He won his first steeple-chase at Hayes, on Peacock; and he and Mason soon struck up an intimacy. He was with Jem a great deal down at Hendon, riding Mr. Elmore's Horncastle horses. They used to ride against each other, and which ever was first down forfeited a new hat. Tom was an intense admirer of Jem's, and always said how he envied him his hands, and that he "would fight up to his knees in blood for him." He also watched Becher and Powell, more especially the former, at the lanes, when they had a great steeple-chase at Egham; and Becher gradually found him out, and threw into his hands the mounts he could not take himself. The first horse, Peacock, was a very bad one to hold, and he had his trial on him with Jackson's draghounds over the Harrow country. He then won on Birthday at the Hippodrome; but Dan Seffert would not give him the Barnet mount, which left him at liberty for Lottery. Mason was too unwell to ride the old horse; but he could not resist driving Tom down in a phaeton to the scene of action, and seeing the pair take it out of Dan. In early days Tom rode for Mr. Cartwright, at Abergavenny, and, very shortly before he retired, he reduced to 9 st. 10 lb., to ride that odd-looking bay, Maurice Daley, in the scarlet jacket, which was associated in after years with Fairwater and Ely. The wilder the country the better he liked it; and on one occasion he rode in a 3 lb. saddle.

Jem Mason did not care to draw things so fine, and took mounts more if he liked his horse. He rode rather long, sat well home, with his toes a little down, and his hands well back. He had no idea of wasting heavily, and, in fact, his rather delicate constitution would never have admitted of it, but he liked to come down in comfort with his portable bath and his dressing-box to a steeple-chase town. For elegance and hand there was nothing to equal him. An earlier age bracketted Lord Jersey, Mr. Rawlinson, Mr. Lindow, as the top of the tree in cross-country riding; and the Reverend Mr. Bower, of the Holderness, Jem Mason and Lord Clanricarde, would have been selected in the next generation. Still, it would be very difficult to leave out Mr. Alick Goodman, who is said to be the finest man across ridge and furrow that we have. A steeple-chase seemed a mere May-game to Mason; there was such ease in every lineament of the man as he came smoothly sailing away over the meadows with that wonderful eye for negotiable places in the line. He seemed to be making nothing of what the others were doing with considerable toil and steam, like Cresswell among the bar at the Northern Circuit. Mason made up his lack of physical strength by great tact, but in a severe finish he could not struggle with Oliver and Becher. The last

time we saw him ride a steeple-chase was at Hendon, and then it was merely for fun, as he never took his cigar out of his mouth. He was up once more, and that was for a match at Melton Mowbray, where he was engaged as pilot for the Hon. Mrs. Villiers.

Powell was very bold, and, like William M'Donogh, would have charged a regiment of soldiers with bayonets fixed. Allen M'Donogh was more elegant in his style, and with far finer judgment than his brother, and quickness itself. If he had a tumble, he put his hands on his horse's withers, and vaulted up again, and into his place in the front rank at once. Dan Seffert was like Barker, a fair good man, and as for old Bill Bean, he went as if his head was on fire, and jumped, like the Marquis, everything that came in his line. He flourished at extraordinary places, waters, osiers, &c., and hist adventures, told in his unctuous tones over the coffee-room fire at night, formed half the fun of the fair. Mr. Anderson was, after all, the great stay of the steeple-chasing, and it was his constant habit to pay his jockey in advance, as if he were giving him a brief, and there was always a very handsome addition if he won.

Lottery has been a boundless theme, from the time that he won at Barnet, till at last he might be seen trotting down the Edgware Road, as leader in a waggon of corn sacks from Willesden. He was bought at Horncastle, and began public life as "Chance ;" and he was no great performer till he had been well drilled with Mr. Anderson's staghounds. As the talent said of him, he was "a very trap to follow;" but he was never the same after the stone wall refusal at Liverpool; and at Fakenham the by-standers could hardly credit their senses when they saw him refuse the first fence, a post and rails, five times. He was always too much for Seventy-Four, who was never a stout-hearted one; and he finally settled Vyvian in April, '38, over the biggest fence, on their route from Drayton Grange to Flecknoe.

Cheroot

True Blue and Duenna (whose skin was long preserved as a hearthrug at Willesden) were very near of a form, when the ground. was nice and spongy; but the dun mare had bad feet. If it was deep ground she could always beat him, and vice versa. had very odd, crooked legs, and a remarkable knack of jumping gates out of dirt, where no other horse could have got a take off." At one time he was hawked about Hungerford for 127, and then he met a field of eighteen, with Lottery (to whom he gave 11 lbs. in it), and fairly cut them down. He also beat Vanguard, the Liverpool Steeple Chase winner of 1843, who was bought for 800 gs., from Lord Chesterfield's steward. No rider dare take hold of the brown Peter

Simple's head, so as to interfere with him. He required to be left at large, in a simple snaffle; and never admitted of whip or spurs. The grey Peter Simple would go up to his knees in dirt; and Gaylad liked water and fences better than stiff timber. Mr. P. P. Rolt, who once asked the Dean of Trinity "your candid opinion about the Derby?" at the high table, when he was a fellow-commoner there, bought Peter and rode him, but he was above his hands. British Yeoman had a leg for anything-" if he hit a rail, he had always a leg to serve himself." Of Lottery, Tom Oliver, who once or twice rode him, would only say, "He went from field to field; he was so gallant a horse, so brilliant." And, after all, there has been nothing like him; and Mr. Edmund Tattersall keeps his mouse-brown skin as a carriage rug to this day.

Among the most difficult lines of country was the Oundle. It had an immense deal of ridge and furrow in it; and even Tom Oliver speaks of it to this day as "the biggest and most difficult I was ever over." Newport Pagnell was also one of those severe cross country problems, which Mr. Thomas Westley delighted to set to the silks. "One fence was bigger than four of the present ones," and there were brooks and posts and rails, and a couple of stone walls in the line. The brooks were so swollen when Luck's All beat Lottery, that that rare horseman, the late Tom Goddard (brother to Jack and Ben), said that he hardly knew when he had to jump, swim, or wade. Mr. Westley found men of like feeling with himself when he took Counsellor over to the Curragh for a great hurdle race, with Tom Oliver to ride him. Eleven started, and six fell, as the hurdles were like gates, and made about as fast. However, Counsellor and his jockey were equal to them; and Chance, another English horse, with W. H. Scott up, was second. "Liverpool requires more riding over," says a celebrated steeple-chaser, "than any course in England; and the last three-quarters of a mile most especially so. It is such a long way home from the canal turn, it requires all a man's riding power to sit still, and more, so as to get home from that point."

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H. H. D.

A FIGHT IN A TUNNEL.

ANY years ago, my health having become much impaired by over-study, I was recommended to pass a winter in the South of France. Of so agreeable a prescription I readily availed myself. I was without wife or child to encumber my departure; and, armed only with a portmanteau, made a most delightful journey of it to the charming town of V

Shortly after my arrival, whilst sitting at the window of my hotel, a man passed by, so very much like myself, that, struck with the resemblance, I rose, and, leaning forward, followed him with my eyes. His dress bespoke him an Englishman. He was tall; so was I. Slim; I was slim. His eyes were blue, his skin fair, his hair a deep auburn, his nose aquiline. All this was my portrait. When he had reached the bottom of the street he paused, looked round, then slowly returned, crossing the road, however, and taking the opposite pavement. This enabled me to get a clearer view of the man. I confess I was much impressed with the resemblance, and hardly liked it. The physiologist, I thought, may delight as much as he pleases in such coincidences; for my part, I decidedly object to being made a portion of any sort of phenomenon. I had read of very unpleasant consequences following personal resemblances, and earnestly hoped that this individual, whom nature, short of moulds at the time, had undoubtedly cast in mine, would speedily clear the neighbourhood of his presence.

A week or two after this, in taking a walk across a beautiful bit of adjacent country, I suddenly encountered my likeness, seated on a rustic bench beneath a tree, with his arm circling the waist of a very beautiful peasant girl. Her skin, of a pure and cream-like tint, finely contrasted the splendid luxuriance of her black hair. Her eyes flashed upon me as I passed, and I noticed her draw herself erect with rapid hauteur, as if indignant or impatient of detection. The man by her side, who would have passed very well for me to any other person but my mother or myself, still maintained his caressing attitude. He did not condescend to raise his eyes to me as I passed, but kept them fixed upon the face of the girl, who, I could see,

watched me with a species of sullen eagerness, as if wishing me well out of sight.

As I passed them, I must confess to having experienced a momen tary sensation of envy of the man. Since nature has put him in my skin, I thought, it seems only fair that I should put myself in his shoes. For all I know, I reflected, that that beautiful peasant girl might have been originally destined for me; but the intention of nature has been defeated by her love of coincidence. I laughed at my thoughts as I walked on, and, turning a corner, lost sight of the lovers.

On reaching the bottom of the lane, I found that I had fallen upon a cul-de-sac. The passage terminated in a series of fields, across which I could discover no footpath. I had no wish to be arrested for trespassing; so I decided on returning the way I had come.

On sighting the bench, I found it was deserted. I was not sorry. I would by no means have disliked another peep at the beautiful brunette; but, at the same time, I had no ambition to inspire the couple with the notion that I was watching them.

I had got to the top of the hill, and was passing between a row of thick bushes, making a sort of natural hedge for a broad area of trees, like a gigantic park, when I was suddenly startled by the report of a pistol, discharged to my left. At the same moment, I heard the hollow sound of a ball striking my hat, and that article of dress rolled to the ground.

I looked round with a pale face. The attack was horribly sudden. Who, in the name of heaven, wanted my life? For what crime was my blood demanded? What had I done? I saw the blue smoke curling up from the densest portion of the bushes, and heard the crackling of the furze and twigs caused by the hasty flight of someone.

I picked up my hat. The ball had passed clean through it. Had it struck two inches lower, it would have entered my skull.

I hastened towards the town, possessed with much the same sort of enviable feelings as you might imagine a Tipperary landlord or agent would feel who sees threats of his life carved on every other tree. Bravery in a situation of this sort was quite out of the question. Of what use is pluck when you have to deal with invisible foes? I might almost confess to having broken into downright flight as I neared the town, so extremely anxious was I to escape the vicinity of every sheltering bush, tree, or hedge, in the neighbourhood.

On gaining my hotel, I began to reflect on my narrow escape. I had been too much excited to attach to it the significance it demanded. But the hole in my hat conveyed the most shuddering information on my narrow escape. Beyond all reasonable doubt, my life within that hour had only been worth two paltry inches.