414 THE OLD MARE. BY ROBERT H. BROWN. She droops her head-her limbs her stiff- Bear up, bear up! thy noble blood, Has won thee life, has brought thee fame, Once more upon thy pastures wide, Be calm; let not thy great soul start Those wild notes still may have the charm Oft have I seen thy cager pace Thy fine eyes dart a challenge out, Like lightning from the heart. And well I know, my brave old mare, Thy mettle staunch and true; But age and feebleness refuse The deeds thy will would do. Start not, it is in vain, my steed! The faithful dogs in vain may cry, Thy bright career is at its close, Like tints of evening sky, That shed their lustre on the scene, Then leave the day to die. Wakefield, Nov., 1851. ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY W. HENDERSON. WITH FULL PARTICULARS BY A. SOFTUN, ESQ. When I was a very young man-and that is not such an extraordinary time back either-I had the peculiarly good fortune to pass my state of transition under the immediate care of the very reverend as well as learned Dr. Gradus. This happy era in life's journey every one must have some recollection of the time when you are not quite responsible for your own acts, but feeling quite equal, nevertheless, to go with the best of them. The Doctor's domestic circle was limited, which of course went to imply that his terms were not. In fact, things were done altogether with rather a high hand; and so, when my good mother ventured to hint somewhat nervously that horse-exercise would tend much to increase my bodily health, as well as materially add to my appetite for Greek Play, not the slightest objection was offered to so reasonable a suggestion. The Doctor had a capital stable, a groom who had lived some years with "Sir Richard," and perfectly understood his business-in a word, there was every disposition to make us both comfortable; and on the same night I took possession of my bed-room, my " riding-horse"-as he was modestly designated-took possession of his box. He was rather an imposing-looking hack, too-fifteen three good, well furnished throughout, legs as clean as a foal's, and seven off. My own experience, too, went to assure me that he was something more than a hack; and after I had cut in once or twice with the barriers, there were plenty of others willing to believe as much. Indeed, I heard one oracle, of rather a serious turn of mind, acknowledge the fact with a "what a pity!" kind of commentary-meaning, of course, what a sad thing it was that so good a horse should come to be rattled about by a young gentleman of such primitive notions as myself. I can't say, though, that I saw the thing altogether in this light. Within a fair walk of the vicarage there had been providentially provided a good-sized country town, whither we went to buy sticks, post letters, have our hair cut, and get through any other trifling business of a bye-day. By the end of the first season my horse's reputation was in very strong bloom here; and when, in accordance with the especial spirit of the times, a steeple-chase fever broke out amongst the inhabitants, they registered a half-promise from me that my nag should "make one." I was very young at the time-a fact which any gentleman who may have the "what a pity!" conclusion again ready for use, will be kind enough to remember. The attempt prospered: the cheque of a decidedly sporting banker on. was already good for the "fifty added," and the day for entry drew Unfortunately, as it would seem, just at this very nick of time a veterinary surgeon, of acknowledged ability, fancied that my "riding horse" had got a little heat in one of the back-sinews, and, with the Doctor's permission, took him off to his own hospital, the more effectually to put him on his legs again. The way he set about this was certainly rather extraordinary; but it only shows the great advance we have made in the development and practice of veterinary science. The very next morning he gave him a stiffish gallop of nearly four miles, and within a day or two one yet more severe-a system further persevered with, and only relieved occasionally by a scurry over the country. There appeared, though, no reason to quarrel with the course of treatment adopted, for the horse looked all the better for it; and as the back-sinew got no worse than it had been, there was little to complain of on that score. In fact, we were in rather high spirits at the nomination—a little toned-down, however, by a written entry, all the way from London "br. h. THE WEAVER"-who had won twice already that season, and who we certainly did not suspect would have honoured us with his presence on the occasion. A couple of the Doctor's select circle, I should say, had contrived to reach the Black Lion that evening -myself and a senior pupil, who had proved on one or two opportunities occurring, that he was, as they say, "a few pounds better" on a horse than I could qualify to. It was by his hand, indeed, that the back-sinew recipe had been generally applied; and, as the Vet. himself confessed, it was as good as a sermon to see him screw through a queer place, the Weaver threat settled it, and my friend Archy having made up his mind on the matter long before, consented to take my place and ride the chase. It is the fashion to say you cannot half enjoy any kind of amusement without you take a very active part in what is going on. I only know that I never relished a farce so little as when I attempted "Robin Rough-head," or felt so thoroughly miserable and disgusted with myself as when, in the excess of my happiness and satisfaction, I had to kick over the table, and "d-n the doomplings!" The excitement, then, of owning a race-horse, coupled with the further piece of luck of running him on the sly, was, as may be imagined, quite sufficient for my young idea, and I was well content enough to watch Archy get out, and in order, a pair of wonderfully well-cut leathers, with boots almost as good, and a "blue body with red sleeves," that his "governor had lost many a hundred on.' In short, the old gentleman had spent all he could in supporting the national sport; and so his son, of course, was very well grounded to take a leading part in so all-engrossing a species of manly recrea tion. Thursday morning found us once more at the Black Lion on another hair-cutting expedition. Here rumour said that the field would not be a strong one, but the line would; that the Weaver party were in great force, and that the race was going all one way. I heard this rather oddly confirmed myself, while waiting in the coffee-room for Archy, who had retired to don the immaculate boots and breeches. For some little time I had it all to myself, but was |