he changed from a well-fed innkeeper into a skeleton when poverty overtook him, and he rode for Colonel Cradock again after his retirement. Vinegar and poached eggs were his only fare at times, and a lad who rode the rear horse, and drove the leader in the canalboat, The Arrow, from Carlisle to Port Carlisle, tried the same fare rather than lose his place for overweight, and killed himself by it. Poor Cartwright was in immense force when he came out about 1829; and Mr. Aglionby engaged him three years previously, to ride a colt of his for a Cumberland Produce Stakes, which he won. Juba made a memorable level-ground jump near the last turn at exercise. It was measured to be thirty feet; and the lad vowed that his black would have the Eden with a little more practice, and advised his being turned loose in future. No two-year-old ever excited such interest as General Chassé, when he went to the post at the river side with Fobert, then quite a young man, leading him, and Bob Johnson on his back; and he showed them his light tail almost from start to finish. Muley Moloch was a lion in the days when the Raby pink and black stripes were annually looked out for with Tommy Lye to ride, and burly John Smith in charge. That "fine black hunter" Inheritor, and "Lazy Lanercost," were both winners; and the wiry little Doctor galloped away from his field from the Queen's Plate, through water and mud half-way up his hocks. The course had been quite covered on the previous day, and lads were actually sailing in washing tubs from tent to tent. On another occasion we are told that lanterns were tied to the posts, and the last heats were run by their glimmer. Harry Edwards, in his white kid gloves and ruffles, was quite a lion when he came out and won upon Naworth over the T.- Y.-C. This colt was a very difficult one to ride, and had turned rebellious, and only finished fourth at Newcastle; but "Old Harry" paid him off, and steered him with an energy and leverage of arm, such as no other jockey ever seemed to us to possess. At this time he was a V.S. in the town, and "wasted" the three miles out and in to Crosby, where he sat on a corn-chest "taking his rest," not with "his martial cloak," but several horse rugs "around him," and smoking a cigar. R. W. Procter, a Manchester poet, has told us of "A party who went, on pleasure bent, On a journey to Heaton Park;" but the spring-carts which carried the "Rough Robins " and their ladye loves on Sept, 25th, 1827, when the park was first opened for races, harmonised very ill with the Duke of Beaufort's four-in-hand, VOL. II., N. S. 1869. 66 or with the team of six piebalds driven by Mr. Knowles, the coach proprietor. There was such a crush, that at three o'clock the gates were closed, and the scrambling through the hedges did such damage, that in future no one was admitted without a ticket, and then only on horseback or in a carriage. Then the great question arose, "Is a truck a carriage?" and it was argued for the appellant, that anything that could carry was a carriage, provided it were drawn by a horse, ox, goat, or dog. The best illustration as to how a "carriage" should be drawn was, when "The Squire" brought Tom Thumb in his match cart, and gave him some rare steps-out" round the course. He rode Catherina against Chancellor (Earl Wilton) in one of the finest finishes ever seen in the park, but "my lord" had the best of it on the post. "The Squire's" greatest victory was on Rush ; and coloured engravings of it may be seen to this day. For two years running, Captain White, who was then in his Melton heyday, won the Matilda Gold Cup; and Becher, "the captain with the whiskers," after professionals had been admitted in 1835, screwed in Jagger first to John Scott's amazement, despite his vile temper and a broken stirrup leather. Earl Wilton had the cream of the Whitewall riding, and Whitewall then meant the Westminster and Chesterfield lots. His lordship walked over twice on Touchstone, and won upon Hornsea and Scroggins; and he was also on Prizeflower, the great bashaw of "cocktails," when Harkaway and Cruiskeen, the Irish chestnuts, fell. Don John came on from Doncaster with John and Will Scott, and Nat in his train; Slashing Harry and Miss Bowe, ran the most slashing of dead heats; the beautiful Vanish was great in Gold Cups, and the dam of Orlando did one of those "short, sharp, and decisive" things, at which for half a mile she has perhaps never had a rival. People can hardly realise now what an event the Liverpool Trades- . men's Cup was when General Chassé, Inheritor, and Charles XII. were winning it, or when Harkaway first made his appearance in England, and was beaten by Tommy Lye on St. Bennett. Very few turfites went to bed that night, watching for the mail guards. "The days of its glory were o'er" with the Cup dead heat between John Day on Vulcan, and Chapple on Rhodanthe. Lord George threw such energy into the Goodwood management, and Mr. Etty was such a quiet-going person, that owners gradually began to reserve their horses for the south, and with The Baron and Van Tromp, its famous St. Leger ceased to throw any shadows before. The most extraordinary "turn up" during this great era, was the "walking race" between Catherina, General Chassé, and Birdlime. Sir James Boswell had backed the General very heavily for the quadruple event, two cups at Liverpool, and two at Newton. Templeman knew what the tactics would be, and he said to Fobert in the weighinghouse, “Mind I don't catch you to-day!" They walked and trotted, Holmes occasionally pricking his chestnut to keep him from lurching, till within the distance, when Templeman sent out his little mare like a shot, and got a clear length before Holmes could begin. He was, however, catching Templeman every stride, and would have beaten him in another twenty yards, but he just failed to get up, and then he flung his saddle into the weighing-room, and wouldn't go to scale. Tommy Lye on Birdlime had thought of nothing but Chassé, and finished at his quarters. The race in which Newminster was defeated by The Calculator, was the most sensational we ever witnessed at York, but we have heard that it was nothing to the scene when The Miner seemed to start up suddenly at Blair Athol's side and beat him. It was on Knavesmire, too, that we remember poor Bill Scott having his last mount, a second on Snowball to Alfred Day on Tuscan. It is only twenty-two years ago, and yet seven out of the nine jockeys who rode in that race are dead. There has seldom been more curiosity and disappointment on Knavesmire than when the narrow Ivan, the first of the Van Tromps, had his sheets taken off before he beat Vindex. The struggle between Warlock and Fisherman was after our heart, and it was "a moral" to behold a fifteen-hand horse, like Underhand, carry 9 st. 1 lb., and stall off everything in the Ebor Handicap, by his marvellous condition and pluck. That year some We first looked on Doncaster in the mist and wet of a Sunday morning, when the races began on a Monday. It was then a long coach ride from Swinton Station. Herring's picture of Attila was part of our burden, and the Colonel's valet, who was in charge of it, was telling good anecdotes of his master's mode of shooting. three St. Leger winners were walking together in one field at the Turf Tavern-to wit, Blue Bonnet, Charles XII., and Satirist; and there were also two Derby winners in the town-Little Wonder and Attila; and all, save Satirist, started. Crucifix and Bay Middleton were also at the Turf paddocks. The sight of the trio was almost as memorable as Blair Athol's and Gladiateur's mock tournay when they marched about in a paddock, and Knowsley neighed his defi over the wall. British Yeoman was thought to be the coming colt in Attila's year; he was neat and lightish, and had a thin, varmintlooking tail, and hocks with the web so like gossamer that you might almost see through them. His two-year-old race, with Maria Day, was a rare treat; and sheer gameness, and a great effort of his jockey's, who rode two-year-olds to perfection, just gave him the short head in the last stride. The Cure's bolt in the St. Leger, two years after, was the only thing of the kind in St. Leger annals. It began about sixty yards from home, and he seemed to come right across the course, as if he was going to bury his defeated head in the judge's box-Mail Train's, in the Cesarewitch, was a trifle to it. The Eglinton procession of Van Tromp led by Eryx, as they came out with their jockeys up through the Carr House Gate, with Black Jemmy as beadle, and addressing the crowd, was a picture of itself; and we never met such a model of a cup horse as 66 Van" was that afternoon, and such a little beauty as Eryx as his equerry. Templeman soon knew that it was not Cossack's day. The stable had pressed him hard to ride Foreclosure, but he had refused to do so, as he felt sure that he was not within 21 lbs. of the chestnut, and the race proved it; though Cossack was short of preparation. It was also a very pleasant bit when Tom Jennings took Gladiateur out of his van, behind the Doncaster Arms, but much fewer saw that; Beeswing hugging the rails as she went round the top turn in the Cup as jealous as a surveyor, lest she should lose an inch of ground; Teddington answering to Job's searching rowels, as stride by stride he caught Nat on Kingston; Tim Whiffler cutting down Asteroid at the Butts; Jim Robinson coming up, wide on the outside, and getting level with Voltigeur; "The West" and St. Albans fairly romping home for the St. Leger; the Marquis, just getting his head in front in answer to Challoner's last stroke of the whalebone; Lord Clifden lying away, and then reaching his horses at the Red House, as suddenly as if he had been at the end of an elastic band and they at the other, and the pressure relaxed; the thick fog and rain during Blair Athol's race, which made men look at their fellows and wonder if it really was the end of all things, and their hour was come; Lord Lyon, with a jaded, listless air, coming out once more to meet Savernake, whose middle showed that he was two weeks short of work; Hermit and Thormanby refusing to face their canters, as if they knew that defeat was before them; Kettledrum flying over the hill in the Cup, and twice the horse he was in the St. Leger; and Formosa going to the post with a skin like burnished copper plate, to show the Yorkshiremen what an "Oaks, One Thousand, and 'Guineas'" mare can do. Other great courses may claim another notice. H. H. D. NUMBERS FOR THE SORROWFUL. RUST Him who is thy God and have no fear: Self-centred in His own infinity He that is All is cause and law of all: Alike in orb and atom infinite. The worlds He soweth broadcast with His hand, Yet perfect from His shaping fingers sent Behold the yearly miracle of Spring! Art thou more bare than is the Winter wood, And if thy prime be gone and thou lament, See, where the cruel winds have swept the trees So, when the leafage of thy days is past |