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THE FARMER»S MAGAZINE. 



awaiting his trial and his fate, his thoughts centred 

 far more on "the Lurley colt" than himself: — 



But— 



' Let me but see my favourite fancy win. 

 Once more behold the public taken in, 

 And then content I die." 



" ' Forbear,' stern Death replies, 



' No more oppose irrevocable fate, 

 Impatient Satan claims hia intimate.' " 



And the Lurley colt was knocked down at the sale 

 of Palmer's horses in January, 1856, for 105 gs., 

 at which price he went into Joseph Dawson's 

 stable. There was no registry of fictitions names 

 in those times, and Gemma di Vergy ran through 

 his first season and on afterwards as Mr. Bond's, 

 Mr. Hope's, Mr. Robson's, Mr. Woodhall's, or 

 Mr. Craven's. However, let it be under any title 

 that might, the cloud still hung over him, Mr. 

 Charley Coghlan having the common credit of 

 being the horse's owner, A bill of sale, a burst 

 of tears, and a scene or two in the Insolvent Court 

 severed this connection, and after being hawked 

 about at Tattersall's, Gemma di Vergy became the 

 property of Lord Waterford at 800 gs. Need we 

 say how soon afterwards the poor Marquis broke 

 his neck from a fall when coming home with his 

 hounds, or dwell on the sale at Curraghmore ? 

 Here the great horse of the catalogue was knocked 

 down at £l050 to Mr. Hamilton of Round- 

 wood, who went out of his mind almost im- 

 mediately afterwards ; while the death of Mr. 

 Turner, the auctioneer, followed as shortly, and 

 Gemma di Vergy passed by other agency into the 

 hands of Sir Lydston Newman for 1010 gs. The 

 paddocks at Mamhead were not then built, and the 

 son of Sir Hercules stood for his first season at 

 Stockwell, whence he was removed just in time, as 

 difficulties and distrainers came to haunt the long- 

 cherished home of the old stockinger. The death- 

 warrant— the bill of sale — the fatal accident — the 

 raving madman, or the man in possession — where 

 shall we lay the scene ? In Nev/gate, the Insolvent 

 Court, or the lunatic asylum ? Rather let us draw 

 the curtain over these harsh memories, and pour- 

 tray Gemma di Vergy as when we last saw him 

 blooming in his box in the happy valley. The 

 spell of the cruel Fairy is broken at last. Fly she 

 must from such a promised land as this, as the Good 

 Genius of the sylvan scene waves her wand over the 

 brown horse's head, telling him of better times, of 

 gallant sons and graceful daughters, that shall 

 build for him a fairer fame and a more honourable 

 reward. 



Never had a really good horse so poor a chance 

 as Gemma di Vergy. From the day he was put 

 into work, to the time he was taken out of it, he 

 was continually in difficulties, and liis repute as a 

 race-horse can never be judged by his performances, 

 good as even some of these were. Luckily, how- 

 ever, he has not felt his misfortunes, and now at 

 seven years old he is one of the very handsomest 

 horses in England. Standing something over six- 

 teen hands, he is so beautifully proportioned, so 

 well put together, and so thoroughly furnished, as 

 to give one more the idea of ** a big little horbe," 

 than one reaching to his actual height. But this is 

 the case with all animals of anything like perfect 



symmetry, and Gemma di Vergy is very near per- 

 fection. He begins admirably with that great test 

 in any scale of points, a handsome, clean, bloodlike 

 head — taking a deal after that of his sire — with a 

 kindly expression of the eye that tells truly enough 

 of his excellent temper. He has a fine well-laid 

 shoulder, with rare girth, measuring six feet four 

 inches and a half, and good round barrel. But 

 better still are his broad back snd slashing quar- 

 ters, so " bloody " and yet so powerful, running 

 into strong muscular thighs, and capital clean 

 hocks and legs. He has plenty of bone, taking 

 nearly nine inches round below the knee ; while he 

 has long, racing, elastic pasterns, beautifully fitted 

 into a good wholesome foot. Had his tail been 

 only set on an inch or so higher. Gemma di Vergy 

 might have boasted of the finest quarters of any 

 horse aUve, and as it is, there can be few to beat 

 him. Indeed, as a thoroughbred horse calculated 

 to get " the sound and stout " we do not know his 

 superior, and if he were ours he should certainly 

 go for the Royal hundred at Leeds, His temper 

 here would be still in his favour, in travelling, and 

 on the Show ground. If anything, he only walked 

 out of his box a little too calmly, though, as we 

 shall have to show hereafter, he has plenty of 

 courage in the stud, and his produce tell such a 

 story as hardly any other young stallion can own 

 to. Gemma di Vergy, however, like many of the 

 most amiable of us, has his peculiarities, and he is 

 evidently a restless horse when left to himself. He 

 lives, in fact, in a padded box, and is said at one 

 time to have been an inveterate weaver, a trick of 

 which he was cured by continually supplying him 

 with sacks stuffed with litter. He amused himself 

 by pulling these to pieces, and being so employed 

 forgot the habit that so many high-conditioned 

 horses, like the sham-sick lady at Bath with the 

 waters, take to in "mere wantonness." Gemma 

 di Vergy's restlessness, however, may be traced 

 back in the family. Wanderer, the sire of Peri his 

 grandam, was always on the move, or in some 

 mischief or other. He would carry the clean straw 

 out of his box into the yard, and turn on the cock 

 that let the water into his trough with his teeth, 

 and so overflow the whole place. When Nimrod 

 saw him at Petworth, " he had not been known to 

 lie down in his box for six years," but as the same 

 celebrated writer adds, " he was one of the finest 

 animals of his kind, and a capital racer at high 

 weights and long distances, and the sire and grand- 

 sire of several good race-horses. In fact, he was 

 exactly the sort of horse that England ought to 

 have to j)erpetuate the good properties of the animal, 

 and for other purposes than racincj." This was 

 written of Wanderer more than twenty years ago ; 

 but this is "just the sort of horse" we are crying 

 out for now. His grandson is another of just the 

 sort, and if Sir Lydston Newman will take our 

 advice, he will enter Gemma di Vergy for the 

 Royal Agricultural Society's premium at Leeds in 

 July next. 



So much for good looks. Let us now go on to 

 prove Gemma di Vergy one of the best-bred horses 

 in the Stud Book. He was bred by Mr. Richard 

 Taylor, than of Olton House, near Solihull, but 

 now of Manuel Hall, King's Norton, near Bir- 



