his visitors, to the top of the house, at Halston, to see, what he termed, "the fun;" after this frolic some of the hounds did not return to their kennel for two days. On another occasion the turning-out of a bagfox was attended by circumstances of a more ludicrous nature, and, as it proved, was a capital exposé of so childish an amusement. At the period above alluded to, the man who had the shaking of poor Charley had strict orders to make himself invisible as soon as possible after he had enlarged his charge, either by treeing, like a martin cat, or in any way he thought best. But whether the fellow considered that the servants' hall, at Halston, was the most retired spot in the neighbourhood, or whether he was compelled by the pangs of hunger, occasioned by two hours' close watching in the wood, previous to the hounds being thrown off, has never been decided. He was determined, however, to "break cover," and, creeping along a thick hedge in the opposite direction to the field where the horsemen were collected, he escaped nearly to the house. The hounds, who had found the fox, but, in a ring which he had described in the cover, changed for the line of the bearer, who, being lazy, had dragged the bag along the ground, instead of carrying it, when they fairly ran into him, full cry, in view of the whole field, who were, no doubt, much amused at the stupidity of the fellow who had "marred the plot."

BUT leave we now the sad and sombre maze,
Whilst on the picture's sunny side we gaze.
Newmarket has its charms; awhile we may
Enjoy the pleasures of its opening day.
Come to the Warren Hill, and there remain,
As to their exercise move on the train-
A hundred steeds, whose pedigrees are told
Up to the earliest paragons of old—
Whose fiery tempers, yielding to command,
Obey the guidance of an urchin's hand;
And, as each trainer bids increase the pace,
In practised licence, of a mimic race,
Mark, in its arrowy course, each glittering train
Pressing the odours from th' unwounded plain-
That for his quarters, loins, and this for length;
This for his shoulder's praised, and that for strength.

There, too, upon the verdant sod was seen,
"Sweets to the sweet," the young and wealthy Green.
He had what's call'd a Cambridge friend—his name
George Phillips-not unknown to vulgar fame:
Upon his shelves were books of science rare,—
Whips, guns, and sparring-gloves were also there;
And, like Diogenes, he had a tub
To keep a philosophic badger-sub.
As from Corioli was Marcius named,

So George the sobriquet of Barnwell claimed:
Well earn'd it was; and on the heath he met
Professor Crabs, and Sly, and all the set,
Who joy to see the well-fledged quarry fly,
And teach the tyro how to lose and lie:

Such friends as these, though pleasant they appear,
Are friends we find inordinately dear:
Whilst cash abounds their warm attachments glow,
But cool as quickly when the purse runs low.
Of thirty-thousand which he once possess'd,
But half remain'd-his friends had won the rest;
His footing paid, he made the fair demand,
Pluck'd as he was, to join the plucking band.
One night at Limmer's, when the rest were gone,
And the last bottle of Green's claret done;
Said George-"There is a nag that you must buy,
"He'll make our fortunes, man; for he can fly :
"The fools declare that something must be wrong
"Because he's cheap-you'll buy him for a song;
"He's in the Derby, and old Crabs insures,
"And backs the horse :-a thousand, and he's
"His sire is Priam, and they call him Muff."
Says Green-"He's mine! your warrant is enough."
"Place him with Sly," said George; "he there is best—
"Sly trains for Nix and Diddler, and the rest,
"Who know the trick; the great Capot trains there,
"Lord Thomas Gullem and Sir Philip Snare:-"
George was not wrong, no wonder it should please
To be hail fellow with such nobs as these:
Muff was to Sly consign'd, and Sly well knew
Green was let in-the colt was but a screw;

yours:

Screws were his forte, and with consummate skill
Some he kept back, and some put through the mill.†

Green liked his nag, and George's kind advice

Was now to back him at this under price.

"See how he daily rises in the ring;

"And Crabs himself declares that Muff's the thing."

* Muff is a kind of slang term for a gull-a soft, foolish gentleman.

Putting through the mill is a cant term for the severe exercise and trials that some trainers think necessary.

Green by the minor stars was own'd, but not
As yet was honour'd by the great Capot:
The glass of fashion once, and mould was he,
Of health, and grace, and manly symmetry,
But on the cheek no more the roses glow,
Of the lost roué, and the faded beau;
Snows on his brow, consuming fires within
His soul—the lamp of pleasure fed by sin.
Whilst plots were ripening, time had worn away,
And fast approach'd the all-important day.
Constant at Tattersall's was smiling seen,
Pencil in hand, the hopeful Mr. Green.
Well in the betting, by the aid of puff,
And lies and stratagems, was bolster'd-Muff.
Sly's was the stable-Saladin was theirs,
Capot's famed horse; moreover, two of Snare's:
Nor less Endymion by the shrewd was praised,
Whom his own worth to eminence had raised,
His blood, condition, admiration gain'd,
And in an "honest stable" he was trained.
Thus stood the rival candidates for fame,
The betting deep, and desperate the game;
One morn, or rather, noon, with aching head,
Had Green aroused him from his feverish bed,
When Phillips came: at such an hour 'twas rare
To see such visitors-and in his air

Was grave importance, meditation deep,
E'en such a man waked

To tell of Troy on fire.
"The game's our own;

Priam from his sleep,
"Awake, my boy,

I come to give you joy;

"You must be secret, tongueless as a stone,
"Or all were useless, and the cause undone.
"Capot consents, by my entreaties won,
"That Muff and Saladin together run
"A private trial-and Sly says you'll win it;
"Here is a gold mine, and we all are in it;
"If he beats Saladin, by all the powers
"Of love and witchcraft, then the Derby's ours,
"For he has beat the rest; and sure I am
"Its coining money, and we'll skin the lamb.*
"On Friday next we then shall see who's right:
"We'll go from Grisi's benefit at night,
"You in my trap incog.-we'll steal away,
"And be on Epsom Downs ere break of day."

* Skinning the lamb is a cant term for making sure of the money.

CAMBRIDGE AND CAMBRIDGE MEN.

BY A CANTAB.

NO. II.

In my last I gave some account of Cambridge as a hunting residence, and of the pro's and con's thereunto appertaining. I shall now speak of it as conducing to encourage a taste for racing among its various members. This is much promoted by its propinquity to Newmarket, and the great liberty, in most cases, shown to the gownsmen by the tutors of the several colleges. In two, however, those of Trinity and St. John's (in which there are more sporting men than in all the others put together), such is not the case. In these, on Newmarket days, the men are required to be present at hall by a quarter before five; and, as a matter of course, the punishment falls not upon the man but the horse. Very little racing is missed, and the consequence is, that the unfortunate hacks are ridden home at a pace which, however little the time, comes up to the demand. I have myself frequently ridden the distance in three-quarters of an hour; and, upon one occasion, the day when the race was run between Hibiscus and Rat-trap,* the former ridden by Connelly, and the latter by Robinson, the distance was, I regret to say, done in a still less time. This I have always considered the finest race I ever saw-much superior to that between Euclid and Charles II., in which Connelly did not seem up to the mark, otherwise I think he would have won.

At all times Newmarket is an exceedingly pleasant lounge. The inns are good, and there is generally something stirring. Nothing used to please me more than to ride over early in the morning to look at the "strings" at exercise-a more animating sight cannot well be conceived than the heath then presents, when 300 or 400 beautiful animals are scudding over it in different directions; and trainers, touters, and would-be knowing ones, are picking out the certain winner of the allimportant Derby. Newmarket, also, independent of its admirable course, differs greatly from every other racing meeting in the world. The perfect air of business which universally prevails, and the absence of all that gaiety and glitter, which, to many, form the charm of the course, make the races there perfectly unique. Were it not that the presence of the fair Lady Chesterfield and her equipage, together with Lady Alice Peel, and other fashionables, enliven the scene, one uninterested in racing might as well be at the stock exchange. But I must hark back to the subject more immediately before us. The Cantabs used to form a considerable portion of the often not very crowded course, and regarded their guinea as well spent, if they could get a wrinkle from the rush of Robinson, the graceful seat of Connelly, the coolness of Nat, or the judgment of honest John, wherewith to enlighten their friends at their private races over the Valley Mile.

It was, however, this latter place, generally called Six Mile Bottom, *In the Houghton Meeting, 1887, Hibiscus, 8 st. 2 lb., ran Rattrap, 8 st. 9lb., a dead heat for a match, Ditch Mile.-ED.

situated about six miles from Cambridge, and frequently used by the Cantabs as a racing ground, that gave many of my college companions a taste for the turf. The history of the place I do not know, but I imagine that it at one time formed a part of the Newmarket course. The ground is about a mile long, and one hundred and fifty yards wide, with a wide dike, or ditch, similar to that on the Newmarket course, on one side, and some cultivated ground on the other. It is perfectly straight. At starting, there is a fall of about two hundred yards, into some level running, and then a rise of similar length, from which the run in is excellent. The turf is very sound and good, and I never saw an accident occur upon it. Here, generally twice every term, there used to be a meeting. There was generally a 5 sovs. sweepstakes, two or three matches, and a hurdle race. The first race I ever saw there was one of the latter description, which was won by a mare called the Careful filly, celebrated for having been the only animal which Plenipo beat in his race for the St. Leger. The mare was ridden by a gentleman named Shepherd, who has, I think, since then, come out on the turf in a small way. It was an excellent race; nine or ten started, and the mare won with difficulty by a head. The second was a bay mare, the property of, and ridden by, a Mr. Ferguson, now of the 23rd Fusiliers, which had before won several hurdle races. I have since then seen several good races, and particularly remember one between a very fast little brown mare, called the Lily of the Valley (an appropriate name), and an Irish horse called Condor, which was won by the former. This excited great interest, and there was, for Cambridge men, a good deal of money depending on it. Both horses were in training, and the winner, I remember, was in Stephenson's stable for some time previous to the match. She was ridden by Billy Newcombe, certainly one of the neatest gentlemen riders I ever saw, and the very picture of a jockey-so at least said Robinson, and we must allow him to be no bad judge. Condor was ridden by that fine rider, and very capital fellow, Tom Nicholson, better known among his familiars by the name of Long Tom, who, though not by any means jockey shaped, was very powerful on horseback, with excellent judgment, and a frequent winner at the valley races, of which he was a chief supporter. Another gentleman who used to figure there was the son of a facetious dignitary in the church, who has lately been before the world as one of the sufferers in what is called the Gurney affair: he was a very fair rider, but wanted (ipso teste) one great essential, and that is nerve. The hurdle races were rather more dangerous, and frequent accidents were the result, though nothing very serious ever happened in my time. In the last I saw, which was won by Nicholson, on Barron's mare, a Mr. Cookson, who is now starring it in Durham, and was looked upon as a bold but injudicious rider, got a severe fall, and was laid up for some time. But the hurdles on this occasion were remarkably strong, and very different from the lath affairs which we now so frequently see. Poor Sir Mark Wood, and several of the Newmarket trainers and jockeys, used to attend these meetings when they got the office, and were no doubt much amused with many of the scenes they saw.

The races at Royston, which take place about the middle of May, were very attractive to the Cambridge men, but certainly not for the