers, two Derbies, and six Oaks which were 
in store for him, as his sadly wayward colt, after 
causing an infinity of false starts, was left behind at 
the post. 


After 1834, Sam ceased to go North altogether, 
and what little riding he had from that date, was 
confined to Newmarket, Ascot, and Epsom. He 
whipped-in for the Derby on Lord Chesterfield's 
Critic in 1837, and never got off at all on Mr. 
Payne's Young Rowton, out of Emiliana, for the 
same stake in the following year. The jockeys were 
so unprepared for the actual start, that several of 
them half-stopped their horses, feeling sure that it 
would not be one ; and Sam actually had his ches- 
nut's head turned the contrary way at the moment 
the ill-timed signal was given. St. Francis (Pettit) 
was in the same predicament, and oddly enough, it 
is in connection with his magnificent riding of this 
companion in trouble, that many of our more modern 
turfites date their Sam Chifney recollections. He 
was a little strong horse by St. Patrick, and perhaps 
one of the most shifty and idle animals that a jockey 
ever crossed. "Lazy Lanercost" was a piece of 
quicksilver compared to him. Robinson and Chifney 
both agreed that in all their experience they had 
never met with one that was half so difficult to ride; 
and both were generally quite exhausted when they 
weighed in. A more varmint-looking pair never 
paraded before the Ascot Grand Stand than Sam on 
the Saint, who whisked his long switch tail about in 
not the pleasantest of moods, when he felt that his 
plain snaffle was in hands which would brook no 
nonsense. The horse belonged to Mr. Gurney, who 
was an especial friend, and trained with Mr. Thorn- 
hill at Pettit's ; and it was by the wish of the latter 
that Sam was " put up" in several of his races. 

The Ascot Cup of 1840 was his leading victory ; 
but the severest task was the riding him for a 100 
D.I. Plate in one of the Houghton Meetings. On 
this occasion Robinson beckoned to Butler, as he 
met him cantering on his hack towards the cords, 
and said, " Come back with me, and I'll show you a 



treat of your uncle's riding such as you never saw yet. 
He's got St. Francis in hand to-day, and I know what 
a slug he is !" Accordingly the two stationed them- 
selves at the turn of the lands, and when the horses 
came towards them, Butler exclaimed " Why my 
uncle's horse is dead beat he will be last !" " Come 
along" rejoined Robinson, smiling; "you' II hear a 
different tale at the chair ;" and when they did get 
there, Frank vowed he would " take care and never 
believe again that my uncle's beaten till he's past the 
post." Lord Jersey, and two or three more of the 
Jockey Club, saw the race about two distances from 
home, and even there St. Francis seemed to be 
shirking his work so completely from distress, that 
they could hardly believe their ears, when they heard 
that the judge had given him the race by two or 
three lengths. 

Sam's riding of Bloomsbury against Robinson on 
Clarion, for the Cesarewitch of 1839, also created a 
great deal of talk at the time, and was one of the 
most exciting finishes ever known on the Heath. 
Coming through the Ditch-gap, he was nearly 150 
yards behind the light weights, who were raking 
away at a fearful pace ; but he crept up so gradually 
inch by inch across the flat that when Robinson 
found him at his quarters, he involuntarily exclaimed 
" Where the devil did you come from?" His rush 
was one of the most tremendous he ever made ; but 
the horse flinched under nine stone, and he was most 
bitterly disappointed to hear that the race had been 
given against him by a neck. He came up right 
under the judge's chair, while Clarion ran rather 
wide, and he always maintained that the judge had 
overlooked him. We cannot say how far his belief 
was correct, but not a few sided with him ; and it 
was well known to be rather a failing of the late Mr. 
Clark's, to overlook the horse who ran close under 
the chair, as in the cases of Little Red Rover, Stock- 
well, and Merry Peal. Still these oversights, if they 


were sucli (and we can only state our own opinion 
on the last), were mere specks in a career of thirty 
years in the Newmarket judgment seat, which was 
occupied from 1805 to 1822 by his father, and since 
1852 by his son. Mr. Nightingale once gave a race 
in Scotland by " two or three inches/' but perhaps 
the most difficult finish to decide was the Zetland 
Stakes at the York Spring of '56. We asked Mr, 
Johnson how he ever contrived to place them as he 
did, and he told us that when he saw the five hard 
at it head and head, he felt that he dared not watch 
them as they came, but turned and kept his eye firm 
on the white line, and just hit them off with a glance 
as they passed it. If he had given it a dead heat 
of five, neither jockeys nor spectators would have 
been a wit the wiser, though the " roughs " chose 
to be savagely critical when Mildew beat Cantab at 
York, and sent Mr. Clark in hot haste from the chair 
to the weighing-room. Sam never forgot many of 
his father's precepts, and always liked " to lie under 
the wind " in a race, but he had none of his love of 
check cords, and seldom resorted to his desperate 
resort of spurring a horse in the brisket. " I find 
when it comes to the last spring," Old Sam used to 
say, " I can get a head there when I can get it no 
where else." Sam also rode closer with his knees, 
and was not so loose and slovenly in his jockey cos- 
tume, and although both were equally silent and 
proud in their way, especially in refusing mounts they 
did not like, no one every saw the younger one per- 
petually on the trot up and down Newmarket " with 
his coat buttoned behind/' a practice which seemed 
to keep the senior in riding form. Old Mat Stephen- 
son was however much more unique in his dress, 
and always wore a rusty hunting cap when he super- 
intended the sweats, and had a boy carrying the spare 
sweating cloths on an old coach horse, which eventu- 
ally glandered nearly all Lord Grosvenor's string. 
But we are not yet quite at the ending post with 


Sam. In 1842 he rode the bay colt by Agreeable, 
dam by Sam, for Mr. Meiklam, in the Derby, where 
he ran fifth ; and also wasted and went to Doncaster 
to ride the same colt for the St. Leger, for which he 
was " milked" and scratched. His 1843*44 mounts 
were entirely confined to Mr. Thornhill, at whose 
Newmarket house and stables he resided till the 
November of 1851, when he removed to Hove, near 
Brighton. At Newmarket, his great pleasure, for 
the six years after he retired, was to stroll out on to 
ths heath to see the gallops ; but he was very indif- 
ferent about races generally, except when really good 
horses were to meet. He bade farewell to Newmar- 
ket with the Houghton Meeting of 1852, and never 
visited Epsom after the day that ' ' Frank" and West 
Australian won the Derby. The last race-meeting 
that he ever attended was the Brighton one of the 
same year, as he was too ill to get so far even from 
Hove, when its next anniversary came round. We 
spied his spare figure, in his black surtout and 
large hat, for the last time, as he quietly strolled 
down Piccadilly, and chatted with a few friends in 
front of the White Bear, on a fine June day, just 
before the Ascot Meeting of 1853. He had been ill 
about a month before he died; and his brother 
William (who still lingers on the Heath with all the 
devotion of earlier and brighter days) had been to 
visit him ; but a second summons failed to reach him 
in time, and when he saw him again, he was in his 
coffin. His death took place towards the end of 
August, 1854, two months before he had completed 
his 69th year, and ten years and a- quarter after he 
had quitted the saddle, and he was buried in the 
beautiful churchyard of Hove, which lies hard by his 
late residence. 

Brighton and its neighbourhood had always been 
a favourite spot with him, as he remembered it in 
the days when the Prince Regent kept court at its 


Pavilion, and laughed at the stoiy of how " little 
Sam and Will Edwards, in 1802, had led the Celia 
filly to its meeting all the way from Stockbridge, 
and ridden her in turns by the way. The Prince 
never forgot the incident, and it strengthened the 
good impression which Sam's first appearance in the 
Eoyal purple on the filly at Stockbridge had created. 
The mould has long since rattled dismally on the 
coffin-lids of those lords and ladies gay, and our 
own task as biographers is ended. We began with 
a little lad of six seated on Kit Karr at Newmarket, 
and his father, the first horseman of his day, in the 
stall at his side, and we have traced that lad's his- 
tory through many a night of weariness and many a 
weary day, till we find him cast like a wreck on the 
sea-beach of life. All is past now, and the old 
weather-beaten jockey, after his fitful span of trouble 
and victory, and leaving the Chifney rush as a pro- 
verb to all time, sleeps at last near the spot where 
two-and-fifty years ago the seal was first set to his 
boyish fortunes. Peace to his memory ! 




" The bell is ringing for the start : 

There's ' Sim' in blue and white, 
With Heseltine in red, and ' Job' 

In lilac, and Cartwright ; 
There's Holmes in blue and scarlet sleeves, 

And now I can descry 
The tartan vest and yellow cap 
Of Mr. Thomas Lye." 

Yorkshire Ballad. 

|jT is not many months since an Oxford under- 
Ill graduate went to chapel on a " surplice evening/' 
fresh from the joys of a wine-party. The anthem 
was " Oh, that I had wings like a dove ! " and the 
first few bars had scarcely been got through by the 
choristers, when their half-" mesmerized" auditor 
roused himself, and, utterly reckless of rustication 
and its consequences, suddenly stretched out his 
surpliced arms, and flapping them with a mighty 
rushing sound, sung out at the very top of his voice 
"Oh, that I had wings like a jolly, jolly duck I" 
We have been told that his adjectives were still more 
forcible ; but, great as was the consternation of the 
college dons at this untoward event, it was not one 
whit greater than that felt three-and- forty years be- 
fore, by a large coterie of the Newmarketers, when 
it first transpired that their quiet, red-faced little 
chum, Dan Dawson Dan Dawson, who was always 
so sociable with them over his pipe and pot in an 


evening, and who warbled forth from a throat un- 
concious of the growing hemp the very choicest of 
Bacchanal songs whenever his turn came round, 
had sunk into a low horse poisoner. He had 
married a lady's maid, and knew French so well, that 
when on one occasion Lord Stowell (who espied him 
hard by) was relating to his friends, in that language, 
the news of a trial which Neale had given his horses 
that morning, he came up with a most impudent air 
giving his Lordship joy of having so good a horse, and 
adding, "I thought he'd win, my Lord let me stand 
in 5 and Fll not tell." And no doubt he did not 
tell, till he met his great patrons Joe and Jim Bland. 
Bishop, an ex-Guy's dispenser, was his confederate in 
the matter, and turned King's evidence for the sake 
of the 500 guineas reward which was offered by the 
Jockey Club, and which it was said they never paid 
him, after all. Two of Mr. Kit Wilson's July 
Stakes horses at Perren's stables were those they 
wished to get at, but as three or four locked troughs 
stood together at the back of John Stevens's, they 
mistook between them, and the result was that 
thirteen of Stevens's lot which were then temporarily 
under the charge of David Jones, were taken ill, and 
two of them died. The symptoms were excessive re- 
laxation (for science has hitherto failed in making 
horses vomit) ; and when the two were opened, they 
were as rotten as a pear. The guilty couple had 
lifted the padlocked lids as high as they could, and 
poured in the arsenic at nightfall ; and the very hens 
when they drank of it fluttered feebly, and then died, 
while the stable cat ran about like a maniac. Dan 
escaped on this indictment, as well as on that charg- 
ing him with poisoning Sir F. Standish's Periwi and 
Lord Kinnaird's the Dandy, which stood at Prince's ; 
but the Foley indictment was fatal. He lodged at 
a house opposite " Old Q J s " residence, to be near 
the field of his touting labours. His favourite maxim 


was, that " those who lay in bed in a morning at 
Newmarket did no good for themselves;" and he 
had such confidence in his peculiar powers, that if 
Lord Foley's string had consisted of " eleventeen 
hundred" instead of eleven, he "could have physickad 
them all." Lord Foley, to whom he made several 
disclosures after his sentence, tried hard to save his 
life : but the Home Secretary of that day was inexor- 
able, and on August 8, 1812, the white cap was 
drawn over his face on the top of Cambridge gaol. 
Several persons drove over from Newmarket to have 
a last look at him, and were admitted into the gaol 
yard, as a special favour. They were talking in a 
cluster by an iron-studded door, when it opened, and 
the poor pinioned criminal came so suddenly upon 
them, that Will Arnull almost tumbled backwards 
into his arm. " Good bye ; God bless you ! my New- 
market lads ; yitu see I can't shake hands with you. 
Good bye I 3 ' was all the former could say, as he tot- 
tered towards the scaffold ; and the governor after- 
wards assured his visitors that they had totally 
unmanned him by this unexpected interview. 

A few years before this " Nobbier King" ascended 
the drop, a taste for operations during Newmarket 
Races had brought the career of the notorious pick- 
pocket Barrington to a close. He had thrown aside his 
clerical guise, his regimentals, and the full-dress coat, 
sword, bag-wig, and pink powder, in which it was his 
wont to honour Ranelagh, and was smoking his pipe 
and talking the broadest Doric, after the labours of the 
day, in the chimney-corner of the Swan at Bottisham, 
about two miles from the Beacon Post, when one of 
the Cambridge race-goers recognised him under his 
carter's smock frock disguise. He blanched palpably at 
last, under the long searching stare which he received, 
and being too weary to run over such an open country., 
slunk out only to try and hide himself in an outhouse, 
from whence he was shortly afterwards gazetted to 


Botany Bay, about the same time that his great name- 
sake was translated to Durham. 

The touts of the present day form a very large 
class on the turf, and are constantly recruited by a 
never-failing supply of over-grown grooms, who burst 
on to the prophetic world of literature, as " Volti- 
geur," " Goldfinder," and the like. About forty or 
fifty of them live in Newmarket, and receive about 
1 Is. a week from their employers, whose weekly 
reports have been sadly less lucid since the new trial- 
course came into use ; it takes, however, no ordinary 
vigilance to baffle them, and their devices would be 
worthy of Field himself. The mere skirters of the 
fraternity are great in the " outer ring," and from 
what transpired in a train last September, we suspect 
that not a few of the poorest contrive to get along 
the railways by occasionally " squaring " the guard. 
The public-house is their great sphere of action ; and 
there was an instance two seasons since, when one of 
the most distinguished of the craft casually learnt all 
he required from a village whitewasher, who revealed 
to him over a can of ale for which the te very civil 
drovier chap " insisted on paying, that the object of 
his search, " A horse with two white heels 1 don't 
know the name/' had walked very lame behind, as he 
was shifted during the whitewashing process from one 
box to another. The unconscious knight of the brush 
little knew what suspicions he had confirmed, and 
what telegraph-wires he set at work before evening 
closed in. The Flying Dutchman was watched by a 
perfect squadron of them before the Derby, and 
Fobert in fact counted sixteen heads, looking like as 
many crows in file, watching the horse from behind a 
wall near Spigot Lodge as he came out for exercise. 
One of the leaders candidly informed him that he had 
" orders to see him in and out," but that on due 
notice, he " would retire like a gentleman to a dis- 
tance," whenever he wished to have a trial. Ted- 


dington's trial was known in Newmarket (though 
not fully believed) a few hours after it was run, and 
Cataract and Sorella were the objects of particular 
attention when they were matched. When Bill Scott 
used to live near Knavesmire, his motions were 
watched night and day, whenever a trial at Malton 
was about to come off, and it was almost impossible 
for him to steal away from York at any time of the 
night without having them on his track. Some of 
them are put on by the backers of a horse " to bon- 
net" him, and then, as Mr. Harry Hill observes, 
" they wink as if they were going to knock an omnibus 
over ;" and many of the principal owners employ a 
private tout of their own, often a young ex-jockey, 
who has acquired a good knowledge of styles of going, 
and perhaps make him stick to one horse they fancy, 
or the reverse, for a whole season. 

The racing tipsters have much less patronage than 
formerly, before " Geoffrey Greenhorn " laid a trap 
for them, and published the tips he received in The 
Life. Professor Ingledue, M.A., the mesmerist, is 
silent ; and if their subscribers, " for whose interests 
I have collected my old and able staff, with many 
additional ones, who are already at work in the train- 
ing districts," could only get a sight of the " old and 
able staff," they would find it consisting of a man 
and a boy, " at work" in the back room of a London 
public house, and sending different winners for every 
race to their subscribers. At one of the Yorkshire 
training towns a schoolmaster commenced as prophet 
to a London paper, and it turned out that he had got 
all his information by writing the letters Ibr the touts 
between school-hours. 

Their advertisements furnish a fine field for any 
future compiler of " Curiosities of Literature." Some 
are headed " My tongue is not for falsehood framed ;" 
" California without cholera Gold without danger ;" 
and " The Hero of a Hundred Fights." James Bes- 


borough gently eulogises himself, and "although 
hating self-praise and idle puff, so prevalent in the 
present day, boldly defies the world to find his 
equal ." There is also a breadth and point about the 
writings of another seer, to wit "Joe of Kensington," 
which quite takes one by storm. At times he assures 
us that he " has been travelling about to have a peep 
at the Derby favourites, a privilege no other gentle- 
man possibly could have" ; and we next hear that 
" out of pure envy at my position, the attacks made 
on me have become so slanderous, that I prefer insti- 
tuting legal proceedings, rather than condescend to 
mix myself up in any way with those making them." 
The minstrel poets of the race-course sometimes 
write those ballads, which they sing with such unrest- 
ing diligence, and such screw-face contortions ; and 
generally begin them with " You sportsmen all, both 
great and small, one moment now attend, and listen 
with attention to these verses I have penned" ; or 
get on to terms with their listeners at once, by ex- 
horting them to " Come all you jolly sporting coves, 
and listen unto me, whilst a song I do relate, that 
s^hall be sung with glee." Rhyme and reason never 
stand in the way of these bards. We find it on re- 
cord of a horse, who " did the Derby win; like light- 
ning he flew round the course, upon his nimble pin" : 
and again, ' f The crack took up the running ground, 
and bent his well-formed legs, till he reached the 
winning post, then shook his splendid pegs" ; on the 
very day when 

" He went to Epsom Down, 
And won the Derby Stake, i6320." 

Of the general literature of the turf it boots us not 
to speak in detail. We would merely observe, en 
passanl, that we have ARGUS, that Jules Janin of 
racing feuilletonists, at the very head of it, in the 
Post (whose sporting fame was first laid by JUDEX, 


who doffed his conjuring cap in Ugly Buck's year) ; 
and that we have never read anything more spirited 
than the now ancient verse prophecies of Vates in 
The Life, or anything more unique in their way than 
the Era Epistles of " Joe Muggins's Dog." The latter 
name has become so familiar to the ears of the pub- 
lic, that if ever an unhappy racing prophet mounts a 
witness-box, almost the first question that is asked 
him on cross-examination, is, whether he is or is not 
the original " Dog." This canine fame has been 
wafted across the Atlantic, and the younger of the 
two writers between whom it rests, had high literary 
homage paid him, on the strength of it, at New York, 
and was ultimately invited to a banquet. After many 
ups and downs, The Field has become "a great 
fact" among sportsmen at last. The Old Sporting 
and New Sporting Magazines, and The Sportsman, 
fought for a series of years over the body of Nimrod; 
and in 1839 the proprietor of the Sporting Review 
entered the field, and ultimately bought up his three 
rivals. Their distinct titles and covers are still retain- 
ed, but the matter and illustrations of all four are the 
same. The York Herald has from time immemorial 
been a first-rate authority on these matters ; and the 
Doncaster Gazette, as in duty bound, has wrestled 
most vigorously for the race rights of the burgesses, 
for many a long year. The Chester and Worcester 
papers generally break out in a slight rash as their 
meetings draw nigh, but the symptoms are very mild : 
while the experiment of a strictly turf paper in Not- 
tingham completely failed, and its prophet "Timothy/-' 
deserted to the enemy. The prophets, as a body, 
suffered most in 1852, when the Daily News, sly and 
cruel cynic as it was, collected, for weeks before, every 
Derby prophecy, metropolitan and provincial, which 
it could lay its hands on, and spread a complete panic 
among the regiment (not one of whom had whispered 
Daniel O'Rourke's name), when it charged them. 

N 2 


quotations in hand, on the Thursday of the Derby 
week. It has nevertheless (1856) fallen into the 
fashion at last, and keeps its own prophet " Meteor," 
who, after having special attention called by adver- 
tisement to his auguries, succeeded in prophesying 
the twenty-third horse as the winner ! Punch once 
made a Derby prophecy, and went for Newcourt, on 
the ground that no other prophet had even mentioned 
him. Grave weeklies occasionally undertake to com- 
ment ironically on the turf and its doings ; but owing 
to the writers 5 spirited but impotent efforts to deal 
with racing terms, the articles are barely English. 
One had a long one on the St. Leger of 1854, in 
which it made Ivan the winner ; and another disposed 
of the Goodwood Meeting by simply saying that it 
" came off on Tuesday ; Quince was the leading 
horse, winning easily by a length." Shoe Lane has 
given up her sporting oracle " Bunbury," who had a 
mania for " time-handicaps/' and regularly repub- 
,ished the great handicaps corrected on that scale ! 
" Yates " has been long on the Morning Advertiser ; 
The Globe has "^Esop"; The Sun, " A Fresh Man ;" 
the Daily Telegraph commenced by announcing the 
prophecies of " Hercules" ; and the Racing Times 
has had great success with "Priam." After all, 
there is nothing richer than the style in which the 
minor prophets were wont to gloss over their mis- 
takes. Speaking of the Derby of 1854, in which they 
came nearer the mark than usual, one said 

" There are no IFS, or SHOULDS, or COULDS, or DOUBTS in our 
prophecy. THE MOUSE boldly said 1, Andorcr ! 2, Wild Hunts- 
man ! ! 3, Dervish ! ! ! What is the result ? Andover is FIRST ! 
At Tattenham Corner Wild Huntsman led, followed by Dervish, the 
latter even now claiming the fourth place." 

And again 

" We must congratulate our readers on the fulfilment of THE 
MOUSE'S PROPHECY for the OAKS. He gave OMOO first, ME- 
TEORA second. OMOO did not run, but METEORA came in second ; 
while, owing to the weather possibly, Mincemeat, an outsider, won." 


The oddest piece of second sight we remember was 
that of a Newmarket trainer, who dreamt, after 
Knight of St. George was nearly last for the Derby, 
that he would win the St. Leger ; and dreaming it a 
second time, on the eve of the race, sent a com- 
mission to back him ; while the prophecy of Vates, 
which ended with 

" Tis over the trick for the thousands is done 
George Edwards on Phosphorus the Derby has won !" 

is the most remarkable on record, save and except 
one in Mr. Snewing's 1845 circular, which actually 
placed Intrepid (a complete outsider) first, and St. 
Lawrence second for the Chester Cup, some months 
before the race. The clairvoyante female, too, no 
longer offers to consult the stars for thirty postage- 
stamps, on a Derby eve, but has shrunk into her 
" original tipster" dimensions. If " Maria" could 
only be seen by mortal eye, she would be in a cut- 
away and high-lows ! 

Race reporting is a distinct branch of writing, and 
was first reduced to a perfect science by the late Mr. 
Huff, who commenced his labours on The Life soon 
after 1820, and continued them till the summer of 
1853, when he retired, and never visited a race- 
course again, during the three-and-a-half seasons 
which intervened between his retirement and his 
death. His race reports were marvellous specimens 
of pithy condensation, and his conversation was 
strictly on the same "potted soup" principle. In 
Mr.Langley's hands The Life has well sustained its 
" Nunquam Dormio" prestige ; and Mr. RufFs place 
as sporting reporter to the daily papers is capitally 
supplied by Mr. A. Feist, of the Sunday Times, who 
succeeded his father. The late Mr. Feist was a man 
of very varied accomplishments, and the judge and 
several of the leading jockeys were his pupils when 
he wielded the ferule in Newmarket. Railway 


parcels and telegraphs are the sporting papers' 
" mediums" now ; but their ancient handmaids,, the 
express -pigeons, did them right good service in the 
days when Sir Vincent Cotton drove The Age, and 
Professor Wheatstone was a name unknown. They 
generally flew the fifty-five miles from Goodwood to 
London in about one hour and fifteen minutes ; and 
it was necessary to teach them the ground by a suc- 
cession of nights, beginning at one, two, and three 
miles, and gradually increasing by five miles, about 
three times in the week. The fancier sucks their 
beaks before throwing them up, on the same principle 
that a race-horse has the water-bottle applied to his 
lips just before he is mounted. Several of the bad 
birds were picked off on race-days by gunners, who 
were anxious to read the little billet on their leg; but 
not three in a hundred of the good birds, who always 
fly out of gunshot, and do not loiter to execute a num- 
ber of wheeling flights before they hit off the bearings 
of their overland route. If the billet was tied, as 
is popularly supposed, under the wing, the bird would 
not fly far, but stop on some house-top to plume its 
ruffled feathers. We have heard of them coming 
from Epsom with an entry-list printed on tissue- 
paper tied to each leg, so as to balance them. Some 
of the best, 011 a fine clear day, have done the dis- 
tance from Goodwood to their metropolitan dovecote 
under the hour, but their powers of flight depend 
almost entirely on the state of the atmosphere, and 
their being kept in high condition by constant changes 
of food. This change is equally essential to man and 
beast ; and the fact is so well known, that in one of 
the petty continental states where it is forbidden to 
put felons to death, they kill them by feeding them 
entirely on veal and red wine. The best express car- 
riers are half-breds, between an Antwerp and a dra- 
gon, but the latter must not be too heavy birds. A 
web-footed bird of this breed, which was reared by a 


shoemaker in the Commercial road, was always se- 
lected by the manager of The Life's dovecote to take 
the Goodwood route on the Gratwicke Stakes and 
Cup days ; but he was lost in his third season, and in 
all probability was killed by a hawk, many of whom 
haunt the towers of Westminster Abbey for six 
months in the year. 

Old Joe Hayner, who was believed by many to 
be the veritable "Dog," although a much younger 
rival announced himself as such both at home and 
abroad, was till lately the patriarch of racing writers. 
" Goldfinch" was the signature he generally assumed, 
and the deeds of cracks past and present were his 
unvarying theme. When the rapidly-increasing 
tumour in his throat warned him, one October, that 
his race was nearly run, he grasped his stick, and 
sallied forth to bid his old sporting friends good bye. 
We met him in the Strand, and had a few minutes' 
chat about Rifleman's defeat ; and then he added, at 
parting, " I shall never see you again, / just give 
myself eight days, and then it will be all over." By 
that day week he had taken to his bed, and in two 
days more he died, thus fulfilling his last prophecy to 
the letter. His heart was always true to York- 
shire : " he loved it," he always said, " for its racing 
tastes, its glorious hams, and its hospitable hearts/' 
and for its old recollections of Tate Wilkinson, when 
that acute Northern Elliston led its theatrical circuit, 
and descried the earliest dawning of each new star on 
the York or Doncaster boards. From the Drury 
Lane Fund he drew a 100 a year, which kept him 
above want, and he retained his fondness of theatres 
to the very last The remembrance of his Tyke, 
Homespun, Fixture, and four or five other characters, 
will always be green spots in the memory of the 
lovers of foot-lights. He looked the theatrical vete- 
ran to the last, and used at times to troll one of his 
old songs at the winning trainers' Doncaster parties, 


a duty which has latterly devolved on Mr. Daley, 
the Carlisle clerk of the course, who is quite the 
Incledon of the Turf, and especially great in Irish 
songs. Joe was always fond of writing a little poetry, 
and he was propped up in bed his very last afternoon 
to indite a Farewell to all his sporting friends ; but 
the pen dropped from his hand when he was half 
through the thirtieth line. Among racers, Beeswing 
and Crucifix were his idols ; and he must have writ- 
ten many yards of " copy " about this brace alone. 
Card-selling was not the flourishing trade twenty 
years ago which it has since become, and was confined 
to a few at each place. The railways have, as it were, 
thrown open the trade, and from 800 to 600 live by 
it almost entirely during eight or nine months of the 
year. Of these about 400 confine themselves to cer- 
tain race circuits in the north, while the remaining 
200 or 300 follow the races, week after week, with 
quite as much regularity as the members of the ring. 
In point of sex, the profession is about equally di- 
vided ; several of them are married, and a most 
remarkable " elopement in married life" once came 
off in their circle at Hampton Races. Since the 
celebrated " Jerry " died, they have owned no head 
among the men ; but " Fair Helen," who once kept 
an eating-house at Derby, is their present Queen ; 
and a handsome dame she is too, with her fine black 
hair. Her predecessor was " Big Ann," who reigned 
next in succession to " Sally Birch." Sally died at 
Chester Races some years ago ; and her late subjects 
were so loyal, that they not only subscribed three- 
pences and sixpences to buy her a coffin and shroud, 
but they stayed a day longer in the town, in order 
to attend her funeral. In point of humour, nothing 
has ever yet approached " Jerry ;" and he was equally 
at home, whether dressed as a Broadway dandy with a 
huge straw hat, or enacting the captain in a red coat, 
a spy-glass, and a beaver " cock and pinch." On the 


Derby Day, the people were too busy to heed him ; 
but he was quite one of the institutions of the Ascot ; 
and the inimitable way in which he chaffed the swells, 
and then requested them to take his arm and let him 
" show them a little of life," never failed to extract 
endless sixpences from the carriage line. His pro- 
pensity to cling on to the side of carriages proved fatal 
to him at last, as one was overturned on to him at 
the Goodwood Meeting of ^48, and his motly chums 
followed him, with all the honours, to his last resting 
place at Chichester. 

" Snuffling/' or rather " Donkey Jemmy," is the 
only one who attempts the Yorick line now. At the 
last Ascot meeting, he, of course, wore his huge yel- 
low wig ; and as we counted at least forty distinct 
brays during the Cup afternoon, and as his tariff is 
sixpence per bray, he did not do far amiss. Those 
people who are not in carriages, he looks down upon 
with supreme contempt " I do the donkey to please 
the aristocracy, not the common people," was his 
withering remark in our presence, about a quarter 
to three that afternoon, when two or three Berkshire 
Lubins indulged in some elephantine pleasantries at 
his expense. " Jerry " would have had tact to see 
that this was rather a back-handed compliment ; but 
"Donkey Jemmy" is far less acute. The other 
card- sellers hold him in great contempt, as they con- 
sider that by the adventitious aid of a large nose, 
which he handles very artistically during the braying 
operation, he contrives to steal a march upon his less- 
favoured brethren, who are not so musical. 

The red*coated division were once headed by 
" Paddy," of the Queen's stag-hounds, the most 
wonderful runner of his day, and preserved to all 
time in Grant's celebrated picture ; but he has been 
dead some years, and " Old Jack Straw," " Warwick 
Dan," and "Billy Priest," are his principal successors. 
The first comes from the Cheltenham country, the 


second from the Warwickshire, and the third from the 
Pytchley. However, the running-mantle of Paddy 
has not been moth-eaten, as these three can run 
their fifty miles in a day yet, with hounds, and have 
made something handsome by opening gates, taking 
lame hounds home, and doing sundry other hunting 
field offices. " Billy Priest " has never worn shoes 
since his childhood ; and if he were to come into a 
fortune to-morrow, on condition that he would wear 
them, it is most doubtful whether he would consent 
to do so. There is such a strange fascination about 
the life, that it is averred of " Dumbie" (whose power 
of pantomime and picking out winners is something 
quite miraculous) that a good sum of money has been 
left him, but that nothing can induce him to look 
after it. "Jemmy from Town" died in London 
lately, and we do not know that " Farem Kiddy," 
"Peter Holt," "Black Stock," and "Old Billy," 
have any peculiar traits about them. The latter is 
card-seller extraordinary to Lords Exeter and Jersey, 
and has waylaid them and served them regularly ever 
since they were quite young turfites. " Jemmy and 
Mary Leicester," and "Charles and Eliza Crow," 
are also well-known characters ; but " Black Jemmy 5 ' 
rather fell into the back ground when he had an 
accident to his leg, and though he is now happily 
convalescent, he is no longer the ubiquitous merry 
African he was in his green cutaway and tartan-tie 
days. Jemmy's one consuming passion has long been 
his love jfor Lord Eglinton's stud, the dispersion of 
which he took sorely to heart. It is, in fact, out of a 
spirit of pure devotion to Scotland and her Earl, that 
this sporting exile has of late years enveloped him- 
self in a grey plaid. Whenever his Lordship had a 
Derby favourite, he professed to put his pot on him 
throughout the entire winter, and gracefully pre- 
ceded him to the place of starting; and what is more, 
if he was beaten, Jemmy never forsook him. When 


his great hero the Flying Dutchman advanced to the 
enclosure, as the saddling bell rang for the Doncaster 
Cup, Jemmy walked before him, clearing the way, 
and announcing in the most oracular tones the im- 
pending downfall ofVoltigeur; the odds being, as he 
remarked, "just a horse to a hen." Again, when 
we stepped up to the Dringhouse stables to see him 
brought out for his match, there was Jemmy refresh- 
ing himself with beer and pudding at the bar, and 
watching eagerly out of a little window for the signal 
of departure for the course. 

" Sailor Jack" is another curiosity, with his alarm- 
ing squint, and his utter disinclination to undergo 
the slightest examination on nautical subjects. Jack 
was sadly chaffed by his customers last year for not 
joining the Baltic fleet ; but he bore it with wonder- 
full complacency, and will doff" his naval garb for no 
one. He has very little humour about him generally, 
but is one of the maddest wags in existence when he 
is " half seas over," which, owing to the exhorta- 
tions of a teetotal friend, is now said to be only of 
rare occurrence. " Lord Castlereagh " is also an 
oddity ; and it is recorded of him that he had such 
a favourite companion of his travels, in the shape of 
a little French dog, that he has over and over again 
been seen to cook beef-steaks for it, and dine off dry 
bread himself. 

The profits of this strange crew are very various, 
and the prices of cards equally so ; but on this head 
it is hardly fair to them to say more, except that 
Ascot is their great carnival, and Jerry has been 
known to make as much as 20 clear on a Cup day. 

The number of cards bought by the "crowded 
profession," at Doncaster, is very various. Some 
contrive to dispose of two dozen, while others can 
get through fifteen dozen. This latter number is 
the maximum on a " great day," and six dozen the 
average. It is a saying amongst them, that "it's all 


copper in the North and silver in the South/' which 
is, [being interpreted, the Northern card publishers 
will let them buy one or two cards, as the case may 
be ; whereas, in the South, they must either buy half 
a-dozen or a dozen, if they want to be served. 
Several of them have regular customers whom they 
supply either at their lodgings or in the street. Of 
such cards they profess to keep no account, but trust 
to their patrons' liberality when the meeting is over. 
The telegraph has quite knocked up both the entry 
and return-list trade, and not one-twentieth part of 
the number are sold now. In fact, there is a very 
slow sale for the latter, except for a few minutes at 
the close of the afternoon's sport. About 25,000 
cards are sold during the Doncaster race week, 15,000 
of which are disposed of on the St. Leger day; 
whereas on the Derby day 20,000 is the " sum-tottel." 
At Manchester the sale is enormous, and said to 
average 15,000 a day; and at York about 10,000 
are sold on the Handicap day, and 8,000 on each of 
the other days. Very few cards are disposed of at 
Newcastle, as Benson's " Flying Sheet," which has 
the colours annexed, beats everything out of the field. 
Fair Helen, and three or four other women, are far 
the most successful at present; but the profits of 
each during a fine Ascot meeting seldom on the ave- 
rage exceed 20, or fall below 3. Even the cool- 
headed Lord George Bentinck is known to have flung 
down a sovereign for a card ; and by such little coup 
de mains as laying in wait for the winner of a great 
race, either on the course or at Tattersall's, and pop- 
ping in a well-timed allusion to his triumph, many a 
half-sovereign has been extracted, especially by " the 
fayre ladyes " of the fraternity. There is a good deal 
of kind feeling, to boot, among them ; and if one of 
them gets into trouble, and arrives at a race-town 
without any capital, they will club together and lend 
him some ; but woe betide the unhappy wight who. 


dares to repudiate such a debt I Now that railroads 
are established, their path from town to town has been 
very much smoothed, and many of the " leaders of 
the circuit" travel thousands of miles during the year 
on the rails alone. When they walk, they generally 
do so in gangs of twenty each, the women sometimes 
clubbing together to hire a cart ; but the gentler sex 
seem to step along quite as briskly as their compa- 
nions, who have no reason to indorse the sentiment 
which a sour rustic once made to us, viz., " that he 
would sooner take four umbrellas, and be bound to 
carry them all, than walk one female to the races. 33 
They usually walk about eight miles before break- 
fast, and then adjourn to some public-house, and re- 
fresh themselves with bread and cheese ; and in this 
fashion they jog on comfortably about five-and-twenty 
miles per day. Luggage is not a thing they much 
affect ; and, in fact, two shirts and a " shimmy " is 
about the regulation package for a man and his wife, 
though Fair Helen and Co/s wardrobe is, no doubt, 
far more extensive. They affect butter more than 
meat, and it is a singular fact that there is no sacri- 
fice which poor people would not undergo rather than 
give up butter. Beefsteaks is their next " vanity ;" 
but the majority live pretty carefully, and lay by 
something in store for the winter months. Such of 
the men as follow the hounds are of course never 
out of work, except during a frost ; but the remainder 
are pretty hard set, and as steeple-chases are fast 
passing away, they are forced to frequent fairs, vend 
pencils, pincushions, and all such gimcracks. For 
races themselves they care very little ; and one of 
them told us that he never lett off his busiiurs to 
look at any race, except it was the Derby, St. Leger, 
or Ascot Cup. 

They look sadly down, in accordance with the old 
orange-woman versus apple-woman principle, on the 
other " professors" who attend the race-course. The 


owners of the " Hydrocephalic Child/' the "Fair 
Circassian with the Golden Locks/' or " The Living 
Princess/' who, " when she wur born she weighed a 
pound and an 'alf, now she weighs four pounds" are 
as nothing in their eyes ; a.nd with the small gim- 
crack vendors and singers, who are ready to do 
" annything to yarn a crust/' they will hold no com- 
munion. Among the latter crew may be noted the 
fat acrobat, who has passed the best years of his life 
in lifting a needle from the ground with his eye-lid, 
and the old man in shabby fatigue uniform, who went 
about two years ago with a huge Crimean beard, and 
assuring every " Bono Francaize " he met, that if 
" their brave chaps only got a chance, they'd go in at 
them Russians like a dog at his dinner" The singers 
south of the Trent never seem to us to have half the 
breadth and spirit of the Northern minstrels, and 
merely work away at ditties to the effect that "of 
all the girls that I do love, I love myself the best/ 7 
instead of boldly chaunting the deeds of great win- 
ners. Three-inch wax babies have also come in on 
the wreck of the " new guinea " trade, and " Large 
families of babbies for one shilling , three on 3 em for 
sixpence who'll have a babby for tuppence ?" is the 
stereotyped appeal from the vendors to all ages and 
sexes. The " Wright " of the race-course, after all, 
is a thin man of about fifty, who spends his summer 
in woman's attire, with ribbons in his hair, a faded 
yellow fan in one hand, and a green and pink parasol 
in the other. If his face was a little stouter, he 
would strikingly resemble that great low comedian ; 
and his opening dialogue about " Well Lady John, 
and how are the flowers to-day ? I've seen the gar- 
dener, fyc." followed up by the song of the " Old 
Arm Cheer" with each stanza illustrated by a mock 
fandango, and a peculiar screw in' his walk as he re- 
tires, is one of the most humorous scenas we know. 




" The Knight a dappled grey bestrode, 
Whose haughty crest and eye of fire 
Told of his tameless Eastern sire." 

" < |pHE young clovers were never so good as they 
U are this year," was the juicy lure which once 
caught our eye, in a Sheet Calendar advertisement, 
towards the close of an especially frigid January. It 
smacked so strongly of the quaint stud-literature of 
the olden time, when Eclipse was in his glory at the 
Clayhill Farm, near Epsom, and less ambitious co- 
temporaries had visitors carefully consigned to them, 
from the " The Pyed Horse, near Chairing Cross/' 
that we could not refrain from taking a copious sur- 
vey of those musty paddock records. How strangely 
their laboured verbosity and facetiousness contrasted 
with the modest and meagre recitals of the present 
day " The Hero, at Danebury, ten so vs./' to wit ! 
To judge from their tenour, our forefathers must have 
thought differently to ourselves on some horse points, 
or else it would hardly be urged in a sire's favour 
that he "was a compleat strong horse, and well 
whited/' or that he was " remarkably upright in the 
pasterns/' The blendings of praise and apology are 
also wonderfully unique. Each owner seemed to feel 
that, if there was a blot on his favourite's fame, then 
or never was the time to explain it away. Petru- 
chio's last defeat, for instance, is softened down by a 


suggestion that, " when harassed with private work, 
he indiscreetly gave away his year, started with twelve 
stone, and fell lame " while the owner of " Snap 
(late Mr. Latham's)," disclaiming all notion of a 
lengthy eulogy, snaps at Mr. L. on this wise : " But 
let it suffice to say that he has the best constitution 
of any known sire ; and if he had been in the hands 
of any man of spirit, it is not doubted but that he 
would have made the capital horses of his time sub- 
mit to his invariable powers, over The Beacon, or any 
other course." An Irish breeder would not have 
long doubted as to its being his duty to burn pow- 
der on such a provocation. The great thing in 
Young Snap's favour seems to be, that " he is a de- 
cided master of twenty stone" a quality which 
must have endeared him to the equestrian Daniel 
Lamberts who rode a race over Knavesmire, about 
that period, at thirty stone each ! Again, we are 
called upon by others to note that <e judges consider" 
their favourite's " substance to lye proper, so as not 
to hinder action," or that " he is as perfect a horse 
to get racing cattle as ever came into England." 
One retires early from the turf; but the breeder is 
advised to take comfort, as his inability to stand a 
long training arose from " his off-hip being struck 
down before his birth;" while "a sagacious and 
powerful colt " did not prosper in the trainer's hands 
simply because " he was left to the care of a lad of 
feather, and spoiled by getting the ascendant." Then 
there is Sturdy, whom George III., of blessed pig- 
tail memory, rode while he was at the stud a " most 
proper horse," as his owner pbserves. Age is evi- 
dently of no account, as we read o one of " twenty- 
three ^rfiiars old, in full-toned virility, possessed of in- 
stinct in a superior degree, and, withal, a genuine 
spirit !" Tantrum's owner soars still higher into 
the regions of fancy. He supposes the owner of a 
mare, who has just seen the Tantrum, studiously 


' ' gazing at a picture of Flying Childers (who brought 
his haunches so well under him)," and then " ex- 
claiming, with perfect propriety, ' Why, that's the 
very picture of Tantrum galloping \ 3 J ' 

The fancy of the composers ran still greater lengths 
when an Arab was to be puffed, every one of which 
seems to have " a most sublime Hodget or certificate, 
and most perfect nimble action," to say nothing of 
being " of the best and most beloved breed in the 
royal stables of the East." Whatever the extra price 
of "advertising, the certificates headed with " Praise 
be unto God ! There is but one God, and Mahomet 
is his prophet I" and ending with " Sixth day of moon 
Kamdam, year of our Prophet 1127," were always 
given at full. Not satisfied with this, we read in the 
testimonials of one of these certificated pleaders for 
public favour, a long fairy tale as to how a beau- 
tiful horse rose one morning from the sea, and met 
the loveliest mare in Araby ; and how the horse in 
question is in a direct line from these loveliest of 
mythical lovers. Of course, everything goes indis- 
putably to prove their descendant a pure Cochlean. 
The tufts of long white hair on the shin of each fore- 
leg, the double feather on the off side of the crest, 
the curl of the lips when he is in movement, and 
even divers wounds, are all there to confute the 
sceptic. Beny Suckr, some great mufti or other, was 
so fond and careful of the horse he imported, that he 
" sent thirty men to guard him in his ten days 5 jour- 
ney across the desert ;" and another, " fifteen two 
without his shoes," has such wondrous muscle that, 
when the Russian General, Count Orloff, "who, 
though perfectly well made, rides 23 stone," gave him 
a strong gallop, he " blew no more than if he had 
carried a feather." A certain Mr. Gregory scorns a 
certificate, but offers, as a voucher for the pure caste 
of his brace of Arabs, that " they were bred by the 
King of Sinnan, in the Mountain of Moses, in the 



province of Yannam, in Arabia Felix/' The prestige 
of these children of the desert was even then (1771) 
on the wane; but we have it from General Clarke, the 
oldest surviving Indian officer, that, some few years 
before the close of the century, the native dealers 
brought a coarse- shouldered bay Arab to the Madras 
bazaar, and sturdily set their price at 10,000. Only 
one nabob- elect was found bold enough to bid a 
tenth of that sum ; and back went the dusky owners, 
in. a state of great dudgeon, to the hill-country, won- 
dering what could have come to the whites. At the 
recent Stuttgardt fair, the highest prices were for a 
white ten-year-old stallion, about 240, and for a 
four-year-old mare, 190. The* late Mr. Attwood 
retained his love of the " delicate Arab arch" in his 
racer's necks longer than any man on the English turf; 
but their inability to stand " squeezing," in a strong 
finish, cost him many a pound and many a pang. 
The present Mr. Attwood's Glints mare is still credited 
year after year in the stud-book, with foals to a 
grey, bay, or chesnut Barb, and it was but the other 
day we were invited by advertisement to see a " true 
Seglavee Djederanee ;" and, reading on, we found 
him to be " a horse of such surpassing swiftness, 
that Omar Pacha specially selected him to carry 
the news of the raising of the siege of Silistria to 
Varna \" Hugh Capet sent several German run- 
ning horses to Athelstane early in the ninth century ; 
the Spanish horse came in with William the Con- 
queror, and the first Arabian on record was introduced 
to the English isles by Alexander, King of Scotland, 
who presented it and its furniture to the Church ! 
A writer on this subject in The Field informs us 

" The Arabs, as well as the Turks and Persians, look upon those 
portions of a horse's coat, which seem to grow in a contrary direction 
here and there, as a certain means of determining its value. Any 
unlucky sign will immediately take away from the horse two-thirds 


of its worth, and sometimes more. Nearly all the Nedjdi Arab horses 
introduced into Europe are those considered imperfect by their owners. 
It is said that 4,000 was offered by an aide-de-camp of the Emperor 
of Russia for the celebrated ' White Hamdani,' and refused. This 
horse, now in the breeding yard of St. Cloud, near Paris, had, ac- 
cording to the words of Mohammed Agha and the attendants, who 
brought him over, three or four unlucky signs, on which account he 
had been rejected from the stables of the Pacha of Egypt. These 
marks, which we should consider merely as a simple freak of nature, 
would inspire a Mussulman either with a superstitious prejudice 
against the horse, or an incredible longing to mount him ; each mark 
bearing a particular signification according to the place it occupies, 
and the size and softness of the hair." 

An Arab horse has, in fact, forty recognised marks, 
twenty-eight of which are negative, and the other 
twelve have an influence for happiness or misery on 
the owner. The mark between the ears shows swift- 
ness, that on the girths increases the flocks, while 
that on the breast fills the tent with plunder ; and it 
is especially unlucky for the hair to curl on the legs. 
The rival tribes are as jealous among themselves of 
the pure caste of their horses as the great short-horn 
breeders were wont to be, in the days when a baronet 
rather despised the herds of an earl, from a belief 
that their muzzles had a slight dark tinge, which be- 
spoke a distant relationship to the Scotch ox or the 
Chillingham rangers. 

Judging from his portraits, we should be disposed 
to side with those who considered that Lord Godol- 
phin's celebrated horse was more of a Barb than 
an Arab. Hence, if this point is conceded at Gog- 
magog, we have the Godolphin Barb, the Byerley 
Turk, and the Darley Arabian, standing boldly out 
from the croud of Hemsley Turks, Sedley Arabians, 
Curwen Barbs, &c. (the importation of which was 
supposed to lay counties under a deathless obligation 
to their great families), as the three honoured foun- 
ders the Shem, Ham, and Japhet, as they have 
been styled of English blood stock. It was not 
until seventy years after the Byerley Turk had borne 



his owner at the Battle of the Boyne that his memory 
was made famous by King Herod. This sire of 
Highflyer was foaled, like Eclipse and Marske, in 
the paddocks of the Duke of Cumberland, who used 
to throw mains with Lord^ Sandwich when the hounds 
checked, " on every green hill and under every green 
tree," and whose name was as great in connexion 
with blood stock as that of the Duke of Montague, 
in Charles II.' s reign. Woodpecker and Highflyer 
represent the two great branches of King Herod's 
line ; and the descendants of the former have been as 
renowned for their speed as those of the latter for 
their staying qualities* That wonderful trio of 
brothers by Buzzard (a fair-sized chesnut with one 
eye), out of an Alexander mare, to wit, Selim, Reu- 
bens, and Castrel, were but two degrees from Wood- 
pecker; and while Castrel was, till within the last few 
years, represented by his son Pantaloon, and now by 
Hobbie Noble, Selim may be traced through Langar 
to Pyrrhus the First, and through Sultan to Beiram 
and Bay Middleton. Prunella, on the other hand, 
was the queen of the Highflyer mares, and Sir Peter 
Teazle or Sir Peter as he was popularly styled 
the most distinguished of his male descendants ; and 
through his grandson Partisan, who was by Walton, 
out of Parasol, a daughter of Prunella, we have had 
Venison and Gladiator. The Partisan blood has thus 
a strong double stain of Highflyer in it : and although 
the effects of this rather close breeding brought no 
softness into the Venisons, it may have had its effect 
on the Sweetmeats ; and the failure of the Action 
stock may also be accounted for by the fact that 
both his dam and grandam were by Highflyer. 
Agonistes, Haphazard, Sir Solomon, and Sir Paul 
were all very noted " four-mile" sons of Sir Peter, 
and Sir Paul transmitted his stoutness, through 
Paulowitz and Cain, to the stock of Ion, who was 
never a great favourite in England, and was con- 


signed to the foreigners before Wild Dayrell was 
added to his Poodle and Pelion list of winners. 

The Godolphin Barb blood courses through Cade 
and Matchem, down to Trumpator, " the head of the 
negroes/' as some were wont to term him, and his 
sons Paynator and Sorcerer. From Paynator (who 
was only small, like his sire) sprang the sire of Bees- 
wing, the ever-green Dr. Syntax, whose muscular 
frame still lives, along with Phantom, in Ward's 
wondrous horse-studies. He was the result of a cross 
with a Beningboro' mare, and the staying propensities 
of the family were studiously preserved through the 
Lottery, or rather the Tramp strain in The Doctor, 
whose tight little son Black Doctor so completely re- 
vived the fortunes of Ashgill. Tomboy strains back 
to Sorcerer (a great fine black horse who would run 
any length), through Jerry and Smolensko; and 
Melbourne claims the same relationship, through the 
high-blowing Humphrey Clinker and Comus. 

Eclipse originally passed as a yearling into the 
hands of little Wildman for 75 guineas, Captain 
O ; Kelly buying half of him when he was a four-year- 
old for 250 guineas, and the remainder soon after for 
750 guineas. The only record we can find of his 
latter days, when his fifty-guinea fee was considerably 
reduced, is in a mock epistle, where he says, " Old 
age has come upon me, and wonder not, King Fergus, 
when I tell thee I was drawn in a carriage from 
Epsom to Cannon's, being unable to walk even so 
short a journey. I am glad to hear my grandson, 
Honest Tom, performs so well in Ireland. P.S. 
Myself, Dungannon, Volunteer, and Yertumnus are 
here. Compliments to the Yorkshire horses." His 
four sons Mercury, Joe Andrews, King Fergus, and 
Pot-8-os transmit the Darley Arabian blood to us 
in its purest form. Gohanna and Catton form two 
of the links in the stout " catenary chain" between 
Slane and Mercury ; Tramp stands half-way between 


Lanercost and Joe Andrews ; and King Fergus may 
be traced, through Beningboro', Orvile, and Emilius, 
to Priam, on the one side, and through Hambletonian, 
Whitelock, and Blacklock, to Voltaire, on the other. 
Of all his sons, however, Eclipse has most reason (as 
Dr. Bullock Marsham would say) "to rejoice in 
Pot-8-osf as from his union with a King Herod 
mare came Waxy, the modern ace of trumps of the 
Stud Book; whilst Whalebone and Whisker were 
the Waxy foals of Penelope, a daughter of Prunella. 
Whalebone was, in his turn, by a strictly-orthodox 
cross with the Selim, Reubens, and Wanderer blood, 
the sire of Camel, Defence, and Sir Hercules, and 
the grandsire of Touchstone and Irish Birdcatcher; 
while Whisker must, in consequence of The Colonel's 
failure, and Cobham's refusal to run to his splendid 
trials, in public, rest his claims to renown so far on 
the stock of Emma ; or fall back in future years on 
his great grandson Rifleman. As Parasol, another 
of the Prunellas, was the dam of Partisan, there is 
much truth in the saying, that there is hardly a 
blood- thing in England without a stain of old Pru- 
nella in its veins. She was a bay mare, belonging 
to the Duke of Grafton, was not placed for the Oaks 
in 1791, and, in fact, only won three races out of 
eleven. In 1795 she was put to the stud, threw a 
Derby winner to Waxy (who was never happy with- 
out a rabbit in his paddock) in 1806, and died in 1811. 
Waxy laid the foundation of Robson's training fame, 
when he beat Gohanna, the pride of Petworth, in 
the Derby of 1793, on which memorable day three 
sons of Pot-8-os finished in the first four ; and the 
same numerical luck attended the first three-year-old 
batch of the Lanercosts over the same ground. He 
was a very handsome rich bay, with a white stocking 
on his off hind leg, good length, and especially beau- 
tiful quarters, which he transmitted in the highest 
perfection to his son Whisker, who was perhaps the 


finer-looking animal of the two. Whalebone was 
much smaller, and not so good looking as either of 
them ; barely fifteen two, and bordering, in colour, 
on a brown ; and Woful was thought by many to be 
a still handsomer horse than Whisker, but his legs 
failed wofully in his preparations. 

Bay Middleton, Touchstone, and Melbourne, one 
from each of the great branches of the genealogical 
stud tree, are in the first class of turf patriarchs, 
although they are gradually giving way before 
younger rivals. Venison ranked amongst them ; but 
his last lot of foals ran last season, and Kingston, the 
handsomest of his sons, and out of a Slane mare, is still 
untried. Irish Birdcatcher's stock are somewhat short 
and very speedy, and the stouter and less curby blood 
of The Baron, which got a double stain of Waxy 
through his Economist dam, has brought out this 
chesnut family in still greater force, by its cross with 
Pocahontas by Glencoe, which made both Tramp and 
Muley kinsmen to Stockwell and Eataplan. To these 
two, seeing that the handsome Chief Baron Nicholson 
has departed, the honour of this blood will have to be 
confided ; as even 3,000 guineas, or nearly twice the 
sum paid for him, has failed to tempt our allies to 
send us The Baron back. Still we are informed by 
gentleman, who visited him not very long since, at 
the Bois du Haras, that he was as rough and as un- 
cared for as a bear, and that seeing how dirty and 
below par the whole establishment was, it was no 
wonder the young stock turned out ill. With the 
exception of Safeguard, who is out of a Selim mare, 
we believe that there is hardly a Defence horse left in 
England ; and we have no worthy inheritor of the 
stag-like neck, long back ribs, and broad back, which 
Mr. Thornhill used to point out with such pride 
whenever he introduced his Biddlesworth visitors to 
Emilius. If Mr. Houldsworth, of whom it used to be 
said " that he could never lose over horses what he 


had made by mules" were living, he would find his 
magnificent Filho da Puta in the same plight ; and 
Muley Moloch, the best living representative of the 
hero of the once-famed Underley stud, has of late 
been changing hands for 10 and 15 I and resign- 
ing his honours to his good-looking son Galaor. 

The honour of rearing a popular successor to Bay 
Middleton has so far been left to Barbelle ; although 
Andover is to our minds the best stamp of horse to 
look at, that has ever owned him as a sire. This 
dam of the Flying Dutchman is not nearly so power- 
ful a looking mare as Crucifix, but short-legged and 
lengthy, and certainly not fifteen-two. She is very 
neat, and with that springy wire-hung action, which 
so far especially distinguishes the scions of the great 
" Rawcliffe Horse." This lack of size in Barbelle is 
rather telling on her descendants, and the young 
Dutchmen, like the Heroes, Chanticleers, and Vati- 
cans, as a general rule, are as small as the Pyrrhuses, 
Cowls, and Flatcatchers are big. Sweetmeat, whose 
stock are somewhat shoulder-tied, but yet speedy for a 
mile, is no mean substitute for Gladiator, nor Cossack 
for Hetman Platoff. Whatever might also be the ge- 
neral opinion on the staying qualities of the Hetmans, 
Cossack's dam, Joaninna by Priam, was emphatically 
" a sticker " and though she had only one pace, she 
could, when she had something to force the running, 
catch the majority of horses at the Duke's stand if 
they met her for a " Ditch In " plate. Though 
Crucifix has failed him on the whole, and thrown 
very infirm stock, the union of riam's blood with 
Lottery's, in the case of Weatherbit, has had a suc- 
cess which bids fair to be lasting. Vulture died 
from a kick at the Hampton Court Paddocks soon 
after Orlando, who was only her second foal, was 
weaned. However, she had even at that early date 
done enough for her name, as her speed has been 
transmitted in the highest degree to his stock, which 


are generally preferred to his sire's. He is very 
little above fifteen-two, and rather cloudy-eyed ; but 
he is one of those finely -knit and strong-quartered 
horses, who look as if they would answer to a pull and 
" come again" under any amount of distress, as only 
an English horse can ; and Scythian (whom we last 
heard of travelling 1,600 miles by a cranky railway 
and in a negro's charge, to join Glencoe in Kentucky), 
Fazzoletto, and Teddington have not belied his 
promise. His yearling stock uniformly fetch the high- 
est prices of the day, and stamp him as the most popu- 
lar race-horse-sire we have. As a general thing they 
are a little gaudy ; and one of the '56 Hampton Court 
yearlings, with a white face and four long white 
stockings, is the breathing fac-simile of Vulture. 
Nat does not perhaps think him so good as Glencoe, 
but he was the horse of all others he loved most to 
ride. He used to say of him that he never knew him 
change legs either in a race or at exercise, and that 
his stroke, as he watched it from his back, had all the 
wondrous precision of an engine piston ; and he now 
adds that next to him he liked to feel himself on 
Rifleman. For look, there is no untried son of Touch- 
stone we prefer to the lengthy, short-legged New- 
minster, who has the honour of old Beeswing in his 
stud-keeping, and is not likely to disgrace her. 

A successful blood sire has been as good as a long 
annuity to many an owner, and earned its special will- 
clause like " The Black Mare" in re Pettingall, whose 
J?50 per annum "Account" was so carefully considered 
by Sir Knight Bruce, in reference to the possible rise 
in hay and corn during her life. Matchem, whose 
galloping likeness, with his two hind legs on the 
ground and his two front in the air, still creaks on 
many a village sign-board in the north, produced no 
less than 17,000 to his owner. Eclipse realized 
nearly that sum ; and Highflyer, whose stock were 
of every colour down to piebalds, an almost fabulous 


amount, during a much shorter career. Orvile's fee 
was as low as ten guineas, but he was still worth 
1,000 guineas a-year to Mr. Kirby during the four 
seasons he had him; and although in the course of 
eighty-seven years he has never treated himself to such 
an honour, that Father of the Yorkshire Turf laid out 
nearly 300 in having his favourite's picture taken 
and engraved. His Lanercost might, like Orvile, he 
said to have " received all Yorkshire" at his pad- 
docks; and it was perhaps owing to this cause that he 
could not hold the place he won in 1847, with Van 
Tromp, War Eagle, and Ellerdale. In the spring of 
the preceding year Mr. Kirby had been sadly teazed 
by the foreigners and their English agents to part 
with him for 3,000 guineas, the sum at which he 
had bought him at Newcastle, " stripped of every- 
thing but his shoes not even the halter in ;" but he 
stoutly refused to let him go under 4,000 guineas, 
and cleared 1,600 by him in 1847 alone. Six or 
seven years after, he was sold, when barely eighteen, 
with Hernandez and a couple of mares and a foal, 
as make-weights, for 1,500 the lot ! The earnings 
of Melbourne, after Canezou made him the rage, 
were also something very enormous ; and there must 
be at least a dozen sires on the stud-list at present 
which are bringing in 600 a year and upwards to 
their owners. We have only heard of one stud 
horse being under suspicion of late years, as a coun- 
terfeit ; and we believe that his owner had a hint 
given him, which answered its purpose. The trainer 
of the real Simon Pure, who was averred to have 
been thrown overboard in a storm in the German 
Ocean, looked him over, and said that the resem- 
blance was very remarkable, but that one mark was 
about two inches too low. 

When we find a little horse like Abd-el Kader, 
whose dam worked in a fast Shrewsbury coach, and a 
cast-off of Lord Exeter's, doing the four miles and 


a-quarter of the Liverpool Steeple Chase under ten 
stone in very little over ten minutes, we have no 
great reason to join in the elegies over the decay of 
our horses' stamina. Horologists assert that the 
five-year-old Sir Solomon and Cockfighter ran four 
miles at Doncaster under 8st. 71bs. in 7 mins. 11 sees., 
and the most desperately run race of modern times 
was the Emperor's Cup in 1853, when Teddington, 
5 yrs., 9st., and Stock well, 4 yrs., 8st. 51bs., covered 
the 2J miles of a course where "^to-racing" is a 
mere euphemism, in 4 min. 33 sees. West Austra- 
lian and Kingston are said to have done the distance 
in 6 sees, less, but the pace for the last three-quarters 
of a mile was not so severe. Velocipede, whom John 
Scott considers to be the best horse he ever trained, 
and Osprey, who beat everything of Lord Foley's, 
when he was out of training, for half a mile were 
immensely fast, as were all the stock of Buzzard and 
his descendants. Vulture had perhaps the highest 
speed of any animal that ever trod the turf, but we 
do not know that her half-mile burst was ever timed. 
Semiseria and Queen of the Gipsies are said to have 
done a half-mile match at Newmarket in 37 sees., 
while 1 min. 46 sees, is a good general average for a 
mile, 2 mins. 46 sees, for 1J miles, and 3 mins. 
46 sees for two. The slowest race we ever saw was 
the Ebor St. Leger of 1850, in which, owing to all 
three jockeys being afraid to begin, the first three- 
quarters of a mile was walked, and the two miles 
happily completed, after a slashing head and head 
race, in 14 mins. 17 sees. ! The Newcastle Cup, (1855) 
when Dalkeith and King of Trumps fairly reeled past 
the post like drunken men, is also one te leading case" 
of distress ; as Wanota's, in the Ascot Stakes, when 
Job Marson was three times compelled to indulge him 
with the lead, and then come and win at the fourth 
run, is of hard pulling. 

With the exception of the Royal Whip and two 


Queen's Plates at the Curragh, The Queen's Plate at 
the Caledonian Hunt, and " The Whip" at New- 
market, there are no four-mile races left ; and the 
massacre of cracks which has immemorially been 
enacted in the last-named race, is enough to drive 
" the beacon" out of fashion. West Australian was 
spared that public auto da fe, while Wild Dayrell met 
his fate " in another place," a martyr to his owner's 
too rigorous feeling of honour. Wild Dayrell is not 
quite so large as he looks, and only measures sixteen 
one and a-quarter. A more magnificent topped horse 
was never seen ; but, like Ephesus, he is an inch too 
long in the leg for beauty, and rather light below 
the knee, and tapers so decidedly from his arm to the 
ground, besides turning his toes out, that his owner 
may thank the splendid mossy texture of the Wea- 
thercock Hill in Ashdown Park, that he kept on his 
legs so long. He inherits his size from his dam, 
Ellen Middleton, who is perhaps, with the exception 
of being a trifle straight in the hocks, as fine a brood 
mare as we ever saw. She was at Sweetmeat's pad- 
docks when we saw her last year, and one of a long 
platoon of mares standing under a hedge with their 
backs to the bitter east wind, among whom were the 
dams of Mincepie and Sugarplum ; while one of the 
first of the Mountain Deer foals, with hair as long and 
rough as a billy-goat, stood defying the breezes hard 
by. West Australian's form changed so completely 
between the Derby and the St. Leger, that his stable 
felt sure he must be lOlbs. better, or lOlbs. worse; 
and we could hardly recognise in the smart well- 
moulded horse of the autumn, the sleepy-looking colt 
whom poor " Frank" mounted with anything but 
ground-less apprehensions on the Derby day. This 
infirmity prevented the world from ever half-knowing 
what "my hack" could do at four years old, although 
as a stayer John Scott ranked him below Touchstone. 
Hence Teddington must, to our minds, claim the 


palm for the best modern union of speed, bottom, and 
weight-carrying power. His make was a brilliant 
exception to conventional racing rules, as lie was a 
small short horse, in fact quite of the Suffolk Punch 
order, in his two-year-old season low in the withers, 
straight in the shoulders, short, and upright in the 
pasterns, small footed, calf-kneed, and only sixty- 
three inches in the girth when he won the Derby. 
With all these so-called racing defects, he looked a 
race-horse every inch of him. His head and neck 
were especially game and blood-like ; but the great 
secret of his rare racing power lay in his high mus- 
cular loins, which sent him along the flat and up the 
hill like a hare. It was glorious to see Wells let 
Virago go at the Stand for the Great Metropolitan, 
but it was nothing to the style in which the little 
chesnut answered to the whip when " Job," with 
whip and heel, called on him to collar Kingston, who 
was then in his prime, for the Doncaster Cup, or the 
almost electric burst of speed with which he darted on 
to Stockwell, and then swerving from desperate dis- 
tress while giving 91bs. to a horse half as powerful 
again up the Ascot Hill, came a second time, and 
beat him a head on the post. Some how or other, 
when we see a horse strike well out with the off hind 
leg, \ve always fancy that he means going, and this 
peculiarity was an especial characteristic of Tedding- 
ton and Rifleman. 

It is a common excuse for horses of no great run- 
ning powers, that they have failed in the stud simply 
for the lack of having picked mares put to them. 
Merit will, however, be generally served in this, as 
in everything else ; and glancing over a twenty years' 
list of great winners, we do not recognise more than 
thirty of them as high-class stud names. Perhaps 
the most distinguished cluster of future stud cracks 
came to the fore in the Derby of 1836, when Gla- 
diator, Venison, and Slane finished behind Bay 


Middleton; and in the St. Leger of 1829, when 
Voltaire, with Sir Hercules at his quarters, all but 
reached Rowton 011 the post. The finish for the 
latter race in 1849, between the Dutchman, Nunny- 
kirk, and Vatican, also showed us three elegant but 
very different types of " terribly high-bred cattle." 
In point of what breeders emphatically call " qua- 
lity," horses differ immensely. Orlando has a great 
deal of it, and so have many of his stock, as well as 
some of the Venisons. In Sultan, whose head might 
have beseemed a Belvidere Apollo among horses, it 
was seen to very great perfection ; and, noble savage 
as he is, Phlegon, out of Lucetta, shows perhaps as 
much or more of it than any animal of the day. His 
eye, and his whole attitude, as he arched his beauti- 
ful neck, and half fixed his eye on his box visitors on 
the Burleigh sale day, as if by a species of wild fasci- 
nation trying to woo them within his hoof-range, was 
a study of animal nature such as we shall never forget. 
It was this temper which marred his racing career, 
and he would (like Slane) stop suddenly in his exer- 
cise gallops, and then think better of it, and go on and 
catch his horses again like the wind. The court-yard 
at Burleigh, that lovely August afternoon, was a per- 
fect carnival of blood sires of every type and hue. 
Midas, the blood pony of the day, was kept in strict 
limbo by wooden reins, and sent forth an indignant 
chorus of whinnies as his less favoured companions 
were led past him to the hammer. Stockwell came 
ambling out in his peculiar style, with his Roman 
head and massive muscular points wonderfully fined 
down since he all but broke Teddington's heart. 
Phlegon glared on the assembly like a tiger, and was 
led snorting away when no one would go beyond 
190 guineas ; and Nutwith, with his almost-matchless 
back and quarters, presenting a perfect line of beauty 
as you stood rather behind him, and did not care to 
query whether his shoulder was not slightly loaded, 


also returned to the place from whence he came for 
1,600 guineas. Then the lengthy Woodpigeou ar- 
rived, whose gentleness well beseemed his name, and 
was quite atoned for by the luckless Ambrose, who 
over and over again beat Stockwell in private, and 
yet could never win a race on his private account, 
though Camel and Priam have left their undeniable 
traces on his quarters and head. He seemed by no 
means to feel his position, as, after clearing the 
Ring, and driving Mr. Tattersall with a Chifney rush 
from his box, he performed three or four distinct 
pas-seuls on his hind legs. There he was like a great 
black fountain of animal spirits towering over every- 
thing ; a sight enough to make old Ducrow's dust 
" start and tremble under his feet, and blossom in 
purple and red." 

West Australian is not deficient in quality, though 
he is not indebted for that to his sire ; and if you go 
into a paddock, and see a lengthy plain-headed foal 
with lop ears gazing at you, it may be safely set 
down as a Melbourne. The Bay Middletons are 
generally easy to pick out, by the black speckles on 
one of the front coronets ; the Alarms by their flesh- 
coloured noses, and peculiarly indented-in-the-middle 
outline of head; the Orlandoes by their tapering 
heads, and tendency to white on the legs ; the Cowls 
by their round quarters ; the Birdcatchers by their 
smart airy look, low-set-on tails, and rich golden 
chesnut ; the Touchstones by their black-brown skins, 
intelligent white-reach faces, and peculiarly high-bred 
nostrils ; and the Sweetmeats by their " clear-cut 
icily-regular" foreheads, which caused a trainer to 
exclaim one autumn, as he looked over Mr. Cookson's 
lot in the Salutation yard, " Dear me ! I wish I 
showed half as much breeding about the head as 
you do." 

The pervading fault of modern horses is, that they 
are as beautiful as a picture before the saddle, and 


lack substance and coupling behind it ; while the 
long shoulders, which are so much talked of, may 
tend to send them down, but do very little towards 
helping them up a hill. No " jumped-up " horse 
ever does much ; while a heavy shoulder or quarters, 
flat sides, light back-ribs, a light middle, legginess, 
a peacock forehand, straight weak hocks, and high 
withers, invariably denote an inability to stay. 
Straight thighs, though they seldom get a horse well 
up a hill, and long pasterns, are as generally an 
indication of speed, as slanting thighs and a broad 
chest are of the contrary, and very pretty two-year- 
olds seldom improve on their form. We have also 
seen many coffin-headed horses great gluttons for a 
distance, and we do not dislike those which go wide 
behind, though such a peculiarity does not suit short 
quick races. 

Still the types of distinguished runners vary most 
wonderfully. Hambletonian was a very lofty lengthy 
horse, with a fine back and big well-coupled ribs ; 
while Priam, on the contrary, was rather light there, 
and though a splendid animal when you stood up to 
him, he looked remarkably narrow as you examined 
him from behind. Glencoe and Haphazard were 
both rather hollow-backed ; and the latter had a way 
of poking his head straight out at exercise, which 
made him appear one long level from his ears to his 
tail. Surplice's fore-legs " look as if they grew out 
of one hole " ; The Flying Dutchman was narrow 
and light in the middle ; Blacklock had huge calf 
knees and bad fore-legs altogether ; Voltigeur's fore- 
hand is too massive; Plenipo was as thick as a bul- 
lock ; The Colonel had round heavy quarters and a 
general lack of liberty about him ; and Violante was 
a great fine mare who loved the A.F., while the little 
Meteora delighted in " the beacon." Size has, after 
all, not much to do with success on the Turf, if a 
horse's lungs and loins are only sound and strong, 


and his machinery compactly placed for working. 
The eighteen-hand Magog rolled about hopelessly 
from distress before he had gone half a mile ; and 
Wild Dayrell, Filho da Puta, and Birmingham, the 
latter of whom was about sixteen-three, are the 
largest horses that we remember to have run with 
marked success. The turf " ponies," from Milksop, 
Ancaster Starling, Highlander, and Grimcrack, (who 
was never beat but once, and then by Bay Malton) 
down to Midas and Mickey Free, have averaged four- 
teen-two, and yet no horses have been more fortunate 
at all distances from a mile to four miles, and at all 
weights from 8st. 71bs. to 12st. Still, if the pace be 
strong and true from the start, horses have their 
distance measured out almost to a yard, and no re- 
duction of weight, or training, or advantage in size, 
can get them beyond it. For power, combined with 
good size and speed, we never met with a finer uni- 
corn than Stockweli, Longbow, and Lord George. 
" A ton," as the touts used to remark, was their 
" game." There has too seldom been a sweeter 
mare to the eye than Beeswing ; and though Re- 
covery was thought handsome enough to model from, 
and Pantaloon was the beau ideal of hosts of English- 
men as well as foreigners, we are inclined to think 
that there have been few more beautiful horses than 
Actseon, Kingston, Fazzoletto, or Envoy, and none 
more truly proportioned than little Rowton. Still 
for the type of what a really serviceable racer ought 
to be, commend to us the low and lengthy Fandango, 
with those great well hooped ribs knit into the most 
muscular of quarters, and that stealing action close 
to the ground, and giving nothing away. It is on 
the perpetuation of points like these, and not on 
beauty, that our English horse fame depends. 

It is a very remarkable fact, that although before 
Touchstone's time, Pot- 8-0' s, Dr. Syntax, Sorcerer, 
Sultan, Sir Hercules, Catton, The Colonel, Taurus, 



Bay Malton, and Filho da Puta, where all first foals, 
such, was the late Marquis of Westminster's preju- 
dice against them that he always gave them away, 
and was only prevented from so acting in the case 
of the weakly white-faced firstling of Banter by 
despair of finding a thankful donee. Had the Mar- 
quis kept hounds, little Touchstone might have been 
popped into the kennel-copper, and not been the 
first of such Lilliputians who has furnished a dainty 
veal supper to the hungry spotted tribe of the Rum- 
magers and the Rallywoods. Since Touchstone's 
escape, Melbourne, Liverpool, Ion, The Baron, King- 
ston, Elthiron, Inheritress, Wild Dayrell, and Fan- 
dango, have trampled on this ancient theory. Touch- 
stone himself has magnificent quarters ; but his stock 
have too often heavy shoulders, which sadly baffle 
the trainer's art. His sire CamePs shoulders and 
withers were high almost to deformity ; and his quar- 
ters were so cloven and large, and his tail set on so 
low, that as you looked at him from behind, and 
missed his fine blood-like head, he seemed as strong 
and coarse as a cart-horse. Camel was an especial 
favourite with Mr. Theobald and he refused an offer of 
10,000 for him, Rockingham, Laurel, and Tarrare, 
who stood along with CacciaPiatti, Cydnus, and one or 
two others at his Stockwell stud farm. There has 
seldom been a greater enthusiast in horse-flesh than 
the old hosier of Snow Hill, and he perfectly wor- 
shipped Whalebone. If you called on him at his 
house of business, you were invariably told that he 
was so much engaged that he could see no one ; but 
" Perhaps you could say that I have come about some 
horses" was the unfailing picklock of an interview. 
In a few short minutes the hosiery points were settled 
out of hand, and his massive figure would be seen 
looming in the distance, in top-boots and buckskins, 
and a capacious blue gilt-buttoned coat a la Duke of 
Portland. If he did not carry you off bodily to 


Stockwell, you were beckoned forthwith behind the 
glass doors of his sanctum, and there you sat, with 
the nuttiest of sherry and the most venerable of port 
a 4 ; your elbow, and heard of Whalebone, the little 
" Whalebone weed " (Spaniel), who was bought for 
150 over the Petworth dinner- tale, and won the 
Derby, with Mameluke, Loutherbourg, and ft all the 
coltish chronicle," by the hour. 

Dr. Bellyse, of Audlem, whose love of handicapping 
and cock-fighting was so infinitely in advance of that 
which he entertained for his pestle and mortar, that 
it used to be said he never would attend any case 
during Chester races, was an equally remarkable 
turf character, though on the whole he preferred 
the cock-pit to the race-course. It was his cardinal 
doctrine that the most incestuous eggs produced the 
strongest fowls; and so jealous was he of his breed, 
that when one of his noted " crow-alleys" was sitting 
on a nest of such eggs, and a great cock-fighting 
nobleman offered him a fifty-pound note for her, he 
lifted her off the nest, then and there, and broke all 
the eggs, " Why, sir ! you sold me the eggs as well 
for the 50," was the indignant remonstrance ; and 
" No, indeed, my lord, I didn't ; I should have asked 
you a thousand for her and the nest," was the only 
rejoinder. To show how this daintiness about breed 
may be set at naught, we may call to mind how, 
after the memorable cocking match at Melton, which 
ended in a tie, one of the parties was actually so bare 
of birds, that he gave a lad 10 guineas to scour the 
country, and out of the eleven cocks that fortunate 
youth collected, no less than eight won their battles. - 
The Doctor's abstract faith in man was not great, as 
he was occasionally heard to say to one of his 
" feeders " : " I'll just tell you what it is, if you 
thought you had one ounce of honest flesh in you, 
you'd run straight away to a surgeon, and get it cut 

p 2 


The memory of Parson Nanney Wynn will also 
long be green in his own country; and he was 
never more in his glory than when he started Ban- 
shee to cut down Birmingham, and help Velocipede's 
sister Moss Kose at Chester. "Howayat him 
Parson lad tak* the shine out of Brummagem but- 
tons /" roared a knot of burly Shropshire men who 
stood close beside him at the cords, as Birmingham 
went tearing past them at Banshee's girths, and pull- 
ing himself to pieces ; and the " parson's lad's" res- 
ponse of "Thank you, gentlemen, I'll take the 
running precious soon out of this Mr. Allhaste," was 
amply verified when they came round again. He 
adopted the name of Wynn for some property ; but 
his horses, of whom he had a great many good ones, 
still ran in his brother's name. The sport was a 
perfect passion with him ; in a morning you would 
find him riding on his old white mare round the 
paddocks with the stud- groom, and as they used to 
have endless racing and pedigree discussions, the lat- 
ter took care to arm himself, as he put on his hat and 
gaiters, with the Book and Sheet Calendar in either 
pocket. He also kept a pack of harriers ; and as 
soon as his racers, which always stood at home in 
the winter, had been attended to, the whole posse 
comitatus would sally out to find a hare, and there 
was no lack of good cheer in the servants' hall on 
their return. Never was any man so delighted as 
when his favourite mare Signorina beat Lord Dar- 
lington's high-priced Memnori for the Manchester 
Cup. After the race, he escorted her back to scale, 
and as her jockey was unsaddling, he gave her a fond 
slap under the tail, and said, "How much for the 
Leger winner ? What do you think of the old Welsh 
parson and his Welsh mare now ? they can beat every 
one of you. Can't we, old girl ?" The Church used 
to furnish an equally enthusiastic representative in 
the shape of Parson Harvey. He was always dressed 


in full clerical costume, though he was a sad sloven, 
and cared very little for his cloth, in either sense 
of the word. He was perpetually to be seen riding 
his dearly beloved Phantom in a hood in Hyde Park, 
and at one time he had this horse and three other 
sires in his Pimlico stables. No man had a happier 
knack of taming them, a talent about which he was 
remarkably proud and mysterious ; and few formed 
better opinions of running than he did, when he drew 
up his old gig by the side of the cords at Newmarket. 
He perpetually bought a sire out of the studs when 
he could get them cheap at the October meetings, 
and might be seen at the close of the races driving 
down the High-street with his new purchase tied 
behind him. In one of these strange processions,, 
Canterbury, whom he purchased from Lord Gros- 
venor, especially figured ; but its new owner had 
long ceased to have any terror of the Archbishop 
before his eyes. He used to say that the Archbishop 
might pluck off his gown, but he couldn't pluck out 
his heart for TattersalFs ; and he was never more in 
his glory than when he stood there, clinging on to 
the tail of Vandyke junior, and holding forth to the 
gazers on the wondrous change in his temper, under 
his pastoral care. 




" Give my horse to Timon : 
It foala me straight arid able horses." 


) the Turf enthusiast, stud annals are as rich in 
information as the Fasti and Athenseus are to 
the scholar. They tell how Elden " drove Madcap " 
when she found herself bereaved, and took forcible 
possession of her foal ; how Cselebs drank at Dan 
Dawson's poisoned trough, and was only saved by 
oceans of vinegar ; how Milksop took fright at her 
foal, and flatly refused to suckle it ; how Young 
Cyprus was wounded in the Peninsular War, and a 
Bugle mare mysteriously spirited away from her pad- 
dock one night for ever and aye ; how Kappa out of 
Beta was killed by lightning ; how Sir 0. Bunbury 
sold his grey Diomede colt with a leg growing out 
<of its chest, to a showman ; how Touch-me-not un- 
derwent the Csesarean operation after death; how 
sister to Batteraway had a fire accident ; how Lan- 
guish was home-sick, and refused to breed under a 
foreign sky ; how Vesta had her fourteen foals all 
greys, and Elis's dam was barren for ten out of 
twenty seasons ; how Mrs. Candour broke her neck 
out hunting, and Altisidora died, heavy in foal to 
Blacklock, as she struggled to get out of the ditch ; 
how Speed always made a point of killing her foals, 
while a Tuft mare could never rear one to live ; how 


Resurrection was thrown away as a foal for dead, and 
revived on a warm dung-heap ; how Wanderer spent 
his life in carrying his litter out of his box into the 
yard, and never let any one catch his eye or see him 
lie down from the time he was put out of training ; 
and how in the spring of 1825 nearly every brood 
mare and sympathetic she-ass on the Petworth estate 
cast full-grown dead foals from no apparent cause. 
Generations of Barnums might have made their 
market by watching stud-farms alone. The curios- 
ities of breeding experience are, in fact, endless. 
Two foals are registered as having had five legs apiece ; 
an Orvile mare, after going thirty-seven days beyond 
her time, gave birth to one with no feet ; and her 
half-sister not to be outdone, had another, shortly 
after, with no eyes. Lord George Bentinck was very 
fond of breeding experiments. Monstrosity produced 
such a good foal in Ugly Buck, when she was only 
three, that he determined to steal another year, and 
sent Experiment to Venison when she was just eleven 
months old, but her colt barely lived twenty-four 
hours. The dam of Montreal was the most remark- 
able prodigy that ever passed through his hands, as 
she was in foal only three times in 1842-47, and 
threw twins each time. In many instances mares 
have had twins their first season ; but as a general 
rule it is hardly possible to rear one, much less both. 
The nurture of Tweedle-dee-dum and Tweedle -dee- 
dee was a strong instance to the contrary ; and the 
strangeness of the " difference " between them con- 
sisted in the superior thriving of the one which was 
reared, like little Milksop, upon cow's milk. Occa- 
sionally a twin is put in training ; but King Pepin is 
the only one, of late years, which has shown any 
form. Cedric, the Derby winner, may also be men- 
tioned as a singular instance of a horse who never 
got a foal ; and we remember one of less note which, 
season after season, refused to notice a mare, till he 


was left alone with one, and had sucked her dry. 
Launcelot was also, we believe, very troublesome at 
first, and The Magnet held out for three seasons, but 
Tom Dawson still hoped on, and Magnifier was the 
handsome result. 

Sir Hercules whose children, Brunette, Discount, 
Lady Langford, and The Trout have been so lucky 
amid the steeple-chase flags was the last of the 
Whalebone horses, and there is only one mare of the 
breed left. The Whisker mares are also reduced to two 
or three ; and poor old [Catherina, as she stood wasted 
and " weaving" in her stall at the Burleigh sale, and 
took the place of honour in the procession of brood- 
mares round the court-yard, seemed as if she would be 
only too happy to join Emma in the " Happy Hunting 
Grounds," instead of being bought in for fifteen gui- 
neas, and have, like Myrrha, a foal when rising 28. 
There are also only 1 Lottery, 2 Partisan, 6 Reveller, 
2 Bowton, 2 Tramp, 2 Glencoe, (one of them Po- 
cahontas) and 9 Priam mares left, while the Defences 
number 22, and the Touchstones already reach 96 ! 
Priam only stood four seasons in England, and had 
great success withhis fillies, and none with his colts ; 
whereas Touchstone, whose blood is a union of Whale- 
bone and Orvile's, generally reverses this order of 
things, and many of his stock, like Irish Birdcatcher's 
(who is the sire of about 156 winners), do not train on 
after their second season. He went through five sea- 
sons himself, although he was latterly under suspicion 
for a weak sinew ; but still " the fearful duster" (to use 
his own fervent words) at which Macdonald sent Luci- 
fer, in the Ascot Cup, down the hill and half-way up the 
" Old Mile," wholly failed of its object to find it out. 
This premier-sire of England is rising twenty-seven, 
and he has at least that number of his stock at the 
stud ; but we are inclined to believe that his grand- 
children, as a lot, will prove a better generation than 
their sires. None of them have a reputation at all 


approaching Orlando, who especially requires stout 
mares to counterbalance the two essentially speedy 
strains on his side. The stock of Annandale is hand- 
some, and though not speedy, it has the Lottery 
stoutness through Old Rebecca. Luckily Touch- 
stone's blood (from which, as it has been observed, 
there is now no getting away) is remarkably pliant, 
and crosses successfully with almost any other. It 
has suited especially well with that of Catton, Pan- 
taloon, Priam, Whisker, Dr. Syntax, Tramp, &c. ; 
and West Australian has tended to make the cross 
between it and Melbourne's highly fashionable. It 
is however, as we have observed, a speedy blood ; 
and though stout to boot, it requires a stouter 
cross, such as Melbourne's, to bring it out in perfec- 
tion. Hence it failed for staying purposes, when 
it was crossed with Belshazzar's, although Moun- 
tain Deer certainly elicited, by his fine length and 
looks, more praise from Newmarket trainers when 
"The Squire" led him out saddled for the Cri- 
terion, and made such a memorable demonstration 
on his return to scale, than any tvro-year-old within 
our recollection. 

Without a very stout cross indeed, it would be 
almost hopeless to expect the Selim blood to stay. 
Lords Exeter and Jersey have held the two great 
branches of it ; and while the Burleigh stud gene- 
rally retained the gaudy face and legs of Crockford's 
horse, the "Jersey bays" approached nearer the 
whole colour of their dam Cobweb, one of the finest 
and most perfect mares that ever looked through a 
bridle. She always ran in flesh, and with the excep- 
tion of a few half-speed gallops, she did no work for 
nearly ten days before the Oaks, for which Lord 
Jersey's coachman had 1,200 to 200 about her, 
and stood it out. Her own feet were very fine and 
sound ; but her grandsire, Soothsayer, had a club 
foot, which compelled him to do a good deal of his 


work on straw. This defect, which slumbered for 
two generations, brought unsound ness into her stock 
(of which Achmet was perhaps the handsomest) ; and 
a slight contraction of one of the front feet is observ- 
able in many of the descendants of Bay Middleton. 
To see this horse go curling and twisting up to the 
post, as was his wont, one would have thought him 
rather weak-built and faint-hearted, whereas he was 
quite the contrary, and only kept from a great Gold 
Cup career by his leg infirmity. Lord George Ben- 
tinck always believed that his last lameness did not 
result from a break-down in the back sinews, for 
which he was treated, but from the snapping of a 
small bone in the foot; and when his limping leg is 
at last at rest, that question may be put at rest as 
well. He was a very fine specimen of a cross be- 
tween Selim and the Phantom blood, which was alike 
fortunately combined with Partisan's in Glaucus, 
and with Tramp's in Glencoe. It was equally well 
suited with Catton's in The Flying Dutchman, and 
with Paulowitz's in Wild Dayrell ; while Pyrrhus the 
First and Andover are fine combinations of it with 
Defence, and tend to make the Defence mares ex- 
ceedingly valuable. We remember hearing Mr. 
William Etwall say, that it was from a firm convic- 
tion that he could not fail to " hit the blood " that 
he sent his " sister to ^Egis " to Bay Middleton in 
1850 ; and his idea of its being the proper cross was 
so much confirmed when he saw Andover as a year- 
ling, that he sent the mare to him five times running. 
The late Duke of Grafton was nearly as fond of the 
smart Reubens' blood as he was of Waxy's ; and in 
short, as a writer has well expressed it, " every page 
of the Calendar tends to fix this on the breeder's me- 
mory that the Waxy blood, crossed with that of 
Selim, Reubens, and Castrel, invariably runs." 
Alexander's has always been a very sterling blood, 
and there has been no finer cross in modern days 


than that between Tramp and Waverley, which was 
united in old Inheritress. Don John was fathered 
on both of them, but the story goes, that his dam 
turned from Tramp and that she was then sent by 
her groom on his own responsibility to Waverley. 
The luck of this mare was very remarkable, as she 
foaled Don John, and Hetman Platoff by Brutandorf, 
in successive seasons. 

Penelope, Banter, a Canopus mare, and Goosean- 
der have all thrown a brace of Epsom or St. Leger 
winners to the same horse ; while Emma, Arcot Lass, 
and Barbelle have had equal success to different ones. 
Queen Mary has also been alike lucky whether she 
visited Melbourne's, Annandale's, Iago 5 s, Moss- 
trooper's or " Mango and Lanercost's " paddocks. 
Mandane has also quite a claim to rank with Pru- 
nella ; and never was luck more strange than when 
Mr. Watt purchased her and her yearling, the St. 
Leger- winning Altisidora, along with Petuaria, 
Tramp, Manuella, &c., in one lot from Mr. Hewett. 
This prime daughter of Pot-8-os is not only credited 
with Altisidora by Dick Andrews, but she had also 
Lottery by Tramp, and Brutandorf by Blacklock, 
when she was in Mr. Watt's hands. The great racing 
lines of Tramp, Blacklock, Lottery, and Brutandorf 
which are represented in the present generation by 
Loupgarou, Voltigeur, Weatherbit, and The Cure 
may all thus be virtually traced back to the stud 
farm at Bishop Burton. It was thought at one time 
that Physician would have done wonders for the 
Brutandorf blood ; but his stock, although uncom- 
monly smart and quick, were small and weedy, and 
sad cowards at three-year-old distances. In fact, 
we consider that for a time they did as much to- 
wards spoiling the stamp of thoroughbreds in York- 
shire, as Mountebank did that of the hunters in 
the Midland Counties. The Blacklock blood was 
kept up to the highest point in Voltaire, by a cross 


with a Phantom ; and the dam of Voltigeur, who Is 
coarser in his points than his sire, was a Mulatto. 
The Saddler blood is synonymous with stoutness ; 
and "The Squire^ was at one time as fond of it as 
he has latterly become of Touchstone's, but that of 
Comus does not stand now where it promised to do 
in Reveller's day, when he and his two half-brothers 
all from the Belle-Isle stables were alone placed 
for the St. Leger ; and even the great Lucetta did 
not sustain its prestige, when she ceased to bear the 
white banner of Sir Mark. One of the greatest 
racing bargains ever made was when Sir Charles 
Turner purchased Hambletonion, 3 yrs., Beningbo- 
rough, 4 yrs., and Oberon, 5 yrs., from Mr. J. 
Hutchinson, with their engagements, for 3,000 gui- 
neas, at York August, and won every race but one 
with the two first at the very next Doncaster Meet- 
ing. Mr. Thomas Parr, the Turf Talleyrand, who 
is certainly one of the most remarkable studies of 
acute man nature that the world possesses, gave at in- 
tervals something between 500 and 600, in all for 
Weathergage, Saucebox, Defiance, Clothworker, and 
Mortimer, whose sales and stakes alone produced him 
about .20,000. How strangely this luck contrasts 
with the lamentation we lately heard from an owner's 
lips, as he looked at a little wretch, for which he had 
given very little short of 1,000 guineas in a straw- 
yard, and devoutly wished that any one would take 
it out of his sight. The dams of Crucifix and The 
Hero, with those great racers at their foot, and a 
Wildgoose mare in foal with Blacklock, did not 
average 20 guineas apiece; BlacklocVs dam was 
picked up for 3 at a fair; the dam of Mr. Val 
Maher's wonderful grey hunter Leatherhead was 
bought for a guinea ; and it may also be mentioned, 
that when the late Mr. Stephenson became tired of 
his brood mares, he offered a friend the choice of 
Martha Lynn (heavy in foal with Voltigeur), Yarico, 


or a Cain mare, for 25, and that he chose the latter. 
Jarl Zetland, who scarcely ever seems to breed a 
bad one, sent the hollow-backed Castanette out of 
compliment to his double victor, to Barnton, in 1851, 
who was merely serving half-breds, and had Fan- 
dango as the reward of his loyalty. 

The luck of the best and most fashionable sires is 
especially fluctuating. Lanercost had the picked mares 
of England in 1847-48, Ibut without success. Irish 
Birdcatcher, on the contrary, had a wonderfully fine 
season in 1848, and his stock carried everything 
before them when they ran in 1851-52 ; but those of 
1849 were of quite another stamp : and Mr. Plum- 
mets Alice Hawthorne, although her Lord Falcon- 
berg looked big enough to carry his half-brother 
Young Hawthorne, had again a most unworthy repre- 
sentative of her own prowess. The Flea was equally 
eccentric when she produced the mite of a Cimicina, 
and then after a year's rest, the great roundabout 
Canary. Scarcely any sires run successfully after 
being once put to the stud. Even " Sammy King 
and Catton," who were almost invincible in their day, 
failed when they essayed it ; and Jericho's " revival " 
in the Flying Dutchman's Ascot Cup is the best 
modern performance of the kind. 

Nature has no set laws, or at least no turf Newton 
can discover them, as to the best age for breeding 
from a mare ; and, in fact, all our great runners have 
been born at hap-hazard, between three and twenty- 
three. A sire may go on for five or six years more ; 
but a mare generally becomes very feeble after that 
age, and either misses or throws diseased foals. It 
is no doubt very desirable, as with greyhounds, to 
have youth on one side ; and it invariably happens 
that if a mare is very old, or has been very much 
knocked about before she is put to the stud, she re- 
produces unsoundness, which may be slumbering in 
herself, and seems to lose all power of counter- 


balancing that or any other bad points in the horse. 
We remember a remarkable instance of a mare, who 
had hunted with fifteen stone, and been driven and rid- 
den on the road with little cessation till she was nearly 
twenty; and although neithsr she nor the young 
horse she was then sent to had ever been doctored 
for a curb, or shown any symptoms of one, her two 
foals had their hind legs as curved as scythes, and 
age only very partially removed their deformity. 
Apropos of the subject of hard work, which may 
have had its effect on the Crucifix stock, it is worthy 
of note that Rebecca, the dam of Alice Hawthorne, 
Rowena, Annandale, and Fair Helen (the dam of 
Lord of the Hills and Lord of the Isles), never did 
a day's work in her life. In fact, we have it from 
her late owner, who leased her for several years before 
his death to Mr. Andrew Johnstone, that, to the best 
of his belief, neither she nor her dam, nor her gran- 
dam, had ever been broken in. Meteora, Plover, and 
Violante, who were all of them in Lord Grosvenor's 
hands at one time, never had a foal worth its corn. 

Whether it be politic to breed from a roarer or, 
politely speaking (with a fear of a Nisi Prius before 
our eyes), " a high blower" is still a fierce moot- 
point. This infirmity is unfortunately becoming 
more and more the rule instead of the exception ; 
and if all the thorough-bred animals so afflicted were 
offered up a sacrifice to ^Eolus on Newmarket Heath, 
he would snuff the scent of at least two hecatombs 
a year. We have met with many who assert that it 
has increased among hunters very considerably since 
the habit of turning them out for a summer's run 
was abandoned that in fact they have become 
roarers from stable idleness, and an inability to 
throw off, in that confined atmosphere, any throat 
ulceration they may have contracted. It has been 
gravely laid down as a great principle, that the 
throats of all " talking " blood sires should at once 


be cut ; but we are strongly disposed to believe that 
the massacre should be confined to the other sex, 
and that the exterior conformation of the foal is for 
the most part derived from the sire, and the interior 
from the dam. As far as our observation goes, the 
foal of a roaring dam seldom fails to inherit it, while 
those got by a roarer very often escape it. A North- 
ern veterinary surgeon has supported this conforma- 
tion theory by the ingenious remark that the 
produce of a horse and a she- ass always brays, while 
that of a mare and a jackass hinnies; but we cannot 
speak from ear on this point. It is said by some 
herdsmen that it is dangerous to put a polled cow 
for instance to a shorthorn bull, as she never loses 
the traces of that impregnation after. Stud owners 
seem to have no such fears before them, as Touch- 
stone's own sister Pasquinade, the dam of Slander 
and the Libel, has been twice over successfully put 
to a cart horse after a season of barrenness by way 
of a change. Many odd stories are told about the 
enthusiasm of the tykes on mares and foals, and how 
a sly publican led an antiquary, who asked if there 
were any remarkable spots in the neighbourhood, to 
a paddock behind his inn, and pointing out a large 
elm-tree, informed him that " a winner of t' Leger 
were foaled under it/" 

The calculations about blood-stock produce who 
are destined to fight the battles of Epsom and Don- 
caster are sadly imperfect, owing to the carelessness 
of non-racing breeders as to Stud-Book returns. 
The nearest approximation we can make to them is, 
that in 1853-56 an average of 1,714 mares were sent 
to the horse ; of these 53 slipped their foals and 434 
were barren, while the average of colts was 627 
against 600 fillies. In 1856 it seems that 1 864 mares 
threw 1355 live foals, among which the fillies were 
in a 55 minority. Accidents and diseases effect such 
a highly successful elimination in the next seven 


months, that only from three to four hundred are 
found in the Epsom and St. Leger entries; while 
perhaps two to three hundred more must be set down 
as the property of breeders who do not care to en- 
gage, or do not think them worth engaging, in these 
great stakes. As far as we can ascertain, there were 
1,160 blood foals brought to the birth in England 
and Ireland in 1851, and certainly not 1,100 of them 
were alive on New Year's Day, 1852. Watching 
their further progress through the pages of the " Ra- 
cing Calendar," we find that 574 of them ran in 
1853. This number decreased, in 1854, to 516; but 
two seasons of training tell a fearful tale, and in 1855 
the remnant of that high-bred band only numbered 
280, as two-year-old racing lays the seeds of infirmi- 
ty which even the lf British Remedy 5 ' cannot baffle. 
Old fashioned breeders like Mr. Kirby, who kept 
a dozen mares and a first-class horse, whom they 
changed every four or five years, the moment his 
subscription began to lag, were wont to consider 150 
guineas a good average price for their yearlings. As 
a general thing, the purchases above this figure do 
not prosper in proportion to the fine looks which 
have induced the outlay; and, absurd as it may 
seem, it is the worst luck in the world to christen a 
yearling by an outlandish name. Priam fetched 
1,000 guineas as a yearling, and Sir Mark's execu- 
tors had to thank the untried Camarine and Lucetta 
for the wonderful success of their sale, where five 
yearlings brought 2,235 guineas, and four foals 1,181 
guineas. If we add this latter amount to what Lord 
Durham got for eight foals in 1830, we have the 
absolutely apocryphal average of 350 guineas ! Glen- 
livat, by Row ton or Cetus, out of Camarine, was the 
1,010 guinea premier of Sir Mark's yearlings; and a 
colt by Jerry, out of Lucetta, the 640 guinea one of 
the foals. The Dutchman cost 1,000 guineas as a 
foal, and so did Earbelle's last foal Kirkleatham, 


while Van Tromp brought 300 guineas in his foalhood, 
and Zuyder Zee 1000 guineas in his yearling days. 
Such high prices for yearlings were, however, far 
from being as general as they are now, and bidders 
not unfrequently adopted the plan of not opposing 
each other, but of ' ' tossing up " or " knocking out " 
afterwards. If our memory serves us, The Kedger 
and Weatherbit were bought on this principle, Lord 
George Bentinck losing the toss for both of them. 
Shortly before this, when Muley reigned supreme at 
Underley, sixteen of his yearlings plodded their 
weary way over the Yorkshire Moors by Skipton to 
Doncaster; but Mr. Nowell and the grooms came 
back rejoicing to the quaker-haunted Westmoreland 
with the astounding news that the lot had averaged 
331 guineas a-piece ! Snowstorm, a son of Rebecca' s, 
gave the late Mr. A. Johnstone a foretaste of his stud 
success by realizing 710 guineas, and he also made 
500 guineas at the same lucky spot, in front of "The 
Salutation," both with a Morsel colt and Johnny 
Armstrong, who died before he could publicly prove 
the truth of a very high trial. General Anson had 
also good prices for many years, and the average of 
his eight, including Hernandez, in 1849, was 344 
guineas. Prices were very quiet in 1853, when 
Cavalier (520 guineas) was the premier; but the 
honour of being the Anni Mirabiles of the stud was 
reserved for 1854-55. The whole fourteen Royal 
yearlings, in the first of these years, averaged 441 
guineas, six of the colts making 611 guineas, and a 
like number of the fillies 406 guineas. This one- 
thousand-guinea " Yellow Jack" epidemic soon 
spread: The Salutation, true to itself, heard Mr. 
TattersalFs hammer fall that autumn to 1,020 guineas 
for Voivode, and before another year had flown we 
heard of two, if not three more 1,000 guineas private 
sales, two of 1,200, and another of 1,500 guineas. 
Last autumn, year, Mr. A. Johnstone averaged 311 



guineas a-piece for his fifteen yearlings ; but the 
average was unduly swelled by the sale of Lord of 
the Hills, who ran the gamut from 200 guineas to 
1,800 guineas, by a succession of rapid 50-guinea bids. 
Four commissioners were at work, one of whom left 
off at 800 guineas; while a Newmarket trainer, who 
had come with a commission to that amount in his 
pocket, never got a bid at all. It was the general 
impression that Mr. Crauford had as little intention 
of being beaten for this luckless colt, as he had when he 
was wont to send on The Shaver to a favourite meet 
with the Quorn. The Royal Stud has averaged about 
220 guineas for its fifty-three yearlings in 1851-55, 
and 160 guineas in 1856; but still if breeders could 
calculate on 100 guineas a-piece for every blood 
yearling they bring to the hammer, they would not 
do far amiss ; whereas the average of yearling prices, 
at public sales, in 1854, was 136J guineas, and 120 
guineas for 1854-56. The largest and most furnished 
yearling within modern trainers' memory, is Hunting 
Horn, who, but for his mouth, might have been any 
age to look at ; he was sold at that age for 570 guineas, 
and his owner, who lives at Doncaster, and only keeps 
two mares, has averaged 428 guineas for three of his 
yearlings, since the autumn of 1849 : Fortune has, 
however, squared matters with him, as both his 1856 
foals died. Cyprian has also proved a golden mine 
to John Scott, with whom she may well be such a 
favourite, as his average is far beyond Mr. Sadler's, 
and for twice the number to boot. The Streatlam 
Paddocks are, after all, the El Dorado of blood stock. 
Besides "The West," they have sent Mundig, 
Cotherstone, Daniel O'Rourke, Hetman Platoff, 
Epirus, Springy Jack, and Fly-by-night to Whitewall, 
in little more than twenty years. Durham has, how- 
ever, always been as renowned for thorough-breds as 
for short-horns. For nearly forty years Lord Dar- 
lington bred his best winners at E/aby, and Voltigeur 


and Virago were also "raised" there. Prices of 
sires are wonderfully variable, and if they are put up 
at TattersalPs in a dull time, they often make next 
to nothing. Coningsby and Tadmor, if we remem- 
ber rightly, had to be bought in at 50 guineas, and 
not a soul would open his mouth to bid for Touch- 
stone's own brother, Launcelot. However, Mr. A. 
Johnstorie made a hundred- guinea bid the next 
Monday, and got him. Old England on the con- 
trary, was bought in on one Monday for 580 guineas, 
and sent again in the course of a month, when he 
had no bid beyond 300 guineas ; and a Dutchman 
yearling, one summer, fetched only 14 guineas at the 
Bawcliffe Paddock sale, and 74 guineas at TattersalFs 
about two months after. So much for the fickleness 
of purchasers ! Brother to Ban is the most painfully 
deformed object we ever saw at The Corner, and a 
couple of Auckland foals, which squeaked like suck- 
ing pigs when they were separated, after realizing 
about four guineas each, the most shaggy and starved. 
Their sire had a most wonderful escape from being 
scalded to death, as a yearling, on the North West- 
ern, which compromised his burns and the death of 
his companion filly for, as it was said at the time, 
3,000 guineas, in consequence of their heavy forfeits. 
The Marquis of Exeter has often had forty brood 
mares in his paddocks at Burleigh, and has perhaps 
bred more foals annually, with the exception of Sir 
Tatton Sykes, than any other man. His fondness 
for the blood of Sultan has been quite as great as 
that of the veteran Yorkshire baronet's for Comus ; 
but of late years, although the Beirams have run 
stoutly, both have proved a somewhat unthrift love. 
The stud at Sledmere has numbered about two hun- 
dred, taking one kind of blood-stock with another, 
and not unfrequently returns about five-and-forty 
foals to the Messrs. Weatherby. Messrs. Stebbing 
and Morris have about thirty-six mares, and Lord 

Q 2 


Londesboro's number at Ulleskelfe is rapidly increas- 
ing. At present the Royal Hampton Court Stud 
consists of twenty-two brood mares, which have cost 
rnther more than 200 guineas each, and stand along 
with nearly a score of Mr. Greville's, in along range 
of paddocks, which extend nearly a mile down the 
London-road. Cawston Paddocks, which the loves 
of its present " dainty queue" Phryne, and her de- 
parted Pantaloon have made so famous, with its 
ivy-clad shooting lodge and the fox-covers of Elthiron 
in the back-ground, and old Melbourne peeping 
coyly of yore out of his mastiff-guarded box at visitors 
from beneath his black- bullock- head escutcheon, was 
a right pleasant sight for a summer's evening ; 
but for a downright business, and not mere breeding 
for the love or honour of the thing, Rawclifie Pad- 
docks quite bear the palm. The company was 
formed in 1850, and the Flying Dutchman went there 
direct the day after he won his York match. The 
capital is 25,000, and paid up within a few hun- 
dreds ; and the value of the shares, three or four of 
which are for sale, is .100 each. Thirteen hundred 
and fifty acres on Rawcliffe Ings have been rented, 
and box accommodation has been built for 157 
horses. The number of men employed at the stud 
alone is eleven, and the cart mares are all used for 
breeding, although the last 10 guineas average for 
half-bred yearlings by Burgundy and Connaught 
Ranger was hardly encouraging. There were 53 lots 
sold in all, at the 1855 sale, which realized 4,762 
guineas; and the 29, in 1854 (when several were 
sold by private contract at York Spring), brought 
2,716 guineas. Last year they were more unlucky 
and 100 guineas was the average. The Flying 
Dutchman has been latterly a great hit for them, 
and so was Chanticleer; but Hetman Platoff died 
directly after he arrived there from Tickhill Castle. 
They reckon their casualties at two in five ; and, on 


the whole, if they can only keep up a constant suc- 
cession of fashionable sires, there seems every prospect, 
as the management is first-rate, of it proving a very 
fine speculation for the shareholders. We subjoin 
a list of their stock on the morning of their 1855 
sale : Thorough-bred sires, 4 ; mares, 60 ; yearlings, 
42 ; and foals, 38 ; half-bred yearlings, 7; and half- 
bred foals, 5. Hetman PlatofF and a mare cost them 
500, and Newminster 1,500 and while the rent of 
The Dutchman has been raised from 800 to 1,200, 
the public sent him at his increased fee just twice as 
many mares as he had in each of the two preceding 

While these great Rawcliffe Paddocks are instinct 
with life and enterprise, those at Bishop Burton, 
which once held the sway in the three Ridings, are 
all but tenantless. The walk to them from Beverley 
lost half its beauty in our eyes, from the melancholy 
assocciations it revived of the olden time, when 
Squire Watt, in his " truly British " blue coat and 
bun waistcoat, made thorough-breds his heart's de- 
light. We left Beverley by the York road, and 
wended our way through the pleasant common-lands 
of Westwood, along the side of the race-course. The 
prospect from the hill opposite the Stand, on the 
morning we first climbed it, was one that would have 
softened an anchorite. Just in front of us was the 
Stand, whose silken jackets and burly crowd with 
their shouts of " T'oud Squire wins," and " she'll give 
him ten poond and lick his heed off," had given way 
for the nonce, to " Sim " and a quiet group of scar- 
lets, who were awaiting The Holderness, as, with 
their "many-twinkling feet'' and sterns, they trotted 
gently up the course. Pretty little Beverley, flanked 
by its magnificent gothic minster, and coloured here 
and there with the red-tile roofs so peculiar to this 
part of Yorkshire, just peeped over the undulating 
Westwood foreground, and we could not help con- 


trasting its misty quiet, with the restless spirit of 
speculation, which went to and fro, month after 
month, the whole length and breadth of its republic, 
when Peter Simple 

" With Cunning Tom upon his back. 
And half the tin of Beverlac" 

was the hero of English steeple-chasers, or when 
Nancy, the bay pride of Burton Pidsea, was luring 
it, as well as its neighbour, Hull, to sell the very 
beds from under them to back her. 

Following the footpath, we arrived at a high white 
gate on the left, the proscenium to an avenue of 
elms, which leads to the Hall, and the church in 
which Mr. Watt lies buried. Here and at Bishop 
Burton Hall, which he left about three- and-twenty 
years since, the old man was always roaming amongst 
his paddocks and watching his favourites with anxious 
care. The last of his brood mares, which still revels 
here, is a mare called Birthday, by Assault, out of 
Nitocris, who was foaled on his birthday. He never 
could find in his heart to have her trained; twice or 
thrice she was under orders for departure : but when 
the day arrived, he could not bear to let her go, as 
he said they would only break her down. There are 
not a few pictures in the Hall by Dolby ana Herring. 
Blacklock by the former, and as large as life, faced 
us on the staircase ; but Manuella, Altisidora, and 
Belshazzar were far more to our taste. Passing down 
the hill, and near the bachelor residence of Mr. Frank 
Watt, we crossed the road to the old Bishop Burton 
Hall, originally purchased by one Roger Gee, a 
Liverpool merchant, who rebuilt the place, and laid 
down a two-mile gallop on the Wold in front of it. 
Its late owner took a dislike to it, and the very 
mantel-pieces and door-frames have been pulled 
down. A narrow walk, with one of the best yew- 
fences we ever yet saw in " merrie England," led us 


to the stables, on whose doors the plates of Memnon, 
Blacklock, Belshazzar, Barefoot, Buckingham, Alti- 
sidora, Muta, and a host of other winners, still hang, 
as silent tablets of the luck of other days. Black- 
lock's box is still pointed out with especial reverence ; 
and as the housekeeper guided us, candle in hand, 
through the half-ruined Hall, we came on the skele- 
ton room, where the coarse frame of the "terrible 
brown" is encased, side by side with Muta. The 
mare's off shoulder-blade still bore marks of the run- 
ning sore, which no syringe could heal; and ere she 
died, it had eaten its stealthy way right through the 
bone. The strength of the pasturage and the beau- 
tiful combination of hill and dale make these pad- 
docks a perfect paradise for blood mares and foals. 
The large field especially is dotted here and there 
with wide-spreading chesnut-trees, to shade them 
from the heat; and our attendant told us how of 
yore the mares and foals would come dashing wildly 
en masse down the hill, through the valley, and up 
the opposite one, like a charge of Cossacks, till Mr. 
Watt and his grooms fairly looked on trembling, lest 
some of their brave little bits of Tramp, Blacklock, 
or Lottery blood should be rolled head-over-heels 
down the steep. The short-horns of a neighbouring 
farmer quietly browse on it now ; but we would fain 
hope that the thorough-bred traditions which still 
linger fondly round it, will ere long be potent to 
drive these intruders from the spot, and people it 
with blood- stock, not inferior to those on which 
John Jackson in the harlequin so often rode back in 
triumph to scale. 




" Sad and fearful is the story, 
Of the hunt in Leicestershire ; 
On that fatal field of glory, 
Met full many a dashing squire." 

persuade Meynell to give up the chase : he has 
been hunting the fox these thirty years, but 
human glory has its limits." So wrote Sidney Smith 
to the mistress of Quorn Hall in the days of its 
highest renown, with about as much effect as when 
he preached the " sermon smelling of sulphur," in 
the training metropolis of the East Biding. Men, 
whose hearts are with the racer and the starting post, 
may sicken and tire as their years count up ; but the 
votaries of horn and hound fondly love on to the 
close, with all the constancy of the turtle-dove. They 
want, as a Yorkshire Earl pithily expressed it, when 
he bade his annual good-bye to his Yeomanry troop, 
nothing all winter but twenty couples of leaders, 
and to keep no lines but their own. While, how- 
ever, they agree on these great points, it is strange 
to note how almost every sportsman of experience 
seems to have a pet theory of his own as to the qua- 
lities of a hunter, and the precise plan of breeding 
them a problem which, year after year, puts to con- 
fusion the hoariest spae-wives in paddock lore. The 
mythical cit who is popularly supposed to have met 
the Pytchley, and asked "Who is Old 'Ard? I've 


heard the huntsman calling to him all day, and I've 
never seen him yet," would not be more baffled if 
he had to take Charles Payne's place, than breeders 
of racing stock have been in their most cherished 
fancies. Breeding for the turf has in fact become 
such a mere lottery, that many racing men trouble 
themselves very little as to whether a sire is perfect 
in the points where their mares are deficient ; but if 
they fancy a horse or his running, they take a sub- 
scription, and leave the rest to fortune. "Everything 
can gallop a bit," was an old hunter-breeder's con- 
fession of faith to us, * f with your eight stone seven 
of saddle and satin on his back ; but it's not every- 
thing that can cheek hounds with twelve stone of 
scarlet !" One of them also assured us that he could 
never get the exact cut of a hunter he had set his 
mind on, till in despair he put his short-legged cart 
mare to a thorough-bred horse. Her first filly foal 
was laid up in lavender till she was rising five, and 
then crossed with a thorough-bred ; and this union 
inaugurated a long line of fast, weight-carrying hun- 
ters, which have been the apple of his eye for years. 
Others, while they think that to carry weight nothing 
can beat the cross of a blood-horse with an active, 
high-shouldered cart mare, as firmly maintain that 
the second remove is never so good as the first. And 
on we might go through a perfect bede-roll of breed- 
ing specifics, alike plausible and speculative. The 
best instance of the first cross that we remember was 
a mare called Poll of the Vale, by Great Britain, 
who was bought at four years old out of a team for 
28, with hair enough on her legs to stuff a mode- 
rate sized pillow. After carrying a seventeen-stone 
man for two or three seasons, she was sold for 300 
guineas to the Hon. Wellesley Pole, with a promise 
that she should be given back when she could hunt 
no longer ; and although she passed through several 


hands, this contingency was kept alive, and she died 
in giving birth to a colt by Vandyke junior, in her 
old owner's paddock. A Sir Joshua mare called 
Cashmere was similarly bred, and after being bought 
at Melton Fair for 38, passing through Mr. Maxe's 
hands, and making 350 guineas at Tattersall's, she 
became the property of the late Mr. John Moore, of 
the old Melton Club, for 300 guineas, and was in his 
stud when he died. 

Our own impression is, that to secure a good 
hunter the size should be on the side of the dam, 
and the breeding on that of the sire. A large roomy 
mare should be put to a small, compact blood horse. 
Sir Harry Goodricke, whose courtesy and discrimi- 
nation of character, both in man and horse, has never 
been surpassed, was especially particular on this point, 
and would never buy a hunter whose sire was not 
thorough-bred. Still, ideas of hunters differ so 
widely, that we can only observe that one of the very 
worst faults they can acquire is not to care for falling, 
and fall back ourselves on the following masterly 
analysis, with which we have been favoured by one 
of the finest horsemen and judges of the day. " Had 
I to choose a hunter," he says, "by seeing one point 
only, it should be his head ; for I never knew one 
with a small, clean, intelligent face and prominent 
eyes to be bad. I like his neck also to be muscular, 
but not heavy ; shoulders well back, with long arms ; 
short from the knee to the fetlock ; pasterns rather 
long, but not upright ; his feet cannot well be de- 
scribed on paper, but they should be large and per- 
fect, or all the rest is as ' leather and prunella/ His 
back should not be too short, and he should have 
stout loins and wide hips, and good length from the 
latter to his hocks, which should be rather turned 
inwards. Added to this, he should be large round 
the girth, but whether in depth or width does not 


much signify ; and the higher he is bred,, the greater 
his intelligence,, and the speedier his recovery from 
the effects of a hard day/' 

We dare not attempt to decide the point of sound- 
ness between the advocates of large versus small feet ; 
but, as far as our own observation goes, no foot that 
is low and weak at the heel, will stand much wear 
and tear in the hunting field. If, too, there is one 
thing more than another to be avoided, it is a short- 
shouldered hunter : they may go well for a short 
distance, but the moment they get leg-weary, terrible 
is their fall. When they make the slightest mistake 
at a fence, they topple over, with their legs under them 
in a heap, without a hope of recovery, and down goes 
the rider before his horse. The long-shouldered ones 
have, on the contrary, so much more liberty about 
them, that they have always a leg to spare i and if 
they do put down their riders, they do it like gentle- 
men, and give them ample notice. It is the mail- 
driver's old parallel over again between a road and a 
railway accident " If the coach goes over, why, 
you're there ! but if this 'ere steamer goes over, where 
are you?" Depth of girth is generally a sign of 
speed, as width is of endurance; and the Melton 
men have for many years back declared that, to carry 
weight, their horses must measure at least six feet 
round. A noble lord was so tenacious on the point, 
that he used to carry a six-foot piece of tape in his 
waistcoat pocket throughout the whole season. On 
one occasion he went to look at a horse, with two 
friends, who, knowing his especial whim, contrived 
to get hold of his tape just before he went into the 
stable, and cut a couple of inches off it. " I've seen 
them measure more, and I've seen them measure 
less," was his remark, as he held up his tape to the 
light, and found that the horse was only two inches 
short of its full length. We don't know whether to 
this day he has found out the joke, but he bought 


the horse then and there, and rode him in the first 
flight for three or four seasons. The measure- 
ment should, we think, be got as much as possible 
by depth, as most hunting men like a horse thin 
between their knees, which makes it nearly as diffi- 
cult for him to get rid of them as to cast their own 
skin. Big coffin-heads generally betoken a bad 
mouth and a tendency to pull hard, and if they are 
not accompanied by a bold eye, the majority of 
hunting men will never look at them. Be the head 
large or small, it must always have plenty of mean- 
ing in it, or it is heavy odds that the purchase will 
be a sorry one, as far as jumping goes, and the rider 
be obliged to come out with a telescope in his pocket. 
The measuring mania rather brought the Melton 
men to grief in one instance, when a well known 
Leicestershire sportsmen, whose portrait on " Old 
Prince" appeared in the Royal Academy of 1844, 
imported a little brown horse by Cannonball, and 
marked exactly like his sire, out of Shropshire, to 
Melton, where he was originally bred. He was first 
offered to a noble earl for 200 guineas, but the reply 
was that he was " a sweet park horse, but has not 
length enough for Leicestershire." A similar answer 
arrived from another lord, and he was offered thirdly 
to the bearer of the white tape, who immediately 
whipped it out, and expressed his astonishment that 
so old a sportsman should recommend him " a mere 
weed." However, an afternoon fox of the right sort 
was found at Owston Wood, and the little fifteen-two 
"weed" took six gates in succession in one lane. 
Luckily, " The Squire" from the Pytchley had come 
to the meet, and as soon as they killed, he called out 
to his rider, "My man ! 1 50 for your horse." And so 
the result was, that " the weed" had left for North- 
amptonshire in less than twenty-four hours, with 200 
guineas on his head. During the following Croxton 
Park races, as a main of cocks was being fought 


between Sir Harry Goodricke and Mr. George 
Walker, a letter written with a skewer, as were all 
" The Squire's," was put into Sir Harry's hands, and 
its hieroglyphics deciphered as follows, amid immense 
merriment : 

" Dear Goodricke : 

" I can scarcely believe that you Melton men know a 

horse from a jackass. Old offered to three of your noble lords 

the horse I bought from him, and I wish them to know that I am 
prepared to run any one of them, or any other Melton man, or any 
man in the world, four miles for 400 ! eight do. for 800 ! ! or ten 
do. for 1,000 ! ! ! 12 stone each, over Leicestershire, or any other 
county in England," &c., &c., &c. 

Eight years after, the horse was in Lord Howth's 
stud at Melton, and went nearly as well at seventeen 
as when he was the subject of this dashing challenge. 
The great nurseries of English hunters are the 
North and East Ridings of Yorkshire, more espe- 
cially on the Wolds, and the whole of Lincolnshire 
and Shropshire. The Lincolnshire hunters are still 
first-rate, but they are bred in fewer numbers than 
they were in Dick Burton's hunting prime, owing 
principally to the improved system of cultivation, 
which has caused much second-rate grass-land to be 
ploughed up. Hence the number of brood-mares 
is rather limited, and the farmers have to resort to 
Howden Fair, which is the largest market in the 
world for unmade hunters and carriage-horses. 
Scarcely any of them are tied in rows, but they are 
generally ridden or led about the town, whose long 
High-street is for four or five days one surging sea 
of animal life. Hosts of Lincolnshire farmers may 
be found there each September, picking up four- 
year-old hunters, at prices which once ranged from 
to J100, but now more generally from ,100 to 
The hunting dealers also attend, not to buy, 
but to glean information about promising horses; 
they learn where they go to, and occasionally, if 


they take a very strong fancy, purchase a contingent 
interest in some of them. Their new owners aim at 
keeping them at least a year, but seldom more than 
two, and they frequently find them a temporary 
stable-mate at the great Lincoln Fair each April. 
The latter are expected to produce a profit of 28 to 
25 per cent, for their three months' strong keep up 
to Horncastle, or else they hardly realize their new 
owners 7 sole idea of " paying for August." Dealers' 
payments, we may add, are obliged to be prompt and 
good, as the farmers are not '' discount-men," al- 
though the reported prices at great fairs must be 
read with considerable mental discount. Sellers in- 
variably state the prices they ask, not what they get ; 
and we remember an instance where the actual price 
for three which were bought by a hunting-man, in 
one lot, was 380 below what appeared in the news- 
paper report of the fair ! The most successful private 
sellers of horses we know, are that sly, half horse- 
dealing, half farmer race, who stick their hats into 
the nape of their necks, and talk, quite simply and 
softly, close into your face; men, in short, who are 
wonderfully clever fellows, but who deceive you by 
looking like utter fools. Their great dodge is to 
crab the good points of the horse they want to sell : 
"Varra fine horse, but don't you think he's not 
varra good about the shoolders ?" was the comment 
we heard one of them make, as he asked a rattling 
price (on the ground that he " didn't care to part 
with him for a bit") for an animal whose shoulders 
were faultless. Away went the intended purchaser 
to a friend, who knew the horse's points better than 
he did the owner's, and was told to buy him directly, 
as " the fool doesn't know what a good horse he 
has ;" and " the fool" grinned in his sleeve accord- 
ingly. Perhaps a northern breeder of hunters, some 
twenty years since, got rid of three in the neatest 
way to a nobleman, who did not care so very much 


for two of them, but he had set his whole heart on the 
third. " I always said I would not sell that horse/' 
were the words in which the bargain was clenched, 
' ' and I must keep my word ; but if you'll give me 
900 guineas for the other two, Fll make you a present 
Qi him." The purchaser jumped at the offer; and 
although he found that the gift-horse for whom he 
ventured so much was a roarer and all but worth- 
less, the terms of the bargain estopped him from 
complaining publicly, however much he might tell 
his grief in private. Mr. Mat Milton was, after all, 
one of the greatest originals that ever closed a horse 
bargain ; and the American poet might with justice 
be supposed to have had him in his eye, when he 
wrote of a regular " Down Easter" 

" He'd kiss a queen till he raised a blister, 

With his arm round his neck, and his old felt hat on ; 

He'd address a king by the title of Mister, 

And ask him the price of the throne that he sat on." 

We have hinted at the terms of his equestrian in- 
vitation to the Prince Regent ; but he is said to have 
been a man of deeds and not of words only to a 
noble lord, who returned him a horse because he 
considered it to be a roarer. When his lordship 
next came to his stables, the subject was renewed 
pretty warmly. Mat ironically asked him, after mak- 
ing four horses grunt successively by a sudden blow of 
the fist, if that was the roaring he meant, and wound 
up his discourse by giving him a dig below the waist- 
coat, and an adjuration of " Why you're grunting 
now hang it you're a roarer yourself be out of the 
yard with you !" which caused him to fly swiftly. 
Mat used to profess to give 5 to each hunting- 
groom, when they returned a horse in good condition 
at the end of the season, but they had sad work to 
" draw" him of it. 

The chief buyers of carriage horses at Howden 
Pair are the Messrs. Collins, Wimbush, Gray, East, 


&c., and the most paying colour is a brown or a 
" Jersey bay." This class of animal does not come 
there so much from the county of Durham as for- 
merly, but is principally bred in the neighbourhood 
of Howden and Holderness. The breeders of Dur- 
ham horses confine themselves more to Northallerton 
and Newcastle fairs, which are also the great marts 
for the Cumberland men. The latter, although they 
kept the first and second blood-sire prizes against 
all comers, with Ravenhill and British Yeoman, and 
made the other horse-classes considerably less of a 
dead letter than they had hitherto been, at the 1855 
Royal Agricultural Show, breed almost solely for the 
carriage, and hence it is next to useless to bring a 
chesnut horse, however fine his points, in the county. 
"When Mr. Richard Fergusson, the owner of Raven- 
hill (who has been re-christened " Royal Ravenhill," 
in token of his triumph), introduced a coaching- 
sire some seven- and-thirty years ago, he was assured 
by his neighbours that the climate was too cold 
either Tor pure short-horns or anything in horse's 
shape, that was more than half-bred ; and it was only 
when he sold a pair of his four-year-old Candidates 
for 150, which shortly afterwards reached the King's 
stables for, as it was said at the time, 300, that a 
contrary conviction dawned on them. Candidate, Bay 
Chilton, and Grand Turk, who were all Northern 
Lights in their time, had very little blood, but were fine 
sturdy specimens of a species of Durham or rather 
Yorkshire coaching -horse, which is now almost entirely 
superseded by thorough-breds. In size they were a 
medium between Magog and Lord Faueonberg, but 
decidedly the finest type of a coach horse we ever saw 
was a brown one by Screveton. The light-boned Equa- 
tor, the elegant little Royalist, and the flashy-looking 
high-tempered Corinthian did very little towards im- 
proving the breed, which was principally kept up by the 
travels of The Earl and Gregson, a remarkably fine 


specimen of a grey hunter-sire. When his day was 
over, Mr. Richard Ferguson kept up the grey charter 
by buying Grey Wiganthorpe out of Yorkshire, and 
followed up this infusion of the Comus blood into 
Cumberland, with successive strains of Buzzard, 
Muley, and Venison, through Phoenix, Galaor, and 
Ravenhill. Lanercost was foaled in the west of the 
county, not far from the farm-house where old 
Velocipede died in 1850, and won his first victories 
under Harry Edwards, (who was then a Carlisle V.S.) 
for Mr. John Ramshay, of Naworth Barns, who 
owned his sire, Liverpool, and also bred and ran the 
iron-legged Naworth and Mosstrooper. British Yeo- 
man, who is, to our minds, the best-looking Liverpool 
horse left, and won the Royal Agricultural blood- 
prize last year, still sticks to Cumberland, where his 
stock are so much valued that his owner lately refused 
500 gs. from an Irish breeder for him. The hunters 
by him, so far, have been of a capital stamp. Mr. 
James Fawcett, of Scaleby Castle, and Mr. R. Fergu- 
son, send several young bay coach- horses to the New- 
castle and Yorkshire fairs ; and Mr. Charles Philips, of 
Cracrop, in the same county, is indisputably the most 
successful English breeder of the pure Clydesdale 
cart-horses. One of his two-year-olds was so much 
fancied when he arrived in Canada that he was sold 
at 4s. 8d. per pound, and realized upwards of .400 
on his weight. This is " Mr. BriggsV querist over 
again " How much a pound if I take the whole of 
him ?" The grey sixteen-three Merry Tom, who has 
scaled one ton four stone, and measured 8 ft. 11 in. 
round is the best Mr. Philips ever had ; he has 
already won four medals and about j240 in cash, 
and was selected by a Scotch club for three seasons, 
to travel in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, where 
the rarest Clydesdale horses are to be found. 

The Shropshire men are rather short of hunter- 
sires, and are more careful, both as to pedigree and 



style, in their hunter-breeding, than the Yorkshire- 
men. In fact, many dealers maintain that the large 
bodies and the little heads come out of Shropshire, 
and the little bodies and large heads from Yorkshire. 
The probable explanation of this is, that the York- 
shiremeii generally direct their attention to quick 
returns, and try to breed great slapping carriage- 
horses, to be sold at three years old for from .80 to 
120, in the Howden market ; and if they cannot get 
them big enough, they cut their tails and call them 
hunters. An allusion to the size of the head in the 
latter case would no doubt induce the venerable retort, 
" What's the odds ? a horse don't go on his head !" 
Shropshire, on the contrary, determines to have a 
hunter, and nothing but a hunter, and has bred ac- 
cordingly, since the days of the celebrated Old Tat, 
who combined the Highflyer and Matchem strains, 
and made the Shropshire-bred horses especially 
famous, about the time that Mr. Meynell gave up 
hounds. Rugeley in June is a very great fair for 
hunters, Welsh and Shropshire, as well as troopers, 
but the prices are not up to Horncastle ; and Stour- 
bridge had also an immense repute, until Shrewsbury, 
which is fixed for two weeks earlier in March, dealt it 
a heavy blow. Rugby's horse fair, in November, in- 
cludes all kinds, from the 300-guinea hunter down to 
the ten shillings' potter's steed, in which Rugbxans 
were wont in old times to invest, for the glory of one 
afternoon's ride between the callings over, on condi- 
tion that their old owners took them back at half- 
price if they lived, or gratis if they died. 

The Yarborough, South Wold, and Burton hunts 
are the great public schools, where the head, hands, 
and heels of a legion of Hard-Riding Dicks are ever 
at work for five months of the year, in transforming 
the raw one-hundred-guinea Howdenite into the 
finished two-hundred-guinea candidate for Horn- 
castle. It is, however, to the dealers in this as in 


every other county that they have to look for pur- 
chasers, as hunting men will scarcely ever buy from 
farmers, however well they may ride, and have to 
pay a handsome sum extra for their whim. Horn- 
castle fair has long been the great Lincolnshire 
Carnival of horse-flesh, and far the largest in England 
for made hunters. Sporting foreigners are penetres 
with its fame, and rush to see it and the sales of 
blood -yearlings at Doncas/ere, with as much energy 
as their agriculturists demand to be led to ' ' de beet- 
root," the instant they set foot from one of Ben 
Revett's chaises, on their Tiptree shrine. We have 
it, in fact, on " Scribble's" authority, that an elderly 
German Baron, not very long since, assured his Eng- 
lish visitor, when they had drunk to the death and 
memory of their last wild boar, that if now he could 
only visit Horncastle Fair, he could die happy ! 
Dealers and foreigners begin to be rife in its neigh- 
bourhood about the fifth of August, and there are 
still some lingerers on the twenty-first. Baron. 
Rothschild's agent rarely comes, but purchases young 
horses at all prices from 40 to 300, out of the best 
hunting stables in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. The 
Welshmen bring nothing now; but the Irish-bred 
horses are to be found in numbers hardly equal to 
the demand. It takes a man some time to get accus- 
tomed to their buck-fencing style (which a clever, 
determined rider can soon modify) ; and when a 
novice tries, for instance, to follow The Essex on one, 
and finds it thrusting itself with its dainty heel-touch 
off those huge banks halfway across the next field, he 
begins to fancy that he will never come to earth again. 
The great majority of them are called thorough-bred, 
but not exactly according to the English standard, 
which makes them about seven-eighths bred. 

The hunting humour of the present day inclines 
very much to size, though welter weights, as a general 
rule, get along best on apparently small but even 

R 2 


horses, rather under than over fifteen-three. The 
great majority of hunting men, if they can possibly 
afford it, like to ride with at least a stone in hand ; 
and thus little horses, however clever, and up to ten 
or eleven stone, do not find ready purchasers as of 
yore, even among " the light division." The veteran 
Sir Tatton Sykes has never fallen in with this notion 
about height, and his friends always expect his plea- 
sant " Too big, Sir ! too big !" when he looks over 
anything much above fifteen-two. Charles XII., in 
his very hey-day, did not please him at all, but still 
he stuck faithfully by Sleight- of- Hand, who was much 
above his standard. To show how tastes differ, Mr. 
Davis, the Queen's huntsman, who is a lighter man 
and rather taller than Sir Tatton, once assured us 
that he had been carried equally well to his hounds 
by horses of all heights, from fourteen- three to sixteen - 
two ; but that from fifteen-three to sixteen-two was 
his fancy size. Even on the subject of tails, the 
hunting men used to take issue. In Mr. Osbaldes- 
ton's day it was all the fashion at Melton to keep 
long tails on the hunters, a practice which he held 
in very great contempt. " Gallop on, long-tails, 
you'll soon come back," used to be his regular saying, 
if they got away before him ; and " Where are the 
Jine long-tails now?" was his sarcastic inquiry at the 
close of many a run. 

Among great horse-dealers, Messrs. Elmore, R. 
Dyson, and Tilbury (who has had as many as 200 
hunters for hire) once held sway, but Mr. Collins, 
of Mount-street, Lambeth, has recently become by 
far the largest purchaser of hunters at Horncastle. 
The Lincolnshire farmers generally get into the habit 
of doing business with one dealer, and Mr. Collins 
will buy about seventy from them during the Horn- 
castle month, the best of which range from 160 to 
.'200, and occasionally higher. Many of these do 
not get to the fair to be sold, as formerly, but are 


purchased privately, and join the main string at a 
certain place of rendezvous ; but scarcely half of them 
reach his London stables, as he now has a show of 
them both at Newark and Barnet, where purchasers 
and brother- dealers attend to cull. He always buys 
according to what is required for the particular sea- 
son ; and if the dwellers in Mount-street were to lose 
sight of their almanacks and the swallows, they would 
know that spring had come again by the endless sup- 
ply of stout cobs and park hacks which would, week 
after week, take up their fleeting habitation among 
them. Mr. Thomas Sell acts as London salesman for 
Mr. Collins, who, along with his fidus Achates, James 
Brewster, visits every great fair out of the 190 odd 
which the trade professes to frequent, not only in the 
midland counties and the north, but in Oxfordshire, 
Wiltshire, and, in short, wherever he can get a wind- 
scent of a likely horse. He is a striking instance of 
what honesty and good judgment can do for a man. 
It is little more than fifteen years since we remember 
him driving his roan pony to Osborne's, in Gray's 
Inn-lane, to buy " machiners" ; and his rise since 
then, through the successive stages of Aldridge's and 
TattersalFs, to be the wholesale Leviathan of the 
trade, has been wonderfully steady and rapid. The 
pretty general belief among the initiated is, that he 
sells upwards of eleven hundred animals in the course 
of the year, at an average of SQ a-piece ; and, as a 
type of the universality of his business, we may men- 
tion that, as we lately strolled through his stables, we 
espied a first-class hunter almost cheek by jowl with 
a spotted cob, who looked quite ripe for the jocular 
society of the late Tom Barry over the way. All the 
great London dealers purchase from him ; and their 
French brethren, Benedick, Crimeaux, Angell, &c., 
are among his largest customers, and occasionally go 
as high as 170 for a riding horse. 

Mr. Joseph Anderson is also at the very top of the 


tree, and buys largely, through an agent, of first-class 
hunters and hacks ; he has, in fact, long been to 
Piccadilly what Benedick is to the Champs d' Elysdes ; 
and his brother, Mr. John Anderson, has a very rising 
business at Green- street, Grosvenor-square. Mr. 
Quartermaine, who once " hailed" from Oxford, buys 
carriage-horses as well as hunters and hacks, and 
gives and gets, without exception, as high prices as 
any man of the day. He cannot rest if there is a 
good thing in the market, and has always " a particu- 
lar reason for wanting it directly." We seldom give 
a passing peep down those trim corridor-sort of yards, 
which make one feel more than anything else the high 
dignity of the horse in England, and see those 
mysterious, knowing little knots of purchasers which 
are ever scanning him there, without calling to mind 
how the Duke of Queensberry was wont, some fifty 
years since, to test the pace of his running-footman 
candidates, by timing them from his balcony, as they 
ran up and down that self-same pleasant dip in 
Piccadilly. But our note* must tell the rest. Mr. 
S. Cox, of Stamford- street, buys all sorts, from high- 
class hunters down to cart-horses, in which his uncle, 
the late Mr. George Cox, drove a very thriving trade 
among the brewers and distillers ; and Mr. R. 
Phillips, of Knightsbridge, assisted by his father-in 
law, Mr. Tawney, buys very largely in Shropshire, 
and furnishes a great many entire horses and other 
thorough-bred stock to the foreigners. The Emperor 
of the French, who has been amongst his largest 

* The running footmen drank white wine and egg-, and carried 
some white wine in the large silver ball of their tall cane or pole, 
which unscrewed. ***** They put on the Duke's livery 
before the trial. On one occasion a candidate presented himself, 
dressed, and ran. At the conclusion of the performance he stood 
before the balcony. " You'll do very well for me," said the Duke. 
" Your livery will do very well for me," replied the man, and gave 
the Duke a last proof of his ability as a runner by running away with 
it. Notes and Queries. 


customers, christened one of his favourite riding 
horses "PHILLIPS/' in his honour; and it was from 
his and Mr. Quartermaine's stables that the King of 
Sardinia made his selection in his recent vist to 
England. Along with Messrs. K. Dyson and East, 
Mr. Phillips holds the contract for the cavalry 
horses, nearly all of which pass through their hands, 
and are gathered from every part of the country, by 
the aid of upwards of twenty commissioners. Messrs. 
Wimbush and Deacon, Mr. Gray, and Mr. Joshua 
East (who has succeeded Mr. Dickinson, and is in 
partnership with Mr. Phillips) , Mr. Withers, and Mr. 
Hetherington, are the largest purchasers of carriage 
horses, though some of them do so merely in their 
own job-master capacity, and not to sell again. They 
supply themselves not only from Mr. Collins and the 
other London and country dealers, but attend the 
great fairs in Lincolnshire, Yorkshire, and Northum- 
berland. It is a nice question, which probably the 
surveyor of taxes alone can solve, whether Messrs. 
Wimbush and Co. or Messrs. East and Co. keep the 
largest number of horses to let out. We believe that 
they run within three or four pairs of each other, and 
that at times each firm has owned not fewer than 
1,400 pairs. 

The Messrs. Mason, who succeeded Mr. Elmore, 
buy their hunters and hacks from Mr. Collins and 
the larger dealers, and not often out of the breeders^ 
hands. Mr. Ibbs Brown or Harboro' Brown as he 
is popularly termed is also in that line ; while Mr. 
Saunders, Mr. Attwood, Mr. Greenway, Mr. Philippo, 
and Mr. G. Waymark, &c., are what may be called 
general-purpose men. Mr. Pearl and Mr. Sewell 
draw, we believe, their supplies chiefly from Norfolk 
and Suffolk. Mr. Blackburn principally looks after 
black entire horses, for funerals, which he imports 
from Dunkirk and elsewhere ; and Mr. Smith, of 
Whatton, makes his voyages of discovery into Ger- 


many and Denmark in search of cart-horses. Among 
the principal country dealers, Mr. John Payne, of 
Market Harborough, has done a first-class business 
for thirty years; and Discount, and a 'countless 
number of Quorn and Pytchley hunters have passed 
through his hands. He has, in fact, been to the 
Leicestershire side of the country what Mr. Kench 
has been to the Warwickshire ; but he has now, 
we are told, almost given up business. Since his 
secession Mr. John Darby, of Rugby, has become 
one of the most eminent country dealers in hunters 
and hacks ; and Mr. Denham, late of Derby, but now 
of Kegworth a first-rate judge, and a first-flight 
man to boot in his twelve-stone days must not be 
forgotten. Mr. Gething, of Or ton, near Newark; 
Mr. Potter, of Ashby-de-la-Zouche (who used to 
supply Sir Richard Sutton with nearly all his Irish 
horses) ; and Mr. Stanton, of Grantham, are known 
for hunters far and wide in the midland counties : 
while Mr. Barker, of Roade, near Northampton, 
passes an immense amount of first-class cart-horses, 
besides carriage and riding horses, through his hands. 
The Messrs. Painter, of Bicester ; Mr. T. Chamberlayne, 
of Southampton ; Mr. R. Chapman, of Cheltenham 
(who has had the great run in those parts since Tom 
Smart of Cricklade died) ; and Messrs. Haines, of High- 
worth, are also constant attendants at the great fairs; 
and ever on the look-out for likely hunters and hacks. 
Mr. Murray, of Manchester, generally takes a large 
string of hunters northwards from Horncastle, and, 
with Mr. George Gar wood, does a thriving business in 
hunters, hacks, and carriage horses, in Manchester 
and Cheshire. These dealers, as well as Messrs. 
Ainger and Brethertoii, of Liverpool, buy largely of 
Irish horses. In Norfolk, Mr. George Hill, of 
Scole ; Mr. Robert Beart, of Rainham ; and Mr. 
Coleman, of Norwich, have the leading business, 
which takes rather a first-class hack and not a hunt- 


ing turn. Mr Charles Symonds and Mr. Wheeler, 
of Oxford, deal exclusively in hacks and hunters, but 
the former seldom attends any other fairs than Horn- 
castle and Lincoln, and purchases elsewhere through 
a commissioner. He horses Jem Hills and his whips 
during the Heythrop season, and sends the horses 
they have ridden up to TattersalFs each May. His 
stables are well known to every Oxford visitor as 
one of the most perfect things of the kind, and are 
quite as orthodox in their management and appear- 
ance as the venerable Alma Mater herself. 

Reverting once more to the North, we cannot pass 
over Mr. Robson, of Newcastle, and Mr. John Woffin- 
den, of Malton, who buy extensively from breeders. 
Like the beau monde, the turf, and the bar, the horse- 
dealing profession has its " D'Orsay," whom it is not 
our intention further to indicate. The Messrs. Colton, 
of Eagle Hall and North Collingham, and Mr. Raw- 
linson, of Brant Broughton, near Newark, are in a 
very extensive way, and the former perhaps sell as 
many horses as any firm in the course of the year, 
a large proportion of which are Irish, and specially 
imported by themselves. Mr. Nat. Welton, of 
Bredfield, in Suffolk, (where Mr. N. G. Barthrupp 
heads the poll as abreeder of cart-horses) does business 
almost exclusively with Mr. Collins ; and, as graziers 
and breeders of embryo Clinkers and Clashers, no 
names rank higher in Lincolnshire than Welfitt of 
Louth, Fowler of Kirton Grange, Greetham of Stain- 
field Hall, the Slaters of Commeringham and North 
Carlton, Bartholemew of Goltho, Nainby of Bar- 
noldby, Brooks of Croxby, and Chambers of Reasby 
Hall ; nor in Yorkshire than the Maynards of Harl- 
sey, Hall of Scorboro', and Wood of South Dalton. 
The three last-named graze carriage horses as well 
as hunters. Mr. Hall is the master of the Hol- 
derness Hunt, and grazes from sixty to seventy 
young hunters and carriage horses annually in the 


neighbourhood of Beverley. At the York show, in 
1853; he exhibited twelve hunters of his own grazing, 
valued at 200 guineas each, which were allowed even 
by his critical countrymen to be perfect gems. Lord 
Henry Bentinck has, exclusive of kennel hacks, 
about 55 horses at Lincoln during the hunting sea- 
son, and not a few of them have an early remem- 
brance of Mr. H all's pasture land, from which, in 
some instances, they have been transferred for a 400- 
guinea consideration. The Leicestershire hunting 
men have begun to buy their horses more directly 
out of the farmers' hands ; and Burbidge of Thorpe 
Arnold, Sikes of Tilton, Simpkin of Hoby, Wright of 
Burton, and John Wood of Market Overton, have 
been of late among the luckiest sellers. 

The lengthy short-legged stamp of hunter, slow 
over grass, but great over plough and strong fences, 
is gradually becoming very rare. No horses sell so 
well when they can be found, and their rarity may 
in a great measure be owing to the fact that blood- 
horses of this build are generally not successful in 
the T.Y.C. or one-mile races which are now in vogue 
and are therefore cut, or sold to the foreigners very 
early in the day. They are not quick on their legs, 
and get quite overset if they are hurried in the first 
half-mile, though they have perpetual motion enough 
to " bring back" the majority of horses to them over 
a T.M.M. or a D.I. course. We have always re- 
gretted that The Ban, who was quite the " Admirable 
Crichton" of this type of horse, should ever have 
been sent abroad. The muscular loined Inheritor 
(who always kicked fearfully in his exercise) was cast 
in another mould, but was still a magnificent model 
for a hunter sire. Weathergage would have suited 
lengthy mares to a nicety; and Peep-o'-Day-Boy, in 
spite of his bad pasterns, was after our own heart, as 
he had a very perfect, and not too lengthy a barrel, 
and presented to the eye that best of all combina- 


tions, a big deep horse on remarkably short legs. 
Ex-racers of any note have very seldom earned a 
name across country, and Mr. D. Robertson's Edgar, 
by Shakespeare, who carried him for eighteen sea- 
sons, is one of the few instances to the contrary. 

Shropshire always stood high as a hunting county, 
when Corbet, Hill, Graham, Puleston, and Mytton 
were its scarlet kings ; but its enthusiasm has been 
somewhat on the wane since the Hills gave up the 
hounds. Still, though the fields are not what they 
were, the breeders of hunters have lost none of their 
traditional renown. By the side of the gently- 
flowing Teme, and that pleasant Herefordshire 
Arcadia into which it leads, and in and about the 
mighty Norman fortress of Ludlow, the central point 
of view from so many broad dales, and bare heathery 
hills, jostling and crowding one another right into 
the heart of Wales, some of the rarest hunters of 
the present century have been reared. They have 
always been especially prized by the dealers, -and 
generally run from fifteen two to fifteen three. As 
a class they are long and low, and quick striders 
through dirt, and so sweet and clean about the head 
that ' f he's got the Shropshire head" is one of the 
most time-honoured phrases of the dealers' vocabu- 
lary. They invariably improve in this part as they 
get older, as the serum wastes, and nothing but 
muscle is left. In his day, Mr. Anderson, senior, 
used to be very fond of Shropshire hunters as a class, 
and he would get down before almost any of his 
brethren to Shrewsbury fair, invite fifteen to twenty 
farmers to breakfast at The Raven, and bring away 
fourteen or fifteen of their best nags. The breeders 
to the Ludlow country owe not a little to the late 
Mr. Lechmere Charlton, for the carefully-culled sires 
he introduced. At one time, however, the Shropshire 
men grew more careless about pedigree, and just 
selected the cheapest sire that happened, to travel 


their way, or flaunted in ribbons through Shrews- 
bury market. The usual result took place : bodies 
grew less and less, and the beautiful heads or " bon- 
nets" which Comus and Strephon brought into the 
country began to be replaced by a shapeless thing 
"as big as a sugar warehouse." The regular old 
Shropshire type of hunters, who pricked up their 
ears at the challenge of the Trojans, is derived prin- 
cipally from Black Sultan, Revenge, and Regulus, 
who flourished some forty years ago. Black Sultan, 
who was the property of Mr. Hiles, a miller at 
Shrewsbury, was far away the greatest of the three, 
and to this day the Shropshire men vow that almost 
every hunter with a black or chesnut skin bears 
kindred to the old horse, just as almost every ugly- 
headed hunter, for the last fifth of a century, has 
been consistently fathered on Belzoni. An immense 
number of his stock, after a wondrous jumping ca- 
reer, went stone blind. The Yorkshire Comus, on 
the contrary (who seemed to get nothing but greys 
and chesnuts), went blind when he was rising four, 
and he was never known, that we heard of, to get a 
blind one. It is also a fact that a well- known second- 
rate blood sire lately went blind early in the year 
and, contrary to his usual luck, almost every mare 
that was served by him during that season threw a filly. 
But we are not yet done with Shropshire. Planet, 
by Dungannon, Driver, a three parts bred, and Ro- 
sario, by Ambrosio, a rather low-tailed horse ; Mr. 
Gore's Hesperus, Pilkington, the maternal uncle of 
Ion, the sire of countless flashy fine goers, whom the 
dealers loved, and the long and low Gimcrack, the 
property, along with Planet, Rosario, Champion, 
and Pilkington, of the Clays of Wem, who never 
lacked a good horse, also rank among their paddock 
worthies. Then there was Spectre, son of Phantom, 
whom came from the Ludlow district, and with the 
then young Jemmy Chappie on his back, made very 


short work of the Newmarket horses in the Audley 
End. No wonder the Heath-men did not fancy him, 
as he was a thick lumpy horse, and could not get a 
real racer, with the exception of Sceptic, and he 
came off Second-best so perpetually, that he was 
generally known by that name. His stock were all 
a thick style of horse, but not one of them are left 
in the Ludlow hunt, or indeed anywhere else. Man- 
fred, by Election, became Mr. Lechmere Charlton's 
property about the time he bought Sam, who failed 
at the stud as much as he did in his racing career 
after the Derby, and, with the exception of rather 
twisted fore-legs, a defect which was especially ob- 
servable in Mr. Lindow's great Melton hunter The 
Clipper (who always went to cover in boots, and led by 
a man on a pony), a more gentlemanly blood-like style 
of horse has been rarely seen, and his stock, although 
not big, preserved all his quality. Brigliadoro was 
also from the Ludlow side ; and Mr. Anderson, senior, 
as well as George Underbill, had always a great no- 
tion of his slashing but short-legged hunters. It is 
on record of these two admirable judges of horseflesh, 
that they agreed to price seventeen which the latter 
had in his sale stables, and when they compared 
their estimates, Mr. Anderson's was actually the 
largest by 15, and he accordingly took to the horses 
in a lot. This story is perfectly authentic, and has 
scarcely a parallel in horse-dealing annals. "Old 
George's " especial fancy, however, was his own 
Strephon, by Reubens, and at one time this horse, 
who was bought in the evening of his days by Lord 
Hill, Champion by Selim, and Mr. Wheeler's Snow- 
don, who latterly became quite white, were the great 
county rivals. Strephon' s fame has lasted the longest, 
and the hunting men still swear by his name, when 
the sprig-tailed, light-quartered, and thin-thighed 
Snowdonites are almost forgotten. The latter were 
always over-rated, and the best of them, to our mind, 


were a grey mare of Colonel Biddulph's, and a grey- 
horse, whose flying jumps became so noted, that a 
hard-riding divine christened him " Jumping Jack. 5 ' 
Mr. Joseph Clay, of Sutton, rode him in the front rank 
with the Shropshire for two seasons ; and he was 
latterly in Mr. Smith Owen's hands when he divided 
the country with Lord Hill ; and gained the reputa- 
tion of being the best horse in the stud, by the style 
in which, despite of his lack of speed .and not very 
sound legs, he carried the huntsman to the last. 
The Strephons were generally thick, stout-hearted, 
weight-carrying nags, with magnificent backs and 
shoulders, first-rate in the field, but vile as hackneys, 
always knocking their toes against the ground, and 
inheriting a beautiful head, the outline of which may 
still be traced at many a cover side. Stapleton, a 
contemporary of Pilkington, was one of his principal 
sons, and stood at Fryatt's of Melton for a time. 
The Champions were of a bigger stamp altogether, 
and with legs like waggon-horses, but they were 
rather loosely built, and seemed as if they had just 
one joint too many in their backs. In his hind- 
quarters their sire somewhat resembled Camel, though 
his tail was not hung so low ; his face bore a huge 
white blaze, and his character in the country was to 
the effect that he was " a very determined devil.'" 
The county and the kennel stables were full of 
Jupiters, when Sir Bellingham Graham gave up 
Shropshire, and the triad of masters succeeded. 
This sire was the Belzoni of Shropshire, as his stock 
were great sprawling, high-tempered horses to begin 
with, and never at perfection till they were rising 
eight or nine. Lord Stamford bred him, and Will 
Staples, who had Jack Wiglesworth and Tom Flint 
(who died a few years back with the Duke of Cleve- 
land), as his whips, adored him like a heathen of 
old. Poor Tom used occasionally to go like his old 
Shropshire self in Durham, and a more perfect horse- 


man never rode at a fence. Originally he was articled 
to Page the trainer of Epsom, and had such a 
little notion of his business when he began, that he 
acceded to the other lads' proposition to wax him 
on to his saddle. When Tom's after feats reached 
him, Page used often to tell the story, how he stuck 
so tight that he was obliged to lift him and the saddle 
off the colt together, and then cut him clean out 
of his corduroys and his difficulties. Among more 
modern Shropshire horses, we may note The Steamer, 
by Emilius, out of Valve (the dam of Pussy), who 
was bred and sold by Mr. Price, of Bryn-Pys, for 
50. His racing career was foiled by his bad legs, 
which gave way to such an extent that he could 
hardly bear walking exercise, and he was too strong 
a puller to let a light boy ride him. There are an 
immense quantity of good hunters out by him, 
though they are generally a little in at the elbows ; 
and Hyllus, a hack of his get, was snapped up at a 
high price for the Royal stables. All of them are 
jumpers, but they are not exactly what are styled 
" dealers' horses." Necromancer has done some- 
thing for the present and old owner's name; and 
breeders tell you that the thorough-bred Melibceus 
never failed to get a hunter, and are all on the alert 
when they hear of a Melibceus mare. The Great- 
hearts are also especially fine goers, and very fair 
jumpers, neat, fifteen-three, and in fact quite ' ' the 
good old style back again ;" but their sire has de- 
parted for Ireland. Ion, who is now a very popular 
blood sire in France, stood one season at Shrews- 
bury ; but he is rather a light-girthed unattractive 
style of horse, and had very few mares. 

Will Staples, of whom it used to be said, and with 
little exaggeration, that he could hunt a Shropshire 
fox without hounds, looks back to the grey Moses as 
the best Strephon he ever rode, while Ludlow among 
the Brigliadoroes, Longwaist and Gazelle among the 


Jupiters, Melibceus by Meliboeus, and Plynlimmon 
by The Colonel, are still among the other pleasant 
memories of his great hunting career. If we mis- 
take not, Mr. Mytton's The Duchess was a prima 
donna among the scions of Hit-and-miss, who was, 
like Herbert Lacy, quite a Shropshire worthy ; and 
Fitzjames, whose stock were all bad-tempered, never 
got a superior to the " Squire of Halston's *' Arm- 
chair. Mr H. Clive of Styche's Annette was also a 
gay feather in Strephon's cap, when it was no easy 
task for a man to hold his own with Will and his 
cover- side cavalry. Well may we hear the horses, 
and the men who rode them, arid raced them towards 
The Wrekin as their gigantic winning-chair, still 
household words among the " proud Salopians " \ 
Those were the days when Lord Hill " on Paddy of 
Paddies the wonder " ; John Arthur Lloyd on Grena- 
dier ; Smith Owen on Lop, or " Banker so honest a 
trader, he pays draughts at sight without any per- 
suader"; Lyster, "king of light weights, on The 
Doe ;" and countless others who live in the ballad, 
were all in the foremost flight ; and when " The 
Curate rough-riding the Rector was seen," or else 
" with his coat buttoned up, and his tongue very 
still," earned the poet's praise as 

" First in the field and dashing away, 
Taking all in his stroke on Gehazi the grey." 

Smoker, whose stock have often rather coarse heads 
and not the best of hocks, belongs to Montgomery- 
shire, where breeding has been rather flashy than 
sound for some time past. Its horses were but little 
tested at home, as their fine look attracted the dealers, 
who pounced on them and made " swimmers" of them 
forthwith ; and several of those that did stay on this 
side the Channel had their weak places found out. 
A well-informed writer in the Sporting Review* states 
the case much more favourably for the breeders of 
* January, 1857. 


South Wales, or rather its three most western coun- 
ties, which support five regular packs of fox hounds. 
He considers that the best stamp of a Welsh hunter 
is a well-bred compact horse, not exceeding fifteen- 
two in height ; he must be very handy and clever at 
on-and-oif work, a good one up hill and through 
dirt : a fast horse is always an advantage, but a per- 
fect fencer is of more importance in this rough hilly 
country, as there are too many days on which a Welsh 
fox-hunter is employed in riding through interminable 
woods, and up and down break-neck dingles. Many 
of the horses in the V. H. C. country, old-fashioned 
hunters with rare loins and back ribs, have a power of 
creeping which absolutely borders on the miraculous. 
The Castle mar tain country, which until last season 
was hunted by the South Pembrokeshire, and holds 
as good a scent as any in England, is the principal 
breeding district for hunters ; and the " sporting 
Castlemartain yeomen" (as they delight to be called) 
keep at least one three-parts-bred brood mare, which 
is generally put to a thorough-bred horse. The young- 
sters are mostly kept till five years old, by which 
time they are usually perfect fencers, and find a ready 
sale for the English market, at prices varying from 
90 to <150; and the principal buyers are Messrs. 
James and Jacob of Cheltenham, and Harvey of 
Manchester. For some years back the leading sires 
have been Pilkington, Uncle Toby, Ascot, Mango, 
Ballinkeele, Gaper, St. Bennett, Firman, Benedict, 
and Sultan; and, within the last two years, Pha- 
roah, Cheops, Langton, and Shannon (h. b.) have 
joined their ranks. Ascot, Mango, and Ballinkeele 
have perhaps got the best hunters, and Gaper's stock 
are usually very good fencers, but their forelegs are 
sadly deficient. 

The most fashionable hunter sires in Ireland, during 
the last thirty years, have been Old Welcome, Bob 
Booty, Tiger, Sir Hercules, Birdcatcher (Old), Small- 


hopes, Windfall, Freney, King Arthur, Navarino,, 
Blackfoot, Whitenose, Philip the First, Cock of the 
Heath, Col wick, Seahorse, Lottery, Bobby gore, and 
Roller ; while the stock of Brown Molton, Vulcan, 
The Great Western, King of Kelton, Mayboy, Tear- 
away, Large Hopes, Shawnboy, Sir Richard, Young 
Windfall, Tom Steel, Arthur &c., are in great vogue 
at present. The Irish have now quite recovered the 
check which was given to hunter- breeding by the 
famine, and we believe that an almost unprecedented 
number of mares were sent to the horse last spring. 
Their most valuable mares for this purpose are more 
than three-parts bred, roomy, deep-shouldered, and 
with good heads and crests ; and the characteristics 
of their best stock are small intelligent heads, with 
the eye almost standing out of it ; short lean necks, 
great depth of shoulder, fore-legs well put on and all 
sinew, wide back, with large hips, quarters rather 
drooping, and great length from the hip to the hock, 
which gives them their splendid propelling power at 
fences. The average height of the best is fifteen- 
three, and they are well up to fourteen stone. They 
have always that peculiar slope of the croup nearly 
at the same angle as the gaskins, which invariably 
marks a horse as clever across country. In fact, as a 
general thing, horses short and straight in the croup 
seldom manage to drop fence handily, or have good 
action with their hind legs, whatever they may have 
with their fore ones. The young hunters are sent to 
the Irish fairs, principally between the ages of six and 
eight, but the best, as in England, are bought from 
the breeder long before they reach a fair. They are 
principally bred in Westmeath, Meath, Longford, 
Kildare, Roscommon, Wicklow, and Wexford ; and 
among the largest breeders we may mention Mr. 
Richard Reynell, of Kelynin ; Mr. A. Cook, of Cooks- 
borough ; Mr. H. Morrow, of Longford : Mr. M. A. 
Feuile, of Sonna; Mr. W. Ryan, of Edgeworths- 


town; Mr. J. Weir, of Tullaghan ; Mr. Duke, of 
Sligo; Mr. Pollock, ofMeath; and Mr. J. Connelly, 
of Celbridge. The largest fairs for hunters are Bal- 
linasloe, on the 6th, 7th, and 8th of October ; the 
Great Minister Fairs, which are held at Limerick in 
April and October ; and the Cahiramee Fair, on the 
llth and 12th of July. Young horses and colts are 
principally shown at Mullingar, where three out of 
the four fairs (April 6th, July 4th, and August 22nd) 
are entirely devoted to them ; whereas that on Nov. 
llth, is more especially for made hunters. To these 
we may add Spancelhill (June 24th), Ballintubber 
(August 25th), Boyle (July 25th), and Hospital 
(July 9th), where nothing but quite youngsters are 

These aspirants are put into a jumping tutor's 
hands at two years old, and first taught to leap by 
being driven over all sorts of fences, for three or four 
weeks. They are often fitted with a snaffle and sur- 
cingle during these gymnastics, and one man leads 
while another follows them with a whip over these 
fences, which consist principally of high rotten banks ; 
and the result of the system is, that they cannot pitch 
on their heads, but learn to drop lightly on their 
haunches. Having been thus initiated, the future 
hunter is turned out till he is four years old. All his 
by no means forgotten lessons are then renewed ; a 
boy is put on to his back, and when he has been 
made perfectly handy and quiet, he sees hounds at 
intervals, and in the fulness of time is shipped off 
with his fellows to England. During the summer 
months Irish bred animals, in very ragged condition, 
and of all heights, from ten to sixteen hands, are to 
be found in the Leicester market ; and it was here 
that Mr. Pratt, of Shankton, picked up Shankton 
for 12 10s., at three years old. On the whole the 
Irish breed of hunters was never better than it is at 
present ; and to judge from the number of good sires 

s 2 


which have gone over lately, they are not likely to 
degenerate. Among English dealers, the Messrs. 
Colton of Eagle Hall and Newark, are very large 
purchasers. They import on the average about five 
hundred hunters, trained and untrained, every year, 
at all prices, from .50 to 300, and keep two agents 
(Wilmott and Nugent), one of whom lives at Mul- 
lingar, always on the look-out for them. Mr. Potter, 
of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, also buys very largely, and 
at stiff prices ; and the same remark applies to Mr. 
John Darby, of Rugby ; Mr. Murray of Manchester ; 
and Mr. Hall of Sedgefield, Durham, who, however, 
directs his attention more especially to harness and 
young horses. The principal " colt-buyers," as they 
are termed, are Mr. Parish, of Birmingham, (who 
will buy as many as 150 in a year) ; Mr. J. Hall, of 
Derby ; and Mr. P. Shields, of Dublin ; who bring 
great numbers of juveniles across the channel, at all 
figures from 5 to 50. 

Perhaps the most remarkable Irish hunter of the 
present century was Mr. Assheton Smith's Eire King 
a sixteen-hand, very large-limbed, light-fleshed, 
and deep-girthed thorough-bred chesnut. He was 
bought by Mr. William Denham, of Kegworth, from 
Mr. Robert Lucas, of Liverpool, in the January of 
1840, for 25 only, and was just as unmanageable 
a savage as ever wore a bridle. However, Mr. Den- 
ham contrived to beat all Derbyshire on him, both 
with foxhounds and Lord Chesterfield's staghounds ; 
Will Derry, the huntsman, who was riding one of 
his Lordship's thorough-bred 300-guinea chesnuts, 
frankly acknowledging on one occasion that he could 
not live with him any part of the run. He also dis- 
tinguished himself in Leicestershire in two runs ; one 
from Cream, and the other from Sir Harry Goodricke's 
Gorse. On the day after the latter, Mr. Assheton 
Smith rode up to Mr. Denham, at Croxton Park 
races, and made him an offer of 200 for him, which 


Mr. Denham declined unless he would make it 
guineas. On this Mr. Smith jocularly remarked that 
he was " the most independent horsedealer he had 
ever met with ;" and was told that if he had been 
independent he would not have taken 2,000 guineas 
for the horse, as he was sure that no man could ex- 
pect to have more than one such in his life. He was 
very much blemished at the time by curbs; so much so, 
in fact, that Mr. Smith could hardly credit the assu- 
rance that he was sound after having " been repaired 
so often ." At this juncture Lord Chesterfield rode up, 
and on hearing his lordship indorse Mr. Denham's 
statement that he had never in his life seen a horse 
that could go better, if so well, to hounds, the bar- 
gain was then and there closed for guineas. At first 
they had rather a weary time with him at Tidworth. 
Mr" Smith sent him home on hunting days seven or 
eight times before he could ride him with confidence ; 
and there is a legend that he not only ran clean away 
for miles with George Carter, bat the latter assured 
his master, when he proposed another mount, that 
he would rather run on foot than get on him. His 
master, however, charmed the chesnut into a softer 
mood at last, and on December 15th of the following 
year, he wrote Mr. Denham to say that he had " got 
him to go as quiet as any horse in my stable " adding 
1 ' I have hunted a great number of years, I have kept 
hounds and hunted them for thirty-eight years, and 
I am quite sure I never had such a horse as he is be- 
fore, and fully believe I never saw such a one." In 
reply to his further request, that Mr. Denham would 
trace his pedigree, the latter could only reply, " All 
that I know is that he came from Ireland, rejoicing 
in the name of The Devil, having run away with 
nearly all the people that had ridden him, and he 
gave me several wet jackets before I could manage 
him." The Widow, a fine sixteen-hand brown mare, 
was also a great wonder among Irish mares; and it 


was no ordinary sight to see her carry Mr. John 
Massey Stanley, who must have ridden full seventeen 
stone, in the front rank over the stiffest part of 
Cheshire, for five-and-thirty minutes, till she was ab- 
solutely beaten to a standstill by the size of the 
fences and the weight and stick-at-nothing style of 
her rider. 

At the time (1811) that Will Danby, now of the 
Hurworth, who ' ' has hunted every corner of York- 
shire, from Spurn Point to Westmoreland, and from 
the German Ocean to Derbyshire," during his long 
and honourable career, first sported his boots and 
spurs under the late Duke of Leeds, his lordship's 
stud principally consisted of the stock of Pandolpho. 
This horse was the sire of Mowbray, and a long series 
of some of the very best hunters that the Yorkshire- 
men ever crossed. When Will joined his Grace 
there were no less than fourteen hunters by him in 
the Duke's stables, all equally good, and up to heavy 
weights in the longest day. They were Pan, Pande- 
mic, Panada, Paiiadian, Panegyric, Pandora, Pan- 
dolpha, Pancake, Jenny, Jacky, Mitchell, Dolly 
Mitchell, Young Mary, and another. It was on 
Pandora that Will finished almost alone on that 
complete Billesden Coplow day, when they found a 
fox at Howe Bank, and ran him out of Wensleydale 
into Swaledale, and killed him at Craik Pot, after a 
burster of three hours ; while the great Applegarth 
Scaur day, when they found above Richmond and 
went right away into Westmoreland, fell to Young 
Mary's lot. Pandolpho's stock were well repre- 
sented in all the Yorkshire hunts, and the fourteen 
fetched very long prices when the Duke went abroad. 
Among other hunting-sires in Yorkshire during the 
present century, Screveton, by Highflyer, is entitled 
to a very high place, and the blood of his half-brother, 
Sir Peter Teazle, has been as well-known in the field 
as on the turf, and most especially through the Sir 


Harry Dimsdales. The stock of the latter (who was 
named after the mock Mayor of Garrett) were much 
prized in Leicestershire, and their peculiar charac- 
teristics of a beautiful dapple -grey, broad backs, 
pointed Arab-like heads, and orange-shaped quarters, 
are still to be traced to the third generation. Some 
would have it that he was a bit of a roarer ; but at all 
events Mr. Maxserode 15 stone on him over Leices- 
tershire for some seasons, and Dick Christian had 
but little fault to find with him. We looked care- 
fully over a large field last season, and could find 
nothing of the hunting stamp of an almost superan- 
nuated son of Old President, whose stock, with their 
fine brown skins and still finer tempers, have jumped 
magnificently time out of mind. As regards the 
second point we could almost say of them as Captain 
Barclay used to say of his friend Cribb (i That's 
the beauty of Tom you can't make him cross hit 
him where and how you like you'll never meddle 
with his temper/' Camillus, who first spread the 
stud fame of Hambletonian, was also the sire of 
some rare talent in this line, and so were Old Wolds- 
man, Grog, and the renowned Tramp, who was not 
a big but a very even horse. His stock had remark- 
ably fine hunting action, and we have often heard 
Will Danby recount how his favourite son of Tramp 
carried him twenty miles to cover one day, when he 
whipped-in to the Holderness ; went through a very 
fast thing of fifty minutes and home again ; heard the 
whaw-hoop in two runs, one of them of forty and the 
other of an hour and fifteen minutes next day, and 
eighteen miles home to kennel at night ; and then 
ask, like a true-born tyke Can any of your South 
Country horses beat that ? In fact, he thought this 
horse better than even his President mare of four 
hours and twenty minutes memory in the York hunt. 
Orvile, Grey Orvile, Grey Walton, Sandbeck, 
Emilian, Young Phantom, Cervantes, and Cerberus, 


have all sent wiry representatives of their name from 
Yorkshire to Horncastle ; and Lincolnshire has not 
been behindhand with Quicksilver, Hippomenes, Pil- 
grim, Negociator, Robin Hood, Darnley, Bellerophon, 
and Mandeville. Don Juan, with his strong but some- 
what inelegant stock, must not be forgotten; nor 
Orion, the sire of countless browns with especially 
broad backs and plain tan-muzzle heads. Catterick, 
in spite of his bad colour, has also a claim to be re- 
membered ; and Fernhill and Humphrey are now the 
Lincolnshire representatives of the stout Venison 
and Sandbeck blood. The Pelhams were always 
noted for their breed of horses, and there are but 
few English horses that have not some distant tinge 
in their veins of the Bay Barb and Brocklesby 
Betty. The foundation of their more modern 
stable-blood was laid some fifty or sixty years ago, 
when the first Lord Yarborough bought a Sir Peter 
mare (sister to Hermione) from Lord Grosvenor. 
He also regularly sent his mares to Earl Fitzwilliam's 
and Earl Egremont's crack horse, and a Driver filly 
did great things for the Brocklesby Hunt stables. 
Its sire was the original old Driver (the " Old, old 
hat," in fact of Lord Palmerston's Tiverton speech), 
and was kept by Lord Egremont on frs own pro- 
perty between York and Beverley. The first noted 
sire Lord Yarborough purchased was the chesnut 
Quicksilver, a rather small horse, remarkably blood- 
looking about the head, and with abundance of 
quality. His stock, to which he communicated 
great character, were nearly all chesnuts, and there 
was no mistaking their duck noses, wide nostrils, 
and glove-like skin. No horses were so good to 
know. " Quicksilver for a quart/' the very labourer 
would say to his fellow, as he plodded along the 
road, and espied a young chesnut dancing and 
throwing up his heels in the harrows, and the guess 
rarely failed. The county was at one time as full of 


his stock as it was rather later on of Sir Malagigi's, 
which had, one and all, very dubious tempers. This 
own brother to Sir Marinel was a loose-built style of 
horse, and it was difficult to say why the Lincoln- 
shire men took such a fancy to him for two or three 
seasons. His owner was wont to boast that the 
proceeds of one of them was 400 gs. in two-guinea 
fees, and that he carried every stiver of the money 
home with him when he took the horse back across 
the Humber to his winter quarters in Holderness ! 
It was from a Brocklesby draft filly by him that Mr. 
John Richardson, of Horkstow, near Barton, bred 
Peter Simple, and at one or two Horncastle fairs his 
stock showed in such force, that he was unanimously 
pronounced quite the premier among sires. 

Nailer was the best Quicksilver that rare hunts- 
man, the late Will Smith ever rode. He was a 
good-looking chesnut, and in spite of his family 
failing, gentle in WilFs hands, though sadly violent 
with every one else. Even under Will, he always 
feinted to pull, and went with his head turned almost 
to his rider's toe ; but he made himself an old horse 
long before his time, by his intemperate style in the 
field : flying small drains as if they were six-barred 
gates, in the most unorthodox or rather un-Holder- 
ness style. The blood was much liked by the 
Woldsmen ; and the Prince of Wales, through Mat 
Milton, gave the present Mr. Richard Nainby of 
Barnoldby (whose eldest son Charles has no superior 
in the Brocklesby hunting field) 400 gs. for a bay 
gelding by him, which was bred by Mr. Phillipson, 
of Bradley. Sir Harry, who was by Spartacus, and 
bred by the first Lord Yarborough, was after all 
Will's crack horse deep-bodied and short, with 
wonderful elastic action, and as wild -looking as an 
untamed Arab. 

The late Mr. Richardson, of Limber, had, however, 
the honour of breedingPloughboyby Hippomenes, and 


seeing Will (who was in his glory with Will Mason and 
Bob Gaunt as his whips) on him for some eight seasons. 
Few horses combined so much blood with such stout 
legs; his eye was also quite a curiosity, from its power 
and prominence ; but his peculiarity was his short- 
sightedness,, and owing to this failing, it was not 
three times in a season that he would take anything 
at a fly. Will used to say of him that he feared no 
fence if he could only pull him up and take it stand- 
ing; but the old bay was fated to die in other hands. 
That noted Lincolnshire sportsman, Tom Brooks, of 
Croxby, had often wished to ride a run on him, but 
never did so till one- day, when, as Will was going 
away with his fox from Bradley Wood, he suddenly 
hailed him, and said he had a pain in his back/ 
and Ploughboy was pulling him, adding " You had 
best take your ride now, Tom ; old Ploughboy will 
never hunt another season." WilFs words were only 
too prophetic. They had gone seven miles, best pace, 
and Ploughboy was striding away across Healing Field 
(so called from a small mineral spring in the lord- 
ship), with his head down, after having just jumped 
a stiff ox-post and rails, when he put his foot in a 
little grip, fell on his chin, dislocated his neck, and 
turned tail over head as dead as a stone. His rider was 
standing over him as Will galloped past. " Not hurt, 
Tom, I hope Well, it's an ^honourable death for old 
Ploughboy to die" And on he went with his hounds, 
and killed his fox in Lord Yarborough's private room 
at Brocklesby. It seemed as if "the red rogue" 
had just struggled so far to tell his lordship that his 
race was avenged on Ploughboy at last ; and a knife, 
mounted with his pad, a present from Will, and bear- 
ing date April 6th, 1829, still does duty at Croxby. 
Incredible as it may seem, almost every muscle in 
Ploughboy's legs was found to be filled with thorn- 
pricks, and yet he had scarcely ever gone lame. But 
sixteen years more, and Will's own voice (which, like 


three generations of Smiths before him, had so often, 
rung out a death knell) was hushed for ever, while 
he was still in his prime. Some of the elder branch 
lie at Nettleton, and Will, "aged 56," is now the latest 
tenant of that grey row of flat-stone graves in which 
the rest, fathers and sons, huntsmen and whippers-in, 
are garnered side by side near the chancel door at 
Brocklesby. On that sad day he was riding a shifty 
Waverley horse, and owing to a high thick hedge, was 
unable to get to his hounds, as they had some cold 
hunting up the ascent from Bradley Wood, towards 
Barnoldby Church. " Holloa, my lad ! holloa !" he 
shouted, to a lad in the distance, who had just 
viewed the fox as he skirted the village, and his 
" Yoick Ranter, boy !" as his favourite hound hit it off 
up the hedge-side, still seems to sound in the ears of 
the few who were up and heard it. It was the last 
cheer he ever gave to hound, and it seemed strange 
that the sad honour should fall on one of the blood 
which has been the special pride and stay of the 
Brocklesby pack. Over a small hedge, and into a 
plot of garden ground he went ; but the leap out of 
it, a rotten hedge with a ditch on the near side of it, 
was to be his last. Will scarcely knew it was there, 
as he kept his eye on the hounds who flew to Ranter 
in the corner of the next field j his horse caught its 
leg in a binder, and was drawn back so suddenly in 
its drop, that he fell over on his head. He turned a 
complete somersault, and lay on his back with his 
arms and legs extended and powerless ; and when he 
was picked up, perfectly black in the face, it was 
found that dislocation of the vertebrae had brought 
on paralysis in every limb. For nearly five days he 
lived a complete death in life, with his mind and his 
voice as clear as ever, and waiting calmly for his end. 
His fall occurred just beneath the shade of Barnoldby 
Church, in a field belonging to Mr. Nainby, at whose 
house he died ; and we believe that before another 



New YearVday, a small granite obelisk, planted 
round with evergreens, will be erected to mark the 
spot. The lapse of eleven years has not quenched 
the fondness with which every Brocklesby man still 
clings to his memory. Three more keen and steady 
sportsmen than "Old Will," Charles Uppleby, of 
Barrow, and Philip Skipworth, of Aylesby, never 
went to their rest. 

A Devi- sing mare, whose Eclipse sire was imported 
into Lincolnshire from the royal stud by the late Lord 
Yarborough, had also the honour of throwing to Pil- 
grim that mare of Mr. Frank Iles's which won the first 
steeple-chase (April, 1820) ever run in Lincolnshire. 
Field Nicholson had just returned from his first sea- 
son at Melton (where he afterwards shone so brightly 
as a steeple-chase rider, on Magic, Plunder, &c.), 
flushed with triumph at having won a small match 
there on a fourteen-hand pony, and bringing with 
him a mare which he fancied fit to beat all the 
Brocklesby Hunt. Tom Brooks, of Croxby, had been 
a rival of his in riding, from their very boyhood ; they 
had sat on the same school bench, thinking doubt- 
less more of foxes than fractions, and then taken their 
fences, stroke for stroke, for some years before Field 
graduated in Leicestershire, whither Tom followed 
him for a season. Field's boasting was not to be 
borne, and accordingly Tom told him that his animal, 
who was a magnificent jumper, but slow, was " a nice 
bagman's mare," and followed up this home-thrust 
by offering to run him ten miles within a month for 
50 guineas a-side for the honour of the old county, 
each to cariy fourteen stone. From Thoresby Mill 
to Aylesby steeple, with some seventy to eighty 
fences in it, was the line chosen. Every man, 
woman, and child that could walk, ride, or drive 
lined the ten miles, and it seemed as if all the horse- 
men of Lincolnshire were- drawn up in array at 
Barton Street. The pair went the first half mile 


together, and then parted. At Ashby and Brigsley, 
Brooks was in difficulties, as his mare three times 
refused a water-course with post and rails. All 
seemed lost, but at the nick of time Nicholson ap- 
peared over a fence. "Why, Field, you're just 
the man I want I" roared Tom ; " give me a lead 
over." " I'll show you the way to jump, my boy," 
was the jaunty reply; and Tom's mare followed him 
like a bird. They met no more in the race, as Field 
went below Barnoldby and got too far out of his line, 
while Tom kept the high ground on the other side of 
the village, and reached the steeple, out of which 
those two ancient elderberry bushes still persevere 
in growing like a couple of ears, in the very teeth of 
archdeacon and churchwardens, as clever a winner as 
his fondest backers could wish. 

But we must bid good-bye to Brocklesby and 
all its hunting glories, and wend our steps to the 
little hunting metropolis of Leicestershire. It was 
here that Cannon Ball made himself a name, and 
season after season proved the sire of a very gentle- 
manly class of brown and chesnut horses, which ran 
from fifteen- two to fifteen- three, and inherited almost 
universally his white face, round barrel, and short 
legs. He was himself a beautifully rich brown, 
with a white blaze and three white legs, but his 
stock had all rather upright shoulders, and his suc- 
cess was not proportionate to the immense amount 
of superior mares that were sent to him. Umbriel 
bears some strong general resemblance to him, as 
we remember an ex-jockey coming up to him as he 
took his last parade round the paddock, before the 
Derby, and apostrophizing Templeman with "Why, 
Sim ! there's old Cannon Ball back again I' 9 We 
think it was a young Cannon Ball which took Sir 
Tatton's fancy so much in one of his Leicestershire 
journeys, that he purchased him, and for fear of ac- 
cidents, led him all the way back from Loughborough 


to Sledmere himself, and was hailed by Lord Al- 
thorp from his post-chaise on the road. Even in 
Sir Tatton's early days (when he thought nothing 
of riding to London to be measured for a new coat, 
and walking eight miles before breakfast simply to 
see his horse fed) he was always wont to walk by the 
side of his hunter the greatest part of the way to 
cover, and he still preserves his old practice, even at 
eighty-five, twice a year, when he sets off at four 
o'clock in the morning with his young horses to and 
from the marshes. Yorkshiremen still proudly avow 
that in handling young horses and hedging tools he 
has no rival, let alone his quiet Quaker-like readiness 
and terseness of retort, on such as venture to take a 
liberty. How quiet his reproof to a young blood, 
who " thought 3 ' the hounds were not so near, when 
he jumped almost into the middle of them " Now 
you know, Sir, you never thought at all." This horse- 
leading trait reminds us of one in the late Sir 
Charles Bunbury, who trained his horses in private 
almost entirely under his own eye, and fearing lest 
they might be nervous in public, frequently made 
the lads (who were never allowed to use spurs or 
anything but a small stick to them) wear his colours 
when they cleaned them. The Suffolk baronet 
latterly would never have his horses sweated or tried 
on a Good Friday, as during a trial on one of these 
anniversaries, both his horses fell and broke their 
backs, and each of the jockeys got a fractured thigh. 
Vivalda got big bad-mouthed stock, but as stout as 
the day was long, and Knight of the Whistle bid 
fair to tread in Cannon BalFs footsteps in Leicester- 
shire, up to last season, when the Irishmen pur- 
chased him. The Knight's stock are principally 
roan chesnuts, white-legged and white-faced,, like 
himself; and we doubt whether he ever got a bad 
hunter, although the whole of them are a little short 
in the back ribs. Despite this defect, they are ra- 


pidly becoming favourites with the Melton men; 
and" one of them, Mr. Angerstein's The Rapid Roan, 
beat off everything in a very fast thirty-five minutes 
from Stanford Gorse, with a second fox, late on a 
March afternoon in 1855. We should fancy this 
horse pretty nearly if not the premier of the Knight's 
stock so far, and although he is about sixteen and 
a-half hands, he was out of a low, white-legged, 
black, pony sort of mare, which now runs in a car- 
rier's cart, after acting for six years as hack to an 
eighteen-stone surgeon. There seems to be a special 
luck attending surgeons 5 hacks both on the turf 
and at the coverside. Lancet, who was bought not for 
501 guineas but 620 guineas, from Mr. John Nether- 
coat by Mr. Cooke over the Pytchley Club dinner 
table, was, as we have seen, originally one, and so 
was the mean crooked-ankled dam of Castrel, Reu- 
bens, and Selim (all by Buzzard), whose Newmarket 
owner, Mr. Sandiver, would often ride her for a bye 
hour on to the Heath, which was to be trodden by 
such countless winning descendants, on his way to 
see patients on the race afternoons. 

The Cure, rogue as he ran in the St. Leger, was a 
great favourite in the North Riding, from whence 
he has emigrated to Lincolnshire, and his stock in- 
variably catch his finely-chiselled head and fiery eye. 
In the hunting classes at one of the recent Catterick 
Horse Shows, we find him the favoured sire of the 
" best colt foal for the field/' while President, Volti- 
geur, and his brother Barntoii, were alike honoured 
in the competition of yearling, two-year-old, and 
four-year-old " colts or fillies." The Sandbeck toast 
of " King and Catton" might be drunk without any 
inappropriateness at a hunt-dinner, as the old horse 
has left a long line of stout-hearts behind him. The 
Duke of Buccleuch's Norman by Scarborough, who 
has just carried Williamson through a ninth season, 
after being ridden by one of the whips for two, is 


his grandson, and was bred along with an elder bro- 
ther, fifteen-three, and with bay and black legs like 
himself, in Dalkeith Park. Norman is one of those 
wonderfully docile handy horses, who seems as if he 
" could canter round a cabbage," and owing to their 
stoutness, the pair have generally gone by the name, 
in the Hunt, of Stuffie Major and Stuffie Minor. 
Some call them "Hufty;" but, if Jamieson's Scot- 
tish Dictionary be any authority, they pay them a 
very ill compliment by such a nomenclature. Car- 
dinal Puff 's stock were rather few in number, but his 
hunters were much liked ; and Melbourne's half- 
bred stock is generally coarse and overgrown. The 
Ratcatchers have been successful, and Theon's stock 
are generally very true-made and handsome, but we 
do not like the style of the Liverpools we have seen 
at the cover- side, as they rather partake of his ten- 
dency to weak loins, a fault not observable in the 
stock of British Yeoman or Idas, which are realizing 
high prices. Mundig's stock are nearly all chesnuts, 
many of them shot with white hairs, and have fine 
size and power, being in fact seldom below sixteen 
hands. Although their sire's temper was bad enough 
at times, they do not seem to share it, and some of 
the highest class ones have belonged to Lord Henry 
Bentinck. They take to fences as naturally as duck- 
lings to a pond, andCranebrook did very little towards 
supplying their sire's stall in Northamptonshire, 
where Vortex is now in great force. The fashion of 
a landlord giving prizes to their farmers for the best 
hunting young stock might be said to have originated 
in this county ; and about sixty years ago, a Duke 
of Grafton not only gave them, but added a " fiver 5 ' 
for the farmer's son, under a certain age, who could 
ride best. The Duke, whose picture as he appeared 
in his " cock and pinch hat " on the Steyne at 
Brighton, at the beginning of the century, is well- 
known to old collectors, used to station himself 


about four fields ahead of that where the lads were 
drawn up in line, and mark their seat and hand as 
they raced to him; but few of that high-mettled 
corps are now left to tell the tale. As on the turf, 
the blood of Derby winners is perpetually to be seen 
in the first flight. The late Sir Richard Sutton was 
especially fond of his Whitenose, by Emilius, who 
has been shot and stuffed since the late Quorn sale ; 
and when it was not Valentine's day, Mr. Savile 
Foljambe liked best to find himself on Playfellow, 
by Pan, out of a Waxy mare. Waxy carried 12st. 
capitally himself, and beat his old rival Gohanna at 
even weights for four miles under it The form of 
these perpetual rivals was quite as near over the 
longer distances of that day, as Celia's and Oakley's 
were of late, and it was computed, that if both were 
in form, Waxy would beat him at 31bs., but could 
not give him 4lbs. We can scarcely remember to 
have seen a Sultan in the hunting-field, and they 
certainly had not much girth to inherit from him, 
however pretty their forehands might be. 

Whitenose, who is said to have carried Sir Richard 
over the greatest jump he ever rode at, somewhere in 
the neighbourhood of Barkby Holt, would have given 
us quite the idea of being a Touchstone horse and by 
no means a hunter-model ; his thighs seemed almost 
as straight as Partisan's were, and his withers perhaps 
the highest we have ever seen. Sir Richard had 
three falls the first day he rode him, but he never gave 
him another during the twelve seasons they enjoyed 
together. His black half-brother, The Emperor, was 
also a wonderful horse, but for power Sir Richard 
had few to beat Flambeau, and his thorough-bred 
seventeen-hand Hotspur was extraordinary enough 
to make converts of those who are not fond, as the late 
baronet was, of size. The style, too, in which Ben 
Morgan steered the grey Patch, as well as the vete- 
ran Lop, and Doctor Smollett, while " Tearaway 



Jack" tore along on Ptarmigan and Durham, are 
" great facts " in the history of Quorn. Speaking 
within limits, between 1847 and his death, Sir Richard 
had no less than twenty-five or thirty horses of a class, 
that could make themselves remembered over the pas- 
ture lands of Leicestershire. The Muley blood is well 
represented by Drayton, whose stock is getting very 
valuable, and Little Known ; one of the latter' s colts 
at Beverley Fair, some four years back, struck us as 
a dainty model of a heavy-weight hunter : but, after 
all said and done, dealers will tell you with truth that 
there are not more than six or seven hunters, so to 
speak, foaled in England each year. The Freneys, 
King David to wit, are very good, and have always a 
clean wiry look about them, without that temper 
which their sire used to show by perpetually snapping 
round at his jockey's legs. The judges at Malton, 
too, who gave the prize in 1855 for the best hunting 
sire to Burgundy, had their fiat indorsed by every 
member of the great horse-flesh congress, who saw 
him aired up and down the High-street at Doncaster 
on each of the race mornings. Russia knew his 
value better than Yorkshire, but he died almost 
immediately on landing. Fencing has always been 
the forte of the Ishmaels, and although Burgundy' s 
performances were confined to the turf, the tastes 
of the family have come prominently out in Switcher, 
Shinrone, Israelite, and Abd-el-Kader. The fact of 
his dam being an Ishmael also augurs well for 
Augur, who is so wonderfully muscular, that at 
first sight he would seem to have a bend -sinister 
in his escutcheon. The inartistic application of 
Major's Remedy threatened at one time to strip 
every vestige of hair from his legs, and to eat off his 
hoofs as well, and he actually lived on his knees for 
weeks till they secreted again, the most extraordinary 
object that veterinary ever beheld. Racing mares 
are, we fear, likely to claim his sole attentions in 


future, as well as Bat apian' s, and the hunting in- 
terests will suffer accordingly. During his illnSss, 
Augur might have been shown as " a frightful ex- 
ample " and, oddly enough, when we were last in 
his adopted Lincolnshire, we met with a pony in a 
park, which had run wild so long that her coronets 
seemed to have entirely merged in the hoofs. In 
fact, she stood to all appearance on her fetlocks, and 
the hoofs had become nothing more or less than long 
strips of horn curled up, and exactly resembling a 
Chinese boot. Several efforts had been made to pare 
them into shape, but nature had had her own sweet 
will too long, and would not be denied. 

The Julius Caesars, of which the late Sir Harry 
Goodricke's Limner was one of the very best, were 
very bad to beat over the Midland Counties, in the 
days when " Frenchmen " and the multiplication of 
covers had not begun to produce so many ringing 
home-bred foxes. Sir Harry, who always rode rather 
slow at his fences, except when he found a young 
horse careless at timber, and in want of a fall over 
something that would not break, liked Limner so 
much, that he went to Mr. Lynes of Oxendon, from 
whom he had purchased him for 200 guineas, at six 
years old, and gave him a long price for the daoi ; 
but, with the usual ill-luck of all fancy purchases, 
she died very shortly after, during foaling. Limner 
is still remembered in the Quorn Hunt, as being the 
most perfect hunter that Sir Harry ever had in his 
stud, and was always ridden in a plain snaffle. He 
was a golden-coloured lengthy fifteen-three chesnut, 
on short legs, immensely fast, and safe at his fences, 
until a very foggy morning after a frost seemed to 
make him a roarer, as if by magic. Owing to the 
mist, Sir Harry's groom had not found his master 
till after they had killed their first fox at the end of 
a mile run. The hounds had just broken it up, 
when Sir Harry said to a friend, ' ' Listen ! here 

T 2 


comes a banging roarer; when, to his horror, his 
owii favourite loomed slowly in sight from the same 
field. Julius Caesar was up to fifteen stone himself, 
and regularly took his turn in the hunting field ; and 
we have been told that he carried Earl.Lonsdale's 
postman on oft' days between Cottesmore and Oak- 
ham. His lordship always spoke of this horse, to the 
last, as one of the best he ever rode ; and seeing 
that his devotion to the chase once tempted him in 
desperation, after he had been hopelessly frozen in 
for three weeks, to have out his hounds and show his 
visitors one of the best runs of the season through 
six inches of snow, and to be perpetually led by 
his groom through a run, in the sad interval which 
preceded his 1000- guinea couching operation by 
Alexander, he was no mean judge of their capa- 
bilities. Bishop Bathurst, who seized a gun out of 
his son's hands, and shot a cock-pheasant at eighty, 
was not more enthusiastic ; and his ear, like that of 
Fielding, the blind police magistrate, who knew the 
tones of three thousand pickpockets' voices, was 
marvellously accurate. In one instance, when he 
was quite " dark/' he heard a gentleman, who had 
not seen him or hunted with him for twenty seasons, 
speak to Lambert at the meet, and he immediately 
hailed him by name, and gave him a most cordial 
welcome back to the Cottesmore. The leviathan 
stud at Cottesmore, where every horse had his price, 
was principally replenished by drafts from his tenants' 
paddocks in the north, who were never allowed to 
lack a well-selected hunter-sire ; and Julius Csesar, 
who would have been perfection if his feet had been 
quite sound (the failing point of too many of his 
stock), stood at Fryatt's Melton Paddocks for 
many years, and had even a larger average of 
visitors than Belzoni. The produce, which made 
great prices, were large, and had remarkably fine 
tempers, a eulogy which could not generally be passed 


on the pride of Lutter worth. This illustrious hollow- 
backed son of Blacklock, who was originally bought 
for 450 guineas, after he broke down at Northamp- 
ton, spread his name broadcast over the hunting- 
fields of England, for about twenty seasons ; he has 
not been dead more than five or six years, and his 
list of mares for one season alone, when he was in 
his prime, numbered about 120. His hunters are 
after one type big plain browns with sour tempers, 
and still sourer forge-hammer heads ; fine propelling 
quarters, light and leggy at four, but "growing 
down " after that period, improving vastly between 
five and seven, and not in their prime till about 
eight. Still it is said that a great many of them go 
lame, and invariably in the same foot. If Mr. Lucas 
had done nothing but buy Belzoni, he would have 
richly deserved the 500-guinea testimonial he re- 
ceived at Rugby, in 1855, from three hundred friends. 
The Belzoni stock have always a wonderful dislike 
to medicine, and it used to take Mr. Lucas nearly 
three-quarters of an hour to get a ball down the old 
horse, whose trick of always striking with his off 
front foot on these occasions has been duly trans- 
mitted to his children. He died about six years 
ago, and the only relic we saw of him, after duly visit- 
ing Wickliffe's at Lutterworth, was a pair of slippers, 
which had been made for the groom out of his skin, 
in honour of their eleven years' intimacy. The 
animal which did as much, if not most, for his fame, 
was a mare, The Gipsey, who was bought by the late 
Hon. Augustus Villiers from Mr. Kench, of Dun- 
church. She had been used in harness ; but under 
his able handling, she soon became first-rate in the 
field, and he won the Melton Steeple-chase and a 
match against Lord Maidstoiie, in Leicestershire, as 
well as another at Leamington, on her. From his 
hands she passed into Earl Craven's, and often took 
a front place in the field with his lordship's brother- 


in-law, the Hon. Kobert Grimston, on her back. 
She stood only fifteen-two, lengthy and very thick 
through, big plain head, of course, and had strong but 
heavy shoulders. In her fencing, instead of landing 
on her hind legs, she " pitched " upon her shoulders, 
probably owing to the formation in that part, but 
still she never fell. Earl Craven afterwards put her 
to the stud, but she never threw a foal worth its corn. 
While a thousand guineas for blood-yearlings is 
becoming an every day occurrence, the rage for giving 
that price for hunters has quite died away; andwehave 
not heard of such a figure since it was refused both 
for Harlequin and Limner. Up till 1770-80, even 
two hundred guineas was hardly dreamt of, and the 
first hunter we can find any trace of, as having fetched 
that price, was one sold about that period by Mr. 
Valentine Knightley to a Mr. Alexander Small, the 
son of a well-known Buckinghamshire rector. Stubbs 
has preserved the outline of this favoured horse, 
Monarch, in a pleasant Fawsley shooting picture, 
where he stands " steady" behind his master ; but he 
gives one much more the notion of an animal ready 
to screw and creep through any kind of fence on a 
cold scenting day, than one which meant going. 
Prices perhaps reached their culminating point in 
Lord Plymouth's time. His Lordship (who could 
never be called a hard rider) gave Sir Bellingham 
Graham 1,000 guineas for Beeswax and Freemason ; 
while 700 guineas was the figure both for Little John 
and a very soft mare, which he fancied from the style 
in which she went along with Mr. Peter Allix in a 
single run. He also gave 600 guineas for the sixteen- 
hand Cervantes horse, off which Mr. Osbaldeston 
broke his leg for the second time in the Atherstone 
country, and out of which "The Squire" had already 
had six years' work. This mania has had its day, and 
although a racing man has at present three three-year- 
olds in his stable which averaged 1,200 guineas a 


yearlings, it is very rarely that a hunter fetches more 
than 400 gs., though 500 gs. was said to be the re- 
serve-bid for Cock Robin at TattersalFs last autumn. 
Sir Bellingham Graham (who always had an agent 
in Yorkshire on the look-out) seldom sold his best 
horses under 400 guineas, and Parchment and The 
Baron both fetched it. "We do not find any trace of 
the price of Norton Conyers, a chesnut horse, who 
looked as if he could manage 20 st., and was the most 
splendid of gate-jumpers. The handsome grey, Hes- 
perus, a wonderful animal over a deep country, also 
came into Mr. Foljambe's hands from the baronet, at 
400guineas; but Will Butler, to whom hewas assigned, 
had to do all his cub-hunting on him that season 
before he could get him quiet. Confidence was sold 
three or four times over, for all prices from 750 guineas 
to 600 guineas ; and emulous of his first and last 
owner, Mr. Lockley, who died from a fall he received 
out hunting at four score, he lasted for nearly nine- 
teen seasons. Some said that his price to Lord Ply- 
mouth was 1,000 guineas, but at the end of two years 
he was returned by his lordship to Mr. Lockley, as 
he had become quite scaly from surfeit. The Infant, 
a chesnut horse nearly seventeen hands high, was 
the biggest Mr. Lockley ever rode. He bought him 
originally 'from Lord Foley at Whitley Court, and 
sold him, with his usual luck, to Lord Edward Mostyn 
for 450 guineas. Lord Alvanley, who now rests, 
after his hard-riding and jovial days, in a plea- 
sant little grave of bay and cypress near the north 
entrance of the Brompton Cemetery, also stuck at 
no price ; and whenever he had given a very long 
sum for one, he was always excessively hard upon 
him for the first few days. A friend once asked him 
what on earth could have made him go out of his 
line to have a shy at the widest part of the Whissen- 
dine, and all his reply was, ' ' Whath is the uth of 
giving 700 guineas for a hoth, if he's not to do more 


than other hothes ?" After losing J20,000 in St. 
James-street, he gaily spoke of himself as being only 
" a little crippled " ; and it was in the enthusiasm of 
a steeple-chase home to Melton, with Dick Christian 
as fox, that he declared "what fan we should have 

if it wasn't for these hounds !" " Dick Gurney" 

refused 800 guineas for Sober Kobin, from Mr. 
Maling, of Bath. This horse was originally purchased 
by Mr. Anderson, senior, for 80, at Lincoln fair, 
when he was four years old, and was sold to Mr. 
Gurney for 100 guineas. He was then put into the 
hands of a Norfolk farmer, to ride with harriers for 
a year, before Mr. Gurney took him into his own sta- 
ble. He was a handsome short-legged brown animal, 
perhaps a trifle under sixteen one, and his power 
even under such a fearful handicap as nineteen 
stone for twelve seasons was incredible. One of the 
very few horses of that time which equalled him in 
substance was Mr. Edge's Gayman : but as Mr. Edge 
was a Quorn man, and Mr. Gurney invariably hunt- 
ed with the Pytchley, the Mammoths were never 
fairly laid alongside each other in a run. Mr. Gur- 
ney did not begin to ride till late in life, and then 
he went bruising away from his first find as if he had 
been at it all his life, comforting himself with the 
notion that " if heavy men break their horses' backs, 
light men break their hearts/' 

It was a royal sight to see him go pounding along 
on Kobin, with a pound-weight of gold and silver 
jingling in his waistcoat ; and if he did not jump 
through a gate, out would come half-a- crown and a 
very forcible sanatory recommendation to any old 
stick- gathering lady who had the luck to open it for 
him. In spite of his always getting so forward, he 
sat like a sack, and could never be said to have any 
hands on a horse. Old Prince was also another of 
these thorough-bred waggon horses ; so good, in fact, 
that the late Lord Forester and Sir Robert Leighton 


posted a thousand- guinea challenge at Tattersall's 
about the year 1813, for him and his owner (old 
George Harriot, of Melton) to rim against any or all 
comers over Leicestershire at sixteen stone for 1,000 
guineas. One morning, just as the hounds found at 
Whetstone Gorse, Sir Robert said to his owner 
" For goodness' sake don't ride to-day, Canning's 
brother is here to get your measure, and make the 
match " ; but the reply was, " You are too late, the 
horse would break my neck if I tried to stop him 
now." So away went " the heavies/' side by side, 
till they reached a brook, which the old horse, prick- 
ing his ears as was his wont, took in his stride, while 
his companion floundered, fell, and was no more seen, 
and thus ended all hopes of the match ; but the old 
horse went on through the fifty minutes without a 
check, and Mr. Assheton Smith was only second up 
that day. 

The late Lord Sefton's father, when he hunted 
Leicestershire, had the finest stable of horses that 
ever man possessed ; they were most of them tho- 
rough-bred, and as strong as dray horses. He was 
the first to introduce the second-horse system, which 
he did in right good earnest, as he had not unfre- 
quently four in the field ; and thus, although no horse 
could go much longer than ten minutes under such 
a bruiser, he was always able to ride with the light 
weights. As an instance of the effect of weight, we 
may mention that the late Lord Spencer had once a 
thorough-bred horse called Brocklesby ; a finer horse 
could not be seen, but nothing would make him jump. 
They took him to the bar, and he would go over it 
almost any height ; but when they weighted him with 
twelve stone of lead, he would not even rise at it, and 
was used as a carriage horse ever after. A jumper 
of older standing and less eccentric mind would have 
not taken to the collar so readily. The celebrated 
John Warde is reported to have had a proof of this, 


when he put four of his retired Blue Ruin stamp of 
hunters into his High Sheriffs coach. The two law- 
chiefs found themselves describing a sort of zig-zag 
movement behind the javelin men and trumpeters, 
who had no doubt revived some old hunting-horn as- 
sociations ; and on appealing to the Sheriff, he simply 
put his head out of the window, saying, " They're 
my hunters, my lord, and they're all jibbers Hang 
it ! but Fll get out and walk/' 

Mr. George Payne's sale, about thirty years since, 
was the greatest ever known, and twenty- six hunters 
and hacks realized 7,500 guineas. An odd incident 
occurred at it, in consequence of a noted horse, called 
Cottager, having had his name changed, when he 
entered Mr. Payne's stud, to distinguish him from 
another Cottager, which was there already. Hence 
a gentleman at the sale, who knew of the greatest of 
the two Cottagers by report, and had never seen 
either, bought the one in the list for 400 guineas, 
and found that he had got the wrong horse after all. 
It is also not so very long since a commissioner was 
sent to TattersalPs to buy "The Bank of England," 
and bid for " The Banker" by mistake. The latter 
was knocked down to him for 38 guineas, while 
" The Bank of England" went for 180 guineas, and 
turned out to be far the worst lot of the two. The 
sales of Discount might form a chapter of them- 
selves. He was a short-topped fifteen-three chesnut, 
up to a very high weight, but so slow on the flat that 
the racing world doubt whether he has really come 
in yet for the Goodwood Cup (1844), and fancy he 
must still be working his way home round the Clump. 
He was by Sir Hercules, out of Minnikin, by Man- 
fred, and foaled in 1838 in the paddocks of his 
breeder, the late Mr. John Fowler, of Erdington, 
near Birmingham. After being beaten at Warwick, 
in 1842, for the Members' Plate, he was sold that 
afternoon to Mr. Denhain for 70, His new owner 


merely put him 'over a few small fences, which he 
took to the first day ; but as the ground was hard he 
could not do much with him. Lord Chesterfield 
looked him over, and thought he could carry him 
well in another season ; and Mr. Greene, who was 
then at the commencement of his memorable Quorn 
mastership, declined him at 120 guineas, on account 
of his being curby. Within a few days Mr. Payne, 
of Market Harboro', purchased him as an untried 
hunter, after a little consideration, for 150, but 
sold him in less than a fortnight to Mr. Pochin, of 
Barkby Hall, for 200 guineas. The horse then put 
out a curb, and Mr. Payne bought him back at 150, 
and let Mr. Quartermaine have him at 170. He 
then threw aside his old name of Magnum Bonum, 
took that of Discount, and entered on public life. 
It has perhaps never before fallen to the lot of any 
man to have picked up two horses like Discount and 
Fire-King, and so close on each other ; and December, 
whom he sold the same autumn for 200 guineas, to 
Mr. William Coke, was also a first-rate performer. 
Discount's triplet of steeple-chases at Liverpool, 
Worcester, and Coventry, soon caused 1,000 guineas 
to be refused for him, and he was sold at TattersalFs, 
where he was put up with three others of Mr. 
Quartermaine' s, whose sale he would have injured 
if the private offer had been accepted, for 820 
guineas to Mr Anderson, who made, it was said, 
1,100 guineas for him, and the public heard of him 
no more. The Messrs. Hall, late of Neasdon, got 
565 guineas for a hunter from a Crimean officer, 
shortly before he sailed, but its price fell sixty 
per cent, at least when it was put up for auction a 
few months afterwards. No such price has, to 
our knowledge, been given for a hunter for many a 
long day, and the last seven-hundred-guinea himter 
within our memory was a bay half-bred Arab, who 
first changed hands at 30, when his jumping 


powers were still under a bushel. At TattersalFs in 
May 1856, eleven out of one stud averaged 283J gui- 
neas ; and in one week of May 1857, eight top prices 
from five studs averaged 305J guineas, though the 
average was enormously swelled by Lord Stamford's 
560 guinea purchase of Mr. A. Thomson's splendid 
sixteen-two bay Maximus by Cotherstone, who carried 
him so splendidly in his 1 h. 30 m. Claydon's Wood 
run. Thirteen at the Quorn sale just averaged 294 
guineas, thanks to the frost. We have seldom seen a 
lot of horses with better backs, quarters, and shoulders, 
than the late Sir Richard Sutton's, but many of 
them seemed to have remarkably plain heads, a remark 
which does not apply to the Milton hunting stud. The 
360-guinea Shankton was originally sold by Mr. Pratt 
to Sir Richard for 80, when he was rising six, 
and a five-pound note extra if he turned out well. 
He is an Irish horse, perhaps a trifle short, and with 
not very nice legs, but very fine in all his other 
points. Somerby was so great in his jumping, that 
his old Leicestershire friends predicted of him that 
" he would jump two fields at once" when he was 
once set going across Cheshire, and we have perhaps 
never stood behind a horse in that stable with 
greater pleasure. Freney was also after our own 
heart, while MalakhofT was a magnificent sixteen- 
one fellow, and quite the fastest and finest-actioned 
animal in the stud. He is Irish bred, and was bought 
at York, under another name, for 130 in 1854, and 
gradually rose the gamut to 400 guineas, at which 
price he passed into Sir Richard's hands, with the 
assurance that he only wanted a couple of falls to 
make him perfect ; but his lamented owner was never 
on his back in a run. As far as we can hear, 
the horses, with the exception of Mr. Richard 
Sutton's (the average for whose five best only 
fell from 328 guineas to 298 guineas, when they 
came up to TattersalFs last June), have as a lot 


turned out anything but well in their new owners' 
hands, in comparison to what their prices warranted. 
One of them, in fact, was sold that very night at an 
80 sacrifice. It must have been the anxiety to have 
a relic of Quorn which forced the prices at least thirty 
per cent., at that eventful sale. The thermometer was 
below freezing point ; and as we looked round at the 
old Hall, so rich in hunting recollections of Meynell, 
Bellingham Graham, and Osbaldeston, with its dingy 
yellow walls, its frozen ponds, and its sad front-door 
escutcheon, we could hardly realize that the master- 
spirit of Leicestershire had but six short weeks be- 
fore sallied forth from it, with his horn at his saddle- 
bow, and his sons at his side, to open his ninth Quorn 
season at Kirby Gate. Sir Richard was only ten 
years old, and under the care of a clergyman at Bur- 
ton, when his hunting days began. " The Squire," 
who had bought Lord Monson's hounds, and was 
then hunting his seven seasons in Lincolnshire, 
thought he seemed to have a taste for the thing, and 
often persuaded his tutor to let the boy-baronet leave 
his Cornelius Nepos for a morning, and take a lesson 
under himself and Tom Sebright, mounting him on 
a grey pony which belonged to the latter. His fox- 
hunting Mentor, who was a perfect horseman at 
eighteen, had previously kept a pack of harriers on 
the Yorkshire Wolds, and one of his first moves was 
to challenge Sir Mark Sykes, to run a couple of them 
four miles against a like number of his foxhounds. 
Tom Sebright, and the late Tom Carter rode the good 
old-fashioned drag, a small wisp of straw in which a 
fox had lain overnight ; but the foxhounds went right 
away from their presumptuous rivals. This little 
mishap rather sickened him of the Holderness coun- 
try, of whose Beverley Club, Colonel Mellish, Mr. 
Gascoyne, Mr. Martin Hawke, and himself were the 
members, and he sought for rather a wider field of 
distinction. His greatest Lincolnshire day was when 


he met at Glentworth, ran his fox ten miles straight, 
and lost him within two or three fields of Gainsbo- 
rough. Not contented with this, they found again 
instantly at Lea Wood, and streamed away across the 
flat to Ingleby Wood, leaving Carlton on the left, and 
on past Dunham Corner, and Riseholme, where the 
hounds were observed by a Lincoln butcher, who suc- 
ceeded in coaxing them on to the road, casting them- 
selves near Greetwell turf-pits. From Glent worth to 
that point was about twenty-five miles straight, and 
the kennel huntsman happening to hear from some one 
on the road that there was not one scarlet with them 
sallied forth post-haste on his pony and brought them 
back to Burton. Mr. Osbaldeston got further than 
any of the field on his old Scrivington horse, who 
was, however, hardly so good as " the little mare," 
whom he bought from Colonel Elmhirst, on condi- 
tion that she was to be returned when worn out. She 
was only fifteen-one, and rather warm in her temper. 
"The Squire" first fell in love with her, and deter- 
mined to have her at any price, from seeing Tom 
Sebright (who was riding her for the Colonel, to make 
her a little more temperate) take a five-feet six stone 
wall out of Norton deer park, near Spital, when the 
hounds were running. The grave where Tallyho 
sleeps in his shoes is forgotten at Quorn now, but 
"The Squire" has not forgotten how he carried him 
right through a run with Mr. Muster's hounds when 
the latter gentleman finished on his third horse. 
This old horse did not long survive his triumph, 
and died from coming out rather too fat, to the 
great sorrow of Tom Sebright, who rode him on that 
fatal day. 

In his power of bearing fatigue, the late Mr. Con- 
yers was almost a match for "The Squire," and at 
times he would ride upwards of sixty miles to and 
from cover. He was seldom seen to take a fence, 
but he knew Essex so intimately, that he was always 


up, especially when he was on his pet Canvass, whom 
he rode (as Earl Wemyss did his celebrated Prince 
Le Boo) for seventeen seasons. This grey horse was 
purchased originally for 150 guineas, from Lord 
Chetwyiide, and Mr. Assheton Smith offered 300 
guineas in vain. Tabor, Tomboy, and Banbury all 
did good service to Jim Morgan during his fifteen 
years with the Essex; but Haydock, a fifteen-one 
Partisan horse, and most wonderful at bank jumping, 
was his best ; and one day he was nearly seventeen 
hours and a-half on his back. This wonderful old 
horseman who can still, though upwards of seventy, 
drop into a lane or take the most cramped of stiles, 
on Sultan or his rat-tailed Boot-maker, as if it was 
mere child's play was the son of a tenant farmer at 
Flottonbrook, in Suffolk, and commenced his career 
on a pony given him by his uncle, when Mr. Lloyd, of 
Hintlesham, kept harriers there. He distinguished 
himself so much by charging a gate out of a lane, when 
nearly a whole field got set fast, that when the har- 
riers were transmuted into foxhounds, their master 
and Parson Tweed went to his father, and got his con- 
sent for Jim to become a whip. It was during his 
eleven years' service that Mr. Lloyd had his 4 h. 20 m. 
from Swallins Grove, and another of only five minutes 
less, ending with a kill near Coombes Pie, after they 
had run through twenty-four parishes. On the first 
occasion, Jim rode his own black horse Mungo, whom 
he bought and sold four times over, twice for 70, 
once for 20, and finally for 15, when he had still 
something left in him, though rising twenty-three ! 
In the second of the runs the late Marquis of Angle- 
sea made one of the 141 out of the 150 who were 
beaten out of sight ; and even Miss Beverley, the 
hitherto-untired mare of Harry Fenn, the huntsman, 
shut up in the middle of a field, a mile from the finish. 
Some few years after this Jim whipped-in and acted 
as kennel huntsman to the Tickham hounds, when 


Giles Morgan, a neighbouring farmer, had 100 a 
year to hunt them, and find his own horse. Those 
were days when Lord Sondes would bring out seventy 
couples, harriers and foxhounds, in one grand chaotic 
mass, run a fox to ground, and get back to Lees 
Court at night, some thirty couples short, so that the 
men of Kent could not complain of lack of variety in 
their field sports. Jim has put his arm out five 
times, and so badly on one occasion that his whips 
could not pull it in, and had to ride on with the 
hounds and leave him. However he was helped on 
to his horse, where a chance pressure of the limb on 
the saddle sent it once more into its socket. Hence 
the reason he still characteristically assigns for his 
daring riding, " As I cannot open gates, I must ride 
over them :" a. sentiment about as terse and decisive 
as any in the English language. No wonder his 
sons, Ben, Jack, Goddard, and Tom, ride to hounds 
as four brothers never rode before. 

The most fortunate sale we remember, of the pro- 
duce of one hunting mare, was in the case of the 
dam of Panza, Clipper, and Clinker, which t noble 
leash averaged 633 guineas a-piece. They were all 
the property of the then Mr Holyoake, who sold 
Clinker, after he had ridden him a couple of seasons, 
to Captain Ross for 900 or 1000 guineas, and re- 
tained Panza, who was less than Clinker, and gene- 
rally deemed the cleverest of the three. Clinker, 
along with his great rival, dasher, Assheton, and 
Jack-a'-Laiitern, were popularly considered the he- 
roes of the Homeric age of hunting, as Moonraker, 
Grimaldi, Vyvian, and Lottery were of steeple- 
chasing. He was rather a short thorough- bred 
bay horse, of great power, between sixteen and six- 
teen one, up to fourteen stone, with a long lean 
head, long in his pasterns, and very fast, but rather 
high-tempered, as all the Clinkers were, and, like 
Lottery, a very nervous water jumper. Good judges 


differed a good deal about him; and while many, 
including Mr. Osbaldeston (who ranked him with his 
hound Vaulter), thought him bordering on perfection, 
others have told us that he by no means came up to 
their notions of a first-class hunter. He was even- 
tually sold by auction, along with Polecat and the re- 
mainder of Captain Ross's stud, opposite the George 
at Melton, arid was knocked down to Lord Willoughby 
D'Eresby for 350 guineas. Upwards of two years 
afterwards Dick Christian was at Grimsthorpe Castle, 
and his lordship said, " Christian, will the old horse 
know you, do you think ?" " Very likely, my lord," 
said Dick, and on going into the stall and speaking to 
him, he seemed to express, by rocking about, the very 
greatest pleasure at the visit. His sire Clinker was 
by Sir Peter Teazle, and he and his two half-brothers 
were bred by a Lincolnshire farmer of the name of 
Wagstaff, out of, we believe, a Sancho mare. It was 
from his High Sheriff's seat in the York court that 
" The Squire" answered Captain Boss's challenge to 
run him against Clasher, who was a very good-looking 
fifteen-three brown horse, well up to thirteen stone, 
and able to live in the front rank in those jealous 
days, when it was all the fashion to " ride at" his 
owner. Ride as they might, " The Squire" was not 
to be caught, even with second horses, when he was 
on Assheton, of whom he fondly avers, " He was the 
very best horse I ever had in my life, or ever saw in 
my life." He was a complete racer to look at, and 
barely measured fifteen one-and-a-half; and those 
who have had the pleasure .of looking round Mr. 
Perneley's Melton studio will remember his admirable 
painting of " The Squire" charging a gate on the 
little horse, while the late Sir Harry Goodricke (who 
always looked out for an odd cramped place) on Doctor 
Russell, and Mr. Holyoake on Crossbow, are coming 
over the fence on each side of him. Dick Burton 
rode him for three seasons before his master took to 


him for three more, and he was never known to tire 
in the longest day, or to give either of them a fall. 
He originally belonged to the Rev. Mr. Empsoii, 
who bought him from his breeder, Mr. Brackenbury, 
in the Spilsby neighbourhood, for 200 guineas, and 
then found that he could not ride him. He was al- 
ways falling at his fences, and his constant practice 
was to get rid of his groom, when he was out at 
exercise, and jump all the white gates back to his 
stable. Things became so bad with the two, that 
Mr. Emerson told Dick Burton he must have a try 
with him ; and accordingly, when the Quorn met at 
Owthorpe Kuotts next day, the little whole-coloured 
blood bay arrived with two snaffles and a martingale 
on. The groom had led him sixteen miles on foot 
because he dared not get on him, and he looked 
such a picture that Beau Brummell might have tied 
his cravat in the reflection of his coat. Dick vowed, 
before he mounted, that he had never yet seen 
such a beautiful animal. Once on, he found it was 
hopeless to try and hold him, and was obliged to 
let him lead from end to end, over heavy plough 
and blind fences, in a run of an hour and thirty-five 
minutes ; and at the end of a run with a second fox 
only a quarter of an hour less, the HtJe horse was 
neither " sick nor sorry." To the groom's query 
Dick only replied, " He carried me middling" ; but 
he did not rest till " The Squire" had bought him 
next day for 120 guineas. Perhaps his greatest feat 
was when the latter rode him in a tremendous run 
of ten miles from Billesdon Coplow to Ranksboro* 
Gorse. The pace was so great that at the bottom of 
Ranksboro' Hill only five out of some 170 scarlets 
were left, and at this point Sir Harry Goodricke, Mr. 
Holyoake, and Mr. Maher were fairly choked off; 
while Mr. Osbaldeston, and Mr. Greene on his noted 
bay mare, ascended it side by side. The hounds 
dwelt a little in the gorse, which let up some strag- 


glers, and pointed away towards Whissendine with a 
fresh fox ; and it was the wondrous turn of speed he 
showed when Mr. Osbaldeston raced to stop them, as 
they were running a hare, which jumped up right in 
their line, when they had run about two miles, that 
so astonished every one who saw it. The run this day 
was still hardly so fast as that from Thorpe Trussels 
to Rolleston, in Mr. Greene's mastership, which was 
done without a semblance of a check in fifty minutes, 
the hounds fairly racing away from the field. The 
Quorn have seldom had as fast a thing, except when 
they ran Burgess's black-and-white terrier three miles 
without a check, and finally earthed it under some of 
the large lumps in its owner's coal-hole. "Have you 
seen the fox?" roared the puzzled huntsman to a 
ploughman on the line; and "Noe, but I seed a little 
bit of a hound, a hundred yards ahead, leading 'em 
beautiful/' was the still more puzzling reply. Even 
Mr. Meynell would quite have condoned such an of- 
fence; as, when a gentleman once complained to him 
that he had been out on a very wild-scenting day, 
and that the hounds " had commenced with a fox, 
had a turn at a hare, and wound up with a polecat/ 7 
he replied, very much to his friend's surprise, that he 
"wouldn't give a fig for hounds who wouldn't run 
riot on such a day." The words were scarcely out 
of the great maestro's mouth, and he had resumed 
his conversation, when a hare jumped up before his 
own hounds, which were reputed the steadiest in the 

world, and away they went. fe Lucky for me, f 

I answered that man as I did," were his first words 
as he returned with the rioters, after a hard two, 
miles' gallop. 

Assheton was christened after his owner's distin- 
guished predecessor at Quorn, whose name will always 
be associated with his gallantest of chesnuts, Jack-a 
Lantern. Jack was a wonderfully compact horse, of 
moderate substance, not much over fifteen and a-half, 


rather cow-hocked, aud a very handy and quick 
jumper of every description of fence. There used to 
be a sort of magic sympathy between the two. Mr. 
Smith, who always seemed to teach his horses to 
throw themselves sideways over their fences, would 
trot along, with the reins carelessly held in his left 
hand, and waving with his right to the hounds at a 
cast, and Jack would take him over fence after fence, 
as they came, such as would have stopped nine-tenths 
of a field in a run, while he never once seemed to 
take his eye off the hounds. He was one of the most 
careless of roadsters, and though generally so gentle 
that a child could have ridden him, he was at odd 
times, if he was at all ruffled, perfectly ungovernable. 
It is on record that just as the fox broke away from 
Burbidge Wood, he took the bit in his teeth, and 
dashed off for a couple of miles in exactly the oppo- 
site direction, before his owner could get a pull at 
him. This he did with quite as much apparent gusto 
as the late Mr. Musters, who delighted, whenever he 
did not like the " thrusting-scoundreP look of his 
field, to blow his hounds out of cover, and to go as 
straight as a crow for another, some five miles off; 
thus not only shaking off three-fourths of his field 
for the day, but deluding several of the rest into a be- 
lief that they had a very fast thing. On one occasion, 
in the Oxton Warren country, according to Action* 
he craftily ran five miles after a fox's head, which 
his second whip, according to orders, had tied to his 
thong, and finally thrust down a strong head of earths, 
over which a sneak of a gamekeeper presided. After 
exacting a solemn promise that the latter would not 
dig him out, Mr. Musters leturned stealthily from 
Colwick at dark, and found him busy at it with three 
assistants, and trying "to comb his jacket," as he plea- 
santly remarked, at intervals, with a long rose brier ! 

* Sporting Review, February, 1850. 


Mr. Hugh Bruce Campbell speaks thus of the " Not- 
tingham Squire's" riding,* in a very spirited memoir: 

" Although one of the most determined riders that 
ever got across a horse, Mr. Musters was not a grace- 
ful horseman : he put the saddle too near the chine, 
and was wont to remark that the saddle could not be 
too forward for hunting, nor too backward for the 
road. His mode of getting over a country was pecu- 
liar, especially during the last twenty-five years that 
he hunted : he rarely took a leap flying; he either made 
his horse jump standing, or he thrust him through 
the fence ; timber of course he could not so treat, 
and when he was obliged to charge it, he always put 
his horse at it, however high and strong, at as quick 
a trot as the animal could go, but never at a gallop, 
or even a canter if the horse could possibly be re- 
strained to a trot ; for he said that at a trot the horse 
can always measure his ground, and when to make 
his rise; but at a gallop or a canter he might get too 
near, and be unable to recover himself. He never, 
or very rarely, struck his horse at going at a fence, 
and strongly objected to it, for he said, ' the whip or 
the hand up directed the horse's eyes and attention 
behind him instead of before hence many a mistake 
at a fence, for which the rider only was responsible.' 

"At a brook his axiom was, if only two yards wide, 
you could not go too fast, for it was always soft light- 
ing: by riding full gallop at a brook the horse's heart 
was prevented from failing him at the sight of water, 
and thus he got safe over by his own impetus and 
spring ; when ten to one, by the rider going slowly 
at it, the horse would thence infer danger, and refuse 

" His weight (from 40) induced his establishing 
the above close mode of riding over or through fences. 
The skins of his horses' legs were pricked ; but the 

* Sporting Review, January, 1850. 


concussion of their limbs was saved. It was a trou- 
blesome business for the groom carefully to examine 
the horse's legs after a hard day's work. Truly might 
be quoted of him the well-known line from ' Life let 
us cherish/ 

' He seeks for thorns, and finds his share.' " 

We cannot close our quotation without giving the 
following refreshing scene from the same memoir : 

"A. few seasons ago, almost the last that Mr. Mus- 
ters hunted South Notts., the Quorn hounds, with 
Tom Day, found their fox at Bunny, and brought 
him by Bradmore, Ruddington, and Plumptre to 
Tollerton. On the same day the squire had found 
his fox at Edwalton, and was running him by Gam- 
stone towards Cotgrave, when either his hounds got 
on the run of the other fox or vice versa. Both 
packs, however, immediately joined and ran all well 
together, with their sterns down, up wind, by Clip- 
stone and Normanton Wolds, pulling the fox down 
in less than ten minutes from the junction, in an ash 
holt near to the Melton turnpike road. It was a 
scene which none who witnessed ever can forget : 
the old squire and Tom Day each claiming it to be 
his run fox, riding side by side over every fence with 
all the keen ardour and genuine pluck which each 
had always possessed : each recognizing and pointing 
to particular hounds then a- head, and running for 
their fox as his ; each cheering on his own favourites. 
' Look at my Watchman and Anxious/ exclaims 
Mr. Musters. 'Ah ! but, Squire/ answers Day, ' see 
our old Lounger and Purity ; Purity means to have 
at him first, and will/ The finish soon takes place. 
Day jumped off his horse quickly, and was as speedily 
over the fence and into the plantation, the squire 
close after him. Day seizing reynard, ejaculated, 
' It's my fox, Squire, I'll swear to it among a million, 
I will/' and he strutted along, holding him in his 


hand, and crowing like a bantam cock of the purest 
breed, the Squire at his side looking like a fine old 
game cock that had won his hundred battles, and 
could afford the other's triumph. He denied, but 
Day persisted that it was his run fox, and there was 
no further wrangling except by the hounds in eating 
him. Then occurred another pleasing scene. The 
Squire and Day drawing by alternate calls their res- 
pective hounds, which was speedily done, all jealous 
feelings subsided, and civil greetings were exchanged 
on departing." 

An anecdote is told in illustration of Jack-a-Lan- 
tern's gentleness. When Mr. Lindow had broken 
his collar-bone, and was quite unable to hold The 
Clipper, even with the "Clipper bit/" Mr. Smith 
changed horses with him for the day. The meet 
was at Scoling's Gorse, near Melton, which has long 
since fallen under the plough. Mr. Lindow rode 
Jack with one arm in a sling, and the Clipper was 
brought out with bit-cheeks some eight inches long, 
and the huge attendant curb-chain. Every one 
thought Mr. Smith bewitched because he would not 
mount till the curb-chain was taken off ; and after 
pledging themselves that he would never be able to 
pull him up till he reached the sea-coast, they heard 
early in the afternoon that "Mr. Smith had run 
away with The Clipper/' and that he could never go 
half fast enough for him any part of the run. 
Apropos of this runaway match, the best riders al- 
most universally agree that although some horses 
get their heads up and cannot be rounded without a 
curb, it should only be used as an auxiliary, and that 
if a horse runs away with you, you must have re- 
course to the snaffle. Mr. George Talbot, who for- 
merly managed Lord Vernon^s hounds in the days 
of Sam Lawley, never allowed a curb-bridle to be 
used ; and Dick Knight, Lord Spencer ; s huntsman, 
and the finest of horsemen, adopted the same rule. 


dasher was bought by " The Squire " from a farmer 
in Lincolnshire ; and both Lottery and Jerry were 
picked up at Horncastle Fair, each, if we remember 
rightly, for J180. The former was beaten shame- 
fully in his first race, but James Mason soon taught 
him his work ; and it is stated that till the day of 
his death, when he was working as leader with Car- 
low and one or two other ex-steeple-chasers in Messrs. 
Hall of Neasdon's team, he was ready to fly open- 
mouthed at his old " light-blue and black cap " con- 
federate, whenever he caught a glimpse of him. His 
notions of Auld Langsyne differed materially from 
Clinker's. George Dockeray had the use of him as his 
training hack for some time at Epsom, and his skin 
as well as Duenna's, the ' ' long-headed old dun girl/' 
who made him quake in her day, now serve as rugs 
at the Dudding Hill farm. How changed the scene 
at this " Short-horn TattersalTs " since the editor of 
the Herd Book came there ! Oxen and kine for sale 
are beginning to fill the 107 loose boxes ; the short- 
bull Vocalist, grandson of the 1000-guinea Grand 
Duke, now feeds from The Libel's bin ; and old Vul- 
can and Chabron are the only sires in that row 
where seven, headed by Harkaway and Epirus, once 
stood. Jerry, by Catterick, changed hands much 
oftener than Lottery. He was an idle and by no 
means a brilliant horse ; but if he began quietly, he 
could go on for ever. Three hundred guineas was 
the highest figure he ever reached, and that sum, or 
,250, was given twice or three times over for him, 
by Lords Suffield, Uxbridge, and Messrs. Elmoreand 
Anderson. Of all " mud-larkers," the Uxbridge- 
born British Yeoman was the premier. He was 
" light everywhere, all wire in fact, and with far more 
of the cut of a carriage-horse than a hunter;" but 
although wonderfully steady, he was rather too slow 
at his jumps for the present light-weight steeple- 
racing. He was by Count Porro out of Pintail, who 


bred such bad amimals, weak hocked, and not able 
to go a yard in dirt, for several seasons, that ' ' Nim- 
rod 3) advised her owner, to save himself an in- 
come by cutting her throat Alas for advice gratis ! 
she lived to produce British Yeoman.* 

Peter Simple's steeple-chase prowess is still fondly 
remembered in Lincolnshire, and we have often been 
amused with the habit which prevails there, of com- 
paring the points of every grey hunter, by "Old 
Peter," as he is familiarly termed. He was a grey 
light-fleshed varmint-looking horse, not very big, but 
all muscle and wire ; and, be the fence what it might, 
he would, like his more modern namesake from the 
Holderness country, have it some way or other, and 
without a mistake. Such light perfect action as his has 
been rarely seen, and this knack of moving was pecu- 
liar to all the stock of Arbutus. It was in a run from 
Bradley Wood to Irby Holmes, during a very foggy 
morning, that a few of the leaders first began to sus- 
pect that something extraordinary in the horse-flesh 
way was coming out, as they never could get rid of 
the grey spectre. Gaylad, a lengthy coaching-sort 
of horse by Brutandorf, was another of the Lincoln- 
shire steeple-chase cracks, but he was unable to get 
through dirt like Peter Simple ; still, what he lost 
by being slow even on good ground, he made up by 
his power of going on in his stride after a fence, and 
although he seemed to gallop over them, he rarely, 
if ever, made a mistake. The Greyling, Cigar, and 
Grimaldi were also the incarnation of " gallant 
greys/' and the latter was a fifteen-three horse on 
short legs, and at least half a hand less than his 
l e ggy steeple-chase rival, Moonraker, of whom, 
with " The Squire" up, he cleverly disposed, in their 
great 1,000-guinea match. Moonraker was origin- 
ally bought for 20 sovs. at Birmingham Fair, snd 

* Sporting Review, February, 1850. 


won the steeple-chase at St. Alban's, whose tutelary 
saint he quite ousted for the time being. He never 
reached a higher figure than 200 guineas, as his 
speed was far inferior to his great raking style at a 
fence, and he was fired and very tender on both his 
front legs. Cigar was also fully sixteen hands high, 
and won, in Mr. Anderson^ hands, the only 100- 
guinea sweepstakes ever run across country. Four- 
teen stone was about his mark, but Lord South- 
ampton (who bought two three-hundred greys from 
Sir Harry Goodricke) gave Mr. Anderson 300 gui- 
neas for him after he retired from the steeple-chase 
world, and rode seventeen stone on him for three 
seasons. He then came into his old owner's hands 
again, but he never mounted him, and had him mer- 
cifully shot soon after, rather than let him down in 
the world, after such faithful service. 

The greatest riding period with the Quom is ge- 
nerally allowed to be that of Lords Jersey, Germaine, 
and Forester, and Messrs. Cholmondeley (afterwards 
Lord Delamere), Assheton Smith, Lindow, &c. Of 
Mr. Lindow and his twin- brother, Mr. Rawlinson, 
who was as famous over Leicestershire on Spread 
Eagle as he was on the turf with Coronation, it used 
to be said that the latter' s riding was better for his 
horse, but that the former sold his horses better. 
One well-known character used to come out of the 
fen district at intervals, with his nags in the primest 
order, and only attended the picked Quorn meets, for 
the purpose of riding them for sale, in which he was 
eminently successful. During the summer months- 
he did a little quiet touting ; and we think it was 
Lord Charles Somerset who, after drawing all the 
covers bordering on the B.M. unsuccessfully, caught 
him lying in a crop of coleseed, close by the spot, 
where a great trial was to come off. This break-up 
of the Meltonian outsider's touting habits long 
ranked with the stories of how the spy who lay in 


the loft over Dick Andrews's stable (which was let 
separate from it) was deceived into believing that 
"the horse had no cough, by changing him out of his 
usual stall for a couple of days ; and how Sam Chif- 
ney was put on the worst of the two horses, about 
whose relative forms there was some mystery, at the 
Ditch stables, and was transferred to the other, who 
had only a groom " up/' the moment the long odds 
were " got " about it. This was certainly the sharpest 
piece of practice in the Heath annals; and only a 
few horsemen, who followed the field as they walked 
down towards Choak Jade, saw it done. Some years 
later in Oxfordshire, the celebrated twins (the two 
Dromios could not have been more alike) were 
riding as well as ever, and when both were in their 
straight waistcoats bound with black, their brown 
tops, and their white cords, one was perpetually sa- 
luted for the other. Mr. Lindow on Landscape, and 
Mr. Rawlinson on Vernon, jumped everything before 
them ; but Mr. Ben Holloway, of Charlbury, was 
rather a thorn in their sides on Snitterfield ; and one 
day when only Mr. Rawlinson was out, and the 
two were taking their fences side by side in a very 
fast forty-five minutes from Churchill's Heath, Yer- 
non dislocated his pastern. A more elegant horse- 
man, and with finer head and hands, than Lord 
Jersey never crossed Leicestershire, and he could 
steal along, when hounds were running, as if he was 
only in a canter. Still no man got so much out of 
all sorts of horses as Lord Forester. It is told of 
him that he sold a horse which was very dim cult to 
ride. The first time his new owner got on him, he 
could do nothing with him, and rather remonstrated 
with his Lordship for having sold him an animal he 
could not ride. " He carried you very well, my Lord 
but he won't carry me." " Well, sir," was the re- 
ply, " I sold you a horse, but I didn't sell you horse- 


There have been many modern horses in Leices- 
tershire little if at all inferior to those whose fame 
Nimrod made European some thirty years ago. 
Since then Mr. Little Gilmour has gloried in his 
cow-hocked, or, as some style him, sickle-hocked 
horse, Vingt-et-un, who was, nevertheless, only a 
shade better than his present grey. The latter has 
been lately christened " Lord Grey ;" and with his 
owner's sixteen-stone hamper on his back, he beat 
every one out last season in a very fast thing from 
Sproxton Thorns to Harby. Lord Gardner, who 
still adheres to his great axiom of never racing 
to catch hounds, has never been better carried than 
by his king of the hog-manes, Dun Clown by Ama- 
dis; and besides Brush, Asmodeus, Pilot, Gipsey 
King, and Varnish, &c., he has fgone especially well 
on a Whalebone chesnut and three bays by Mulatto, 
Brutandorf, and Jack Spigot. Mr. Greene has had 
three especial favourites, the grey mare who was 
popularly known as the Timber-mare, from her won- 
derful cleverness in that department of hunting 
science, Mrs. Caudle, and Piccolo ; and although the 
latter was only fourteen-two, he was not to be beaten 
over a strong country. None of them were, however, 
so good as his bay mare, "the swallow on a summer's 
evening," and at water she was far beyond them all. 
Lord Cardigan's best horse was The Dandy, but he 
died from check perspiration on the afternoon of a 
run, in which he swam the Wreake. It was on this 
magnificent black that his Lordship led the field 
from Lord Aylesford's cover in the Six Hills country 
to Ilanksborough in the Cottesmore thirteen miles 
as the crow would fly in an hour and five minutes, 
and never drawing rein but for three minutes, when 
the hounds checked in Stapleford Park. Lord Wa- 
terford killed his 300-guinea, but somewhat under- 
bred, Dusty Miller in his second or third run, and 
never went better in his Melton days than he did on 


The Sea, who won one steeple-chase match under 
him "without touching a twig." In his 1,000 
guinea aside match on Cock Robin against Vyvian, 
he did not ride so steadily, but let Captain Becher 
get the high ground close at home, and was beaten 
some lengths. The four miles were marked out by 
Mr. Greene (who was at the winning-post with the 
two thousand guineas in his pocket) from Shankton 
Holt to the Ram's Head. Cock Robin was a splendid 
animal and a perfect jumper, but by no means so fast 
as Vy vian, who had very few signs of the " h. b." 
about him but his rat tail. Lord Wilton's cracks 
have included successively Bijou, a bay half-bred 
mare; Brilliant, a thorough-bred chesnut, with a 
flaxen mane and tail (who originally belonged to Sir 
Francis Goodricke) ; Lougtwelves ; Prince, the horse 
on which he appears in the Melton Hunt picture ; 
Roland the Brave ; and Pigeon, who has now found 
a gray stable rival in old Wanderer, from the Quorn 
sale. Prince was fifteen years old when his Lordship 
bought him, and his manner was to gallop over his 
fences. Great things were vowed in Flacrow's name 
when he went to meet Vyvian and Jerry in the Lea- 
mington country, after his victory of the previous 
year, in honour of which Mr. William Coke presented 
Mr. Thomas Haycock, of Owston, the best " brown 
coat" in Leicestershire for twenty-five years, with a sil- 
ver shield ; but as a steeple-chaser none of the modern 
Leicestershire horses have perhaps performed so well 
as Mr. Stirling Craufurd's sherry-bay horse, The 
Shaver. He was rather high and round in his action, 
but he could go on till he almost made his opponents 
lie down. The present Lord Forester has also had a 
long succession of good horses under him, from Jack 
and Justice down to Whitelips, Conrad, Cold Port, and 
Will-o'-the Wisp. But Dick Christian will have his 
say about Leicestershire, and here our researches into 
its horse-history must end. More and more of its 


pasture-land is being gradually laid under the plough, 
and the fencing has not decreased in severity since 
the days when that splendid horseman, Si/James 
Musgrave (the owner of those two peerless fifteen- 
three greys, which he scarcely knew from each other), 
used to declare that he never rode at one of its fences, 
however big, that, feeling sure of getting over it, he 
was deceived. Those on the road who watched Mr. 
Richard Sutton leading the field on Brandy-Face, 
from Vowes Gorse to Stoke End, with even more 
than his usual power, over the terrific Keythorpe 
country two seasons ago, can make affidavits by the 
dozen about fences which they dare not look at on 
their own account; while Wartnaby's farm, near 
Clipston, with its spiked gates and mortised rails, 
still exists to take the conceit out of the present and 
the rising generation, and ' c pound " them, as he did 
their fathers before them. " They're all welcome to 
ride over it if they can/ 5 was its late owner's boast ; 
and he always maintained that " There never were 
but two men fit to come out hunting Lord Alvanley 
and ' Gumley Wilson' they were the only men that 
ever rode straight across my farm." 

Half-bred Arabs are often very clever Li the hunt- 
ing field. They are generally very enduring horses, 
but with lumpy shoulders, and too fond of going 
with their heads and tails up. Still Mr. Child, of 
Kinlet, could beat almost everything across Leices- 
tershire on one of them, by Lord dive's Arabian, in 
Mr. MeynelFs day. Mr. Charles Davis' s grey horse 
Hermit, whom he still considers the stoutest and 
best hunter he ever had, was by an English horse out 
of an Arabian mare, which was hardly so handsome 
or so good. Many would have it that Hermit was 
out of a Trumpator mare, while others equally stoutly 
asserted that he had a more martial origin, and was 
out of a trumpeter's mare ! His real history is on 
thiswise. Mr. Gates, who lived at " The Hermitage/ 7 


in the very heart of that tangled grove of pollard and 
holly bushes, Brookwood Stumps, near Woking, and 
was the owner of the roan mare Miss Craven, bought 
a white Arab mare, which had formerly carried a 
trumpeter, on his return with a dragoon regiment 
from India. Luckily, he decided to send her to 
Grey Skim, who then stood at Petworth, and Mr. 
Davis's never-to-be-forgotten grey was the result. 
That gentleman bought Hermit at six years old, in 
1832, for 150 guineas, after he had led gallops for 
Mr. Gates' s racers, and rode him for nine seasons. 
He then unfortunately broke down, after making a 
deep drop into a lane, with hounds, and it was ascer- 
tained that he had broken a small piece of the coffin 
bone of the near front foot. 

As regards leaping, one of the cleverest things we 
remember, was done some years since by a Belzoni- 
bred hunter who had never been known to refuse a 
fence before. A lad of about fifteen was riding him 
as straight as an arrow to hounds, and put him at an 
apparently easy bank and rails, when he suddenly 
closed up in his stride about twenty yards from it, 
and refused to face it. On examination, there proved 
to be an old stone quarry on the other side ; the lad 
thought it a good joke, but the horse lost all his 
jumping nerve from that hour. One of the handiest 
animals we know of, at present, is an old bay horse of 
Lord Galway's, who seems to have the power of a cat in 
crawling down or up any bank, and leaping any fence, 
however crabbed, with or without his rider. In fact, 
he may almost take rank with Captain Evans' noted 
retriever, " Sam/' who could act either as huntsman 
or valet as well as any Christian, with the exception 
of shaving his master, "a point on which Wychwood 
authorities still differ respecting him. An immense 
deal of talk was made about King of the Valley, a 
sixteen-two grey by Usquebaugh, and with bone 
like a dray-horse, clearing thirty-three feet with Dick 
Christian on his back over the Billesdon Brook, 


during a steeple- chase, in 1829 ; but an authenti- 
cated thirty -four feet was jumped twelve years after- 
wards by Vanguard, at Rugby, and he does not, we 
believe, stand alone. Worcestershire claims a similar 
feat for Vainhope, and we have heard that a War- 
wickshire horse, Potiphar, lately covered that dis- 
tance. Melton Mowbray used to say that the little 
piebald Magpie could clear any bar she could walk 
under; but the Beverley men have, after all, the 
most wonderful leaping legend about Euryalus, who 
jumped out of his box at the Rose and Crown yard, 
through a window only thirty-three inches by twenty, 
and four feet and a-half from the ground, without 
leaving a hair on the window frame. His stock did 
not belie him in the field, and if any one doubts this 
feat, let him seek the descendants of the ostler, and 
he will doubt no longer. It was also the extraordi- 
nary style in which he cleared a hurdle on a hedge 
that induced Mr. Mytton to take entirely to Oliver, 
whom he had only borrowed from his whip, who rode 
up when his own mare had given him a header in a 
brook ; and it is recorded in Shropshire that he did 
really take a lane flying on his one-eyed Baronet, a 
feat which is generally thought to ha^e been con- 
fined to Moonraker. Will Goodall, who was Mr. 
Drake's second horseman at thirteen, in a moment 
of inspiration, once attempted to do the same, and 
excused himself, when the master wigged him for 
giving his horse such a cropper, by declaring that 
he " thought it was a bruk" Will has been more en- 
thusiastic and brilliant than ever, both in the field 
and kennel, this season. Fox-hunting historians in 
the 2000th century will have rare stories to tell of 
him. We heard of him lately leaving his wearied 
horse in a ditch, casting his hounds in the middle of 
the next field, and then going back to get him out ; 
and he has twice killed his fox on foot within the 
last three months, running on one occasion more 
than three-quarters of a mile. In the days of his 


cropped horse by Negotiator, his genius was put to 
no such straits. 

For the comedy of errors in crossing a country, 
amateur steeple-chasers are worth watching. None 
of them have the noted Bill Wright's fine knowledge 
of the art of being ' ' brought to the post just right. 3 ' 
They are either under or over-done. Now, in Mr. 
W/s sense of the word, " just right" meant " three 
parts of a bottle of port wine, two glasses of brandy- 
and-water, and a pipe." When he was fairly " in 
condition" he spurned the idea of reconnoitring the 

ground. " the ground," said he ; " looking at 

another glass of brandy-and-water will do me more 
good than that." We saw one of them lately so 
desperately flurried at taking the lead and winning, 
that he stuck to it, when he went to scale, that there 
had been no brook in the race, although he had 
cleared it in fine style with both stirrups flying. 
Another, too, who, by-the-bye, was a coroner, of all 
people, after giving his antagonist such a cannon at a 
fence, that the two came down together, sailed past 
us over a couple of fields, and then found out that he 
was on a bay horse instead of the brown mare on 
which he started. The strongest piece of horseman- 
ship we remember, was James Mason, that Emperor 
of steeple-chase riders past and present, recovering 
Lansquinet when he made a mistake in a Hippodrome 
steeple-chase ; and Earl Fitzhardinge will bear us out 
that Mr. Allen M'Donogh was equally great in a simi- 
lar difficulty at a gate, when he rode Sir William for a 
Cheltenham steeple-chase. It was curious to note the 
difference of temperament between Mason and poor 
William M'Donogh when they jumped into the corner 
of the last field, at the Dunchurch steeple-chase of 
1839, at the same instant. The latter in hot Irish haste 
drove The Nun slantways across ridge and furrow, the 
nearest cut to the winning flags, pumping the wind 
out of her at every stroke, while Mason cantered 



along the bottom furrow till he got to the one run- 
ning straight up to the flags, and then sent Lottery 
out like a shot, and beat the mare a good two lengths. 
Lord Waterford's Blueskin, however, should not be 
forgotten among steeple-chasers, as with his " owner 
up," and at all weights from 13st. 71bs. to 12st., he 
won three four-mile steeple-chases successively against 
fresh horses, one afternoon, at Eglinton Park, in 1843 
Sir Charles Knightley's leap of thirty-one feet over 
a fence and brook, just below Brixworth-hill, has ever 
since gone by the name of " Knightley's leap. " It 
was accomplished, we believe, on his celebrated black 
horse Benvolio, but he was on his nearly as famous 
bay Sir Marinel when he led Mr. Gurney on Sober 
Robin over a gate, such as a nineteen- stone man 
has never yet jumped, and never will again. The 
Pytchley had a fast thing from a gorse of the baro- 
net's, at Dodford, and ran to the Nen, near Heyford 
village, where there is a bridge across the river, and 
a six-barred locked gate in the middle of it. They 
were just running into their fox, about 200 yards 
ahead, when Sir Charles, with Mr. Gurney about as 
far behind him, reached the gate. Finding it locked, 
he turned his horse round and went over it, and to 
his amazement, as he glanced back, the Norfolk 
welter and his horse were in the air. Fortune fa- 
voured them; and although Robin rapped it like 
thunder with every leg, they landed safe. " What 
do you think of that ?" was the question put to Parson 
Walker, who wouldn't have charged a hurdle for a 
bishopric, at a county table that evening and " Why, 
that my friend Dick has more guts than brains !" was 
the prompt reply. This leap made quite " a sensation" 
in the neighbourhood, and was visited by hundreds 
for many a week. Benvolio and Sir Marinel were a 
very different style of horse, and while the former 
was bigger and better through dirt, he was not so 
uniformly to be depended on for temper. At first he 


would not fence at all, and it was only after a very 
long coaxing match at Pytchley, commenced before 
luncheon and concluded after, that he was induced 
to take his maiden fence. Even in his zenith, he 
would suddenly decline a fence, after leading the first 
flight for a quarter of an hour, and the two were left 
alone. In spite of this drawback, which lost Sir 
Charles several good runs, when he had to give him 
up (after eight seasons), he always said that he could 
never find real pleasure in riding another. He was 
bought out of Robson's stable at Newmarket, where 
Sir Charles often repaired during the meetings, to 
look, among the ruck in a race, for a thorough-bred 
hunter to his mind. Frank Buckle had ridden him 
on one occasion, and it was by his advice that he was 
purchased in the spring of 1811 for 300 guineas, or 
100 guineas less than the smarter-looking and higher- 
actioned Sir Marinel. Northamptonshire was dis- 
tinguished in after-years as the birthplace of Mame- 
luke and of Harriet, the dam of Plenipo, the former 
of whom saw the light at the paddocks of Mr. Elwes, 
who was long confederate with Lord Jersey ; and it 
was from the blood of Boadicea, own sister to its 
great hunting crack, that Touchstone sprang. Sir 
Charles's riding of Benvolio had become such a North- 
amptonshire proverb during their first 1811-12 season, 
that General Grosvenor, through whom he had ori- 
ginally bought the horse from the late Lord Wilton, 
happening to be at a sale in Cheshire in the spring of 
the latter year, gave 150 guineas for her, and sent her 
to Sir Charles, with we believe a filly at her foot. Her 
new owner got her into condition ; but although she 
became very handy, she was hardly up to his weight, 
and he accordingly gave her away to Lord Spencer, 
who was then master of the Pytchley, and whose 
huntsman, Charles King, she carried spjendidly for 
four seasons. Eventually she went to Tattersall's with 
Lord Spencer's other horses, and Lady Westminster 


ordered her to be bought for her for 100 guineas, in 
consequence of having been bred by her father. She 
was a mean little mare, with none of the appearance 
of the thorough-bred, about fifteen hands high, tail 
low set on, extraordinarily wide in the hips, and in 
at the elbows. Except when in constant work, and 
rather fine in condition, she carried her saddle on her 
shoulders, and her action was perfect both with fore 
and hind legs. She was about twenty years old 
when she threw Banter to Master Henry, who was 
bred by Mr. Lechmere Charlton in the Ludlow 
country, and through this foal she became grandam 
to Touchstone and Launcelot, and great grandam 
to Satirist. Camel, the sire of the two former, was 
supposed to be the quickest of the Whalebones, but 
he was generally lame, and his real form was never 
known. Touchstone's old Eaton friend, Pantaloon, 
had not many half-bred mares while he was at Caw- 
ston paddocks, but The Clown of Melton steeple- 
chase fame was one of the produce. Cattonite has 
also left some powerful but coarse stock in Warwick- 
shire, where the Black Princes and Retrievers are 
coming forward. The chesnut is one of the neatest 
of the neat, and the black-brown, a son of Touch- 
stone and Queen of Trumps, takes especially after 
the male side of his house in look, and is blessed 
with a gentle temper and a rare barrel, though his 
legs are hardly so stout timbered as we expected to 
see them. Their neighbour Meteor will have a hard 
task to follow Belzoni, and if his stock grow up like 
himself, great bone and power, combined with plainish 
foreheads, Roman noses, and chesnut skins, will not 
perish out of the neighbourhood of Lutterworth, 
$Yom the sires which the Duke of Richmond, the 
late Lord Egremont, and Sir John Shelley brought 
into the county, the principal jumping blood of Sussex 
is derived; and Gohanna, Grey Skim, and Whale- 
bone were only three out of a host which all tenanted 


the Petworth paddocks in their turn, and whose de- 
scendants have worked their way to the fore, like those 
of their kennel brethren the Justices, and the Jaspers, 
in many an English huntingfield. Whalebone was sold 
at Tattersall's for 500 guineas to the Duke of Grafton 
after Lord Egremont's death, and he was generally 
thought a plainish-looking horse with decidedly small 
feet. This was the great failing of Soothsayer, who had 
one of the finest tops that ever fell to horse's lot, com- 
bined with feet little bigger than a mule's. He was one 
of the descendants of Sorcerer, who sadly poisoned the 
breed of horses, as far as soundnessgoes. His stock had 
very great speed, and he got many of the best racers 
of the day ; but nearly all of them were infirm after 
a certain time. He was upright in his pasterns and 
light in his ankles, and never, that we heard of, got a 
hunter worth a farthing. The Sorcerer mares threw 
many very good foals, but they were chiefly put to 
the horse at four or five years old. 

About a quarter of a century since, Norfolk had 
an almost European fame for its strong-made, short- 
legged hackneys, which ranged from fourteen- three 
to fifteen -two, and could walk five miles an hour, and 
trot at the rate of twenty. Fireaway, Marshland 
Shales, and The Norfolk Cob were locomotive giants 
in those days, and the latter was the sire of Pheno- 
menon, who was sold into Scotland when he had seen 
his twentieth summer, and astonished his " canny " 
admirers by trotting two miles in six minutes. The 
few now left are descended from these breeds, but as 
they arrive at maturity they are sold to go abroad, 
mostly to France, Four or five very good hackney 
sires are still in the county, and among them a roan 
of Mr. Baxter's, for which 500 guineas is said to 
have been refused. The chesnut Prick willow reaches 
about the same fifteen-two standnrd ; and a son of 
his, out of, we believe, a very noted mare of Mr. 
Cooke of Litcham's, which is said to have never been 
"out-stepped," is also highly spoken of. Mr. Wright's 


bay combines an inch more size, with rare action ; 
and a black fourteen-two cob of Mr. Baldwin's has 
earned a much more worthy mention than we can 
give him, by winning the first hackney- stallion prize 
at the last Norfolk Agricultural Show. Lord Hast- 
ings has also two hackney stallions of the Fireaway 
breed, which are occasionally seen in harness ; and 
his horse Beehunter, so famed for his Clincher and 
Knight of Avenel struggles, is well adapted for a 
cross with the agricultural mares (as strong and ac- 
tive a colony of bays and browns as any county can 
show), which are almost the only ones left to plod 
over this great sheep and partridge preserve of the 
East. Tom Moody, dam by Smolensko, and the 
winner of the 30 Hunter Stallion Prize at the 
last Royal Agricultural Show, by The Flyer, has 
long since earned his laurels there; and besides 
a number of valuable hunters and harness horses, 
Sebastopol, who lately went to the King of Sardinia's 
stable for 500 guineas, and the Unfortunate Youth, 
must be placed to his credit-side. The latter, whose 
stock have abundance of size and good looks, derived 
his name from his having been injured in his youth 
by the bite of a boar, which rendered him lame for 
life ; a catastrophe which furnishes a grand historical 
parallel to that of poor Gameboy and the scythe, or 
the horse of an unhappy clerical friend of ours, which 
nerved itself as effectually as a V.C. lancet could have 
done it, by treading on the handle of an axe, that 
lay across its path, last October, in an inn archway. 

Hampshire is not a great hunter-breeding county, 
and many of its best young horses reach Collins 
through Mr. Henry Barnes, the dealer, of Andover. 
Mr. Assheton Smith's stud, of which Apsley (who 
was bought from Lord Bathurst), Escape, The Sul- 
tan, Raglan, &c. } are now among the best known, 
used to be purchased principally from Tom Smart of 
Cricklade ; but since his death, Mr. Smith has prin- 
cinallv de?h v. ith Mr. Reeves, of Marlborough. The 


crack home-bred Hampshire horses at present are 
decidedly the Safeguards and the Bowstrings. " Et- 
wall's old horse/' as he is always called, is quite a 
county hero, and returned some three or four seasons 
ago to his Longstock quarters. Hence a second 
series of big fifteen-three, weight-carrying, dark 
chesnut hunters, with white blazes and remarkably 
iine tempers in the field, are coming forward. Safe- 
guarjl himself is quite blind, but his stock have not 
that fatal heritage. The Bowstrings, which are now 
about five or six, are much of the same stamp dark 
chesnuts, but more whole-coloured than the .Safe- 
guards, and there are a great number of them in the 
Stpckbridge district. It is said, however, that he is 
going to leave it, and that he has just been sold into 
Devonshire for 300 guineas. 

It is only lately that the farmers of Suffolk have 
bred from thorough-bred horses to any extent ; and 
when the late ' " Squire Jenny," as he was always 
called, brought St. Hubert from Newmarket (where 
they principally hunt on retired racers), about thirty 
years ago, they would hardly look at him, much 
more use him. However, after seeing him hunted 
some seasons with The Squire's " merry harriers/' 
they began to think better of him. He was a chesnut 
horse, by Williamson's Ditto out of Mockbird's dam, 
and got some famous hunters, with fine size, espe- 
cially good shoulders, and deep ribs, but rather in- 
clined to have long lop-eared heads. The best mares 
in the Suffolk breeders 3 hands at present are his 
daughters, who, like himself, were never tired in the 
longest day. St. Hubert, who died in 1842, was not 
at all unlike Hat apian, and may be described as a 
strong horse, with a rather straight and low-put-on 
fore-end, but with the best of shoulders behind it ; 
he went in a low, striding, swinging sort of way, 
not pleasing to the dealer's fancy, but good action 
for a hunter nevertheless. About 1842 Lord 


Stradbroke had Alpheus, by Sultan out of Arethusa> 
by Quiz, at Henham. He was a chesnut horse, 
with some white on his legs, and particularly good 
action; in short, a nice round-made level-looking 
animal, who got some very good and high-priced 
horses, and clever natural jumpers, although their 
shoulders were a shade too heavy. Some of them, 
however, were badly whited about no great recom- 
mendation in a purchaser's eyes, except for a hunter 
or park hack ; but many of the best horses ever bred 
in Suffolk were got by him, and from their good 
action they were " good to sell." 

Lory, another son of Williamson's Ditto, was 
bought at the sale of the late Mr. Wilson of Bilderton 
(who owned Smolensko, and a succession of higher- 
class sires), by a coach proprietor at Ipswich, and co- 
vered a few years in this district. He got some very 
good hunters, and as stout as those of his half-brother, 
St. Hubert. Unfortunately he was stone blind, 
having become so, we have heard, after some very 
severe race, and many of his colts were afterwards 
similarly affected. He finally ran leader in the old 
Ipswich and London " Shannon" for many years, 
and is still remembered as a little wiry horse, with a 
straight neck. Young Whisker, by Whisker out of 
Memina, travelled this country three or four seasons, 
about eighteen years since ; and coming from Lord 
Stradbroke's just after the Alpheus colts were selling 
well, he had a great run of popularity, and actually 
died from over-service. His colts, however, though 
wiry and saleable, were soft and bad as hunters, proba- 
bly from his Smolensko blood. He had been severely 
injured in a wire fence in Lord Stradbroke's park, 
when a yearling, which prevented his being trained, 
and thus he came to travel the country at an early 
age. After this, Lord Stradbroke's Sycophant, by 
Muley, out of Clare by Marmion, came out, one 
of the greatest peacocks that man ever saw, and the 


largest thorough-bred horse too; in short, a fine 
coach-horse looking animal, with an extraordinarily- 
high fore-end, and feet like cheese-plates, which he 
dished about sadly as he went along. The farmers 
were delighted with him, and he got some coach and 
cab horses for London, but they were rather of the 
flatcatcher sort, and, like himself, often made a 
noise in the world. The bad success of these colts 
at last somewhat sickened farmers of breeding from 
a " blood-hoss." " If such a fine animal as Syco- 
phant," they argued, ' ' could not get horses to pay, 
what could ?" He eventually went to Russia, after 
having no mares here for the last season or two, and 
it is to be hoped they liked him; still, to give him 
his due, he got a fair race-horse in Tufthunter. Sir 
B,. S. Adair has had a small horse called Linkboy, 
by Caesar out of Brilliant, by Lamplighter, for some 
years, who has got some good chargers and harness 
horses. Mr. J. G. Sheppard (at Ash High House) 
kept old Lamplighter, who was quite a model, for a 
season or two, about ten years since ; but he had but 
few mares, and being over twenty years old, the colts 
he left were small, though very handsome and wiry. 
The late Sir Edward Gooch bought Weatherbit for 
J200 from the Duke of Bedford, and after having 
him a season at Benacre, Weathergage came out, and 
then the Duke hired him back for two seasons, giving 
Sir Edward the use of Oakley in his place as well. 
The former was sold at TattersalFs lately for 400 
guineas, after 1,000 guineas had, it is said, been 
refused for him. He is rather deficient in action, 
and tied in his shoulders, which are short and small, 
but especially handsome and good in his hind- 
quarters. We thought, as we looked him over in his 
TattersalPs box the other day, that we had seldom 
seen quarters descend so gracefully into the thighs, 
which are, by-the-bye, a little too straight for a hill. 
Among the lights of other days in Suffolk we must 


not forget the half-bred " Cook's Pioneer," by Pio- 
neer, whose hunting stock were hasty and hardy to a 
degree. Oakley is a showy but light horse, which 
accounts for the fact that he never could get much 
beyond the T.Y.C. in his racing days. 

Latterly, Captain Barlow of Hasketon, near Wood- 
bridge, has had a succession of sound blood sires 
through his hands ; among others, Minotaur, Sot- 
terly, Robinson, Haxby, Wollaton, The Caster, and 
now a chesnut horse by Recovery, dam by Hampton, 
who is perfect in symmetry, but not very big. He was 
Sir Tatton Sykes's favourite^hack, and has the honour 
of being painted with him in Grant's picture, the 
good old baronet having ridden him from Sledmere to 
London in 1850 on purpose ! Elevated by the honour, 
or the previous sight of his sire's model in the city, 
the little horse was very riotous in Rotten Row on 
this occasion ; and. he was equally gay when the late 
Tom Carter, the huntsman, who was no feather, rode 
him with the baronet's pack. Minotaur left but few 
foals a bad fault in a stallion but the few he did 
get were good and wiry, but rather high on the 
leg. The stock of the others, Robinson's excepted, 
is yet untried. Poor old Robinson, who died of 
inflammation in Captain Barlow's hands some three 
years since, was well known in the East Riding as 
perhaps the very best hunter-getter they ever had. 
After winning twenty-five races he won ten pre- 
miums, and his colts for years carried off all the 
prizes at the East Riding shows, as well as the highest 
prices at the Horncastle and Howden fairs. Mr. 
James Hall has had a succession of splendid hunters 
by him in his stud for many years, and he has just 
purchased the Hunter Prize colt at the last " Royal 
Agricultural/' which was also one of this family, for 
250 guineas. They are short-legged, with great sub- 
stance, good colours, and " so selling-lookmg ;" 
flashy fore-ends and clever heads, with the hand- 


somest possible hind- quarters, and " flags" which 
they invariably carry away naturally, without that 
abominable " spice." As we once heard a Yorkshire 
dealer say of them, " They save a man 1 a-year 
in ginger I" If his colts had a fault, it was that they 
were a little apt to be pigeon-toed, and their hocks 
stood rather far behind them ; but, take him for all 
and all, Suffolk can never supply his place with a 

The farmers have still a lingering love for the 
cocktail stallion, with the Rainbow neck and flow- 
ing inane; and if such a Eireaway should pass 
their gate, they will be sure to use him, rather than 
send a mile or two to a better horse. Generally 
speaking, they dislike breeding " riders/' as they call 
them ; and when we consider the great prices they 
have made lately of their Suffolk cart stock, as foals, 
yearlings, and two-year-olds, while they must keep 
their fr riders" till four years old, this prejudice is 
not to be wondered at. Suffolk farms, too, are mostly 
small, and conveniences for keeping riding colts till 
four or five years old very limited ; besides, looking 
at the half-bred stallions they have bred from, it is 
not surprising they should be disgusted with the re- 
sult. They might, with care, surely shine as much 
in riding-horses as in cart-horses, and they certainly 
are improving. Still, their young things do not seem 
to get the size their Northern brethren do, perhaps 
owing in a manner to the dry soil and air of the East 
of England. Their cart stock are small, compact, 
and hardy ; and any recruiting sergeant will say that 
the Suffolk lads are proverbially small, though strong. 
The "riders" bred are mostly wiry and good, and when 
ridden over this cramped and thickly-fenced country 
become very clever, and sought after accordingly by 
the dealers (Mr.Collins especially), who are almost the 
only customers, at all prices from 75 to 200. Still 
there has been no particular breeder of hunters since 


the late Mr. Jenney's death, and there are but few- 
good mares. A few have been brought from the 
North, but generally Cleveland mares, with coaching 
shoulders a mistake in a county where they so sel- 
dom get the size for a coach-horse, and had better 
try for hunters and hacks. 

Go where you will, you always find some one who 
wants a good hunter or a good hack ; but although 
every one wants either one or the other, few will take 
the trouble to breed one. Many have not the con- 
veniences, and many think they may not live long 
enough to ride one they do breed. The wonder is, 
not that there are so few riding horses, but that there 
are so many. All people in these days look to a 
quick return ; and as a riding horse is at least five 
years old before he is worth anything, they think it 
" a bad spec," and too long to look forward. There 
are plenty of race horses, cart horses, and coach horses 
bred; and the why and wherefore is, because they 
come quickly into use. A racing colt is put into 
training at 20 months old ; a good cart colt is worth 
at least 35 guineas at a year old ; and the London 
coach horses, by thorough-bred horses out of Clydes- 
dale or Cleveland mares, are bought by the dealer at 
three years old at an average price of 100 guineas. 
As regards the two latter descriptions, the mares are 
put to the horse before they are three years old, and 
don't " lie rest" more than two months in the year ; 
and, being young, throw strong healthy foals. Still, 
even when they have plenty of good blood-horses to 
pick from, farmers are sadly careless what their mares 
go to. We have too often seen them flock, for the sake 
of saving a guinea or two, to one of the seventeen 
hands clothes-horse kind, with legs like stilts, a 
middle like a tobacco pipe, and a back of a length 
which would put him at a premium in the Ports- 
mouth market, where sailors are popularly supposed 
to consider it a great point gained in their eques- 


trian exercises if five can " get on deck" at one time, 
As to hunters, the great majority are not in the 
market till they are sufficiently grazed and have 
their ' ' mouths up ;" but purchasers little think how 
many of their " five year olds" are only four, and 
some little more than three. It is, we regret to say, 
a notorious fact that this rascally system of "forward- 
ing the mouth," which was first commenced in the 
North, has struck root very widely of late. 

But a truce to such homilies on the " Night-side of 
Nature/' We must go back once more into North- 
amptonshire, and say a word on Earl Fit z William's 
hunting stable-blood, which is principally derived 
from his Amadis, a powerful staring big-boned horse, 
but neither very deep nor big in the body. His stock 
were all very noble-looking and fine-bottomed ; and 
Patriot, a light-bodied sixteen-hand, whole black with 
the exception of the near hind-foot, was the flower of 
the basket. Tom Sebright, who will complete his 
thirty-fifth season at Milton next March, had only two 
falls off him during their eleven seasons ; and Patriot 
roamed about the park at Milton as a superannuated 
pensioner till he was rising twenty-four. He was 
wont often to steal close up to the dining-room win- 
dow, and thrust in his flesh-coloured nose for a 
greeting ; and one morning, some four or five years 
since, he lay down and died in sight of it. He was 
originally bought from a tenant, and was a much 
pleasanter horse to ride than the warm and fidgetty 
Martingale by The Saddler, on whom Tom appears 
in his son^s well-known picture of the Milton pack. 
The chesnut Reformer was another very good son of 
Amadis, and among the EarFs other favourites may 
be reckoned Little John, by St. Paul, who unfortu- 
nately broke his leg ; Don Quixote ; Zara, the gran- 
dam of Don Quixote; Asplendion, by Cervantes; 
Tanner, by Cervantes, and bred by Mr. Russell, a 
Yorkshire tenant (who also bred and sold Patriot to 


his lordship) ; Tenerchiffe, by Smolensko ; Camel- 
leopard, by Don Quixote ; and a Quiterza mare, by 
Cervantes, for which he refused Lord Exeter's offer of a 
thousand guineas, when his hounds met one morning 
near Burleigh. The latter had no luck in breeding, 
and kicked her first foaPs eye out. Confederate was 
another of the Earl's well-known sires, but his 
stock were nearly all roarers, and his career was 
cut short by a kick from a recusant mare. Sandbeck 
was unfortunately sold for ninety guineas when his 
fame as a hunter-sire was unmade; and Humphrey 
Clinker (the sire of Melbourne), a fine big close- 
ribbed short-backed fellow, with a trifle too much 
leg, but a splendid middle-piece, also left for Ire- 
land, and was bought back shortly after by the late 
Mr. Allen, of Malton, the Earl's agent, for himself 
Zara was by Camel-leopard out of an Amadis mare, 
and it was upon her that Tom Sebright finished his 
celebrated Hunt's Closes run in 1837, when the grey 
horse on which he commenced threw a shoe. The 
late Lords Liverpool and Milton were both out that 
day ; and Mr. J. Walker, of Eaton, also went wonder- 
fully well on an Amadis mare. When Bedford was 
past, the veteran Mr. Magniac called to Sebright, 
" Why, Tom, we're going to London" ; and Tom, 
whose mare could now hardly raise a trot, made re- 
ply, " Yes, sir, I think we're driving on that way." 
Only six, including Sebright, who got first to the 
hounds, saw the finish of this run, of which the fol- 
lowing is the official account :-r- 

"The meet was at Bythorn Toll-bar. We tried and found a fox 
at Raund's Meadow, ran him a ring of twenty minutes, and then a 
second ring of fifteen minutes. The hounds were then stopped and 
taken away, as we were afraid of spoiling a good day's sport with 
bad foxes. We then trotted off to Hunt's Closes, when a good fox 
was found immediately, and went away in view ; ran by Covington, 
leaving Dean village on the left and Swineshead on the right, through 
the Wood and Keyso Park, over Thurleigh parish by the Gorse, and 
through the spinneys to Ravensden Grange. Here, owing to an un- 
fortunate view, the hounds ran their fox heel way. and could not be 


stopped till they got back to the cover. Once put right, we went 
over Renhold parish into Goldington field, and had the town of Bed- 
ford in front of us. We went down Goldington field, leaving the 
village on our right, the fox evidently pointing to the river Ouse, but 
turned to the left, across Hunting Park, over the parish of Great 
Barford, by Green-end, Birchfield, and Roxton Spinneys ; and when 
near Chawson the hounds were stopped. The fox was killed by some 
workpeople with a timber-cart, about a mile from where the hounds 
where whipped off. We were then forty miles from home, and so 
much tired that we were obliged to stop at the Cock at Eaton all 
night, and returned home on Sunday morning through a most vio- 
lent storm of snow and hail. The distance, as near as could be 
guessed, was about twenty-five miles, and was done in two hours and 
forty minutes." 

Lord Exeter's racing blood is to be found not only in 
Northamptonshire, but in many of the hunting stables 
in Berwickshire and North Northumberland (which 
stillrememberthedeadRocket, and boast of the equally 
famous Charley-boy), as Mr. Robertson of Ladykirk 
had both his Patron and Dardanelles. Lamplighter 
was also bought by this gentleman at Lord Berners' 
sale ; The Colonel too had his turn there ; Rodomeli, 
who looks up to sixteen- three with hounds, is one of 
his latest importations, at, we believe, 300 guineas ; 
and Harkaway, who was bought for 100 guineas 
less, is now proxy for Little Known, who owns no 
superior as a hunter-sire. The old " Ferguson ches- 
nut's" stock are generally chesnuts of fine substance, 
like himself, and Tom Ball declares that his Hark- 
over carries him quite as well as even his beloved 
Grouse or King Pepin. 

Hunter-breeding at Badminton is not now con- 
ducted on such an extensive scale as formerly. Black 
Sultan, the pride of Shropshire, came there for two 
seasons, and was then sold, when he was rising 
twenty-eight, to a resident in Bristol. He was a 
fifteen-three horse himself, handsome and stylish- 
looking, but with thin thighs, and his stock all ran 
about an inch less. One of them, a fourteen and 
a-half black hack, especially distinguished himself 
across country, and earned an honourable mention 


in the Badminton hunting song. Will Long rode 
another of his get, St. Paul; and the late Duke was 
very fond of his son Reubens, as he could indulge 
on him to the full in his favourite mode of letting 
the reins lie on his neck, and larruping his laziness 
along. " The Squire " rode Reubens once, and de- 
clared he was never on a more idle but enduring 
horse the same at night as in the morning. It was 
in this country, in " a sharp, short, and decisive " 
thing of fifteen minutes over walls, from Aston Gorse 
to Farmington Gorse, that the Squire led on Grimaldi, 
who was bred by the late Mr. Clifford, of Swell Bowte, 
in Gloucestershire. Will Long on Draper, however, 
lived with the grey, as well as another individual, who 
vexed " The Squire" so deservedly by riding among 
the hounds, that he complained to the Duke of him 
when he came up, and offered to have him " any- 
where you like pistol or fists/' with all that fine 
pluck which came so well to his rescue a quarter of 
century after, when a number of " riflemen" were 
beginning to hustle him at Doncaster. Steeple had 
his day, and Worcester was nearly the last horse the 
late Duke rode, and Lion, whom he bought from Mr. 
Niblett, of the White Lion at Bristol, and whom he 
would suffer 110 one else to ride, his very last. Lop, 
by Crop, came before Black Sultan, and was the most 
successful sire they ever had. The sixth Duke's True 
Blue was by him, and so was Philip Payne's favourite 
grey Cherrington, which he rode for some eighteen 
seasons. In fact, early in the present century, half 
the stud were Lops, grey like the old horse, and as 
neat as pictures. The hounds were not exactly to 
match, as although they were very fine and powerful, 
they had not that genteel appearance which Will 
Long, by immense attention to lines of blood, gra- 
dually introduced. His Grace was also very fond 
of Percy, a chestnut stallion of nearly seventeen 
hands high. Will Stansby whipped into Will Long 


on him, and when his day was over the farmers bred 
very extensively from him. Tamburino, a very fine- 
tempered animal, came before Wandering Boy by 
Langar, who carried Will Long for four seasons, and 
then broke the small bone of his hind leg. Among 
Will's other pets (during the forty-eight years he 
wore the Badminton green, ten as second whip, eight 
as first, and thirty as huntsman) were four Lops 
to wit, Nora, Dairymaid (the dam of Milkman), 
Little Girl, great at water, and Gawky, the heroine 
of the twenty-mile Stanton Park day. Fond as he 
was of Bertha, after whom his present cottage on the 
confines of Badminton Park is named, Milkman was 
the one Will loved best to reserve for the lawn meets; 
and in his 1844 speech, when a testimonial plate was 
presented to him, he calculated that this horse had 
carried him about thirteen thousand miles during 
their seventeen seasons, and that those who could 
keep up with him, though then in his twenty-fourth 
year, " would not lose much of the fun." This cele- 
brated bay was by Shirza out of a Lop mare ; but 
his half-brother Gim crack, who was as grey as the 
Shirzas generally were, was much below his form. 
Sir Richard Sutton's nimble giant Hotspur was bred 
by the late Duke. He became latterly most dread- 
fully crooked in the knees, and was sold, we believe, 
for something under 100 to Mr. James Mason, at 

Of the breed of Spangle, the darling of Jem Hills^s 
heart, we have no trace, but simply know that he 
was purchased from Mr. Tilbury. At present Jem 
is riding Sailor and Betsy Baker, both fine sixteen- . 
handers, but not eo far bred, and decidedly not up if 
Spangle's mark. Blood Royal has never had a ri^ 
in the Berkeley stud, although it must now be if 
years since he was in his prime. He was pure 1 
from the Rev. R. Winniatt, of Guiting Grange 
cestershire, and was a very superior horse to T 



Tom, although tradition has somehow or other invo- 
luntarily connected the two. Long head, thin neck, 
great shoulders,, very deep back ribs and immense 
quarters, on a dark bay sixteen-hand frame, were his 
leading features ; and Gloucestershire hunting men 
still say that they never hope to see such a model again. 
Besides these, the Earl has ridden Lunatic, Man- 
chester, and Harkaway, a very smart Irish horse, 
but with hardly the power of the other two, Meg (a 
grey mare), Pedestrian, and The Farmer. The last- 
named, who always ranked in his noble owner's esti- 
mation next to Blood Royal, was purchased from 
Captain Marriott, of Avon Bank, near Pershore, and 
was a fifteen-two hunter model, remarkably beautiful 
in every part except his ears. A powerful dark- 
chestnut gelding, Radical, by Polygar, who stood over 
at the knee from four years old, was the apple of 
Harry Ayris's eye, and carried him for ten seasons. 
Among this noted huntsman's other first-class horses 
were Vizor, by Smuggler; Queen of Diamonds, by 
the King of Diamonds ; Downright, by Bobadil, the 
very type of a bay hunter, with nothing white about 
him, but a few odd hairs in his tail ; his half-sister, 
Drawing Room, by Maresfield ; Michael Wood, by 
The Sailor out of a hackney mare ; and Sapphaddin, 
by Saracen, who is now standing at Berkeley. 

From Gloucestershire we must now cross the 
country to Staffordshire, where Old King Cole begot 
a generation of fifteen and a-half black-legged bays, 
rare jumpers, but with high tempers and heavy fore- 
hands, and not fit for hunting work much before 
tfiey were six. Accident, who was by Camel out of 
Miss Breeze by Phantom, had no great chance, as 
cart-mares and common stock principally attended 
his levees ; still, as a general thing, the produce 
were big good class bays and browns, with abund- 
ance of symmetry and bone, which showed that the 
old Phantom blood would tell. Parson Harvey 


used always to swear by Phantom as a hunter sire, 
and he was very anxious that Will Butler in his 
younger days should take the horse off his hands, 
and keep a farm. The parson at a meet was "a 
caution to see," His hunters were always in the 
straw yard, and the sire, Vandyke, did all manner 
of work. In fact, it was " a season" of some sort or 
other with him the whole year round. He would 
send him on to the meet in a curb bridle and an old 
cloth for a sheet, and then follow with his saddle in 
his Scotch cart, tilt it up in some field, leaving the 
cart-horse and the groom to graze and ruminate to* 
gether till he returned. At the meet, too, he was 
never quiet for an instant, as he always kept his 
horse stepping round and round in a ring, and pour- 
ing forth meanwhile a perfect torrent of conversation 
over his shoulder. But that dark thin ex-divine 
must not make us linger or forget Cheshire and its 
horses, amongst whom, Speculator with his stock, 
small but stout as steel, Sir Oliver with his slashing 
and rather leggy browns, and Cheshire Cheese with 
his thick and stout descendants, take brevet rank. 
Astbury, who ran that unparalleled trio of four-mile 
dead heats over the Newcastle-under-Lyme race- 
course, was, to use the phrase of his district, fe a lost 
horse," as so few good mares came to his paddocks, 
but still he left several stout rather leggy and won- 
.fully game horses behind him. It would have been 
enough for his fame to have been the sire of Joe 
Maiden's celebrated Pevorett, a fine sixteen-hand 
bay with a short back and fore- ends, always 
"blowing his nose," as high-couraged horses inva- 
riably do, and obliged to be muzzled even after a 
hard Cheshire day, for fear he should eat his litter. 
He was bred by Mr. James Pevor, steward to Mr. 
"Wubraham, of Delamere Forest, and was purchased 
by Joe Maiden for the hunt at 35. His price had 
been 80, but as he was always a clumsy roadster, 


he fell and broke his knees on the road to Nantwich 
fair. A few days after his disaster, he jumped out 
of his paddock when he heard the hounds cub- 
hunting in Delamere Forest, and ran loose by Joe's 
side all day, as if inviting a closer acquaintance. 
This was a Saturday, and he was caught amid the 
scene of his future labours on Monday, at Whetnall 
Wood, and soon found his way to the Cheshire Hunt 
stables. He never gave Joe a fall during the eight 
seasons he rode him ; and besides his endless bottom, 
he always seemed able to make a second effort, an 
invaluable knack in a horse who had to carry a 
huntsman over the Vale of Chester, where the 
doubles nearly all measure nine yards. It used to 
be a saying in the Hunt, as the hounds trotted up, 
" Ay ! look out ! here's Maiden on Fevorett !" and 
there they were certain to be together, year after 
year, at the Stamford Bridge fixture, which always 
stood for the day after the Liverpool steeple-chase. 
The late Lord Delamere thought so highly of the pair, 
that he offered to run them for a thousand guineas a- 
side against any man and horse in England four miles 
over Cheshire. Still there were men in the Hunt 
who could go with them, and Joe was fairly collared 
one day by Mr. Wilbraham Tollemache (who always 
loved rushing, pulling horses), just at the finish of a 
very capital run from Combermere Abbey to near 
Whitchurch. He had slipped all the rest of the field, 
and finding that the chesnut mare was catching him 
for speed, he dashed up a green lane, and jumped five 
gates along it in succession. " 'Drat you, Joe ! you 
thought to shake me off, did you ?" roared Mr. Tolle- 
mache, as they landed almost together in a large 
grass field, in the middle of which the hounds had 
earthed their fox ; and, " Well, sir, I did ; but FU 
have no more gates," was the rejoinder, as they 
trotted up to the hounds, and decided that it was to 
be a drawn match. Pevorett's day was over when 


the Cheshire had their tremendous run (of which a 
map has been published), and Joe rode three horses 
that day, and finished on a hack. The fox broke 
from Darley's Gorse at half-past eleven, crossed the 
Willock Brook three times, and doubled into a ditch 
near Brereton's Gorse for nearly an hour, Joe being 
utterly unable to help the hounds, as the farmer and 
his servants went on guard with pitchforks. How- 
ever, they went in and made it out for themselves, 
and a run from point to point of about twenty-five 
miles ended with a kill by moonlight. This was on 
November 25th, 1842, and the year previous Pevo- 
rett was given to Joe after having been bought 
in for 350, 370, and 500, in succession, when 
Sir Harry Mainwaring, Mr. Jeffrey Shakerley, and 
lastly Mr. Smith Barry gave up the hounds who 
sold him for 200 guineas to Sir Richard Sutton. 
The baronet rode him for two years, and declared 
that he had seldom been better carried than in one 
five-and-thirty minutes' burster. Shortly after this 
he was given up to Solomon, the whip, and he was 
eventually killed by Henry Cadney, the boiler, who 
enjoys a pension for his twenty-nine years 5 Sutton 
service, and is now on duty at the North Stafford- 
shire kennels. Joe's other great Cheshire horse, 
Corporal, was a grey by Irish Starch, and faster than 
Pevorett. One of his odd tricks was to switch his 
tail perpetually, and his rider was obliged to hold it 
with his whip while he listened to his hounds in 
cover. Racing men will remember that Miss Elis 
had a trick of this kind when she was running. 
Coming round the clump in the Goodwood Stakes, 
some one near Lord George, in the Stand, said 
" Look ! she's beat ; her tail's going like a pump- 
handle !" and his Lordship retorted, with his cold 
smile " Yes, sir ; arid it will pump you dry !" Cor- 
poral always went along with his tongue hanging 
out, and as he was a running jumper, he gave his 
rider a succession of most fearful falls, which would 


have been no joke to any man, much less to one who 
had been so crippled by his boiler accident. 

Maiden was born within halloo of Barrow Church- 
yard, in Shropshire, a few years after the King of Whips* 
wasburied there. "Verily," as Cecil says, "good sports- 
men are indigenous to the soil ; no sooner is one run 
to ground than another comes forth." In one sense 
of the word, he has now one " leg in the grave " 
and as that deceased member's successor has become 
as famous as the late Marquis of Anglesey's, we may 
be excused dwelling a little on its history. The ac- 
cident took place at the North Warwickshire kennels 
some seven- and-twenty years ago. He was all dressed 
on that unhappy day to go to Lichfield races, and had 
walked down before starting to give some directions 
to his boiler. The latter was not quite up to his 
work, and on mounting the copper to give some di- 
rections, Joe slipped in with both legs. He was out 
again in an instant, and felt it so little at first, that 
he quite expected to go on to the races when he had 
changed his dress. Some injudicious application at 
the spur of the moment to the left leg, which was 
most injured, nearly drove him distracted ; and when 
his wife arrived, and the stocking was removed, it 
literally seemed as if part of the calf had come away 
with it, and left the bones exposed. 

It would be hopeless to try and describe the tor- 
ments he has endured since then how he broke the 
leg once, if not twice how pieces of bone, nine or 
ten, came away how he was twice over-fired by the 
Oldfield-lane Doctor in that quaint old Manchester 
fleshery, where toes and fingers were nipped off as 
coolly as if they were sugar nibs ; and the patients 
were set to hold one another, nine out of ten being 
assured they were " regular bad-plucked 'uns \" Suf- 
fice it to say, that the calf continued to be little more 
than a bundle of bones and ligaments, strapped toge- 

* Tom Moody. 


ther with diachylon plaister ; and yet it was under this 
martyrdom riding with one stirrup shorter than the 
other, often hunting six days a-week, while not closing 
his eyes for agony at night, and adding a little to the 
heel of his boot each year as the knee-tendons con- 
tracted that he won his spurs in Cheshire, and served 
Mr. Davenport for several seasons. However, while 
exercising the young hounds one dewy morning in 
Trentham Park, he caught a chill, and on coming 
home it was found that mortification had commenced 
in the limb. That was temporarily averted; but 
things looked so threatening, that it was deemed ad- 
visable to take the leg off in the November of 1855. 
Chloroform was a long time doing its duty ; but all 
was skilfully achieved, and he only awoke at the very 
fag-end of the operation. He was able to get into 
another room by Christmas-day, but he was so wasted 
that his wife could easily carry him about, and all 
hope of hunting seemed gone for ever and aye. By 
the day of the second Quorn sale he had furnished 
himself with two legs, one for walking and the other 
for riding, and re-appeared at Quorn on a crutch, 
where he was looked upon and hailed by his brother- 
huntsmen as quite a Crimean veteran. Unfortu- 
nately his walking leg would not ride, while his riding 
leg was a bent one, and did not admit of his walking 
except with a crutch. Still, with all his ancient 
pluck, he determined to make one more effort last 
November to get a leg which would combine both 
riding and walking powers, and up to London he 
again journeyed as " a forlorn hope." His first essay 
on horseback with the new leg was round the ring at 
TattersalPs (Mr. Edmund Tattersall having lent him 
a Steamer hunter for the purpose), on the very day 
that " Big Ben " sent forth its first thunder-peals, no 
doubt in honour of his being " once more on the shop- 
board." An afternoon's ride round by Earl's Court 
and Brompton, wound up by two strong gallops down 
Rotten Bow, where he seemed as much out of season 


as a butterfly in a frost, and a lesson in walking from 
a fellow- sufferer, concluded his metropolitan training. 
This " Patent American Leg" only weighs 3 Jibs, with 
all its fastenings ; and its inventor, Mr. Palmer, un- 
fortunately has to wear one. He lost his leg when 
he was only a child of ten, during his daily labour in 
a tanner's bark mill ; but he was nearly twenty-two 
before he succeeded in solving the problem of artificial 
locomotion. His own story of his " first thoughts" 
on the subject, as told in The Scalpel } * is as follows : 
" Tt was winter, and excessively cold. I was dis- 
satisfied with my Anglesey leg, and requested one of 
my brothers to bring me a section of a young willow 
tree, then standing on the farm. He did so, and 
being no practical mechanic, I went to work on it 
with a jack-knife and 'a shave/ such as coopers 
use. After having fashioned it into something like 
the shape of a leg, I placed it over night in the oven 
to dry out the sap. In some few days I had so 
far completed it as to arrange the plan I had con- 
ceived for the joints ; and at twenty- two years of 
age I mounted it, and set off for the National Fair at 
Washington, held in May, 1846. There I received 
great encouragement, and was introduced to most 
of the distinguished men." The great difficulty 
with which his English licensee (Mr. Edwin. 
Osborne, of Savile-row) had to contend with in Joe's 
case, was the contraction and stiffness of the knee, 
which bent the stump quite back, and at first sight 
seemed to render matters hopeless. By great perse- 
verance, however, the stump has been " got out " 
considerably, and now, instead of being bent under 
the knee, it acts bravely in a socket of its own. A 
lever was applied all night for weeks (a mere trifle 
after the firing), to keep the joint in position, and even 
the whips have an occasional turn at " rubbing in " 
and " drawing out" morning and evening. As it 

* May, 1854. 


still seems " outward bound," two or three months 
will no doubt see him walking better than he has 
ever done since his accident ; and he showed on his 
Seighford day (Jan 19th) how he can still ride to 
hounds. The foot is fastened to the stirrup by a little 
bit of elastic, which would snap if there was any fall, 
and to see him on horseback, it is impossible to detect, 
except from a slight tendency to lean to the off side, 
that he has a false leg at all. 

But we must not forget the other great coevals of 
Pevorett and his game rider Lord Delamere on his 
chesnut Wynn^tay, Sir Richard Brooke on his Irish 
rat-tailed mare, whom Tom Hewitt, of Liverpool, 
brought over from Mullingar fair ; Mr. Leycester, of 
Toft, on his Astbury horse ; Mr. Rowland Warburton 
on his fifteen-hand thorough-breds ; Captain France 
on his steeple-chase mare Brenda ; and Mr. Gleig, as 
patient and as certain to be thereabouts at a finish 
as Sam Chifney, on his Kangaroo. This rare animal 
was fully sixteen hands, with an eye and ear as good 
as its Australian namesake, and is now, we believe, 
grazing, after his triumphs, in the park at Trentham. 
In later times no better pair crossed Cheshire than 
Mr. John White on his Merry Lad. Although he 
was upwards of sixteen-one, he had action like a 
pony, and at timber there was nothing to touch him. 
He was hired at first from Mr. Tilbury, who furnished 
fifteen to twenty hordes for the season when Mr. 
White took the Cheshire country, and was after- 
wards purchased for 200 guineas. 

The Cheshire Pack is generally supposed to have 
been established about two hundred years ago, and 
nearly all the first hounds were red tan, a colour 
which is still often to be found in the kennel ; while 
the blue pie, which waa first) introduced by the Duke 
of Rutland's Saladin, appears at intervals by breed- 
ing. The name of this hound was nearly as dear to 
the Cheshire huntsmen as Ranger, one of Earl Fitz- 


William's blood, was to the late Tom Carter's father. 
In fact, when the latter had ridden over for a few 
days' stay with Lord Scarboro's huntsman, he would 
put down his glass in an evening, and shout, "Ranger! 
hoy I Ranger !" unceasingly for as long as a short 
burst. Fifty years since, the noted Bill Gaff hunted 
them, and at that time they went one week out of 
the four, during the season, to the Woore kennels, 
with a host of scarlets in their train. There was 
very little bed for Bill that week, but he used to 
snatch some two or three hours from his pipe and 
his blue ruin, of which he could drink enough to 
float a man of war, and turn out with his boots oiled, 
and himself "all right," at cockcrow. Sir Peter 
Warburton, of Arley Hall, was then the master; his 
hounds were large and slashing, and his glass of ale 
the best in the county. The runs used to be of im- 
mense length. One day they gave up so far from 
home, that Gaff, having a fixture on the Forest early 
next day, took the freshest horse, and went back 
during the night, leaving the wearied whips and 
hounds to follow at leisure. Having no other re- 
source, he thrust the boiler into -a red coat, and the 
pair found a fox with the second pack, and killed him 
at Bryn-y-pys, after a regular crow-flight of twenty- 
five miles. Luckily the puppies were out at walk 
when the madness occurred in the kennel, some four- 
teen years ago ; and as twenty-five couple were en- 
tered the next season, the original blood was kept 
right. For many weeks, watchers with long leathern 
gauntlets and badger tongs held their dull sentry, 
night after night, to drag out each hound to his 
doom the moment he showed any symptoms. Each 
of them was then chained in a separate kennel ; but 
the subtle poison crept on and on, and at last sixty 
couple of working hounds, as clever and bony as any 
in England, had to be destroyed. The shooting days 
of a noble racing earl among his thorough-breds, was 


nothing to the final slaughter ; and the poor victims 
were replaced by fifty couple of Mr. Codrington's 

But this gradual digression from the bays and the 
chesnuts, into the world of the blue-pies and the red- 
tans, gives warning that our horse-notes are exhausted 
for the present. Be this as it may, it was with some 
distant notion of a chapter on hunting, that we were 
lingering lately near a meet, when a pert young 
townsman, evidently "out for the day," rode up, 
and determined at all hazards to make some remark 
to the huntsman. 

" You'll not 'ave got all your dogs out, I fancy, 
sir ?" he began. 

" No," was the curt reply of the latter, as he eyed 
his man ; " thirty couple more at home." 

" Thirty couple more ! " was the rejoinder, " If 
you'ad them all out, what an Bowling they'd make \" 

The grim disgust of the old huntsman, and the 
satisfied smirk of the distinguished commentator, 
formed a never-to-be-forgotten tableau. There they 
sat eyeing each other, the breathing types of the 
Tom Moody and the " little Tom Noddy" schools 5 
and it was the strange contrast between the two 
which first decided us to try whether we could not 
collect some evidence as to the hounds and hunts- 
men of the era, when the sport had just ceased to be 
a mere home-spun drama, interspersed with " Bright 
Chanticleer proclaims the dawn," and its jovial 
Tantivy chorus, crackling logs in the ingle, sparkling 
Diana Vernons, with an occasional Tony Lumpkin 
for contrast, and chaplains who could find a hare- 
form with much greater precision than the lessons 
for the day. 



" Ay, perish the thought ! 
May the day never come, 
When the gorse is uprooted, 
The foxhound is dumb !" 

tITHER from a desire of instruction, from curi- 
osity, or amusement, every man, whatever his 
pursuit may be, feels anxious to learn from history 
the antecedents of those who have been engaged in 
the same occupation. To a sportsman, nothing can 
be so interesting as the legends of the chase. In 
early days, some two hundred years ago, the higher 
orders of society took no interest in, and were 
wholly ignorant of, the science of hunting ; and it 
was many years before periwigs and satin vests gave 
way to the green coat and brown tops.^ The only 
sportsman was the old rough squire, who had never 
been far from the purlieus of his mansion. The 
smart sportsman of the present day, who breakfasts at 
nine o'clock, and rides his hack twenty miles to covert, 
will hardly believe the style and habit of those days. 
Our ancestors used to breakfast in the baronial hall, 
on well-seasoned hashes and old October ; and the 
huntsman and whippers-in, in the servants' hall, on 
the same good cheer. Thus fortified against the 
morning air, they sallied out at early dawn to enjoy 
the sports of the field. In those days there were no 


regular coverts. The whole country was a mass of 
straggling gorse, heather, or weeds, and it was quite 
a chance where you could find a fox. The only cer- 
tainty was getting on a dra^ and hunting up to him, 
which was the system invariably pursued. We con- 
fess we are at a loss to know from whence the present 
splendid foxhound originally sprung. The beagle 
and the bloodhound are the sorts we chiefly have re- 
cord of. It might have been a cross between the two. 
The beagle might have been preserved in its original 
state, and the bloodhound, with the cross of the bea- 
gle, might have constituted the foxhound. Be that as 
it may, before the days of Meynell the world were in 
a mist as to the science of the chase. He it was who 
first introduced quick hunting ; he found that the 
only way to kill a good fox was never to let him get 
ahead of him. His hounds were quick and powerful, 
and never hung on the line, but got to head before 
they began to handle the scent. The consequence 
was that there was always a body fighting for it, and 
making the most of it, good or bad which ever it 
might be. He had plenty of line hunters; but when 
the forward hounds struck the <Dcent, they flew to the 
head, and did not chatter and tie on it. Instead of 
hunting each other, they were hunting the fox. 
It was delightful to see them come out of covert, 
when he was away. They did not all go through 
the same gap, but be the fence what it might, they 
generally got together, before the leading hounds 
were over the first field. Before hard riding (that 
bane of hunting) became the fashion, it is reported 
that he bred his hounds with more chase than in later 
days j but when the system of pressing them began, 
he was obliged to breed them with more hunt, or 
they could not have kept the line. It was not from 
their great speed, but from their everlasting going, 
and never leaving it, which tired the horse and killed 
the fox. The Quorn hounds had one great disad- 


vantage to contend against, which was, that they had 
no woodlands, where they could begin early in the 
autumn, on account of the corn. For this reason, 
Meynell stooped them to hare in the spring, to get 
them handy when they began hunting. So far it-had 
the desired eifect, but they never were thoroughly 
steady. There is a story of their having had a bril- 
liant burst of twenty minutes, and killing a hare in 
the turnpike road amongst the field ; Meynell, with- 
out showing anger or surprise, very calmly remarked, 
as on the occasion alluded to in the last chapter, 
" Ah, there are days when they will hunt anything." 
Meynell was the great luminary of the chase, from 
whom all sporting planets borrowed their light. 
Still, although one would suppose they must have 
been conscious of his pre-eminence, it was long be- 
fore they availed themselves of it. 

Lord Monson's were the hounds which approxi- 
mated nearer to MeynelFs than any others of the 
day ; and, indeed, take them for every sort of coun- 
try, woodland and open, they were of very superior 

Lord Lonsdale (then Sir James Lowther) was a 
cotemporary of Meynell, but never would breed from 
his blood. He persisted in keeping the slow-hunting 
large hounds, which he had always been accustomed 
to, and a good fox over the country was above his 
hands. He pursued the same system till late in 
life, when it was generally believed that Colonel 
Lowther had the management. Whether that be the 
case or not, their character was entirely changed : 
they were lighter, quicker, and for several years had 
as good sport as any hounds in the country. 

John Warde was another cotemporary of Meynell, 
but never would cross with him. He was prejudiced 
in favour of the old heavy slow hound, and affected to 
hold Meynell cheap. His prejudice was so strong that 
he once got two of his draft hounds of the meanest 


description, which he used to show as specimens of 
the Quorn hounds. He called them Queer'em and 
Quornite j but we believe he never entered them, 
and kept them as a derision on the pack. 

Charles and Harry Warde were both fine horse- 
men and first-rate sportsmen, and whether they ever 
attempted to influence the old squire to change his 
style of hound we know not, but be that as it may, 
he never did. Robert Forfeit hunted them many 
years, and did as well as any one could with that 
sort of pack. Talking of sportsmen, Jem Butler 
was the man, as he probably knew more of hunting, 
and studied the genius of the hound more than any 
one of his time. He had a peculiar method of 
breaking his hounds, which no one before him ever 
carried to so great excess, or with such perfect suc- 
cess. He did not put a whipper-in before and 
another behind them to prevent their breaking 
away ; and he never would have them rated till they 
had committed a fault. " Let them wander where 
they will," he used to say, "if they run a hare, 
they cannot run her long, without checking, and 
that's the time to rate 'em." He was no advocate 
for the whip. " As long as the old hounds are 
steady/' he said, "I can make the young ones so 
without flogging. He knew when to let them alone, 
and when to stir 'em, better than most men. Ori- 
ginally he was whipper-in to Bob Forfeit, till Bob 
gave it up, and then he succeeded him. In his 
younger days he lived with Sir Clement Cotterell, in 
Oxfordshire, and hunted his otter hounds, and after 
that hunted a pack of beagles; and he had such an 
eye that he could almost prick a hare in his gallop. 
One of his invariable rules was never to get their 
heads up. If he viewed a fox, he would, even if they 
were at a check, give them a certain time to work it 
out, and if obliged to lift them, would do it in a trot, 
and keep their noses down as if trying for it. His 


opinion was that they never enjoyed it after a lift as if 
they had done it themselves. His pace in casting was 
always guided by the scent he was engaged with; but 
careful as he was on this point, we have known him 
cross the line, and come back over the same ground 
in the slowest walk, hit him, hunt up to him, and 
kill him. Had he had full scope for his genius, he 
would have been handed down as the first sportsman 
that ever graced the annals of the chase. 

What may be done by change of system, good 
judgment, and common sense, is illustrated most 
strongly in the instance of the late Lord Spencer, 
then Lord Althorp, when he took the Pytchley 
country. He gave 1,000 guineas to John Warde for 
his hounds, and never bred, we believe, but from 
one dog hound in the pack, who was bred by Mr. 
Lee Anthony. His name was Charon, and he was 
the sire of some of the best hounds in after-days, 
and amongst them of a bitch called Arrogant, who 
was perhaps the most extraordinary hound that ever 
hunted a fox. She combined hunting, chasing, nose, 
and stoutness, in a manner that no hound we ever 
heard of could equal. Lord Althorp sent his bitches 
to the best hounds in the kingdom, regardless of any 
trouble or expense. He began with a pack which 
with anything like a scent invariably tired to their 
fox; and drawing for a second, after even a very 
moderate run, was a thing quite out of the question. 
It must be allowed, however, that John Wardens 
hounds had one quality, which to a man about to 
form a pack was most invaluable, and that was their 
extreme steadiness. There were between twenty 
and thirty couple of old hounds, who would run 
nothing but fox. As schoolmasters they were be- 
yond all value, and mainly contributed to the great 
superiority which the pack in future years so strongly 
evinced. When my lord got what he liked, it was 
one of the most perfect establishments that ever 


took the field. They could hunt, they could chase, 
were stout and steady, and in short could do every- 
thing a man could wish. No scent was too good and 
none too bad for them. They could cut him up in fifty 
minutes, or could hunt him for three hours. In a 
catching, ticklish scent (the most difficult of all), 
they would show their wonderful prowess. What- 
ever it was, they would go up to it, and when they 
could not carry it on, would lean to it, to tell you 
which way to hold them. Charles King and Jack 
Wood were brilliants of the first water, and what 
was of the greatest importance, they were good 
friends. They used to split them in their cast, and 
make their circle in half the time that rural sports- 
men are wont to do, so that instead of losing time, 
and dropping to hunting, they killed many a fox, 
who would otherwise have walked away from them. 
They were splendidly mounted, and in short the 
whole thing was perfect. Hunting was Lord Al- 
thorp's forte, and pity it was that he ever turned 
his mind away from it. 

Lord Spencer's (father of the late Lord) was 
a fine powerful pack, something in the style of 
Lord Monson's, but they had not the sport they 
ought to have had. Dick Knight had the whole 
management of them, both as to breeding and 
hunting them. He was a fine horseman, and was 
magnificently mounted, but he had no patience. He 
thought he knew better than the hounds, and was 
too fond of lifting them. There was an old story of 
a run he had with a fox, the skin of whose head was 
nailed over one of the stable doors at Pytchley. He 
found him at Sywell Wood, and recognised him as 
an old friend, from a peculiar mode of twisting his 
brush over his back. He had beat him several 
times, and he was determined if possible to have 
him by fair means or foul. Knowing the line he 
had before taken, he did not lay them on the scent, 



but lifted them beyond Orlingbury, where he viewed 
him, and where he laid them on close at him; at 
the first check he lifted them again beyond Finedon, 
where he viewed him again ; and at the next check 
beyond Burton Wold, where he again viewed him ; 
and thus either chased him or lifted them to Grafton 
Park, where they ran into him. The distance was 
at least ten miles from point to point, and it was 
supposed the hounds were not four miles on scent 
the whole way. We mention this story to show the 
system he pursued. He had neither patience nor 
perseverance, and was always for finding a fresh fox. 
Having plenty of horses, he would gallop off miles 
distant. Half the field thought the hounds were 
running, and did not discover their mistake till they 
got to a fresh covert, with their horses half done. 
Such, we believe, to have been the mode generally 
adopted by the renowned Dick Knight. 

Sir Thomas Mostyn, who hunted Oxfordshire, had 
a splendid pack perhaps as powerful a one as ever 
hunted : they had, however, very little sport, and 
were the victims of unconquerable prejudice. Sir 
Thomas seldom saw any hounds except his own, and 
had a great dread of tongue ; the consequence was 
that they were nearly mute. He had a bitch called 
Lady, a draft from Lord Lonsdale, from whom sprung 
most of his pack : she bred them nearly mute, and, 
notwithstanding, he continued to breed from her 
blood almost entirely. They would go hopping on a 
scent two or three fields together without speaking, 
so that a person who was not accustomed to them 
would hardly know whether they were on scent or 
not. They could not hold the line, solely from 
want of tongue; and unless they got away close 
to him, and had a burning scent, they could never 
catch him : the moment they came to hunting, the 
game was up. Stephen Goodall, the huntsman, was 
a clever man, and knew hunting thoroughly. He 


must have been fully aware of their great defect, but 
he had nothing to do with the breeding, as Sir 
Thomas, we believe, managed that department en- 
tirely himself. Stephen weighed upwards of twenty 
stone, and could of course never be there at a critical 

Sir Thomas was unlucky in his huntsmen. In 
early days he had the great Mr. Shawe a fine horse- 
man, and a cheery one over the country if things 
went well ; but if they could not hunt him, he tried 
to hunt him himself, and he soon got their heads up. 
He afterwards had a huntsman named Teesdale, who 
had been a coachman, and knew better how to handle 
the ribbons than to handle a scent. Hence he was 
driven to old Stephen, who, if he could have been re- 
duced ten stone, would have been invaluable ; but, 
except as a kennel huntsman, he did him little good. 
Although Stephen had little sport with Sir Thomas, 
he had an extraordinary season in Oxfordshire in 
1799-1800, with Lord Sefton. They had a pack of 
hounds, the refuse of every kennel, and tainted with 
every fault pushers, skirters, some which had not 
power to go up to a scent, and some which would go 
without one. However, it being a wonderful scent- 
ing season, they had such a year's sport as was pro- 
bably never known in Oxfordshire before or since* 
Stephen went with Lord Sefton into Leicestershire, 
where he hunted the young pack, and showed the 
greatest science in breaking them ; and he after- 
wards came to Sir Thomas, where he remained till 
he gave it up. 

The late Mr. Drake was a sportsman of the highest 
caste, and when he got Sir Thomas's hounds he very 
soon changed their character. They wanted nothing 
but tongue, which he soon gave them. He got a 
hound or two from Lord Yarborough, and sent his 
bitches whenever he thought he could get a cross to 
suit him. Every one who hunted with him latterly 


must allow his hounds to be as good as they could 

There was another pack in those days the counter- 
part of Sir Thomas Mostyn's, which were Lord 
Vernon's. They were many years under the manage- 
ment of Mr. George Talbot, who split on the same 
rock as Sir Thomas, namely, his dread of tongue. 
They were a fine powerful pack, though inclined to 
be rather upright in the shoulders. With a good 
scent they could split him up in the best form, but 
when they got into difficulties the weak points came 
out. When they were stopped by sheep, or from, 
any other cause, and the chase hounds held them- 
selves on and got on the line, they would not cry the 
scent, but whimpered like hedge-sparrows, so that 
the line hunters could not hear them, and they were 
always slipping one another. 

The Grafton hounds in olden times, some three- 
score years ago, were managed by old Joe Smith, 
and were different from any hounds of the present 
day. They were rather round than deep in their 
bodies, had good legs and feet, were very stout, but 
wild as hawks. No fox could live before them if he 
hung, and they did not change ; but over the open, 
when the morning flash was on them, they could not 
hold it, and could never pinch him. They ran by 
ear more than by nose ; and when they got to a ride 
half the pack would leave the cry, hop round to the 
next ride, cock up their ears till they heard the 
others bringing it on, and then throw themselves in 
at his brush. In the latter days of Joe Smith, Tom 
Rose hunted them, and for many years afterwards 
had the whole control over them. He bred them 
much larger, but never altered their character. He 
was a fine joyous old fellow as ever cheered a hound, 
and no one knew better what he was about. Being 
once asked why he bred his hounds so wild "Why?" 
says he ; " I'll tell you why. Nine days out of ten I 


am in a wood. Every fox I find I mean to kill, and 
these hounds are the sort that will have him. An 
open country and a woodland pack are different 
things. What you call a good pack will never catch 
a bad fox, and as I want to hunt him instead of his 
hunting me, I think my hounds best calculated for 
my country " In the afternoon, when the fly was 
off them, no hounds would hunt better ; but, as we 
all know, in the afternoon the bloom is off then men, 
horses, and hounds have had their first sweat, and the 
only one of the party who is fresh is the fox. You 
may hunt him till dark, but if he be good for aught 
you will never grab him. After the old Duke's death, 
the late Lord Southampton took them, and Tom 
Rose continued to hunt them. They were kept much 
in the same form, and with the same result : in 
short, he killed his foxes in the woodlands, and they 
beat him in the open. 

His lordship's great delight was to breed them 
stout, and if ever a hound tired he never took him 
out again. He had a hound called Dragon, the 
wildest and the stoutest hound that ever hunted. 
When he was running for his fox at the end of a long 
day, you might see him with his head up, waving his 
stern, and throwing himself into a wood as fresh as 
if he had just come out. After Lord Southampton's 
death, the late Duke took them, and old Tom hunted 
them till he was obliged to give it up. His son hunted 
them for a short time, and then they fell into the 
hands of George Carter* George tried, and succeeded 
in a great degree, in making them an open country 
pack : he got out of the woods whenever he could, 
drafted the skylarkers, and, though he never got 
them steady, he killed his foxes. He could not kill 
a bad fox, like Tom Rose with his wild-boys, but he 
was the first man in that country who could ever 
catch a good one over the open. 

In our passing records of the chase we must not 


forget the redoubtable Jack Musters. Hunting was 
his study and delight, and no man knew more about 
it. He was as much alive to the wiles of a fox as he 
was quick in discovering the sagacity of a hound. 
When his fox was beat, and began to play tricks, no 
man was so patient, so quiet, or ever killed more 
often after a run. He had the knack of keeping 
their heads down ; as he well knew, if once they got 
them up, by hallooing and lifting, he never could 
get them down again, which is the cause of being so 
often beat after a fine run. He was a capital horse- 
man, though rather too heavy for the first flight, but 
he was always there when wanted, and never upset 
his horse. As to the condition of his hounds we will 
not say much. He did not like to let his capital lie 
dead, and did not lay in a stock of meal, whereby 
their coats stared, and they were not up to the mark. 
The best evidence of his knowledge and judgment 
was that, although he was for ever changing his 
hounds, he always, after a time, had them good. 
He had a happy method of making them fond of 
him, and he made them do what he liked. In short, 
he was at the very top of his profession a very 
senior wrangler in the science. 

Talking of wild hounds, perhaps there never was 
a pack so thoroughly wild as that of the late Lord 
Fitz William's, about forty -five years ago. They never 
were known to hold a scent for half a mile. They 
were noisy in the extreme, either with or without 
scent; they forced and flew, and had every fault 
which hound ever possessed. Added to this, they 
were so fat that, had they been as steady as they 
were the contrary, they could never have killed a 
good fox. The establishment was splendid in the 
extreme. The stud was magnificent, being chiefly 
drafted from the racing stable, and they had every- 
thing which money could furnish, except sport: 
utter want of knowledge in Will Dean, the hunts- 


man, wholly marred it. The greatest praise is 
due to Lord Althorp and Mr. Drake, as sports- 
men, for changing the character of their hounds, 
but we are not sure that more credit is not to 
be attached to Tom Bebright than to either of 
them. The former had a steady pack to begin with, 
and the latter only wanted tongue; whereas Tom 
went to sea without a compass, and having every fault 
to contend against without one redeeming virtue. 
How he got them right, or how long he was about 
it, we know not, but that he did it is an accomplished 
fact, as for many years he has had a pack which the 
proudest man in the realm might well be proud of. 
There is a Latin adage, the English of which is, " If 
a man is not born a poet, you can't make him one." 
Tom was bred and born a sportsman. His father, 
old Tom Sebright, knew hunting thoroughly, and 
hunted the New Forest hounds some fifty-three years 

The hunting in that country, in the month of 
April, is charming beyond description. A bright 
gaudy day is not generally supposed to be favourable 
for hunting ; but in the New Forest, in the spring, 
it cannot be too brilliant ; in fact, in wet weather 
they can do nothing. About the year 1802 they 
hunted thirteen days in April, and perhaps the first 
or second of May, and killed eleven foxes after a 
run : not the sort of run you have in Leicestershire, 
of ten or twelve miles from point to point, but to a 
man who really likes hunting it is inconceivably 
beautiful. With good health, youth on your side, 
pink and leathers in prime trim, and a pleasant nag, 
nothing could be more enchanting or heart-stirring 
than the meet in the New Forest on a lovely morn- 
ing. The bogs in that country, which extend for 
miles, are as deep as the lake of Avernus ; and if 
you get in, you will never get out again, at least with 
your horse. Here the foxes delight to lie ; and see- 


ing them draw up to him is one of the most delicious 
sensations imaginable. They go with their heads 
up,, sniffing the breeze, and show you that he is there, 
though they can't speak to him. At length you 
hear a tongue, then another and another, till " the 
sweet melody eziraptures the senses, and chases 
all your cares away." There was no driving 'em 
over the line, as is now the wont, but the old 
foresters were all sportsmen, and knew when they 
were on the scent, and when off it. They had not 
more than eighteen couple of effective hounds, but 
they were the cream of the cream. Old Tom knew 
the Forest well, and showed the hand of a master 
there. The hounds were mainly descended from a 
hound bred by Lord Egremont, called Jasper, who 
was a model of a foxhound both in shape and work. 
In those days there was a club at the King's house 
at Lyndhurst, where there was a jovial party, good 
cheer, and, to a lover of hunting, the month of 
April was altogether a month of pleasure without 

There were no hounds more deserving of notice 
than the Oakley, in days of yore. Some forty-seven 
or forty-eight years ago, as well as we recollect, the 
present Duke of Bedford took them under his guid- 
ance : he was then a young man, and had no know- 
ledge of hunting. His huntsman, George Wells, 
had not then had experience to make him sage, and 
was rather of the wild-boy school. The Duke had 
no prejudices, went out with other packs, and pro- 
fited by what he saw. He found he was wrong, both 
in his theory and practice, and instead of following 
the wild lifting system, adopted quietness almost to 
excess, and his pack became in consequence one of 
the most efficient in the kingdom. George Wells 
soon discovered that he had been on the wrong tack, 
that the more he did for them the less they would 
do for themselves, and from inclination, as well as 


conviction, willingly acquiesced in the Duke's wishes. 
Their symmetry was perhaps unrivalled, and they 
were altogether as good as they were handsome, The 
fatigue of the chase was too much for his Grace's 
health, and we believe no man ever gave it up with 
greater reluctance. 

Before we close we must not forget the venerable 
Mr. Corbet, who for so many years hunted Warwick- 
shire. He did not ride hard, but his huntsman, Will 
Barrow, was a fine horseman, and knew what he was 
about. His hounds, perhaps, had rather too much 
hunt, but they had altogether inimitable sport. A 
more popular master of hounds never hunted. In 
him was combined the high-bred English gentleman 
with the thorough sportsman, and his memory will be 
fondly cherished in Warwickshire as long as memory 



cc The Mayor and Magistrates all said they could not ride ; and on 
some gentleman present saying Alderman could ride, Alder- 
man said he had not been on a horse for eighteen years, and he 

would hold any one responsible who would venture to say he could 
ride." REX v. PINNEY (Bristol Riots), 5 C. & P., 281. 

)HEN I first espied this memorable confession, I 
fear that I rather despised my fellow-man. 
A little reflection, however, convinced me that either 
its utterer or the gentleman who remarked " It's not 
the big fences Fm afraid of I never go near them ; 
but it's the little ones I don't like/' were just as 
much qualified as myself to write a chapter on the 
philosophy of cross-country horsemanship. I may 
be as fond in my heart of the sport as Lord Elcho's 
huntsman, who declared it was all he could do to 
refrain from standing up and giving a " View holloa" 
when Dr. Chalmers* delivered that stirring passage 
from the pulpit, in 1791, on " the ancestral dignity 
and glory of the favourite pastime of joyous old 
England " but I fear that my practice might prove 
like that of the same great divine's, who tried to cal- 
culate, from the relative length of intervals between 
each of his falls, how far a dozen falls would carry 
him, and exchanged his horse after the tenth for one 
of Baxter's works. In this difficulty I bethought 

* See Chalmers' Life, vol. i., p. 223. 


myself of copying the example of the Mechanics' 
Institutes, and engaging a lecturer ; and no one 
seemed so fitted as that great Professor of rough- 
riding, the veteran Dick Christian,* to tell how horses 
were tamed and how fields were won. It was on a 
cold frosty evening, early last January, that I first 
met the Professor by a comfortable fireside at Mel- 
ton, and drew forth my trusty steel pen to report his 
lectures. I had never seen him before, and certainly 
seventy-eight winters have dealt gently with him. 
There he sat, the same light-legged sturdy five- 
foot-six man, with apparently nearly all that mus- 
cular breadth of chest and vigour of arm which 
enabled him in his hey-day to lift a horse's fore- 
quarters as high, if not higher, over a fence, than any 
man who ever rode to hounds. He seemed to be 
anxious to jump off at score upon his great Marigold 
feat, the account of which had just been cut out of 
an old newspaper and sent him by a friend ; but I 
called him back, and asked him what sort of boy he 
was, and got him well-away on that theme from the 
post at last. 

Cottesmore was my native place, when Sir Horace 
Mann kept his harriers there. Father would have 
me made a scholar, but I was all for horses : they 
were still my hobby. In room of going to school, I 
always slipped down to the head groom, Stevenson 
(he was the beginning of me, was Stevenson ; he was 
a nice man !), at Sir Horace's riding-school, and rode 
the horses till the boys came out : then off I slips 
home to dinner with my books, quite grave. Father 
never knew of it, and the master he never told of me ; 
not he. I loved nothing like horses. When I was only 
six or seven, I used to go out on my pony, bare-back, 
and jump everything right and left, just like other 

* Chapel-street, Melton. 


people. My word ! I could set a good many of them 
then ! I'll tell you a story about a bull a regular 
good'un. Ecod, how you make me laugh ! I wish 
I was twenty years younger. It would be about a 
year and a-half before I left Cottesmore there was 
a holiday-making, and this ere bull was in a field. 
Some one said " You daren't ride him, Dick f so up 
I gets off he goes, right away to Cottesmore, and 
the whole fair after me ! You know the brook there ? 
Well, he was so beat that he downs his head when he 
gets to it, and slithers me right off. Flat on my 
back I comes: on him again, and blame me if I 
didn't ride him whiles he was so blown he could run 
no longer ! If s truth, every word I'm telling you. 
There was quite a hunt after the bull, and the far- 
mer laughed and said nothing : he know'd me, you 
see, already, and my riding tricks I was a queer-' un. 
I would be somewhere about twelve and a-half 
when I went to Sir Horace Mann's racing stables : 
they were at Barham Downs in Kent, but he had 
only two or three horses. I rode my first race in a 
blue jacket, on Barham Downs I think I was 
second. There wasn't more than four and a-half 
stone of me then. I rode the same mare at Margate, 
and had a bad accident there : a chaise crossed the 
course, and nearly broke my knee. That was a two 
or three year job. I was so lame I went home again, 
and father sent me to school for a bit. When I got 
better, I took a mare of Major Chiseldine's, of So- 
merby, on the Burrow Hills, down to Timms the 
trainer, at Nottingham. We galloped them on old 
Sherwood Forest, and took them to water at the 
Beeston Water-mill the spot's all covered with fac- 
tories now. Home again I comes to Cottesmore, 
and then I had just a lark. Blame me if I didn't 
ride twenty races in one week at Burleigh Park. 
What a week it was, to be sure ! cricketing, horse- 
racing, pony-racing, hacks catch-weights all sorts 


of fun. Lord Milsington was there (him as married 
the Duke of Ancaster's daughter), and the gentle- 
men would match us. I vras to ride a pony ; so I 
gets niggling before him at the start, and he called 
me back, so angry. How the gentlemen did laugh, 
to be sure ! It was only half a mile : away I jumps, 
and he never catched me it wouldn't be more than 
half a length at last. What a deal they made of me ! 
they carried me into the tent, and gave me three 
glasses of wine and a fine mounted whip. They had 
a deal more fun than that with me. When I had 
beat Lord Milsington, the late Lord Winchilsea 
made a match with Captain Bligh, for me to ride a 
donkey and he to run afoot half a mile. Such fun 
you never saw in your life ! But my word, I beat 
him at last, and they gave me my first gold guinea. 
Captain Bligh, he was a first-rate runner and 

After this ere racing concern, Sir Gilbert Heath- 
cote sent his huntsman, Abbey, for me to go over to 
Norinanton Park. Stevenson went with me, and 
Sir Gilbert and his lady (she was very kind to me, 
bless her !) came out to us. My lady quite laughed. 
" That little thing for a riding groom !" she said ; 
" he can't sit on a horse." " Try him, my lady/* 
said Stevenson (you see, he always spoke up for me) ; 
" give him one saddled and one to lead." Up I gets 
with the two, and off across the park, and galloped 
them till Sir Gilbert holloas me to stop. Didn't I 
take it out of them ! " He'll do/' they said ; " he 
can hold anything." So they gave me six guineas a 
year, and all my clothes, lots of them, and half-a- 
guinea board when they were out. I always rode out 
with my lady in a blue coat and striped waistcoat. 
The first race Sir Gilbert ever had a horse in I rode 
at Lincoln; and I won it too. His colour was scarlet 
and black cap then ; I don't know about this 
" French grey." There were ten of us ran. He gave 


all the money away : such a to-do as never was seen. 
They called her Petite, and I got a 10 note. I 
might have betted an odd quart of ale, but I had no- 
thing to back her with. Then I got into sad trouble 
about playing a trick on the billy-goat : what a row 
there was to be sure ! it was the grooms put me up to 
it. Sir Gilbert sent me off the next morning. I was 
at home all Sunday ; then Abbey comes for me, and 
says as her ladyship was very bad about my going. 
My blood was up, and I wouldn't go back ; but they 
coaxed me, so I said I would go if father would 
leave his farm for a day and come with me. So 
away we three goes, and into Sir Gilbert's study. I 
wasn't going to be brought back that way without 
making some one pay ; so I says to Sir Gilbert (I was 
always a one for speaking up), " Fll stay if you'll raise 
my wages, Sir Gilbert, and I want ten guineas." So 
he said, " Very well/' and gives me half-a-sovereign to 
make up matters. I wasn't a bit to blame about the 
billy-goat : I never knew what he'd go and do. So 
I stayed there fifteen years. Sometimes I rode after 
my lady, and then they made me second horseman. 
It was then I first jumped the Whisse^idine brook ; 
I couldn't be more than six or seven stone. Sir 
Gilbert's horse refused, so he gets off, and I rode 
one horse and led the other at it. What an owda- 
cious young dog I was ! They were Lord Lonsdale's 
hounds. I got over rarely with the two ; I must 
have jumped that brook thousands of times ; I jumped 
it back'ards and for'ards four times in one day. I 
think I was in every time. Thorough-bred horses 
are so frightened of water, but they jump better than 
any when they do take to it. It was often a job 
for me, when I was at Sir Gilbert's, to go a brook 
jumping ; there'd be three of us : of course, Pd 
be on top of the horse ; that wur always my place. 
One 'ud lead, and the other would keep driving him 
at it with a great waggon whip sometimes in, 


sometimes over ; many's the sousing Fve had. I 
mind Sir Gilbert once gave me a sovereign for 
that work : I had had a regular hydrophobia gen- 
tleman to tackle that day. Sir Gilbert took to 
the Cottesmore hounds for a time,, and he made me 
head groom ; then he got me a man to help, and I 
used to go out and act as whip : Lord Forester 
would talk of it if he were alive ; I must have done 
it for two seasons. Let me see : I first broke my 
leg in February, 1799, coming from hunting, on a 
favourite mare of Sir Gilbert's; they called her 
Chance ; she fell with me on the road about seven 
o'clock, between Exton and Whitwell ; I hopped a 
quarter of a mile to Whitwell, and Mr. Springthorpe, 
a good English farmer, caught my mare and hoisted 
me on her. I rode to Normanton Park in furious 
pain : the thought of it makes me wince to this day ; 
my word it does ; I feel it now, as I sit here. 

Then the Prince of Wales, he comes to Normanton, 
and gives me ten guineas for mounting of him. I put 
him as often as I could on Buffalo; he was sold at 
Tattersall's for 500 guineas, and the Prince bought 
him r He was a strange man for a bit of fun. Old Tot 
Hinckley, the dealer, was a great man with him. I 
mind him and the Duke of Clarence coming down the 
stable-yard, and they says, " Here's Old Tot ;" and 
they shoves him into a blacksmith's shop, and locks 
him in. They were uncommon fond, Fve heard, of 
locking people in ; I don't see no fun in it myself. 
Mr. Assheton Smith used to be staying with Sir Gil- 
bert ; he was the best rider amongst them. Then there 
was Lord Forester, Mr. Cholmondley, Mr. Lindow, 
Lord Willoughby, and a lot more. Mr. Smith 
bought a fine grey horse I rode then, and hunted 
him in Leicestershire ; he had killed a man or two ; 
I had a fine jump on him; you see I always liked to 
be forward enough, and it was a tremendous fence, 
but I got well over. The huntsman daren't go; 


Sir Gilbert he was frightfully angry; he called to 
him, "You daren't come sir ! daren't you? You on 
a 400-guinea horse, and you can't follow little Dick, 
a lad I'll discharge you, if you don't;" and, my 
word, he did discharge him too. We ran from Tilton 
Wood and killed under Billesdon Coplow. I had 
pretty nearly all the fun to myself after that fence. 
Then we had that " Prince of Wales' s day :" he was 
nowhere, bless you ; they gave him the brush though, 
just to please him. We found at Armley Wood, 
then through Empingham, Cottesmore Wood, 
straight through Exton Park, across the North 
Road by Horn Lane toll bar, through Ardwick Wood, 
where the balloon from Nottingham fell, The Lings, 
Towthorpe Oaks, Stamford Field-side, Royal Bel- 
thorpe, Rasen Gretford ; then we came to Langtoft 
and Deeping let me see and Tallerton, and then 
by Uppington Wood, and killed at Essendine Park 
that's it. Six horses died in the field ; there they 
laid heels up'ards. Mr. Charles Manners and Sir 
Gilbert were up first. There must have been twenty- 
two miles or more. The crow would have made 
sixteen or seventeen of it. The late Lord Lonsdale 
was out, and Lindow, and Germaine, and Vanneck. 
I would be about twenty-eight then, and somewhere 
about ten stone. Me and Sir Gilbert, we went on 
till he gave up hounds ; that would be 1809; deary 
me ! it's getting on for fifty years : how time does 
go ! His horses, they were aU sold at Tattersall's ; 
thirty on 'em made about J5,000. Then, you see, I 
went into a farm at Lufienham for eight years. I had 
married before I was twenty; children, indeed ! I have 
had orie-and-twenty of 'em, all alive, born and chris- 
tened ; the twentieth's alive now, and little Freddy 
he's the nineteenth of 'em. This small-pox took me 
when I was close on sixty; it would be just before I 
jumped into that hole. Well, I'll tell you about that 
after. I kept my hunter when I was a farmer. I had a 


little mare for Croxton Park Races ; that was the first 
horse-fleah speculation I ever had. We used to enter at 
the keeper's house, and I heard Mr. Berkeley Craven 
say to Lord Forester, "This little black beggar's got 
a devilish good mare, and thinks to win the Farmers 5 
Plate." So Lord Forester he comes up, and he says, 
"If your mare wins, Mr. Christian, I'll give you 
300 guineas for her before she goes out of the park." 
But I didn't : they never ketched me till very near 
home, but she was in season, and she shut up when 
they collared her. How I did whip her, to be sure ! 
She did just the same next heat ; but I got 10 gs. 
for her being second, and Lord Forester bought her 
that day for 160 gs. I had other horses after that. 
I used to train them at Luffenham, on Barret on 
Heath. I won lots of races at Leicester and Not- 
tingham ; then I gave up the farm, and I comes to 

Sir James Musgrave and Mr. Maxse got me to 
come. I had been there before. The first night I 
ever slept there was the night before the first steeple- 
chase that was ever run in Leicestershire mind you 
put that down. Lord Forester, Sir Gilbert, and Mr. 
Meynell ran. It was for 100 gs. a-side, eight miles, 
from Barkby Holt to BillesdonCoplow and back again; 
no rules as to gates or roads; each to come as he could. 
It was a grand race till three-quarters of a mile from 
home : poor Sir Gilbert ! he got jammed in a bullock 
pen that threw him last, and Mr. Meynell won. 
Lord Plymouth was what you'd call my first master; 
he gave me 20 gs. a season, and 15s. a time for each 
schooling besides. If a strange gentleman asked me, 
I had my pound. I've rode as many as twenty fresh 
horses in a week, and had three out with hounds : 
they were fixed for me. Lord Plymouth had twenty- 
three or twenty-four of them at one time ; he would 
arrange for me to ride his horses a quarter of an 
hour, half an hour, three-quarters, two hours some- 

A A 


times ; he wouldn't buy unless you asked your three 
or four hundred guineas. Philo and Vespasian, they 
were grand horses. Then there was Juniper ; he was 
a tremendous horse I broke him. When he made 
that Clinker and dasher steeple-chase match, Cap- 
tain Ross wanted to buy him in room of Clinker. He 
bought Smasher, too, of Sir Harry Goodricke, for 
1,500 gs. great fine horse that was. Friar of Orders 
Grey, he was a nice one ; my Lord rode about list., 
but he was not one of your very forward ones. Ves- 
pasian gave me a terrible smash a devil of a shaking 
that was. Langar nearly killed me ; I didn't know 
where I was for a long time ; he put his foot and 
pinned me down by the hair of my head, so they 
told me. I don't know what he did ; I knew no- 
thing for a good bit. I practised the horses at water 
more than anything; sometimes I had thirty of them 
all a-teaching at one time. I have made as many as 
five fifteen shillings'es before breakfast. It would be 
nearly twenty-four years I was at that work in Mel- 
ton, and then I went to Lord Scarboro's. Lord 
Plymouth, he must have died very nigh about the 
same time as poor Sir Harry : they both caught cold 
on the water, with otter-hunting and yachting. 

That King of the Valley you've heard of was Mr. 
Maxse's horse. Old George Marriott how I have 
seen him go, to be sure, in the Ranksboro' country! 
showed this 'ere grey to Tilbury when the down mail 
stopped somewhere : he says, " If you don't buy him, 
I will" ; so Tilbury did buy him. There were seven 
of us in that great go from Nosely Wood to Billes- 
don Coplow. Field Nicholson won on Magic, and I 
was second on this King ; I got dreadfully crowded 
in, and I had two falls, or I should have beat them. 
Mr. Haycock was leading on Clinker three fields from 
home, nearly a hundred yards before Magic. Poor 
Clinker ! he was blind with defeat when his bridle 
came off. I was 200 yards nearer the Coplow when 


I fell : they talked a deal about my jumping thirty- 
three feet that day, but I've done a vast more than 

Clinker's and dasher's was a great match ; they 
said it was 1,500 gs. a-side. They sent for me the 
night before, did Captain White and Captain Ross, 
and locked me into their room : then they gave me 
their orders: they says, "We mean you to wait, 
Dick"; I said, "You'd better let me let the horse 
go along, gentlemen, and not upset him ; he'll take 
a deal more out of himself by waiting." So I got 
them persuaded round. Old Driver the groom was 
outside, and he comes up to me " What do they 
shay ? What do you want to wait for ?" So I told 
him I was to go along, and that pleased him, it did. 
We thought it was all right then. We weighed at 
Dalby, the Squire and I bless me ! I never was in 
such condition and away we trotted to Gartree Hill. 
They were walking the horses about, and Captain Ross 
he says to me, " Clinker looks well." " He looks too 
well, Captain," I said. Then he lifted me up, and he 
tells me the orders were changed, and I must wait. 
" It's giving away a certainty," says I, ' ' and if I get 
a fall then I am all behind." But it was no manner 
of use talking. Sir Vincent Cotton and Mr. Gil- 
mour they started us, and Mr. Maher he was umpire. 
We rode twelve stone a-piece: I was in tartan, and the 
Squire, of course he'd be in green. When we are at 
the post, he says, "Now, Christian I know what your 
orders are I do ask one thing; don't jump on me if 
I fall." I said, " I'll give you my word, ' Squire/ I 
won't." The gentlemen they could hardly keep with 
us, and some of them had two or three horses fixed. 
We were almost touching each other over Sharp- 
lands, and just before the road I says, " Squire, 
you're beat for a 100," but he never made no an- 
swer. Joe Tomlin and Charles Christian they stood 
close against Twyford Brook : I got well over that. 

A A 2 


Then we had some rails, such stiff uns ! dasher hits 
them with all four legs, and chucked The Squire 
right on to his neck ; Clinker took 'em like a bird. 
We were each in a mess then ; The Squire he lands 
in a bog, and his horse makes a dead stop, it did 
take a deal out of him ; then I jumps right into a 
dung heap, up to Clinker's knees ; we had no manner 
of idea the things were there. Going up John o' 
Gaunt's field we were together, but I turns to get 
some rails in the corner ; he was such a good one at 
rails was Clinker ; I thought he was winning, but 
deary me, down he comes at the last fence, dead 
beat. Clinker he lays for some minutes, and then 
he gets up as lively as ever ; the horse looked in no 
manner of form, as round as a hoop for all the world, 
as if he was going to Horncastle Fair. They held 
Clasher up, and they flung water in his face, and he 
won in the last hundred yards from superior training, 
and that's the honest truth. Many didn't like 
Clinker, but I never got on so good a steeple-chaser. 
I'll tell you one though that was better, that's Cor- 
ringham; I won the Grantham Steeple Chase on 
him, and Mr. Greene bought him for 200 guineas. 
How hard " The Squire" did ride that match day 
to be sure ! I.^ent up to call on him one afternoon 
at St. John's Wood, and he pointed to that picture 
of the finish, hanging up just opposite the fire-place, 
and he says to me " Dick, that Clasher and Clinker 
day beat me a deal more than the 200 miles." He 
was at his horse all the way. He gave me a mount 
on Tom Thumb, that great trotting-horse of his, that 
week ; I rode him round TattersalPs paddock ; it's 
like flying. I felt fit to tumble off; I thought he 
was going right away from under me ; how he did 
step out to be sure ! 

Clinker beat Radical easy ; I was pilot that journey, 
it was all I could do to keep ahead on 'em ; Polecat 
got cast in a ditch, when Pilot ran with her ; I was 


pilot there again. Captain Ross rode Clinker 
against Radical a great match, it would be from 
Barkby Holt to Billesdon Coplow ; he didn't know 
whether to take Clinker or a chesnut mare of Gene- 
ral Peel's ; he was to have her for 500 guineas if 
he liked ; so we had a trial over the ground, five on 
us ; Captain Ross gets on the mare, and puts me 
on Clinker ; I gave every one of them lOlbs., each 
of them had thirteen stone, and I did 'em ; it was a 
deal more than four miles, and we went it in 111 
minutes ; going the pace, wasn't it, with all that 
weight ? The Captain he was beat half a mile, and 
Sir Harry, Mr. Holyoake, and Mr. Wormald, they 
stopped at; Quenby Hall. It wasn't much of a 
secret though, this trial; Melton soon knowed all 
about it, and it altered the betting a bit ; I was pilot 
in nearly all those steeple- chases you're reading out 
of Bell's there ; they gave me sixty yards, and I 
was to let the horses come no nearer me than that, 
and I never did -, I knocked down a precious sight of 
fences for them, but I was never down myself." 

This Marigold, I must tell you about her I 
have it all in print here. You see, Mr. Coke what 
howdacious men to ride he and Sir James Musgrave 
were to be sure ! he told me, I must always be 
with hounds where they went, I must go, if it 
killed the horse ; so this Marigold, I sent her at a 
hedge ; when I was in the air, I sees my danger ; 
Frightened? God bless you! I never was fright- 
ened in my life; so I pulls her right back, just as 
she touched the bank, and shot her hind legs right 
under her ; we made three landings of it ; it was 
as steep as a house side ; but you'll read all about 
it there ; and mind you bring that bit of print back, 
I wouldn't lose it for a little.* 

* To prevent the catastrophe so darkly hinted at by the Professor, 
we reprint the extract. 

DANGEROUS HUNTING EXPLOIT. The following extraordinary 


Mr. Meynell was like a regular little apple dump-, 
ling on horseback ; Mr. Assheton Smith and Lord 
Forester, them were the men for me. Lord Jersey, 
too my word ! he was very good ; and Sir Charles 
Knightley, he was one of Lord Jersey 's stamp. 
He'd be more of a Pytchley man, though many's the 
time Fve seen him in the Harboro' country, and 
Lord Lonsdale's : it was precious seldom he'd miss 
a Tilton or an Owston Wood meet. How he used 
to go, to be sure ! he would be with hounds, to see 
'em do their work. Blame me, but Fve seen him, at 
the end of a run, all blood and thorns. Mr. Smith he 
never galloped his horses at fences he always drew 
them up. He had little low-priced horses when he 
first came into this country, but he rode them as no 
man ever will again ; they would do anything : 
get into bottoms, and jump out of them like nothing. 

feat was last week inadvertently performed by that celebrated rider 
and tough veteran, Dick Christian, of Melton Mowbray. He was 
mounted on Mr. Coke's chesnut mare Marigold, and out with the 
Quorn hounds near Holwell Mouth, when he charged a thick cut 
hedge four feet six inches high, which he cleared in good style, the 
mare alighting on a bank about a yard wide, with all her four feet 
together ; immediately below this bank is a steep declivity into an 
old quarry or stone-pit called Sot's Hole, about twelve yards deep; 
the failure of the bank where friend Dick had thus suddenly depo- 
sited his whole capital, must have proved fatal: luckily it stood 
firm, and the generous animal on which he rode bounded boldly 
forward, reaching the bottom in three springs, the measurement of 
which we subjoin ; much to the amazement of the old stager and 
several others who witnessed this unprecedented performance. Dick 
found himself well fixed on his saddle when the gallant mare reached 
terra firma, and both steed and rider perfectly unscathed. Mr. Coke 
himself was by, and wondered for the moment what had become of 
his mare. Too much praise cannot be given to our hardy veteran of 
the field for his excellent nerve, his firm and vigorous hand, and 
cool presence of mind, in this little affair. In the ^Sporting Maga- 
zine for April, 1829, page 373, and Pierce Egan's Book of Sports, 
page 221, honourable mention is made of this true " old English fox- 
hunter," who is now in the 60th year of his age, and still hale and 
hearty. The following is a correct statement of each leap, the height 
of the hedge not being included : Over the hedge 1st leap, 18ft. Sin. 
measured in a right line; 2nd leap, 10ft. 6in.; 3rd, 10ft.; 4th, 
14ft. 9in. total 53ft. 3in. 

My eyes ! he made them handy. Those were dif- 
ferent days : you might find at Melton Spinney, and 
run to Billesdon Coplow, and not cross a ploughed 
field. People will hardly believe me when I tell them : 
they say, "Come, none of your nonsense, Dick!" 

I once did a tremendous day's work with a four- 
year-old; Fll tell you all about it. The Duke 
of Grafton, he bought a mare from me ; he was 
uncommon pleased with her, to be sure; then he 
wrote me if I had another horse of my own breaking, 
to meet him at Northampton. I was well paid for 
my trouble, but we did not deal. Next morning, 
" The Squire" met at Clipston ; I starts at half-past 
eight. "We had two good runs of more than an hour 
each, and left off at Sibbertoft ; that would be thirty 
miles from Melton, and I got home that night, both of 
us as well and fresh as could be. I sold that horse to 
Thomas, the London dealer, for 250. Lord South- 
ampton, he once bought a rare thirteen-hand pony of 
me for 30 guineas, when I broke his horses at Quorn j 
Dick Burton used to get on him to draw covers. 

The gentlemen used to make a regular fox of me, 
when they came home from hunting, but I never 
was ketched. Mr. Gilmour very nearly did it once, 
though, but I just jumped the fence into the Melton 
Turnpike before him. Lord Molyneux, he was pre- 
cious near having me : It seems like yesterday. Lord 
Plymouth was uncommonly fond of that game ; he 
used to say, as they rode home from hunting/" Better 
let Christian be a fox for you he's not had much to 
do to-day ; it will do my young horse good/' I had 
lots of tumbles when I was a fox, but they gave me 
good law ; it was grand fun for them. Lord Moly- 
neux once gave me a rare tying up : it was a capital 
lark, that was. They started me below Corby, and 
up to the Bull at Witham Common; he was only 
twenty yards off me, was his Lordship, when I got 
to the Bull. " I'd like to have had you, Dick," he 


says. They gave me some brandy and water, and a 
bit of bread and butter, and set me off for another 
lark to Melton, but they see me no more till next 
day ; I regularly did them that time. 

I once had a grand go at Lord Cardigan he'd be 
Lord Brudenell then on Dandy, with Lord Lons- 
dale's hounds : they had come right up from Oakham 
Pastures, and I was on a grey roan-muzzled one, of 
Sir James Musgrave's Perfection they called him. 
One of the gentlemen he says to me, " I'll give you 
five pounds, Dick, if you'll go and lick LordBrudenell 
up to Overton Park ; he's licked every one of us." 
My horse was very fresh, and I thought I'd match 
him. " We'll give you anything if you'll have a go 
at him," two or three more of them says ; so I over 
some high post-and- rails. "That's capital," they 
shouts, and at him I goes ; and I caught him just 
at the last fence before the wood where they killed. 

I never had a row with any gentleman but once. 
He gives me one of the savagest brutes to ride that 
ever came to Melton ; they had to go to the other 
side of the stall to feed him, and they couldn't get 
him out of the stable-yard till I came ; so I spoke 
to him, and coaxed him, and he went as quiet as a 
dog. Away I rides to Melton Spinney, and Mr. 

says to me, " Stand you, Dick, at the gate ; the 

fox is certain to come through that way, and let no 
one come." Well, I sent a good many back ; they 
know'd my horse, and I told them he'd worry them to 
death, so back they went. Then three scarlets comes 
up, and go through they would, wildy-nildy. The 
fox did come that way, and sure enough they did 
head him back. I got pretty well called for that : 
that put my blood up a bit. Then away we went to 
Scalford Brook, but the hounds didn't cross it : up 
comes my gentleman, and says, quite angrily, " Why 
didn't you jump the brook?" I told him, Because 
the hounds didn't cross ; he said they did, and I said 


they didn't. I got as savage as blazes, and I told him, 
before all the gentlemen, that if I didn't know his 
horse would kill some one, I'd get off and turn him 
loose, and that I'd never ride another horse for him 
as long as I lived. He asked the groom, when he 
got to his stable, if I'd left any message ; and he says 
" Yes, sir ; he tells me he won't ride another horse for 
you/' " The deuce he did !" I kept my word for 
a twelvemonth, and then we made it up : he was 
always very kind to me but that time. A man can't 
be put on when he's gone every yard with hounds. 

It would be in '41 when I left Melton. I lived at 
Lord Scarboro's, in the house at Eufford, every year 
from October to May, for fifteen years : I was 
to have gone again this year, but Lord Scarboro 5 
died. It's been hard lines with me since that. I 
broke all his young horses for my Lord ; they would 
have cantered the figure of 8 in this room. He was 
a very particular man, was Lord Scarboro', with his 
horses ; if he ever saw a horse walking with the 
wrong leg first, he'd always call to the groom to 
make him change. I had a mint of troubles there. 
Captain Williams and I jumped a lock ; it looked as 
deep as a coal-pit. " Dick," says he, when we killed, 
"what did you think of that lock jump?" "I 
thought nothing of it, sir," I said. " Well, I did, 
Dick, for I shut my eyes going over." He enjoyed 
that, did the Captain : he was only on a four-year-old 
mare : she's gone to Voltigeur this spring. 

Talk of tumbles ! I have had eleven in one day 
down there, when I was above seventy : I'll never 
see seventy-eight again, but I can take a good allow- 
ance of them still. It was a horse of Mr. Foljambe's 
that gave me those eleven, but he never hurt me. 
He gave 250 guineas to Sir Tatton for him before he 
was broke. My foot got twisted in the stirrup over 
his neck at one jump, and away he went with me 
right down a long stubble before I could get righted. 


Lord Scarboro' often lent me to Mr. Foljambe 
when I was at Rufford. What a fine horseman he 
was! and there's no better judge of a horse now. 
It 'ull be three years since, we were out with The 
Rufford ; he says to me, " What are you mounted on 
to-day, Christian ?" I said, " She's thorough-bred, 
sir, and she's by Ithuriel out of a Langar mare, 
and that's all Pve heard of her." So he says, " Come 
here, and I'll handle her." When he came to her 
legs, he says, "Why, Christian, she's wonderful 
here ; at least eight inches below the knee." That 
was the fact ; I had measured her that very morn- 
ing, and she was just 8J inches there. When he's 
about to purchase a horse, he'll have him trotted up 
and down a road, and the least inequality of action 
he can detect quicker than those who see them. He 
went purposely to Tattersall's to handle and buy that 
horse Rataplan. 

You jumped on me quite sudden last night ; I 
didn't see just what you were driving at ; but, my 
word, I'm ready for you now. I laid awake, study- 
ing, a good bit of the night. That 'ere bull I told 
you about ; I remember another break I had when 
I was with Sir Gilbert. It was near Glaston, and 
Mr. Pochin, the parson, fell just before me, and I 
jumped clean over him. He laid as close as a hare, 
and Abbey, the huntsman, shouted, ' ' You can lie 
where you are, Mr. Pochin ; you'll not be wanted 
till Sunday." How Sir Gilbert did laugh, to be sure ! 

What a fine rider Sir David Baird was ! When 
he first comes to Melton we found at Ranksboro' 
Gorse, and crossed over between Rocart and Whis- 
sendine. Only four of us got over the brook that 
day ; I was first, and I just looks back and I says, 
tc Now, gentlemen, take up your heel taps ; here's a 
bumper." That pleased them uncommon : they all 
got over. It was full of water, and that seemed to 


spring us out. Captain Berkeley was third over, and 
then little Mat Milton, the dealer's son, he got into 
the water more than any of us, and, blame me, if he 
didn't begin to cry. The fox was headed at Buck- 
minster, and came back, and the people met us at 
Woodell Head. 

I had a deal queerer go than that one day, when 
we found at Cream Qorse. I was on one of Lord Ply- 
mouth's young horses, and he dropped in the ditch 
on the other side of a bullfinch: he jumped high 
enough, but he didn't spread himself. It was a grey 
he bought off Bill Wright, of Lyssonby . He must have 
come back on me if I had pulled him ; so I slips off, 
and let him go, and he ran to Brooksby with them. 
The whole field, 150 on 'em, were behind me : and I 
snuggled in against the side of the hedge, and over 
they goes. I could see the shoes, 600 on 'em, glit- 
tering right above and beside me, and not one of 
them made a mistake : they'd have killed me if they 
had. I wasn't frightened not I. Just as each of 
^em passed over my head, I gives a bit of a shout and 
a chuckle to 'em for encouragement like. They were 
all at me next day. First one comes up, and then 
another, and says, " What the devil, Dick, did you 
keep hollering at us for, yesterday, at that fence ? 
We heard you, but we couldn't see you." " You'd 
have made a noise too," I told 'em, " to see you gen- 
tlemen come over me like that.'' 

The biggest fence I ever took was on one of Sir 
James Musgrave's 400- guinea gentlemen : he gave 
Sir James such a purl near Shankton Holt turned 
right over with him. I got off and went to him, but 
he says, " You go on, Dick." I looks round, and I 
see him fall down again ; so I went back, and I says 
" Sir James, I shan't leave you." He was laid up good 
six weeks, and he sends for me. " You must ride 
that horse of mine, Dick : if you kill him I shan't 
blame you; but if you stop at anything, you shall 


ride for me no more. Fll send people to keep their 
eye on you." " Well/' says I, " Sir James, if you're 
not afraid of your horse, Fin not afraid of my neck." 
We met at the Punchbowl, and I knew there were 
two or three to look out ; and, blame me, I did ride 
just ! One field from Dalby, my word ! I did send 
him with some powder at a bullfinch. I thought the 
horse was a long time in the air. They measured 
the jump, nearest foot from taking off to nearest on 
landing, right through the hedge; and what d'ye 
think it was ? 35 J feet ! It's truth, I'll warrant it : 
there are gentlemen living who know it. Fin not 
given to bragging there's a deal too much of that 
now-a-days. There were lots of wagers laid about it, 
and the men who measured it brought the string to 
Melton : it just went from the Half Moon to the 
opposite door. They told Sir James about it, and he 
sent for each of the men and gave them half-a-sove- 
reign. It was on level ground the very field as 
comes to the road that leads to Great and Little 
Dalby. Two farmers saw it : I forget ^their names : 
one was a little fattish man. It's the real truth, and 
nothing but the truth. I've jumped ten yards fre- 
quent ; and that pond near Billesdon Coplow would 
be good eleven. I had another great jump on that 
identical same horse, near Burrow Hills; it was 
down a hill, and he scarcely was on his fore-legs for 
two hundred yards. 

A quick and safe jumper always goes from hind- 
legs to hind-legs. I never rode a steeple- chase yet 
but I steadied my horse on to his hind-legs twenty 
yards from his fence, and I was always over and away 
again before the rushers. If a horse can't light on 
his hind-legs, he soon beats himself: good rumps 
and good hind-legs, them's the sort ! A man should 
get his horse collected. Modern gentlemen are so 
quick at their fences, their horses don't get up, and 
don't spread themselves. Their front legs should be 


higher than their hind ones when they come down, 
but not bucking I don't mean that. Lots of these 
young riders, they know no more than nothing at 
all : they think horses can jump anything if they can 
only drive them at it fast enough. They'd never get 
hurt if they'd collect their horses : they force them 
too much at their fences. If you don't feel your 
horse's mouth you can tell nothing about him. If 
you hold him he'll make a second effort ; if you drop 
him he won't. (Here the Professor rose from his chair, 
placed his hands in attitude, and went at a fence in 
the spirit). I've seen Mr. Holyoake go like distrac- 
tion for fifteen minutes, but Mr. Smith, and Mr. 
Greene, and Mr. Gilmour, and Lord Wilton, they're 
the men to go when others are leaving off. Lord 
Bancliffe, he was a very sweet rider. This Captain 
Lloyd, too, he's a fizzer. Those young men they're 
always pulling at their horses with both hands. I 
never do that : it's no use. Pull with your 
right and bear with your left; keep putting of it 
down gradual, and a horse must stop. (We are bound 
to say that in this passage we consider the Professor 
obscure ; but he will, no doubt, be glad to illustrate 
the operation to our riding readers, as he did to us.) 
Horses have a bad mouth on the near side, because 
they're always ridden with one hand : a horse should 
have his mouth light on the left ; his quarters should 
be out, and his head to the 3 eft when he's walking. 
You may see ten horses walk past this window, and 
nine of them, I'll be bound, will have the wrong leg 
first. I hardly ever used spurs ; if young horses 
wanted them, I used one on my left leg. A leaping 
bar should never be above two feet ; if it's higher, 
they often go right back'ards, such a crack ; they 
should go close up to it. They talk about a horse 
wanting some falls : if a young horse gets a very bad 
fall, it frightens him; a couple of falls with low 
fences are well enough, but not if you hurt him; 


let him scramble in a ditch a Lit, but not get cast. 
I like the Empingham country best for young 
horses ; fences not too high, and they won't break. 
When I begin a young horse with water, I walk him 
to it, and let him look at it ; I don't let him go away : 
never lick him, and, bless you, he soon takes a de- 
light in it. 

Grimaldi, he was a charming horse; he never 
would look at water at first. Mr. Osbaldeston, he 
comes to me in Day's shop here, and he says, "I 
want you, Dick, to go to Brixworth directly : I've 
made a match with Col. Charritie's Napoleon for 
500 guineas, over the Dunchurch country : there's 
a brook, and GrimaldPs lost me two races already 
that way." So I said I'd like to go to Croxton races, 
and Pd be at Brixworth by two in the morning ; and 
so I was there, sure enough, and I got him over 
some water the first time, after he had smelt at it a 
bit, and made him quite handy. The Squire and 
me, we went over the ground; and the Squire, he 
says, " Grimaldi will never jump this water, Dick." 
I says, " I'll bet you a guinea he will, Squire." I 
went and fathomed it, and found a place ; so I told 
him " when you're running, I'll stand there, and 
put my hat on the top of my whip ; come right to me, 
and keep him going." Bless you ! he jumped it like 
nothing at all, and won. Becher was on Napoleon ; 
he was stronger, I think, than Oliver; Jem Mason's 
not so hard as them two. 

The Clown, that won here the other day, reminded 
me for all the world of Vyvian when he was coming 
to the brook. Vyvian was quite as big, a great 
slamming horse ; no trouble to ride ; he went sailing 
along in a snaffle, and Becher just niggling at him a 
bit. I rode against him and Becher at Dunchurch,, 
and gave them such a tying up. Lord Waterford 
and Lord Macdonald were in that race. I was on 
Warwick, one of Sir Edward Mostyn's horses. They 


laid twenty to one against me. He was a little 
horse, very hot ; my eyes, such a jumper ! I didn't 
keep long with them, but took a line by myself. 
Vyvian got first round to the flag, and then the 
Marquis, and then I. The Marquis was going wide, 
and shouts I, " My Lord, where are you going to ?" 
I slipped right up to Vyvian, and hang me if I'd 
leave him ; didn't Becher just go on at me ! Every 
fence it was, " Dick, you'll be on the top of me ; 
pray, Dick, do keep off." That was it all the way 
back ; I wouldn't have it ; I says, ' ' This is my line, 
and here I'll stick ;" and I did too. I'd got my 
horse as fast as wax, and I thought win I must. We 
were in the air together over the last fence ; then 
Becher he sets at his horse, and he just shoves his 
head afore me. Now, I says, I'll see what I've got, 
and, blame me, if my horse didn't stop dead as if he 
was shot. I called to them to turn his head to the 
wind, or he would be down ; I never got him past 
the post ; he went back'ards, he was so beat ; he 
never got above two miles before or since that day ; 
he was a bad-hearted one, but very brilliant ; that's 
as nice a ride as ever I had ; how he did jump, to be 
sure ! When Becher got back to the weighing tent, 
he spoke up, " Gentlemen, if I had Christian's nerve, 
I'd give all I have in the world." 

I've had lots of accidents, I've had my shoulder 
out, this here leg broke, and two of my ribs; I never 
broke my collar bone, I'm so precious thick set 
there, they can't get at it. Horses, bless you ! I've 
known 'em get out cf a ditch, and put their fore-feet 
on each of my shoulders ; my coat's been all split up 
by them. I broke two ribs from a dog-cart when I 
was seventy-six. I thought I wur done that time ; 
it brought on erysipelas ; I must be as hard as nails ; 
both wheels were on my legs ; it was done in Bing- 
ham Town ; some old woman saw it. I take a deal 
of breaking up; I never see no fear,, not even now, 


and I just see at a distance as well as ever I did, 
when I'm with hounds. 

What runs I have seen in Leicestershire to be sure ! 
I mind we had two clippers with Tom Sebright; no 
huntsman ever went so well over Leicestershire, 
except it be Will Goodall. I never saw such a pack 
of hounds as the Duke's is now, all so much alike. 
The Squire's were the best I ever saw at Quorn. Of 
all men for condition of hounds and pleasantness, I 
never see Goodall beat ; but I was telling you about 
Tom Sebright's run. We met at Prestwold early on 
in the season , I mind we were talking about who 
would be the master of the Quorn ; it proved Sir 
Bellingham Graham, he only held them that season. 
The first covert to try was a plantation near the 
garden wall; the hounds wouldn't be in a minute 
when one of the garden men gives a shout, and a 
fox goes right along the wall and away ; Tom gives 
his view halloo, when the hounds came quickly and 
crossed the field, where we met. My word, we went 
a clinker to Walton Thorns, by Six Hills then over 
the Eoss, nearly to Thrussington Wolds down to 
the left by Dalby Wood into the vale, leaving 
Holwell Mouth, Clawson, and Statherne on the 
right, and killed him under the Belvoir Plantations ; 
one hour and thirty-five minutes, about sixteen miles 
straight from the cover we found at. Nearly all 
the gentlemen, when the fox was halloaed, made 
a point round the Hall for Stanton Park, where 
Mr. Dashwood had covers ; foxes, you see, often 
ran that line. They all got thrown out, and 
Tom and his two whips and Captain Anson, they 
would be the only ones up. Tom gave us another 
rare thing the day after the Squire broke his leg. 
We met at Segrave ; there was a fox which lay about 
there, and had been hunted for two seasons by The 
Squire ; somehow they never could touch him ; the 
Melton gentlemen christened him Perpetual Motion, 


for one reason he used to tire all their nags, time 
after time, on the Segrave meet. It was a great 
trial for Tom ; he drew Segrave Gorse without find- 
ing; the next for drawing was Shoby Scholes, a 
favourite spot of this Perpetual Motion. Tom 
cautioned his whippers-in, and got such a start with 
him from the Reed pond that proved his death-blow. 
He was as anxious as the hounds was Tom, and when 
he saw my gentleman fly out of the Reeds, his spurs 
was very sharply in his horse's side and over a flight 
of large rails, with his hounds close at his heels, and 
close to his brush he laid them on too. The pace 
was as quick as the hounds could run, and as much 
as the horses could do to live in sight to the Melton 
Spinney; 30 minutes, without the slightest check; 
there was very few with the hounds up to the Spinney ; 
nearly all of 'em shied the rails ; after hunting 
their fox out of Melton Spinney, which stopped 
'em a bit, up came a few gents with Sir James Mus- 
grave, their nags puffing and sweating ; the hounds, 
you see, marked his line through the horses, over 
the plough. Tom lost no time in making his cast, 
which proved successful, for he had no other to 
make ; Egad ! the old boy wouldn't be beat out 
of his regular line ; right through the next fence, 
close by an old man at work, who never saw him ; 
from Melton Spinney he took a direct line to 
Garthorpe, and the hounds kill'd him on the grounds 
called the Lings one hour and twenty minutes, about 
14 miles. The finish was an uncommon cheery one; 
the fox was cut into so many pieces, the hounds had 
but a small share ; Tommy Henton, he had his share 
of him mounted for a tooth-picker with silver ; it is 
no doubt in the family now. 

What a fine old rider Lord Lonsdale was ! and 
Lambert's voice, it beat every one's I ever heard, but 
Mr. Maher's. Count Sandor, he was an odd un, he 
was ; he said, " He did come to von little place, called 

B B 


Meltone." Then they sent him to the tailor as lived 
at South Croxton, to get his breeches made; it was 
on a Sunday too, after church ; but off he would go. 
When he comes back, he said, ' ' When I did leave the 
town I did come to a door ; de horse, he would not 
open de door, so I make him jump over de door, and 
as I come back, I did jump all de doors." He was 
very fond of hunting me, he was. The bog ground 
once broke and let me in. " I brought van Chris- 
tian to de ground" if he didn't begin that way with 
his groom before he got off his horse at night. The 
name pleased him, you see. 

A regular good 'un Lord Rancliffe was across 
country; many's the horse Fve bought for him, poor 
man ! Captain White, too, he's a splendid horseman, 
but he'd not go through such a hard day as Sir James 
Musgrave. Sir James, he'd make a point, but he'd 
never persevere to catch hounds ; if ever he meant 
going, no one beat him. Such tackle ! horses like 
peas ; old-fashioned ones, with short bang-tails. No 
one ever saw Sir James with a small-hipped horse ; 
horses will always jump with great hips and rumps, 
and hocks a little in. Then there's Sir Thomas 
Whichcote : there have been precious few finer riders 
than him in Leicestershire; and such a clipping stud 
of horses ! My word, I broke in the first hunter he 
ever had ; that 'ud be when he was at Glaston. 

The savagest horse I ever saw was that Euxton of 
Captain White's, and Manchester next to him. The 
Captain was a great friend to me. I mind when he 
sent for me to Euxton, he says, " Dick, if he falls 
with you, mind you sit him, or he'll worry you." 
The bridle got off his ears, to begin with, but I got 
that put right ; then he bolts up Adcock Lane, and 
kicks my hat off my head. What work we had with 
him, to be sure ! Then we two tried him a lark 
across the country to Belvoir; at first he wouldn't 
face a bulfinch a bit; then he jumped through them 


just like a balloon. How pleased the Captain was, 
to be sure ! 

There was no finer man than Colonel Wyndham; 
few of the best of them could catch him for a mile, 
for all his twenty stone. When they come to a gate 
locked, he used to say, " I'll get my horse across it, 
I'll smash it" ; and, my word, he did just. I've seen 
them come to some tremendous great fence, and the 
gentlemen would look about, and say, " We're 
stopped ; where' s Wyndham ?" Up he'd come, and 
smash it for them. What power he had ! he'd lift a 
horse right up and over such places. And what a 
clever man he was, too ! 

I mind Mr. Tomlin and me had to decide a fifty- 
sovereign match, whether Lord Cardigan or Lord 
Gardner was the best man in a run. It was from 
Tilton Wood, and they were together over Burrow 
Hills and Gartree Hill; then they crossed a dirty 
lane at top of Burton Lordship ; Lord Cardigan 
jumped into a haystack place, and had to come back 
into the lane ; Lord Gardner gained 200 yards there, 
and never lost it. The hounds ran to Cream Gorse ; 
Mr. Moore was umpire ; he first asked me, and then 
Tomlin, what we thought, separate, and then he said, 
" Well, Gardner, they're both in your favour." What 
a pity it was Lord Cardigan got into that haystack 
place ! The hounds didn't kill for six miles after 
that, but neither of them made a mistake. 

I walk twelve stone I always did but I've ridden 
many a steeple-chase at twelve stone. I once rode 
one here in a four-pound saddle, but I didn't try 
that game twice. I'm a good 'un to waste; you 
wouldn't think it, though, to look at me, I'm so 
thick across, and there's not much to come off my 
legs. That picture of me 's a regular caricature ; 
the weight's for all the world just in the wrong 
place. Such a hat, too, they've put on me. 
Well, I was telling you : I once got off twelve 


pounds in about as many hours ; I was at it, one 
way or another, from half-past four one afternoon 
till six next morning. I was at Birmingham, and 
Captain Eendall he wanted me to ride 12st. on his 
grey horse at Alcester next day ; and he had to be 
there at eight o' clock to enter him. So he would 
have me go into a vapour bath. I went in usual 
time, twenty minutes, and a man comes " How do 
you feel ?" " I feel very well/' I says ; (f I'll be in 
a bit longer." Then he comes back with a tray, and 
he begins " Gentlemen sometimes has coffee when 
they're in the bath." So I puts my head out of the 
little hole (I was all tied in, you see), and I says, 
" Hang your coffee ! I'm hot enough, outside and in 
take it away/ 5 In five minutes he comes again, 
and I says, " Pm doing uncommon nicely, just you 
wait" ; it was pouring off me then ! Well, when that 
five minutes was over, he didn't ask me what I'd do, 
but he whips .the curtains away, wraps me in a blanket, 
and had me off across the passage to another room, 
under a regular pile of blankets, for half-an-hour. My 
heart, how it did bump to be sure ! I'd just been and 
overdone it. Then the Captain, he'd been and got 
the physic, and a precious stiff dose they'd mixed for 
me.! They dressed me, and the Captain and I went 
off in a chaise. When I was two miles off Alcester 
I got out and walked, and the Captain he went on to 
get me a bedroom ready. When I got to the inn, 
Mason and Becher and Powell were all there in the 
coffee-room : they'd come down to ride. When I 
went in, they says, " How are you, old cock !" and 
then the Captain, he comes in with his " Well, Dick, 
how are you after your boiling ?" At six next morn- 
ing he knocks at my bedroom, and up I gets. I went 
into a grocer's shop, and asked them to weigh me. 
I said " Put in eleven stone." The Captain, he 
says, " Nonsense, Dick ; you'll be six pounds more 
than that." I said, ' ' I know I'm right :" and it's 


as true as I sit here alive, I could scarcely pull the 
eleven stone down the weights had the best of me. 
The Captain, he wanted me to have some breakfast, 
but I said " No ; a very little will fetch me up :" so 
I had a cup of coffee, and a bit of broiled bacon, and 
a shaving of bread-and-butter, and just two glasses 
of sherry : that made me eleven stone four it's a 
ticklish thing is weight but I rode the race and won 
it, and went back to Birmingham that night with 
Green of Grantham. The stiffest course I ever rode 
was at Ross, in Herefordshire there were seventy 
fences. I wasn't very lucky ; there was some sludge 
on the bank, my horse got his fore-feet in, and there 
we stuck for a bit. 

The Marquis of Hastings was one of my pupils. 
It was a sad job for foxhunting when he died : he 
was just one of my sort. I was two months at his 
place before he come of age. He sent for me to 
Donnington, and I broke all his horses : I had never 
seen him before. He had seven rare nice horses, and 
very handy I got them. The first meet I went out 
with him was Wartnaby Stone Pits. I rode by his 
side, and I says, " My Lord, we'll save a bit of dis- 
tance if we take this fence." So he looked at me, 
and he laughed, and says, " Why, Christian, I was 
never over a fence in my life." " God bless me ! 
my Lord ; you don't say so !" and I seemed quite 
took aback at hearing him say it. " It's true enough, 
Christian ; I really mean it." " Well, my Lord," 
says I, " you're on a beautiful fencer ; he'll walk up 
to it and jump it. Now I'll go over the fence first." 
" Well, if I fall off you won't laugh at me." " That 
I won't, my Lord ; put your hands well down on his 
withers, and let him come." It was a bit of a low 
staked hedge and a ditch ; he got over as nice as 
possible, and he gave quite a hurrah-like, and he 
says, " There, I'm over my first fence that's a bless- 
ing." Then I got him over a great many little 


places, and he quite took to it, and went on uncom- 
mon well. He comes to Six Hills the day before 
Clinker and Clasher ran their match, and he hailed 
me " Here's my old tutor ; I was never over a fence 
till he showed me how :" and then he told the gen- 
tlemen all about it. Whenever I saw him he always 
joked me about it : he was a nice gentleman to 
teach : he'd just do anything you told him that's 
the way to get on. 

The oddest hurdle races I ever had was with a 
black horse of Lord Euston's. Fll tell you all about 
him. Mr. Gilmour bought him afterwards. I was 
to ride him at Ashby-de-la-Zouch. When I got on 
to the ground I met Mr. John Story. " Dick/' he 
says, " you ride the black horse to-day : do you see 
that Stand? he'll run you right against it, and kill 
you : he always runs away when they're exercising 
him/' Well, we mounted, and Becher canters up 
" Dick, that's a fine horse you've got ; they say 
he's a runaway devil, but we'll stop him." So 
when we got to the post, I says, " You'd better 
let me have the middle of the course, or I'll be 
on the top of some of you." So I let him go, 
and devil a soul comes near him to the distance : 
then True Blue goes by me easy. I kept in the 
middle of the course all the way, so I couldn't run 
against the Stand. I told Mr. Story he'd better keep 
out of it, he was so positive I should come there. The 
second heat I puts on my spurs and takes off the mar- 
tingale. He went a bit placider that time ; but, blame 
me, True Blue catches me just at the same place again : 
I was second twice. Then I went to Nottingham to 
ride him the next week. The hurdles were four-feet- 
ten there that was the height on them; tied together; 
pegged together ; eighteen inches in the ground, and 
tied with hay-bands. This ^ere True Blue was en- 
tered again, and he'd still got all the better of the 
weights ; so I says to Barker, " You and I must 


stand in J?5 ; one of us must win, bar accidents ; my 
horse can't wait, he must go ; you keep back, and I'll 
run 'em all out but you." I don't know what took the 
man, but he jumped the first set of hurdles before 
me, and down he comes all of a heap. I almost 
threw myself off to get clear of him, and I just 
missed his head. He fell exactly plump before me. 
There was a grey horse of Spriggs's in the race ; he 
went too fast for me ; I tackled him pretty well, 
though, the second heat, and he only beat me half 
a head that time : he was a queer horse, this black. 
It would be some time after this, Captain Euston 
he'll be Lord Euston now sent me a message 
that I was to come to him. " I can't manage the 
black," he says, " and my men can't ; you must 
come and try." "Well, I tried to make him back ; 
two men helped me, one on each side. Why ! you 
might just as well pull at a chimney-piece. So I 
told them to get a stick and tap his knees, and he 
began to move then. I could ride him afterwards 
with one hand. Then he comes to Melton for sale, and 
Mr. Gilmour bought him. What fun I've had with 
horses in my day ! I could fairly live in the air, on 
top of a fence. All these things I don't care who 
they go before, no one can say they ain't true. Lord 
Plymouth bought Assheton off Mr. Osbaldeston; you 
must go up in the morning and see that picture of him 
at Mr. Ferneley's : he was one of the hardest-going 
little horses I ever saw nothing tired him. Mr. 
Haycock, he was the hardest rider of his day ; no 
fence ever turned him : he over-did it. 

Now there's Lord Scarboro', Mr. Lumley that 
was. Dash me ! what a go I once saw with him ! 
We was out with the Belvoir hounds, Sir James 
Musgrave and me at the tail of the hounds, going 
for Langar, before we got to the Smite. We were 
in the middle field that goes down to the Smite. I 
says, " Sir James, here's the Smite, will you have 


it ?" " We must have it/* he says. Mr. Lumley 
he comes up between us, and at it he goes. He 
jumped the water, but he couldn't get through the 
bulfinch on the other side : backards he comes. I 
couldn't see him or the horse. Sir James shouts, 
" He'll be drowned, Dick/' when up he comes again. 
I catched his horse, and out he wades, as wet and as 
black as my hat. Well, he gets on to his horse as plucky 
as ever, just as he was ; off he gets, runs back again ; 
I didn't know for my life what he was at. Blame 
me, if he didn't dive in, head foremost, to find his 
right stirrup ; he fishes it out of five-feet water, 
buckles it on, and over he goes again. He got 
through the bulfinch that time, and they killed the 
fox at Colston Bassett. Well, some of the gentlemen 
gave him their flask, and they persuaded him to 
gallop back to Belvoir, and change. That'ull be nigh 
twenty years since; I met him some four years 
after, when Mr. Foljambe's hounds met at Grove, 
and I says, "Do you recollect the Smite, sir?" 
" That I do ; I should like such a ducking again." 
So I told all the gentlemen about it : how amused 
they were ! I never saw such a thing in my born 
days. Well, I can't beat that, so I must go now ; 
they'll be waiting up for me. If I think of anything 
more, I'll send and tell you. And with these words 
the Professor and I parted. 

And so our history of horn and hound, the racer 
and the starting-post, and their countless devotees of 
every shade and hue, has come to an end at last. A 
moral would have been out of place, and hence we 
felt that we could not wind up better than by the 
above characteristic combination of precept and anec- 
dote, and trust that our rare old Centaur of a lec- 
turer will not be forgotten in his old age by the 
foxhunters of England. 



The bells of ancient Mary-le-bone within their tower swing 

But 'tis not to hail a victory, or greet an infant king : 

They usher in no festival, they honour not a bride ; 

But deep death-notes, from their iron throats, along the breezes ride. 

Within yon ducal portals, so shadowy and grim, 
A gallant heart lies pulseless, a gallant eye is dim : 
Lo ! through those portals issuing, in inky black array, 
Bearing its shrouded passenger, a hearse moves forth to-day. 

E'en hard men's eyes were glistening, as the vault that coffin hid, 
And the dark earth rattled dismally on its gilded velvet lid : 
Methinks the world's cold sophistry some hearts not wholly sears, 
As I viewed the bitter D'Israeli, in an agony of tears. 

Those tears are worthy of thee ; thou wert with him in the van, 
As his cause became more hopeless and his cheek became more wan : 
When Cobden overcame him, " No truce !" was still his call. 
But he, like another Pericles, denied he'd had a fall. 

Throw wide his chamber window, let the noontide light rush in ; 
'Twill wake not one who erst has slept his wakeful sleep within : 
That chair and desk will recognise their careworn lord no more, 
As in winter night, or in grey twilight, he worked till the clock told 

Stern in the path of duty, in his heyday of renown, 

'Mid all his proud imaginings, the Loyal George goes down : 

As England's tars with Kempenfelt, died 'neath their native surf j 

So the death-sweat gathered o'er him, as he trod the springy turf. 



Welbeck's fair park is desolate, and the rippling waters moan ; 
For the grave's dark mystery has claimed their scion for its own T 
No more within St. Stephen's shall he " ground his flag on truth ;" 
No jovial sounds of horn and hounds shall conjure up his youth. 

No more shall he at Doncaster each foal and yearling pat ; 
Nor ride up Goodwood's leafy slopes, to the trial ground, with Nat ; 
No more with Kent and Marson shall he scan each pet " in form;" 
Nor view their place, as in the race they sweep past like the storm. 

E'en thus did ancient memory upon its arrowy track, 
With all its dreams and fancies, come flashing sadly back : 
Then I left the great metropolis, all troubled life and motion, 
And sought the land where Ouse's stream seeks outlet in the ocean. 

I lingered on " The Heath" at morn saw Surplice in his stride ; 
And many a sheeted two-year-old, with " jockeys up," beside : 
'Tis thus, thought I, right carelessly the heartless world glides on, 
For scarce I heard a single word, of their Master Spirit gone. 

I sought the mound where Pavis in silence sleeps below ; 

And the stone which told, that the hands are cold, which handled 

Plenipo : 

Then I halted at Long Orton, where Strathavon's elms wave, 
In amorous dalliance with the oaks, o'er old Frank Buckle's grave. 

It seemed that last September was right redolent of death ; 

That the wind which whispered through the boughs bore some dread 

fiend on its breath : 

Fresh turf sods, near Meaux Abbey, their solemn lesson read 
Where the steersman of Sir Tatton sleeps in his narrow bed. 

Light lie thy earth upon thee ! now thy pilgrimage is o'er ; 

Forgotten be thy failings, since thy heart was sound in core j 

Still may " Brother John," from Malton, to the post his winners 

bring ; 
As when in Mundig's days ye were twin terrors to the King. 

I sped my way towards Ebor, and viewed, before nightfall, 
The skeleton of Blacklock, at Bishop Burton Hall : 
That symmetry and slashing size, that large coarse head, I ween, 
Have found their best reflection in that Leger trump, the Queen. 

To Walmgate Bar I hastened, slave to my wayward will, 
And beheld the York Turf Nestor, quite hale and hearty still ; 
Though well nigh ninety summers, he can reckon 'mong the past, 
Grant that his health and happiness through many more may last. 

To talk with him of other days seemed converse with " Old Time ;" 

He remembered feats of Bunbury and Mellish in their prime : 

" Hambletonian" and " Diamond" seemed but yestreen ; from his 

Fell tales of Young Bay Maltons of the colts got by Eclipse. 


Game Lanercost was in his box, his foals hard by at romps ; 
And I pictured for them victories, like War Eagle's and VanTromp's : 
I remembered how their sire's sides, and Newcastle pockets bled. 
When he challenged Beeswing for the Cup, and beat her by a head. 

I wandered over Knavesmire, and thought with many a chuckle, 

How the pseudo Mrs. Thornton here defeated Francis Buckle ; 

How " The Prince," some sixty years ago, when the turf was all his 

Saw Chifney senior on his steeds, and Miss Parren on the stage. 

I thought o'er Stubbs's glories, that crack veteran of the brush, 
How he scanned the seat of Jackson, and caught old Pierse's rush : 
How he sketched the form of Queensberry who in contests short and 

Snapped his matches at Newmarket, with his jockey, " Hell-fire 


The veteran's dead ; but Herring still to canvass charms imparts, 
When he sketches down a contest, to warm up sound racing hearts ; 
Kelburne invoked his pencil, when at Ebor " one-eyed Harry," 
Sam Chifney's rush, on Memnon, with Actseon dared to parry. 

Then I hied away to Doncaster, I wandered o'er the course, 

And images of olden time rose in my mind perforce ; 

A mist curled o'er the heather, the Moor was still as death, 

From Hose Hill to Carr-Potterie, where the Childers drew his breath. 

I seemed to view, like Britomart, in Merlin's magic glass, 
Spectres of mounted racers, on wings of wind fly past ; 
O'er " four miles," in the Low Pasture, I heard the galloways blow, 
As in days of the Pretender, a century ago. 

Then came the first St. Leger a race of five 'tis done ; 

And the shout arose that Singleton for Lord Kockingham had won : 

As I looked for 1800, betting spectres turned more pale, 

As Buckle, upon Champion, rode calmly back to scale. 

Next, Singleton, on Orville, came past the chair alone ; 

Then the D'Orsay, Colonel Mellish, made the pallid fieldsman 


Near him, 'mid seedy touters, drawling out their lying tales, 
Unmindful of the growing hemp, Dan Dawson " hugged the rails." 

Soothsayer and Octavian were A 1 in their turn ; 

Then I heard a loud hoof clattering, that made my young blood 

burn : 

Now Goodisson! now Johnson! be dire do your worst ! 
Lord Strathmore's beat, and Ottrington, by half a head, is first. 

They're here again ! John Jackson try with knee and hand to lift ! 
Hurrah ! Altisidora has baffled William Clift ; 

There Filho sails victorious ; Blacklock's beat though well in front ; 
Now Sammy King and Catton in Cup battles bear the brunt. 


Bob Johnson, upon Eeveller, takes the lead from full a score ; 
And the " big coach horse," Antonio, goes lumbering to the fore : 
Three cheers for bold St. Patrick! three cheers for young Bill 

Scott ! 
As mounted on Jack Spigot, he first draws the winning lot. 

" Two hundred pounds to one I'll bet ;" see ! listening Jackson 

mourns ; 

Lame Theodore has felt the spurs, and quite forgot his corns ; 
Now, Jackson, keep him going, he's in front at the hill top 
By Jove ! he'se half a length to spare ; well, Powlett, won't you 

swap ? 

" All Harlequin," on Barefoot, makes Watts's heart right merry ; 
Brave Brutandorf has owned the stride of Smolensko's best son, 

Jerry ; 

'JVIongst twenty-nine competitors, young Memnon leads the van ; 
While his jockey's face of triumph seems to breathe a " Catch who 


George Nelson, on Tarrare, beats Mulatto through the mud ; 

The " weather clerk" laid fearful odds, and his hopes crushed in the 


False starts will floor bold Mameluke, spite all that Sam can do ;; 
Who'd mind his temper going, if his legs would but go too ? 

Thunder, and rain, and lightning, may well sound an alarm ; 
Great Priam's beat by Birmingham, at the road near Intake Farm ; 
There Chorister and Saddler struggle head and head along, 
And the winning Duke may thank his stars Day senior " came it 

James Robinson, on Margrave, taps casks of Ackworth ale ; 
Physician can't dose Gully, nor Birdcatcher salt his tail : 
Sam Darling lets out Buckingham : at the corner of the Stand, 
Touchstone has headed Chasse, with a gallant race in hand. 

With her Oaken crown upon her, the white-faced Queen flies in ; 
Next, the chesnut caravanner dares the northern mare to win : 
There's Bill Scott rolling in the ditch, and crippled in the crush ; 
'Twixt " The Banker" and The Doctor, Sam Day effects his rush. 

Scott makes the pace terrific : five lengths ahead he's gone, 
Like a greased flash of lightning, on Lord Chesterfield's Don John : 
See, locked in mortal combat, Euclid and Charles abreast ; 
They may shout " Dead heat !" but of it the chesnut had the best. 

Go it, you cripple, Launcelot ! Your leg will give way soon : 
No ! Holmes is true to orders, and pulls double on Maroon : 
Coronation, stretch your muscles ; sure some " Cockney butler" 

trained thee ! 
Hadst thou been ten days at Pigburn, no Satirist could have pained 



Hark ! " Attila is beaten ;" and in front I can descry 

The tartan vest and yellow cap of Mr. Thomas Lye : 

Hurrah ! for young Job Marson, thou hast given Scott a sweater : 

In the days of" genius genuine," Old Chifney rode not better. 

Old Forth's white hat is flung aloft, Faugh-a-Ballagh heads The Cure ; 
Irish Baron gets a verdict, with Clark for judge and jury : 
Scott spurns the proffered glasses, with something more than rum in ; 
" 'Tis none of the Pigburn family, but Sir Tatton's that's a com- 
ing ."' 

Struggle along, game Cossack ! Van's no tortoise, though he's Dutch : 
For Platoff pipes, the Leger course is half a mile too much. 


All the groups but one have flitted ; see one, shortly doomed to die, 
'Mongst the stewards, to his telescope applies his anxious eye. 

They're off Assault is in the front ; alas ! his day is o'er ; 
" Our Jim" in Graft-on scarlet, leads them up the hill at score ; 
Justice to Ireland is coming 'tis a mere flash in the pan ; 
No triple wreath this year shall bind the brow of Templeman. 

Sponge can't retain his running ; with Escape 'tis all U-P ; 
And thundering to the distance, rush on the dauntless three ; 
Nat holds his horse together, Flatcatcher cannot " stay ;" 
Frank Butler comes with Canezou, and boldly shows the way. 

Now Pigburn ! now Newmarket ! Lord Stanley's mare prevails : 
No ! Surplice runs with lurching strides, betwixt her and the rails ; 
They're head and head, they're stroke for stroke, Nat's whalebone's in 

the air 
Surplice is past the Judge's box, with half a neck to spare. 

Through the mist each form has faded, loud whistles the keen blast, 
O'er the murky moor just peopled with the spirits of the past j 
And I felt a chequered feeling of solemn joy and pain ; 
For in one short hour I had lived my boyhood o'er again. 

The night dews kept descending ; towards the town, in anxious haste, 
I walked the North-road avenue, like Holmes when " out to waste ;" 
And these were my reflections, when I took my tea and station. 
In a comfortable parlour, within the Salutation. 

Once more for thee, fair Doncaster ! may sporting men combine, 
And cause a glorious era to commence from Forty- Nine : 
'Twixt Newmarket nags and Northern, here may contests oft wax hot; 
But may thy race-course ever prove the vantage ground of Scott. 

1849. Sporting Magazine. 



Old Time oft loves to linger, leaning on his scythe the while, 
Each lovely summer evening to gaze upon our isle, 
As he views the matron spinning, the schoolboy's sunny glee, 
The spires that point to heaven, the cornfield's golden sea. 

He must think of bearded Druids and their orgies round the oak, 
Erst on their bloody altars they lay smouldering mid the smoke ; 
How they danced with flaming torches, unmaddened by the grape, 
While the crouching Celts feared changes to buffalo or ape. 

Here, the imperial trifler on the sea beach gathered shells, 
While the painted Britons rallied, for their wartoils 'mid the dells ; 
Here roamed the victor Saxon, with blue eyes and yellow hair, 
Here, when they lost their Reafen, shrieked the Danes in wild despair. 

Then the Saxon's loved Valhalla, as shadowed in his creed 
Was a full meal of boar's-flesh and a flowing draught of mead ; 
Then Wamba, son of Witless, on the noblest of the line 
Cut merry jests, or wandered forth with Gurth to tend the swine. 

Next 'gainst the northern William, Harold made his last advance, 
As he gained the shore of Sussex with the chivalry of France ; 
Then ne'er at home stayed " nidering," that conqueror, but the roe 
Uttered its piercing death bray, at the twanging of his bow. 

Then the peasant homeward wending, nigh his osier cottage gate, 
Heard the barking of the dog-wolf and the answer of his mate ; 
Viewed the wild-cat 'mongst the hollies, and the tawny crouching 

As it watched the rabbits bounding down their burrows in the rocks. 

Amid the hills of Charnwood, or on the Hampshire plain, 

The red deer roamed by hundreds, and the wild bull tossed his 


Secure the wild sow farrowed, for there went a stern decree, 
"Keep holy fear of boar and deer, or henceforth sightless be." 

Then the yellow -breasted martin, hunted down in Cranbourne Chace. 
Gave fur, the crested chieftains and tissued dames to grace ; 
Hunters speared the bristly badger, within its mountain dens, 
And gaily slipped their greyhounds at the bustards in the fens. 

Oft the eagle in the marshes put a cloud of cranes to rout, 
Or. rival to the cormorant, fished up the silver trout j 
Quite fearless of the Manton, fed the partridge and the quail, 
And o'er the lazy Litherpool were wild ducks wont to sail. 


In a summer eve's decline, by Don's soft-flowing river, 
As seemed like pulses through the sky, each fleece of light to qxiiver, 
The hart-bell's muttering music, mid the copse's tangled ways, 
Was heard where now the engine sounds the knell of feudal days. 

But not to Harry Tudor was the forest game so free, 
As to bluff Saxon yeomen, like Clough and Cloudesly ; 
Though countless ranger bands were sworn to guard the king's green- 
They grudged no roving licence to the stalwart Kobin Hood. 

Mid the pathless tracks of Sherwood, down Newstead's pleasant glade, 
By the Holy- well in Barnsdale's dell, that merry outlaw strayed ; 
Past the lonely grave of Hengist, he roamed in morning's mist, 
Gay was the vale of Welbeck when he gave his green-wood tryst. 

In his festive Lincoln kirtle, and some sheltered sylvan dell, 
He was monarch of the revels and Maid Marian the belle ; 
To neither boor nor yeoman was he churlish of his bounty ; 
All had a cheery welcome, save the sheriff of the county. 

There the blind old man sat joyous, with his grandchild on his knee, 
And the measure beat with tottering feet to the stirring minstrelsy ; 
The frost of age seemed thawing within each withered vein, 
As the taberer's shrill glee notes came wildering o'er his brain. 

Then the maidens joined the dances in their gayest russet vest, 
While each youthful mother watched them with her baby at her 

breast ; 

Matrons gazed upon their striplings with hearts of honest pride, 
And watched their sly love-glances and whisperings aside. 

Oft would linger at the banquet, beneath the silver moon, 
The tumbler and the gleeman, the piper, and buffoon ; 
And the Friday-hating friar bent o'er sirloin and buck-haunch, 
And eyed the strolling dancer as he lined his rosy paunch. 

Peas might deck his hermit's table, and a cruise his pallet head, 
He had pasty in the cupboard, and his Gascon 'neath the bed ; 
Now in Rhenish he pledged Eobin, as he trolled a forest catch, 
" This be my text, the eve when next* Jack Fletcher' lifts my latch.' 1 

" Well said, my good Franciscan," quoth Robin ; " on thy back 
The sackcloth neat is mantle meet for one who carries sack ; 
Leave peas and pulse, leave water, for Carmelitish serf, 
Till the vespers, that thou doffest thy grey covering for green turf." 

Right well knew gallant Robin how over dale and mountain 
Roamed on his bright bay hunter the Curtail Prior of Fountain ; 
How the jolly Abbot Aylmer, as he called his hounds to cast 
O'er the fallows on his bugle, right gaily wound a blast. 


Hence when Robin eased a bishop, in spite of sad appeals, 
To Roche he hied for penance and to taste their Hatfield eels ; 
And the joking friars cursed him, by candle, bell, and book, 
If he brought no side of venison, no wild duck for the hook. 

Now is each portly brother but a handful of white dust, 
Each painted window tracery is thick with mossy crust ; 
Their bells lie in the ocean, broken is lance and flagon ; 
"Blnff Hal, forsooth, had keener tooth than e'en fell Wantley's dragon. 

Then came the golden era, when prudish Bess was Queen, 
And thronged the jocund villagers each May- day to the Green ; 
When the red cock crowed its matins, none lingered in their beds, 
To the pole they yoked their oxen with the wreaths upon their heads. 

Ho, bring the lads with bucklers, to begin the mimic fray ; 
Iiet milkmaids trip for garlands their merriest to-day ; 
Ho, horsemen ! hit the board-end of the quintain on the lawn, 
Or the mummers and the dragons shall laugh thy ride to scorn. 

Stout men were mindful ever the well-worn bowls to bring, 
And heedless of the dancers, on the short grass formed a ring ; 
As the village pastor watched them, he would steal to muse apart, 
O'er thoughts of martyred Cranmer and leprosy of heart. 

But vanished was all merriment, and feats of horse and limb, 

In the days when each coarse Puritan humm'd forth his surly hymn ; 

Yet once again resounded the Heighlo la la leup, 

When o'er the crane the falconer watched his pet bird in its stoop. 

Then at early dawn the hunter ne'er lingered with his bride, 
But cheered his spotted darlings along each covert ^ide ; 
As meadow, gorse, and woodland rung with his lusty throat, 
He watched for the first whimperings of each bass and treble note. 

With their tankards on the table and their lurchers at their feet, 
Each night around the ingle in the Hall they took their seat ; 
If erst on earths or hareforms, or hounds that led the van 
They differed for an umpire, the chaplain was the man. 

But the sons are like their sires, and will never cry, Alack ! 
jFor " the good old times of England," which never can come back ? 
We've better sports to cheer us than the Saxon feudal lord, 
With the pillory his privilege, liis title-deeds the sword. 

1849. Sporting Magazine. 



" York ! you're wanted." Old Saw. 

Gracious me ! Well to be sure ! 
What a rise in our " mural literature !" 
In the good old times sure not such a load 
Of posters were used on the Great North Koad ; 
In blue or red, or yellow, or white, 
They dart at each turn on the Londoner's sight. 
Messieurs say, " Eh bien ! ve vill go 
To see York fight, at COURSE DE CHEVAUX j" 
Signors from Italy simper and dally 
While they read of " A YORK CORSA DI CAVALLI ;" 
The fierce-looking Herr thrusts his hairy ken in 
An announcement of " YORK PFERDERENNEN." 
And Englishmen bring all their racing lore 
To bear on the contest at old Ebor ; 
And loudly declare that their patience would fail 
If at Euston they wait for the telegraph's tale ; 
So off their sheets and their coffee they toss, 
And hie to the station at famed King's Cross. 

'Tis7 a.m., a right jovial crew, 
We rattle along behind engines two : 
Some warble the ditties of Coal Hole bards, 
Some are beguiling the minutes with cards ; 
Some take to snoozing but others are wiser, 
And con o'er The Life and The Advertiser j 
Frenchmen jabbered and Germans swore, 
That they " neber see so pace so great strong before." 
Fond recollections within us stir, 
As we pass near the paddocks of " Westminster ;" 
Ah ! would that death had ta'en, in his stead, 
Some men without " eyes for a thorough-bred." 
Merrily, merrily we sweep on 
Past the dead-level race-course of Huntingdon ; 
And while for a moment or two we halt, 
On Cromwell we muse and the family malt. 
Alas, my senior tutor ! 

Alas ! my junior dean ! 
Your Herodotus and Conies 
Are this Tuesday for the green ; 


Tour learned wigs with horror 

Would fairly stand on end, 
If you saw the sight that I do, 

As my neck I now extend ; 
At this station your young hopefuls 

Stand in a thick array 
Full many a " coach" in Cambridge 

Will miss his " pup" to-day ; 
I should say with greater fervour 

Our approach they now observe, 
Than ever they look out for 

The equation to a curve ; 
I'd bet for many a week past 

They've been sadly prone to grapple 
With the Volti-Dutchman problem 

At lecture room and chapel ; 
Why were ye not more careful, 

And thus on Monday speak 
<c Each man to-morrow keeps a hall, 

Or else he'll lose his week" ? 
How thus they've cutely slipped you, 

The reason I will tell 
Your treatises on Optics 

Take in no " Eye of Bell." 

Onward as our train still flies, 
Classic prospects meet our eyes ; 
There behold the Lincoln sod 
Glorious Peter Simple trod ! 
Lincoln race-course flings our fancy 
Back to March and gay young Nancy 
Who then thought that she could cure 
The pride of Zetland's Voltigeur ? 
On we go each covert near 
Eung out once with Foljambe's cheer, 
Ere his piercing eyes were dark. 
Cherry Boniface George Clark 
In yon silent church-yard bed 
Slumbers with his kindred dead. 
Dearly the veteran loved the stir 
On the Great North Road to Doncaster ; 
And to sporting pilgrims loved to retail 
Stories of cracks and his nutbrown ale. 
Doncaster now looms in sight, 
Bife with recollections bright. 
At yon tavern stood the sire 
Of Lord Eglinton's brown flyer : 
In that paddock near those ricks, 
Once there roamed bay Crucifix, 
Suckling with a matron's pride 


Infant Surplice by her side ; 

Foreshadowing the day he drew 

A neck away from Canezou. 

Ah ! the memory will forge 

Painful visions of Lord George : 

No more will he, flag in hand, 

Marshal jocks before yon stand ; 

No more will his eagle eye 

Watch his " light blue" glancing by : 

A thousand moons may come and wane 

Ere we see his like again. 

Time goes on, and merrily we 
Sweep past the many-bridged Knottingley ; 
At Milford junction we scorn to wait 
And we catch a faint wind scent of Harrogate ; 
Hurrah ! Hurrah ! the haven is won, 
York Minster's towers gleam in the sun ; 
Dick Turpin was scarce so joyous, I guess, 
As he viewed them at last from his game Black Bess 
Now we pass the house once to Bill Scott dear, 
And press the moist sod of the famed Knavesmire. 
But once before beneath our ken 
Came such a congress of Yorksiremen 
The vision our retina fairly bewilders 
Of so many Browdies and so many " Tildas" 
Burghers and farmers, graziers, and cads, 
Sucked the latest ideas out of racing lads ; 
Matrons and grandmothers, cherry-cheeked maids, 
Cockneys and Leeds chaps, and Sheffield blades, 
Were mingled together eating and drinking, 
Buying and selling, courting and winking 
(For Yorkshiremen are such fellows to last) 
They had talked of the match for these six months past. 
See in the booths how the publicans' daughters 
Go flying about with the brandy-and-waters : 
While their customers sit at the rough-planed board. 
And drink to the luck of their " county lord." 
The " goes" which that day they imbibed I divine, 
Would have floated an 80-gun ship of the line, 

The Knight of the Garter has done the trick, 

Tom Holtby has polished off three 
Each eager spectator has cut his stick 

Before Chalk and his chivalry ; 
And thousands of heart with excitement burn 
As the Dutchman is viewed at the Dringhouse turn. 

Onward he moves with a stately step, 
And a skin as bright as a raven ; 


And his eye seems to say with its glance so gay, 

No mortal shall call me a craven ; 
Be the course deep or light, come woe or come weal, 
'Gainst the Doncaster verdict I here appeal. 

Now from Middleham sallies young Voltigeur, 

Now Marlow and Nat are up ; 
Volti's sound as a foal, but his heart's not whole 

As when he achieved the Cup ; 

Still his friends loudly boast, when the race has been run, 
That his 2" on the cards will be changed to " 1." 

Now slowly to the starting post 

The champions wend their way, 
And the sun, as if in honour 

Of them, darts its brightest ray ; 
There Hibburd with his flag of red 

Goes cantering off to meet them, 
And John Clarke in his judgment-seat, 

Waits patiently to greet them. 

Now the third bell is ringing out 

Its summons to the fight, 
And many a heart is leaping 

To the mouth of many a wight : 
In all that mighty multitude 

There's scarce a mind at ease, 
From peers within the Stewards' Stand 

To peerers in the trees. 

The Stentor voice of Davis 

For an interval is mute, 
The triumph of the Dutchman 

Is the thing his book to suit. 
Of victory for Voltigeur 

The " masses" never doubt, 
But thus outspake Sir Tatton, 

" He cannot win this bout.' 1 

Hats off in front ! they're turning round, 

The flag is seen no more ; 
The Dutchman waits, and Voltigeur 

Shoots three lengths to the fore ; 
" He'll never let him catch him, 

He'll tire him I'll be bound" 
By taking him a rattler 

Through the deep part of the ground. 

They've turned for home " The Dutchman comes !" 
Is borne upon the gale, 


And Flatman to his sorrrow 

Finds the stroke of Volti fail. 
" The Dutchman wins He's at his girths 

He's half a length a-head" 
"Tis so as struck by lightning 

The Zetland hopes are dead. 

'Tis a race yet for Voltigeur 

Was nerer known to shirk ; 
Nat gives him a terrific stroke, 

And Marlow's heel's at work : 

Yorkshire's momentous question 

Is for ever set at rest, 
The difference betwen her cracks 

Is scarce a length at best. 

And now the men of Middleham 

Chuckle a gay " All right ;" 
Full many a lad from Richmond 

Will pad it home to-night ; 
But to future generations, 

As this slashing bout they name, 
They'll draw deep comfort from the thought 

Their Voltigeur died game. 

Sporting Magaxine. 



" The London correspondent of the Journal des Debats has 
informed his readers that an English sporting nobleman lately gave a 
sumptuous repast to his racing friends, and enlightened them when the 
cloth was drawn, with the fact that they had eaten the winner of the 
Derby, which he had killed and placed before them as an especial 
mark of honour to themselves as well as the horse." Vide Globe, 
June 17th, 1851. 

It is young William Cockanbull, e^hAltont?LoTdon 

And he stoppeth one of three ; correspondent of the 

By their pantaloons and their beards I trow Journal des Debats, 

That Gallic youths they be. and detaineth him, 


And his eye seems to say with its glance so gay, 

No mortal shall call me a craven ; 
Be the course deep or light, come woe or come weal, 
'Gainst the Doncaster verdict I here appeal. 

Now from Middleham sallies young Voltigeur, 

Now Marlow and Nat are up ; 
Volti's sound as a foal, but his heart's not whole 

As when he achieved the Cup ; 

Still his friends loudly boast, when the race has been run, 
That his " 2" on the cards will be changed to " 1." 

Now slowly to the starting post 

The champions wend their way, 
And the sun, as if in honour 

Of them, darts its brightest ray ; 
There Hibburd with his flag of red 

Goes cantering off to meet them, 
And John Clarke in his judgment-seat, 

Waits patiently to greet them. 

Now the third bell is ringing out 

Its summons to the fight, 
And many a heart is leaping 

To the mouth of many a wight : 
In all that mighty multitude 

There's scarce a mind at ease, 
From peers within the Stewards' Stand 

To peerers in the trees. 

The Stentor voice of Davis 

For an interval is mute, 
The triumph of the Dutchman 

Is the thing his book to suit. 
Of victory for Voltigeur 

The " masses" never doubt, 
But thus outspake Sir Tatton, 

" He cannot win this bout." 

Hats off in front ! they're turning round, 

The flag is seen no more ; 
The Dutchman waits, and Voltigeur 

Shoots three lengths to the fore ; 
" He'll never let him catch him, 

He'll tire him I'll be bound" 
By taking him a rattler 

Through the deep part of the ground. 

They've turned for home " The Dutchman comes !" 
Is borne upon the gale, 


And Flatman to his son-row 

Finds the stroke of Volti fail. 
" The Dutchman wins He's at his girths 

He's half a length a-head" 
"Tis so as struck by lightning 

The Zetland hopes are dead. 

'Tis a race yet for Voltigeur 

Was never known to shirk ; 
Nat gives him a terrific stroke, 

And Marlow's heel's at work : 


Yorkshire's momentous question 

Is for ever set at rest, 
The difference betwen her cracks 

Is scarce a length at best. 

And now the men of Middleham 

Chuckle a gay " All right ;" 
Full many a lad from Eichmond 

Will pad it home to-night ; 
But to future generations, 

As this slashing bout they name, 
They'll draw deep comfort from the thought 

Their Voltigeur died game. 

Sporting Magazine. 



" The London correspondent of the Journal des Debats Has 
informed his readers that an English sporting nobleman lately gave a 
sumptuous repast to his racing friends, and enlightened them when the 
cloth was drawn, with the fact that they had eaten the winner of the 
Derby, which he had killed and placed before them as an especial 
mark of honour to themselves as well as the horse." Tide Globe, 
June 17th, 1851. 

It is young William Cockanbull, Mr. Cockanbull meet- 

And hestoppeth one of three ; MlE 

By their pantaloons and their beards I trow Journal des Debats, 
That Gallic youths they be. and detaineth him, 



He is spellbound by 
Cockanbull's manner, 
and compelled to hear 
his colt tale. 

Cockanbull telleth of 
the Derby Stakes race, 
and how Teddington 
did win it. 

Alphonse groweth un- 
suspicious, and impa- 
tient to hear more. 

Cockanbull proceed- 
eth to tell of the vic- 
tory feast given by Sir 
Joseph Hawley. 

He reciteth the names 
of the chief guests. 

He holds him by his button-hole, 

" There was a colt," quoth he, 
" The Davis laid against him, 

And many a pound dropped he." 

With verdant rapture in his eye, 

The Gallic youth stood still, 
To hear about the three-year-old 

And that just suited Will. 

They sat them down upon a bench, 

Cigars they forth did pull, 
And thus spake on that wily one, 

The bright-eyed Cockanbull 

* c The colts appeared, the course was cleared, 

Hibburd his flag did drop 
Past Sherwood's house, along the hill, 

They sweep to Tattenham top. 

ts Neasham came up upon the left, 

Close by the rails runs he : 
But a chesnut bright, to the Ring's affright, 

Leads down the T.Y.C. 

" Faster and faster every stride, 

The chesnut comes, and soon 
The Marlborough Buck gets clear of the ruck, 

But Fortune would grant no boon. 

" The proud chesnut paces to the stand, 
Marked c red ' on the card is he ; 

Nodding their heads beside him walk 
Sir Joseph and John Stanley." 

The young Alphonse smoked fast and fierce, 
But " smoked" not the plan to gull ; 

And thus spake on that wily one, 
The bright-eyed OockanbuU 

" Sir Joseph's doors are opened wide 

To all his racing kin ; 
The guests are met and the feast is set, 

I could hear the merry din. 

" Some thirty of the Jockey Club, 

In evening dresses grace 
His well laid- out mahogany, 

At 34, Eaton Place. 

" There's Woburn's Duke, to matching prone, 
There's Rous, with limbs so hale ; 

There's " Richmond" and Lord Exeter, 
With features sharp and pale. 


" There's Stanley with the piercing eyes, 

The great Protection Don ; 
And Peel, who gave the chesnut's dam 

To Mr. Tomlinson. 

tc Cute as he is, he little dreamt, 

As he yearned for Miss Twickenham's room, 
Instead of her company, what a colt 

Was nestling in her womb. 

" Colonel Anson slily twits him, 

While Lord Chesterfield chimes in ; 
And near Enfield and Eglinton 

Sit Clifden and Crommelin. 

" The Belvoir Father of the Turf, 

Sir Joseph, sits hard by ; 
John Stanley takes the bottom, 

With his quizzing-glass in his eye. 

" Greville and Payne mysteriously 

Discourse of some boiling pot ; 
Strathmore hobnobs with Wilton, 

The best Nimrod of the lot. 

But of top dishes the chief > 

Is what gods and men would swear to be 
A baronial mass of beef. 

Scarce would they believe Sir Joseph, Sir Joseph putteth 
L i i. ru AT, them in the secret, and 

When at last thus the truth he told : detaileth the news of 
c Gentlemen, the meat which I've seen you eat, Teddington's death. 

Was once worth its weight in gold. 

" { It came not, as you supposed, 

Off the corpse of a Hereford ox ; 
But Fyfield House is in mourning, 

For vacant is Teddington's box. 
" e I laughed at A. Taylor's entreaties, Also the sorrows of 

Job's sorrows did naught avail; his tramer and jockey. 

80 his hoofs, as a small memento, 

One claimed, and the other his tail. 

"' He was shot with a duck-gun ly HawTcer, The manner of his 

He was given to Soyer to cook, 
And a piece of his chine is still 
Hanging high on my larder hook ! 

tc c There were pieces of him in the curry, Awl his cooking. 

His Jcidneys composed the pie, 
And scollops made from his shoulder blade 

Were dished ivp within the fry. 



He concludeth with a 
hope that their diges- 
tion may not suffer. 

Cockanbull finally ex- 
horteth Alphonse in 
confidence to put the 
tale in his paper. 

<c c If he don't discompose your digestions. 
And lay you up on your shelves, [horse 

1 shall feel no remorse, since the fame for the 
Is as great as it is for yourselves. 1 

" Farewell, Alphonse ! to you I tell 

This tale because you are 
The London correspondent 

Of the Journal des Debats. 

He giveth him advice 
on successful newspa- 
per writing. 

He discourseth of his 
duties towards him. 

And taketh his depar- 

Alphonse thanketh 
him, and straightway 
sendeth the story to 
Paris as a fact. 

" This should pass by your hand from land 
to land, 

For types have strange powers of speech 
Of modern English sporting fare 

Th' ingredients to teach. 

" He writeth best who watcheth best 

For facts both great and small, 
And for deep and thrilling interest 

This fact outweighs them all. 

" Oh ! sweeter than a whitebait feast 

'Tis sweeter far to me 
To walk with thee, Alphonse, and tell 

This tale of my own countrie. 

" The mysteries of London, 

To learn by yourself 'tis tough, 
And hence my duty clearly is, 

To put you up to snuff. 

" Yon Paxton arch of lucid glass 

Is no longer lit by the sun, [Wright, 

So Half Price' to-night, with Keeley or 

Is my present idea of fun." 

" Tank you ! good Monsieur Cockanbull ; 

Adieu ! adieu ! mon cher /" 
Gasped out Alphonse, and with hot haste 

Eushed home to Leicester Square. 

To Paris he sent his Teddington 

Despatches at early dawn 
At eve, a wiser sporting man, 

He polked it at Cremorne. 

Sporting Magazine. 



Hark ! hark ! the bell is ringing ; to the paddock we'll away, 
Where four-and-twenty champions are stripping for the fray ; 
" Our Jim" is " up" triumphant, over surgeon, drugs, and nurse, 
And he hopes to see Newmarket with a " monkey" in his purse. 

Though of his lengthy 'Bolingbroke some ardent friends may vaunt, 

No laurel crown is destined for this son of John o Gaunt ; 

Soon will the " clerical trustee, " perhaps wish he saw things 

When the trainer blames the jockey, and the jockey blames the 


The Mildew looketh showy, still Bartholomew must know 
That the honest steel's not in him, which quite surpasseth show ; 
Tho' his sire, Slane was ever a tough old racing file, 
His mother, Semiseria, could only get a mile. 

There fat Ghillie leads the Nigger, one may know that " he is 


From the mischief that is lurking in the smiles of Nat and Kent. 
" Old John" is sweet on Pitsford, and his praises loudly hymns, 
And enforces all his sentiments by " beggaring his limbs." 

For " Sim" on the Italian no Surplice honours wait, 
And Royal Hart's no Phosphorus, despite the Eowley Plate j 
St. Fabian and Valentine their " ponies" lost will rue, 
And Brennus and Alonzo will find the pace too true. 

Captain Grant will fail his backers in their hour of utmost need, 
And no story of Prince Albert can bolster up The Swede ; 
While his great half-brother Charley will never face the hill 
Nigh Sherwood's, the Dark Susan colt will come to a stand-still. 

The Knight of Gwynne would seem to have no stomach for the 

And long-backed, short-legged Mavors lias a hock that's far from 

right ; 

There goes Penang, the hollow back, to lead his chum a spin, 
And Eogers upon Cariboo declares he means to win. 

Hail, Arab-like young Nutwith ! of thee strange tales they tell 
That the kernel is departed, and there's nothing left but shell ; 
The chesnut colt, Augean, of wind will find a lack, 
Though he bears a 'cute-eyed artiste, like " Old Harry," on his 


I'll lay my life upon it, that's an ugly-tempered loon 
That Johnny Sharp has mounted, and my Dorling styles Deicoon. 
There's the " rough and ready " Clincher, though a double winning" 

Keeps him in force, the Derby Course will find some soft place out. 



And can it be, thatjso deep-drained is Malt-on' s lucky cup 

Its stable on the telegraph owns not one number up ? 

Once on a time it stood as firm as Old Gibraltar rock, 

When " Brother John" was trainer, and " Brother Bill" was jock. 

To view the " Richmond Clipper" does each horse-flesh lover strive, 
As his trainer leads him saddled from the Baron's fir- clad drive ; 
See " The public" rally round him in a thousand-thick battalion, 
While The King turn up their noses at the " lusty country stallion." 

As he strides down to the distance, there are eyes that seem to scan 
Like form and sweeping action to Lord Eglinton's old Van ; 
May Job, who, like his prototype, has borne hard fortune's brunt, 
Now triumph over calumny, and hand him home in front. 

Now, Hibburd, hoist your signal ; the grand secret let us know, 
Three hundred thousand peepers are watching for your "go;" 
Each pulse is wildly thrilling 'neath fine linen or a rag 
There, he's got them well together ; hurrah ! down goes the flag. 

Deicoon and Lawyer Ford's Penang are rushing to the fore 
Once up the hill, their places will never know them more. 
Now fails the stroke of Bolingbroke now Mildew feels the pace ; 
See Voltigeur comes forward in a merry inside place. 

Come, Flatman, shake your Nigger ; Rogers, rouse your Cariboo 
By Jove, he's looking dangerous. No, Ghillie, it won't do. 
Alas ! for the game Mavors ! too true was Fobert's fear 
There shoots Alfred on his chesnut, like an arrow from the rear. 

These seconds of deep agony each breathless gazer rack, 
See Clincher leads, and Marson takes a strong pull at his black ; 
Though every eye is on him, and a wild roar rend^ the air, 
He sits not more cool and quiet in his Middleham arm-chair. 

Now, Frank, lay on to Clincher ; just glance to your right hand ; 
Pitsford is at your saddle girths they're three lengths from the 


There goes Job's finger off his rein, he clears them at each stride ; 
He wins, he wins, does Voltigeur there's " 7" up the slide. 

'Tis done! mixed pain and pleasure sets each mad brain in a whirl. 
Loud claps of vocal thunder greet the " red spots" of the Earl ; 
While the delighted multitude by no means lack the will 
To carry to the weighing-house, Job, Voltigcur, and Hill. 

Speed, jolly tumbler pigeons ! bear your namesake's fame to France ! 
'Long some thousand miles of wires let the pleasant tidings glance ; 
Eecord, Masonic Wardens, in the archives of each lodge, 
The triumph of your Master, who ne'er stopped to cross or dodge. 

Ho, Herring, Hall, and Barraud ! get your brushes and start fair, 
To paint in generous rivalry his game son of Voltaire ; 
To disregard all likeness, with silk mercers seems a beauty, 
Since for him on some handkerchiefs old Vyvian does duty. 


When the summer days are ended, and the year begins to wane, 
On the honoured turf of Doncaster the eight will meet again. 
Though the rise from Langley Bottom made the speediest of them 

The battle o'er the Yorkshire flat they'll fight out inch by inch. 

The mantle of a prophet has descended not on me 

I've no plummet fit to fathom the vasty future's sea. 

But one sound leading maxim I would sportsmen bid remember 

See the Leger horses saddled on the eighteenth of September. 

Sporting Magazine. 


Let us sigh no more for the ancient time, 

When Figg made each foeman rue ; 
When Broughton was honoured in every clime, 

And lithe was Mendoza's thew ; 
When Gentleman Jackson, in manhood's prime, 

Taught Eoyalty half he knew : 

When The Chicken's plumage and eye were bright, 
As he stripped to the buff for the fray ; 

When Scroggins was not a wan " ghost" of the night, 
But, like Belcher, the pride of the day ; 

And when Gully proved to the Gregson's might, 
Twice over, that he could stay. 

Johnny Broome and Dutch Sam to their rest are gone : 

Deaf Burke cannot shy up his cap ; 
No more does each Eutland and Leicestershire don 

Rush from sessions to Thistleton Gap, 
To see the heroic Tom Cribb turn on 

The " real South African" tap ! 

And still in each eye the thought of Tom Spring 

Can light the Corinthian flame ; 
Years will not efface Owen Swift from The Ring, 

Or sully Jem Ward's proud name ; 
While Brettle, and Mace, and Nat Langham can bring 

The chaplets they won from Fame ! 

And the Sherwood Ranger, bold Bendigo, 

Is on training no more intent ; 
But the trout full well that ex-Hittite know, 

On a summer's eve, in the Trent, 
How still, when he feints with his right for a throw, 

Some terrible mischief's meant. 


Old Time changed his views on the heavy-weight style, 

And beckoned Tom Sayers to advance, 
From a cot on the silver coast of our isle, 

As a standing caution to France ; 
How "England and five-foot-eight" can smile, 

When she threatens to break a lance ! 

Right hard was the future Champion's strife, 

But his arm was not fated to moulder ; 
He toiled for eight years up the ladder of life, 

With mortar and bricks on his shoulder ! 
And he thirsted to preach 'gainst " The Use of the Knife," 

With " a brick" for a bottle-holder ! 

Full oft in each hodman's heart that bout 

A proud recollection stirs, 
When at noon Tom challenged their tyrant out 

For a tournay among the furze ; 
And Wandsworth ne'er heard such a jubilant shout 

As arose when he won his spurs. 

Then forward he strode on his laurelled war, 

And still not a backer tired ; 
For to boxers eleven he left, by my fay, 

" Nothing further to be desired :" 
And he only rued that October day, 

When to tackle " Quid Nat" he aspired. 

Then straightway across the Atlantic waves, 

The Clipper of New York wrote 
" Our fearless American eagle craves 

To silence your gamecock's note : 
By the mighty Pollux ! who sains and saves, 

His talons he'll plant on his throat ! 

" From their eyries our countless eaglets soar 

'Mid the pine-forest crags of the West ; 
Scarce a living soul was left in the store 

When Hyer of the dauntless breast 
Met Yankee Sullivan, game to the core, 

And made him leave off second-best. 

" County M'Cleester is out of employ, 

Though his hitting's almighty tall ; 
Our belt is John Morrissy's hard-earned toy, 

For thirteen battles in all : 
But Heenan, the gallant Benicia Boy, 

Is the man to make Sayers sing small ! 

" They may say, if they like, that pure Irish blood 

Is flowing in every vein ; 
With John in the school-room at Troy he stood, 

And flinched from the self-same cane : 


Then lie shared with his sire the anvil thud, 
And bethought him of Hammer Lane ! 

" He could wield in one hand 'neath that blacksmith shed 
A thirty-pound hammer with ease ; , 

And if a young Trojan got punched, it was said 
The mark was full oft B.B.'s : 

His arms are twin ' Armstrongs' his shoulders and head 
Are a model for Hercules !" 

Such heroes sublime have the world at their beck ; 

Hence the baffled beaks, to and fro, 
Kept pacing for hours one continent's deck,* 

While the hope of two others below, 
Stowed away in the cabin, right little did reck 

Of the bail-bonds of Buffalo. 

St. George had thought it mere vanity : 

But when, on his Liverpool pier,'!' 
He gazed out of mere humanity, 

And scanned the Colossus near, 
His muscular Christianity 

Was tempted to shed a tear. 

As he thought of the fight and " bellows to mend," 

He almost gasped for breath. 
Quoth he " My little Tom will defend 

His standard to the death ; 
But he'll have stiff work, from end to end, 

With this glorious son of Seth. 
" But wont Johnny Gideon such thoughts deride ? 

Still our motto be' Who's afraid ? " 
Then straight the American boxer hied 

To Salisbury's gothic shade ; 
For Falkland thought it best to decide 

He was not to come on parade. 

Now enbalmed in The Tribune's types pretty smart, 

Floated over the star-lit sea 
Ada Meekin's address to the man of her heart : 

Come back, my own love, to me ! 
I miss thy sweet eyes as I play my part 

To the Boys at The Bowery. 

Care not for the taunts that another flings, 

The fellow is only a brute ; 
Let him prate till he'se iveary of vows and rings 

Thy Ada's young heart ivas mute ; 
He could no more play on that heart's fond strings, 

Than a kangaroo on a, flute. 

* The Asia. t St. George's Pier. 


Alas ! that sucli poesy, love, and fire, 
To " regular work" must yield 

To pulleys and walks in flannel attire, 
And dumb-bells fearful to wield ! 

Then, lo and behold ! there came to the shire 
Mr. " Childers" of The Field. 

He shared his bohea on that winter's day, 
And he cut at his " grass-fed ox ;" 

And he watched The Boy in his barn at play, 
With the instruments of La Boxe ; 

And he placed on his notes the thrilling array, 
From the flesh-brush down to the socks. 

From that time forth the Fight for the Belt 

Grained universal dominion j 
E'en The Times and The Morning Post did melt, 

From respect to public opinion ; 
But the Bishop of Salisbury only felt 

As he would towards a Turk or Socinian. 

Jack was'nt the lad to be caught, I guess, 

In crafty episcopal spells ; 
So swiftly they fled from that diocese, 

To the Bishop of Bath and Wells ; 
They'd better have muzzled the sporting press, 

And sought the Cumberland fells. 

Fearfully hard was their backers' lot, 

And Jack never stood at ease ; 
Again he moved his man like a shot, 

From the pleasant Lansdowne breeze ; 
Northamptonshire grew terribly hot, 

And Stilton wasn't the cheese. 

Thus ill had the stranger athlete fared, 

When, like an electric shock, 
Came news that the Derbyshire beaks had dared 

An expectant world to mock ; 
And we heard the " Benicia Boy" was snared, 

Through a tailor near Trent Lock. 

Mr. Hadfield determined to fraternize 
With that gallant Snip and his goose ; 

Then he groaned to hear that " the noble prize" 
Was once again turned loose ; 

And assured Mrs. H. in the House he'd rise, 
And style such bail " an abuse." 

Then, anon, with their camera, pencil, and book, 

Advanced an American band ; 
The cribs of Nat Langham and Swift they took, 

And The Life's snug room in the Strand, 


At the very moment when Morrissy shook 
The " fighting editor's" hand. 

The Sporting Life came next in their march, 
Then away down the Newmarket line ; 

And they voted Tom's manners devoid of starch, 
And his frame for a " Pug," divine ; 

And they sketched his cottage and garden arch, 
Of old ivy and jessamine. 

Eight well have the Newmarket magistrates earned 

The public thanks of the nation ; 
Patriot hearts 'neath those waistcoats framed, 

For Tom in his tribulation ; 
And the Meddlesome Matty from Ely returned, 

Crestfallen to his location. 

Alas ! my innocent Kural Police, 

Your fondest hopes were a bubble ; 
Your attempts to prevent a breach of the peace,, 

Your race o'er the Derbyshire stubble ; 
You must freely own that you felt like geese, 

When Sam Rogers gave you the double. 

Hundreds of thousands heard that tale, 

And only these words were spoken 
If twice ten thousand had been the bail, 

We'd have paid and let it be broken : 
Hadfields, who at the prize-ring rail, 

" Please to accept this token I" 

By sea and by land, in village and town, 

At alehouse, bush-harrow, and till, 
With the men of the pestle, the sword, and the gown, 

And those who love Bunker's Hill, 
Nothing whatever seemed to go down, 

Save the latest on dit of the mill. 

And the peelers catch no uncertain sound 

Of war on their evening beat ; 
Doughty American knights around 

St. Martin's Round Table meet ; 
And the Horse Shoe and Cambrian's classic ground 

Ke-echo the Fancy's feet. 

But long ere the cold grey April dawn 

On London's slumberers broke, 
The train to a Surrey meadow had borne 

" The Boy" and our Heart of Oak ; 
And something seemed our ardour to warn, 

That the Yankee "would prove no joke." 


And a braver man ne'er stripped for a fight, 
And soon he achieved a grand Tour 

De Force on the Champion's terrible right, 
While Tom made his upper cuts sure ; 

And gazed at the rapidly waning light, 
Like a High Art connoisseur. 

How the claret flowed from each battered nose, 
How fierce was " the left duke's" sting, 

How oft Little Tom was knocked down and rose, 
Is for Cornhill poets to sing ; 

Right well was it told in the glorious prose 
Of the Southeys of the Ring. 

They will meet no more in their buff array, 

But this one-armed feat alone 
Will stamp the man who gave away 

Five inches and nigh three stone, 
As a monument for ever and aye 

Of old English pluck and bone. 

Sporting Magazine. 


" From some extraordinary private information which I have just 
received, the race for, &c., is the greatest certainty extant. Fee only 
20 guineas per annum." STAMFORD. 

AIR " She wore a wreath of roses." 

He wore a jaunty stable dress, the morn when first we met, 
And round the Great St. Leger course he led the crack a sweat ; 
His carcase was all lightness, he scarcely rode eight stone, 
Still to his youthful heart was not " the time of day" unknown. 
I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now, 
As he pulled up on the leader at the top of Cantley brow. 

A most eruptive handkerchief when next we met he wore, 

He looked ten stone, and "VOLTIGEUR" was the classic name he 

bore ; 
With "TRAMP" and " MISSIVE" as his pals, he sent out from Fetter 

Half-a-dozen winners for each race, and then came " RIGHT AGAIN !" 

I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now, 

Gaily twining every Thursday Life's laurels for his brow. 


And once again I see him : a red-baize board is there, 
He sits behind a counter with cigars and a " ladye fayre ;" 
I conned his odds with stealthy eye, and when no one seemed near 
I backed a horse for half a sov. with this list-house Cavalier. 
I saw him but a moment, and I wish I saw him now, 
But he " shut up" ere bright Phoebus next rose o'er the 
mountain's brow. 

Sporting Magazine, j 


Ripeforajail for an income is burning, 
Ripeforajail has no taste for clod-turning, 
Ripeforajail has no funds for gin-spinning, 
Yet Ripeforajail has " Green" gold for the winning ; 
Come lend a kind ear to a betting muif's tale. 
While he tells you the craft of bold Ripeforajail. 

The Earl of Barepurse o'er Newmarket doth ride, 
And views his colt win in the very last stride, 
Long odds for his net, and the Ring for his game, 
Short whist for the wild, and the dice for the tame ; 
But the Tattersall gudgeons, and Crock pigeons pale, 
Are less free to Earl Barepurse than Ripeforajail. 

Ripeforajail, when his carcase was light, 

Used to sweat and to curry a thoroughbred bright, 

And when " grown overweight" the Kents turned him abroad. 

To pick winners, in print he each week pledged his word ; 

Gents who love " the blue ribbon," and sport the blue veil 

Were quite confidential with Ripeforajail. 

Ripeforajail to distinction is come, 

He's no longer a tout, but he owns a flash home ; 

A fig for The Davis and 'cute Harry Hill ! 

They may lay the long odds, he lays longer odds still j 

A baize board and counter, and weeds very stale, 

Are the sole stock in trade of bold Ripeforajail. 

The Cockburn was steel, and the Bethell was stone, 
And Palmerston warned him he soon must be gone ; 
Fierce and loud this last week was the curse and the cry 
Of his victims when shutters alone met the eye ; 
With their Goodwood deposits he gave them leg-bail, 
And a cove at Boulogne looks like Ripeforajail. 




AIR" And shall Trelawney die ?" 

A baize board and a crafty 'and, 

And a racing print or two ; 
Didn't we once just understand 

The sporting gents to do ? 
And 'ave they fixed the where and when, 

And shall the system die ? 

Then 'alf a thousand betting men 
Will know the reason why. 

And shall they scorn MEG, MATH, and " BEN," 

And shall the system die ? 
There's 'alf a thousand in our trade 
Who'll know the reason why. 

Out spake FLASH BILLY, blithe and bold, 

A horse-shoe pin wore he : 
" Deposits on a race to 'old 

Shall we no more be free ? 
When we could grasp them in our 'and, 

The system used to pay ; 
For when rum tidings reached the Stranu, 

'Twas Shutters up away ! ' " 

And shall they scorn MEG, MATH, and " BEN," &c, 

A plague upon St. Stephen's wall, 

Where not one cove stood true ; 
We'll make that PALMEKSTON look small, 

For working this 'ere screw : 
The Turf you 'ave betrayed, as 'ow 

You swear 'er lists shall die ; 
But 'alf a thousand betting men 

Will know the reason why. 

And shall they scorn MEG, MATH, and " BEN," &c. 




TUNE. " Scots wha hae." 

Stots * wha hae on oil-cake fed, 
Stots wham Hill and Stratton bred, 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Flushed with victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour : 
See the mighty pulleys lour : 
See approach the rifle's power, 
Pointed full at yee. 

Wha will be a meatless knave ? 

Wha will be mere suet's slave ? 

Wha sae base] as earn a grave, 

'Neath a chandler's ee ? 

Physic, Labour, Church, and Law, 
Eound your Christmas tables draw ! 
Bullock, noble bullock, fa', 
Their top dish to be ! 

By the choicest of champagnes 
By the bird in sausage chains 
Grant me gravy from thy veins, 
Streaked so juicily. 

Be the figure high or low, 
Thoughts of that are ne'er my foe 
I will have a noble blow- 
out this year on thee. 


AIR " She's all my fancy painted Tier." 

BEAUTY, and MASTER BUTTERFLY, your daughter is divine ; 
There's but one tiny crumple, from her huggins to her chine : 
There's few can show the calves I can, Yet few dare feed so high ; 
Has RICHARD BOOTH a Queen like you ? My Beauty's Butterfly ! 

Anglice*, a young bullock. 


Your neck- vein knows no equal, your bone is neat and light ; 
Your horns are sweet and waxy, your eye is soft and bright : 
It still will look its love for me : let Steers and Devons die 
No Christmas knife will touch the throat of Beauty's Butterfly. 

My Butterflies in summer bloom, and neath the winter's blast ; 
You've won the two gold medals, and railroad toils are past : 
For years, mid happy pastures, You'll own your JOSEPH nigh, 
And plant soft kisses on his cheek, my Beauty's Butterfly ! 


HERDSMAN, 1858. 


I remember, I remember, how my calf-hood fleeted by, 

The milk of its December, and the grass of its July ; 

'Neath the cow, Joe, 'neath the cow, Joe, then I sucked away all care, 

But my feelings are not now, Joe, what my buoyant calf-hood's were. 

Then the hours, then the hours, came winged with victory 
Chelmsford and Sarum flowers formed coronals for me. 
Your oilcake, Joe, your oilcake, Joe, brought this suet and sleek hair, 
But I quake, Joe, but I quake, Joe, for the butcher's in his lair. 

I was merry, I was merry, when the " Herd Book" lovers came ; 
When they drank my health in sherry, as one worthy of my name. 
Since we part, Joe, since we part, Joe, here's a keepsake for your care ; 
Near your heart, Joe, near your heart, Joe, this, my last prize medal 

Mark Lane Express. 


To Canterbury's festival 

From Southwerk's Tabard poured, 
No widow of three husbands, 

No miller, friar, or lord, 
No Knight of Alexandria, 

No clerke of Oxenforde. 


Still hundreds of staunch pilgrims 

Are journeying towards the shrine, 
Not on jennet, mule, or palfrey, 

But along the Kentish line ; 
And their talk is not of martyrs, 

But of fleece, and flitch, and chine. 

From deep green valleys on the Wharfe, 

From Devon's quiet lanes, 
From the breezy wolds of Brocklesby, 

And Wiltshire's chalky plains 
Men of eagle-eye and delicate touch, 

And calm far-seeing brains. 

Ye Colonel Towneley is there who taught 

The Warlaby Knight to yield, 
In the days of his Windsor and Bridesmaid might 

With Culshaw to bear his shield : 
His arms two butterflies quartered, 

With gules on an azure field. 

In vain 'gainst his Eoyal Butterfly 

Four Princes in conclave met, 
Fortune has smiled on the roan once more ; 

And his buxom bride Rosette 
Has baifled the spells of the fair Queen Mab, 

And beat Lady Pigot's pet. 

Will Wetherell, the Nestor of Shorthorns sits 

(On a tub or a truss) at ease, 
And countless disciples around him flock, 

To hear how he likes the decrees ; 
Ne'er lived a rarer judge of a beast 

On the banks of the stately Tees. 

Grundy from Eochdale has come with his Faith, 

Determined no fight to shirk ; 
Wood Rose is there to boast for herself 

Of descent from the famed Grand Turk ; 
Aye ! little did Captain Gunter wot 

Of the thorns in a rose which lurk. 

But first and second the Captain stood, 

With his beautiful Duchess twins. 
Liverpool judges endorsed the white, 

But orthodox roan now wins ; 
And Bedfordshire was a capital third 

With Claret from Clifton bins. 


See near them the mottle-faced beef machines, 

From Hereford pastures sent. 
Shorthorns may boast of their pedigree 

t( These gentlemen pay the rent :" 
But where, Oh ! where are the champion beasts 

Of too self-satisfied Kent? 

Here, too, are the plums of " the juicy red line," 
From Quartly's and Turner's store ; 

Lancashire rules supreme with its white, 
And Suffolk with its black boar ; 

And chesnuts from Cretingham Rookery go, 
As in olden time, to the fore. 

As pure in descent as a Booth or a Bates, 

Stood Sanday's Leicester array ; 
Shropshire is proud of its Patentee ; 

And eighteen strong to the fray 
Marched Jonas Webb with his Southdown tups, 

And Eichmond can't bid him Nay. 

And the lesson these Royal pilgrims teach, 

Is, " Put some life in your shire," 
As batsmen and hoppers, you've scored right well 

But Romney Marsh should aspire ; 
Just hew up for faggots your turn- wrest ploughs, 

And brighten your " Kentish fire." 




(" When lovely woman," ^c.) 

When wretched man drops ink or tallow, 
And finds too late what wives will say ; 

What arts the wicked deed can hallow 
What coaxings wipe his guilt away ? 

The only way his crime to cover, 

To hide his shame from children's eye, 

Is not to try and come the lover, 
But stable-wards at once to fly. 




I WENT to our Gardens, CLAUDE, when the Boston babies were 

shown ; 

I went to our Gardens, CLAUDE, to criticise beauty and bone ; 
And my cheerless bachelor lot I abhorred, and long'd to have one of 

my own. 

The Royal Harmonics I heard on the flute, violin, bassoon ; 

Each gay little Mammy -boy coo'd like a bird, while his Mammy 

humm'd it a tune ; 
Each infant to nourishment never demurred, with cheeks like a harvest 


Mothers and nurses a hundred and one, with their charges, sat in 

But MARY ANN JACKSON reign'd not alone as the " PRETTIEST GIRL" 

that day ; 
Full half of the voters bow'd at her throne, while half to her charms 

said "Nay," 
For the heart from a stone or the veriest crone ELLEN BRIDGEMAN 

would steal away. 

Then I said to JOE MAWER, " Now JOE here goes, I'll bet you a 

bottle of wine, 
Out of all his fat rivals in all those rows, your WILLIE will take the 

shine : 
From the bridge of his nose to the tip of his toes, he'se the e FINEST 

BOY' of the fine." 

And the eight of the twin RAYS stirred the blood of MR. MANAGER 

So a three-guinea special prize he stood, for he bow'd to the public's 

But ELIZABETH ANN was the tenderest bud, the " SMALLEST BABY" 

of aU. 


Then MARTHA BENTON so chubby and neat, won the " HEAVIEST 

BABY" prize ; 
Twill be many a month ere she " feels her feet," if her mild-looking 

mother's wise ; 
For such cherubs a roll on the floor is meet, or a go-cart Paradise. 

QUEEN KOSE of the rose-bud garden of girls, of the " PKETTIEST 

Proud SPILSBY need grudge not the ocean its pearls, to compare with 

LOUISE it has none ; 
The heir of a hundred Plantagenet earls might deem thee fit bride for 

his son. 

Well may MR. SMALL talk large of this treat, since he marked seven 

thousand head 
Of visitors, passing his check-taker's seat, and Oh ! when I got to 


On baby -touches so soft and sweet my slumbering fancy fed, 
And I dreamt till morn of their fat little feet, and dimples of white 

and red. Punch. 


(From our Legal Reporter.) 

" Several members of the Bar went to Bridport to play a Cricket 
Match to-day." 

Western Circuit Report, Times, July 19, 1854. 

I entered an appearance, and I gazed with sage abstraction, 

At the joinder of the issue at each flannel chose en action : 

I heard a writ of summons, and I saw a wicket fall, 

As a proof of actual ouster in ejectment by a ball : 

As with twisters or with rippers, each in turn was then nonsuit, 

Each granted to himself a rule his notches to compute : 

As the cricketing coparceners to the scorers' tent did stroll, 

But few there found an entry of satisfaction on the roll : 

When a writ of execution fierce was sued out 'mid his pain, 

The bowler only heard the plea of son assault demesne ; 

One in trover shapes his action for the ball, where long grass lingers, 

While another makes an effort for a Capias with his fingers : 

At last a Stet Processus is granted to the play, 

And a long account is stated of the tent costs of the day. 


abstract of 



... CHRgSTSAN Mili-The. Veteran 
summons up his hunting recollections, during a gig survey of 
Leicestershire, accompanied by the author, and commences 
KOE>H TlnH ^OKgT with a general sketch of his 
health Effect of his Post and Paddock lecture on Society 
in general ; and on the ladies in particular He jumps a 
flock of sheep Recollections of Sysonby Hall He dis- 
cusses ages with Mr. Cradock Goodricke's Gorse The late 
Mr. Goodyer His Mat Milton engagement Education of 
little Matty On the turnpike Marigold's mud bath He 
does the hard-riding farmers The waste walk ; and its 
suggestions Steeple-chasing Jem Mason How Sir T. 
Whichcote pounded him on Kegworth Affray with Bill 
Wright ; and their happy reconciliation Mr. Greene and 
Sysonby The flying Blue Coats Mr. Heycock's recipe 
The steeplechase from Noseley Wood Hoi well Mouth and 
The Vale The road to Six Hills The Six Hills country 
His huntsman career His bulfinch meditations A day 
with Marigold Influence of Captain White on his charac- 
ter Brooksby Lord Lonsdale's hounds The packs of old 
times Mr. Meynell Another tumble Ashby pasture and 
Thorpe Trussells The Clinker v. dasher ground . . 1 

Tlrfll Kg(j^] ID) Horses for Leicestershire 

Seat on horseback He excites Mr. Maher A ride 
for Sir James Lord Wilton Emotions on viewing 
Eanksboro' The Gypsey steeplechase Adcock's Lodge 

The Whissendine and Ranksboro' " Sim " in Lei- 
cestershire Huntsmen in embryo Sir Richard and Mr. 
Gilmour A struggle of five Ranksboro' and Rocart He 
remember^ his godfather The bye-bar jump His butcher 



apprenticeship Tricks of boyhood A quid pro quo Mr. 
Hand's gruel plan Mr. Gilmour and Captain Ross's match 
Coverside pleasantries Biding old horses The effects of 
larking Ealph Holding, the horse-tamer Burley Park 
The tale of Gibbet Gorse Daniel Lambert and Wilcox 
Parson Harvey Horse taming drugs The first breaking 
effort Head-groom days at Sir Gilbert's Dick as an agri- 
culturist Mode of breaking How to put him on the bit- 
The Christian bridle-bit An interview with royalty A 
triumph of patience Hunter training Teaching to leap 
Sir R. Sutton's Cannon Ball Riding- school practice Ruf- 
ford to wit Climbing Burrow Hill A disaster The Grove 
and Rufford cracks . . . . . .23 

KJGDI TO! TlrTOIO) The road to Belvoir The Freeby 
Wood burst A rare trio The Sproxton Thorns flyer 
Belvoir Belvoir visitors The Belvoir huntsmen The 
Marquis of Hastings Will Head in the oak tree Shawe, the 
huntsman Lord Forester and Mr. Grant Belvoir records 

Cribb v. Molyineux Captain Barclay and The Chicken 

Old short odds" Mr. Assheton Smith Fistiana Mr. 
Smith's great hunters His style of riding at fences His 
desperate leaps His Lantern family His style of hunting 

Hunting science Leicestershire foxes Mr. Osbaldeston 

Sebright and Dick Burton How they lost a fox Mr. 
Tom Edge Lord Plymouth's cracks Mr. Gurney taking 
the water Mr. Smith's last day in Leicestershire His 
Belvoir day Sir Harry Goodricke His crack hunters 
His mastership Goodricke's Gorse Sir Harrv's nerve 
Meltoniana The gentleman with the pistols Sir Harry's 
illness and death . 46 


T! M ES A retrospect The old Pytchley Club 

days Dick Knight Lord Spencer's successors Charles 
King Sport with Lord Althorp The Club at Pytchley 
A few cracks of the hunt Captain Jones and his pilot- 
Lucas's barn Dick Gurney's views of the Meltonians The 
Pytchley Brummell The end of the Old Club Recollec- 
tions of the New Forest Mr. Boscawen and Admiral Cod- 
rington Billy Butler the parson A word on scent- 
Selection of stallion hounds The chase of yore . . 71 



Shadows of the past The Warren Hill in '89 Fea- 
tures of the new era The Sancho v. Pavilion match at 



Lewes The betting of the period The Holywell Hunt 
Club Dr. Belljse, of Audlem The Chester Cocking 
Different breeds of game cocks A peep at the mains The 
wrestling ring at Carlisle A turf retrospect . . 85 

Jolm Singleton the Jockey Sam Chifney 
senior The Goodisoris William Clift- Sam and Bill 
Arnull Sam Barnard David Jones A batch of York- 
shiremen Shepherd and John Jackson Ben Smith and 
Billy Pierse Ben outwitted by Pierse and Bill Scott Billy 
Pierse's riding dodges Bob Johnson Frank Buckle Jim 
Kobinson Sam Chifney Chappie, Croft, and William Ed- 
wards Harry and George Edwards Old John Day John 
Day's visit to the House of Commons The two Sam Days 
John Day, jun. Charles Marlow Conolly and Pavis 
Tommy Lye, Francis, and 'Gray Bill Scott Sim Temple- 
man The waiting game Job Marson and Butler Wast- 
ing Conduct of masters to jockeys Kace riding . . 99 

Newmarket to wit Colonel Mellish's mistake 
with Czar Peter James and Will Edwards' s trials Modern 
trials at Newmarket Fyfield, Benhams, and Heythrop 
Danebury Stockbridge race course Young John Day's 
dynasty Eichmond Eoad to Middleham Scenery and 
company on Middleham Moor Middleham trials Trials at 
Malton BiU Scott as a trier Charles XII. versus Het- 
man Platoff The Velocipede trial . . . .132 

The King of Oude's 
interpreter at Ascot Foreigners' knowledge of horses 
Luke Nott and Mr. Kirby The Emperor's inspection of The 
Sheriff Russian studs Imported English sires Mr Kirby 
in difficulties Old friends in Eussia The voyage of Van 
Tromp Purchase of Andover and Peep-o'-day Boy Eus- 
sian cavalry mounts French horse fancies Sire purchases 
for Government Specimens for the Agricultural School 
The Emperor's private stud A French steeplechase 
Victories and end of Jem Hill Foreign cavalry contracts 
Prussian and Sardinian purchases An interview with 
Dick Stockdale and Maroon .... 146 

<gE)U?>KlDIM AKAIBOAIRa-Calendar adver- 
tisements Match'em and Snap The Trumpator line 
Doctor Syntax Beeswing Interview with Bob Johnson 
about Ascot Bob Johnson's singing powers Jack Spigot 
and the Ardrossans The Sorcerer family Tomboy The 
story of Saucebox The Decendants of Comus Comus 
Melbourne The horse Sir Tatton Sykes Melbourne . 164 



TlrOI EtYSRLlY TO[&[ The Herods Sir Peter 
Teazle Sir Peter's sons Filho da Puta Haphazard 
Walton Glaucus Gladiator Sweetmeat Venison 
Cruiser The Woodpecker line Castrel, Eeubens, and 
Selim Death of Merlin's groom The Selims Sultan 
Glencoe Middleton Bay Middleton Graves of Bay Mid- 
dleton and Crucifix Audover The Flying Dutchman . 182 

-Eclipse's Origin His 
funeral and epitaph The young Eclipses The Cattons 
Mulatto and his daughters Joe and Dick Andrews Tramp 
Liverpool Death of Liverpool Lanercost The sons of 
Lanercost Lottery The story of Weathergage The sons 
of King Fergus Orvile Cloth worker Last days of 
Emilius Easby Abbey Sons of Emilius American pur- 
chases The Hero at Danebury Fleur de Lis Nancy 
Hambletonian Camilius Oiseau Whitelock Blacklock 

Blacklock's sons The Great Lawn at Bishop Burton 
Bishop Burton Hall The Blacklocks Voltigeur Fan- 
dango The race of owners for Nat The Semi- Franc farce 

Brutandorf Physician Velocipede Velocipede's stud 
days and death The sons of Pot-8-o's Whisker - The 
sons of Whalebone Inheritress Sir Hercules Birdcatcher 

Rataplan Birdcatcher's stock Touchstone Caravan 
Touchstone's sons Orlando The Streatlam paddocks 
Old Betting Heroes of " The Corner" . . . 205 


______ TOE [FO^T- Prophets 

of evil Scent in different countries Nimrod the Second 
Early fox-hunters Lady Salisbury Lord Barrymore 
and Colonel Thornton Mr. Meynell Our search for 
Tom Wingfield the elder Meynelliana The Bradley 
Wood fox Lord Sefton's mastership Mr. Assheton 
Smith Sir Thomas Mostyn Mr. Griff Lloyd Stephen 
Goodall's polecat Stephen Goodall Tom Moody -Mr. 
Ferneley's Quorn hunt picture Mr. Smith's hound fancies 
Mr. Smith's Tedworth pack Bertram and Nelson His last 
great runs Early days in Dorsetshire Mr. Farquharson 
Mr. Farquharson's kennel blood Road-hitting Mr. Far- 
quharson's stud Mr. Farquharson's last public day A 
morning's walk The Eastbury kennels Mr. Codrington 
Mr. Nichol of the New Forest New Forest scenery Bad- 
minton Philip Payne's era Will Long Hector Mr. 
MorrelTs hounds John Jones and Tom Clark Foreman 
and Sunderland Cup puppies Trumpeter The Hercules 
litter The last Tubney hound show Judicial bearing of 
Jem Hills Farewell to Tubney . . . .263 


Ttnll i)!^ Jem Hills Fathers of 
the Heythrop kennel Nathan Old Affable The Sockets 
Death of Ranter Clarendon Tom Hills The Old Sur- 
rey country Berkeley Castle Jerry Hawkins Earl Fitz- 
hardinge The Herods Harrogate Warwickshire Tarquin 

Micklewood Contest and Comrade Shropshire Mr. 
Pelham and his men Ned Bates Will Staples and his 
whips The Atcham Bridge meet The hounds of Shrop- 
shire Shropshire Woodman Cheshire Bluecap Cheshire 
hounds Tact in finding Cheshire Hannibal Bonny Bell 
Tom Eance The North Staffordshire Mr. MeyneU 
Ingram's Will Danby His views on drainage Early 
tuition for the kennel The Duke of Leeds's country 
The Holderness Jack Eobinson Eecollections of Mr. 
Hodgson Mr. Hodgson's wind-up The York and Ainsty 

Trimbush Will Danby's accidents The Hurworth 
country Sir Tatton Sykes Mr. Conyers The Brocklesby 
End of Mr. Osbaldeston's Furrier Brocklesby stud hounds 

The Grove hounds Herald and Comus Comrade, 
Contest, and Craftsman Mr. Fitzwilliam's Milton stud 
hounds Mr. Osbaldeston's entry Tarquin Tom Se- 
bright's epitaph on him Furrier The descendants of 
Furrier Mr. Combe in Lincolnshire Will Todd The 
Oakley Marmions Will Wells Modern Oakley hounds- 
Lord Hastings . . . .. . .313 

TO1 TtnlOKE) Sir Eichard Sutton His 
Favourite hounds Sir Eichard's patience Jack Morgan 
Last days of Sir Eichard Great runs with the Duke of 
Eutland's The Lincolnshire Fens Eemarkable kills Will 
Goodall Crack Belvoir hounds The Cottam Thorns day 
Eallywood Eally wood's descendants Lucifer and Lictor 
Trouncer Belvoir Comus Will Goodall's diary His 
death Mr. John Ward The Lambton hounds The Al- 
thorpe era Crick Badger hunting Badgers Mr. Mus- 
ters Lord Chesterfield The Pytchley Twelve hours in 
Geddington Chace Pytchley foxes Foreign foxes Turn- 
ing-down foxes The Heythrop foxes Tree climbers 
Conclusion 366398 


Turf History. 


Influence of the turf Racing abroad The Brazilian landlord 
Irish and Scottish racing Northern love of the sport 
"The road" to Aintree A Doncaster pilgrimage York- 
shire turf enthusiasm The guards and coachmen Smith- 
field and Elizabethan horse breakers Queen Anne's sup- 
port of York The turns-out on Rawcliffe Ings The 
racing spirit of Doncaster Its right merrie Corporation 
London in olden times The Merrie Monarch at Newmarket 
and Whitehall Old Q. John Singleton and Thomas Jack- 
son the jockeys Charles James Fox Racing history 
Fulminations of Reverend Sydney Smith Great owners 
The Bentinck era Racing statistics Success of cast-offs 
Cripples at the post Voltigeur's St. Leger and Cup Tom 
Durfey's Newmarket song. . . . . . . 1 


Trainers and Jockeys. 

John Hutchinson, the breeder of Hambletonian Croft, Peirse, 
and Robson Training and The Chifney's system The 
Days regime Grandmother Day Running in flesh or 
light Hard- worked racers Doncaster trials Training 
grounds Amato's grave Strong gallops Accommodation 
at John Scott's and John Day's Charge for training horses 
Owners' etiquette Training ethics Owner v. Trainer 
The weight system A limited handicap Captain O'Kelly 
Celebrated jockeys Mr. Orde of Nunnykirk Will 
Arnull Frank Buckle Jem Robinson First dawn of his 
fine riding Sam Chifney's style Wasting Severe walks 
Jockey fees Mr. Herring Presents Lad riding 




Splendid finishes Phases of jockeyship Favourite horses 
Treatment of jockeys by masters Sir Tatton Sykes 
Gentleman riding 22 


The Betting Ring. 

A peep at Tattersall's Old turf speculators The two Elands 
Mr. Gully The ring Defaulters Book-makers The 
meteors The inspirations of Captain S. Heavy Betting 
Gaper Mr. Davis' s system Prompt treatment of Welchers 
Outlandish horse names Betting Pleasantries Bishop 
Percy and the poacher Dangers of betting The list era 
Its exciting incidents Influence on the lower classes 
Extension of telegraph wires to the racecourse . . .53 


Mr. Kirby and the Foreigners. 

German studs Exportation of thoroughbred sires to the Con- 
tinent and the Colonies Mr. Kirby and the Russians His 
interview with Count Koutightsoff Assassination of the 
Emperor Paul Defeat of Lanercost for the Ascot Cup 
Mr. Kirby's recollections of Nelson He acts as an inter- 
preter of the peace General Chasse's furies Other 
savages The trial and sentence of a thorough-bred sire 


Newmarket in the Olden Time. 

Journal of an entomologist Newmarket Heath Historic fancies 
Newmarket revels The Prince Regent's amusements 
Great owners Recipe to make a jockey Newmarket in 
the Merrie Monarch's day Sam Chifney, senior " Genius 
Genuine Old Chifney's mouth touching Teaching his 
sons to ride 82 


Sam Chifney. 

Young Sam's maiden mount Getting on the Prince Regent's 
knee Family troubles with Colonel Leigh Sam's great 
victory on Pavilion Riding Lady Brough Sale of the 
Prince Regent's stud Death of Sam Chifney, senior 



Sam's first Oaks win on Briseis His Oaks victories Sam's 
riding of Wings Riding of Bloomsbury and St. Francis 
The Chifney zenith Difficulty in wasting Carelessness 
about mounts Trial of Memnon Sam's hunting and 
shooting 94 


George IV. 

Love of the turf Escape Fondness for Chifney, senior Man- 
ners and taste for music Mrs. Fitzherbert Sir John Lade 
Brighton at its Royal meridian Mr. Lockley The 
Prince's hacks Money peculiarities Memnon's canter at 
Ascot Jack Ratford Last interview with the Chifneys 
Townsend Jackson Expensive royal purchases Pur- 
chase of Zinganee Beau Brummell The Duke of York 
Visit of the Royal Brothers to Wentworth House The 
Duke of York's debts Colonel Mellish Duel with Martin 
Hawke The Colonel's death ... . 107 


Lord Darlington and Mr- Thornhill. 

The master of the Raby Actaeon v. Memnon Lord Darling- 
ton's habit of buying ex-cracks Memnon Barefoot 
Swiss Sam's victory for the Claret on Trustee St. Leger 
tricks Rowton v. Voltaire Poisoning of Marcus Defeat 
of Shillelah Riding for Mr. Thornhill Sitting for his 
portrait Ben Marshall the artist Sailor's Derby win 
Other mounts Mr. Thornhill's E's 128 


Priam and Zinganee. 

Rowton's Ascot Cup Zinganee's Derby running Will Chif- 
ney's Ascot Cup letter about him The Zinganee Cup day 
Mameluke's temper Zinganee's decline Purchase of 
Priam His journey to Epsom Defeat for the St. Leger 
Matches with Lucetta and Augustus His stud career in 
England Decline of the Chifneys Sam's riding of St. 
Francis A lesson for Frank Butler Creeping up on 
Bloomsbury Critiques on the judge Last days and death 
of Sam Chifney 148 



Cardsellers, Touts, and Augurs. 


-Scene in St. John's Chapel Dan Dawson His operations and 
execution Apprehension of Barrington the pickpocket 
Touts Their attentions to The Dutchman Polite offer 
The tipsters Curiosities of sporting literature Minstrels 
of the race-course The Sporting Magazines Turf papers 
Apologies of the prophets Eace ' reporting Pigeon ex- 
presses Joe Muggins's dog Card selling The Queens of 
the profession Donkey Jemmy The red coats Billy 
Priest, Dumbie, Jemmy the Black, Sailor Jack, &c. 
Statistics of the trade Mode of travelling Other race- 
course professors 173 


Blood Sires. 

Vncient sire advertisements Owners' apologies Arabian impor- 
tations Lucky and unlucky Arab marks The Shem, Ham, 
and Japhet of English blood stock The Godolphin strain 
Eclipse Waxy Descent of the modern cracks Stud 
Profits Race timing Wild Dayrell Teddington's Ascot 
Cup race Quality in horses Phlegon The Burleigh sale 
Characteristics of celebrated breeds Defects of modern 
horses Varied types of great runners " Turf ponies" 
First foals Touchstone's early escape Camel and Mr. 
Theobald Dr. Bellyse and cocking His faith in man 
Parson Harvey Wynne Parson Harvey .... 191 


Blood Mares. 

Eccentricities of mare and foal nature Touchstone Cobweb- 
Bay Middleton Great crosses The Blacklock blood Old 
song purchases Breeding chances Roaring The Stud 
Book High yearling prices Size of studs Rawcliffe 
Paddocks Bishop Burton Mr. Watt The skeleton room. 214 


Breeding of Hunters. 

Crosses with cart mares Sketch of what a hunter should be 
The measuring mania Mr. Osbaldeston's challenge to Mel- 
ton Buying hunters at fairs Mat Milton's test of a roaror 



carriage-horse breeding in the North Cumberland breeders 
Shropshire hunters Irish" horses Fifteen two Leading 
horse dealers Old Shropshire sires The cracks of Will 
Staples 3 day Welsh hunters Irish hunter sires Irish 
fairs Leaping education Sir Kichard Sutton's Shankton 
Principal Irish " colt" buyers Mr. Assheton Smith's 
Fire King The stock of Pandolpho Yorkshire hunter 
sires Lincolnshire to wit Its Quicksilvers Nailer 
Death of Ploughboy Accident and last moments of Will 
Smith Steeple-chase between Tom Brooks and Field 
Nicholson Cannon Ball Sir Tatton Sykes Yivalda 
Will Williamson's particulars Mundig Sir Richard Sut- 
ton's hunters Augur The Julius Caesars Limner The 
Belzoni blood High prices Lord Alvanley Mr. Gurney 
on Sober Eobin Mr. George Marriott and his Old Prince 
Jumping whims Changes in the rates of Discount The 
Quorn sale " The Squire's" beginning in Holderness 
Great Lincolnshire day Mr. Conyers and Jem Morgan 
Clinker and his recognition of Dick Christian Assheton 
His trial with Dick Burton Running a cur Jack-o'-Lan- 
tern Mr. Musters's style of riding Clashing of The 
Quorn and Mr. Musters Tom Day's claim for the fox Mr. 
Smith on The Clipper Neasdon Paddocks Lottery The 
grey Peter Simple Cigar The earliest crack riders with 
The Quorn Modern Melton horses Arab sires Leaping 
feats Energy of Will Goodall Bill Wright's preparation 
for a steeple chase Lottery v. The Nun Knightley's leap 
Sir Charles Knightley giving Mr. Gurney a lead Benvo- 
lio and Sir Marinel Boadicea dam of Banter Norfolk 
cobs Hampshire and Suffolk hunter sires Weatherbit 
Captain Barlow's stud Proneness of farmers to use " cheap 
and nasty" sires " Getting the mouth up" The Melton 
hunting blood Tom Sebright's favourites The great 
Raunds Meadow run Hunter breeding at Badminton 
Black Sultan "The Squire" on Grimaldi Milkman and his 
doings with Will Long The Berkeley Blood Royal Harry 
Ayris's test Gloucestershire and Cheshire sires Joe Maiden 
and Pevorett Mr. Wilbraham Tollemache The Darley 
Gorse day Corporal Lord George Bentinck's remark on 
Miss Elis's tail Maiden's leg amputation Restoration to 
the saddle with an American leg The Tarporley men The 
Cheshire pack " Ranger ! hoy ! Ranger 1" Bill Gaff and 
his hounds The Cheshire madness . 232 


Auld Lang Syne. 

Our forefathers Meynell's style of hunting Running hare 
Lord Monson's hounds Lord Lonsdale's Mr. John 



Warde's Charles and Harry Warde Jem Butler His 
science as a huntsman Lord Althorp's hounds His men 
Charles King and Jack Wood His father, Earl Spencer's 
hounds Dick Knight and the Sywell Wood fox Sir 
Thomas Mostyn's Muteness of Lady's descendants Mr. 
Shawe Stephen Goodall The late Mr. Drake Lord Ver- 
non's The Grafton hounds Tom Rose His reasons for 
having wild hounds George Carter with the Grafton Jack 
Musters Lord Fitzwilliam's pack before Tom Sebright 
Unsteadiness under Clarke [not Will Dean] New Forest 
hunting Tom Sebright and Jasper The Oakley under 
Will Wells Mr. Corbet .332 



Introduction of Dick as a Lecturer His school days Early 
stable tastes His ride on the bull His first mount Fun 
at Burley Park Introduction to Sir Gilbert and Lady 
Heathcote Trouble about the billy-goat Fun with Lord 
Lonsdale's hounds Water jumping Prince of Wales's visit 
to Normanton The great Tilton Wood run A family re- 
cital Riding as a farmer at Croxton Park The first 
steeple chace in Leicestershire Riding Lord Plymouth's 
horses Crack hunters at Melton King of the Valley 
Clinker's and Clasher's match Corringham Tom Thumb 
The brothers, Clinker and Radical The Marigold jump 
Mr. Meynell, Sir Charles Knightley, Mr. Assheton Smith 
Great day's work Avith a four -year-old Setting Dick off for "a 
fox" A go at Lord Cardigan A row with a master Jump- 
ing a lock with Captain Williams Service with Lord Scar- 
borough The Reverend Mr. Pochin in a ditch Sir David 
Baird The bulfinch at Cream Gorse Sir James Mus- 
grave's accident His jump near Great Dalby Jumping 
science Value of falls to a horse Grimaldi's match with 
Napoleon Steeplechase with Lord Waterford at Dunchurch 
Broken bone recital Great run with Tom Sebright 
The fox Perpetual Motion Count Sandor Sir James Mus- 
grave's horses Captain White's Euxton Colonel Wynd- 
ham the heavy weight Match between Lords Cardigan and 
Gardner Remarks on his weight and the portraits of him- 
self Sweating in a vapour bath Teaching the Marquis of 
Hastings Riding a hurdle race Lord Scarborough's bath 
in The Smite Conclusion . 346 376 



Cloth boards, 398 pp., 5s., Sixth Thousand. 

With Engravings, on Steel and Wood, of Mr. Osbaldeston, Dick 

Christian, Jim Robinson, the late Will Goodall, and Tom 

Sebright, Tom Ranee, &c. 

PRINCIPAL CONTEXTS: Dick Christian's Second Lecture on Lei- 
cestershire Men and Horses Olden Times of the Pytchley 
Jockeys Trials The Foreign Market Race Horses Huntsmen 
Hound breeding Foxes Recollections of the late Will Goodall, 
&c., &c. 

Also, by the same Author, cloth boards, pp., 5s. Seventh Thousand, 

PRINCIPAL CONTENTS : Life and Times of Sam Chifney Card* 
sellers, Touts, and Augurs Dick Christian's First Lecture Cele" 
brated Hunters A Lay of DoncasterMoor The Lay of the Hors e 
Marine, &c. 

In preparation, Price 5s., 


The First Volume of 


With which " THE HERDS OF GREAT BRITAIN," by the same 
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" The simple fact that this hook has quickly reached a Second 
Edition is a proof, not only that such a work was needed, but that 
the author has satisfactorily performed the duty with which he charged 
himself. He has materially altered, and, in our judgment, improved 
the general arrangement of the work ; he has modified parts of it by 
the addition of cases decided since the issue of the first edition, and 
has had freer recourse to quotations of judgments from the bench, 
where they explained or illustrated the question under consideration. 
This is a work of especial value to country attorneys and landowners, 
to whose attention we therefore recommend it." Law Times. 

London : Stevens and Norton, 26, Bell-yard, Lincoln's Inn. 





(With which the O^ and New Sporting Magazines and the 
Sportsman are combined.) 

This work had its origin many years ago, when " Nimrod" was a living 
name, and spoke with his eloquent pen through its pages, in the desire to 
furnish our National Sports, both by flood and field, with a monthly organ, 
worthy of their high importance and popularity. Time " that gentle innova- 
tor" has only served to develops those sports instead of dooming them to 
decay. Although "The Age," "The Hirondelle," and the "Quicksilver" 
Mail, with all the other glories of " The Road" have departed for ever, there 
are still countless votaries of "The Turf" and "The Chase" not one 
whit less enthusiastic than their fathers before them, in the days of 
George the Fourth and Hugo Meynell. The late Colonel Hawker's mantle 
has fallen gracefully on Colonel Hutchinson ; the blood of Emperor and 
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Judge's ; and yachts, with lines still more perfect thaa those of " The 
Kestrel" and "The Pearl," glide along the waters of the Solent and the 

To present a faithful pen and pencil reflex of the ever-varying cycle of 
facts and fancies in each of these branches of sport was the task which the 
Proprietor of the SPORTING REVIEW proposed to himself at the outset ; 
and no expense or labour has been spared to achieve, or at least to 
deserve, a commensurate success. Amongst the present contributors he may re- 
fer to the Author of " Digby Grand," " The Druid," Lord William Lennox, 
"Castor," '* Uncle Scribble," "Liuton," "Aucep?,"" Hawthorne," "Ramrod," 
" Hoary Frost," and other successful writers on Field Sports ; while from his 
list of Artists he may name the Herrings, elder and younger; Abraham 
Cooper, R. A. ; Harry Hall, of Newmarket ; Harrison Weir ; Laporte ; 
Spalding ; Corbet, &c., &c. 

Beyond a variety of occasional papers, care is taken to make the 
SPORTING REVIEW a continual chronicle of all kinds of sport, both 
British and Foreign, as each in its turn comes into season. Portraits of 
celebrated Cup Horses, as well as the Winners of the Derby, Oaks, and St. 
Leger, year after year, without any exception are painted expressly, by Mr. 
Harry Hall, for this work ; while a new series of celebrated English Jockeys 
and Trainers, by the same artist, is now being carried through its pages. 
This already includes each with a full Memoir Portraits of John Scott, 
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CONTENTS : Performances of Two-year-olds in England and Ire- 
land, for 1861, alphabetically arranged Nominations for 1862, 
and the Great Stakes for 1863 The Horses Indexed, with their 
Pedigrees A complete Calendar of Races and Steeple Chases in 
Great Britain and Ireland in 1861 The Horses Indexed with their 
Pedigrees Lists of the Trainers and their Addresses Derby Lots 
Laws of Racing, Lengths of Courses Queen's Plate, Articles, 
and Weights Winners of the Great Races from their commence- 
ment Races to come, &c. 




Second Edition. 
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AND SERVANT, including Masters and Workmen, in every 
description of Trade and Occupation. With an Appendix of 
Statutes. By CHARLES MANLEY SMITH, of The Inner Temple, 
Esq., Barrister-at-Law. London : Sweet, Chancery Lane. 

CONTENTS OF THE WORK : Table of caees. Introduction. Chapter 
I. The Parties to the Contract; who may contract the Relationship of 
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Chapter III. The Duties of the Servant to the Master, and the 
rights and remedies of the master to enforce the performance of them. 
Chapter IV. The duties of the Master to the Servant, and the rights 
and remedies of the servant to enforce the performance of them. Chap. 
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acts done on behalf of his Master. Chapter VII. The Servant's 
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