SIR TATTON SYKES. 87 



of " Gentleman " Jackson and Jem Belcher shaking hands with 

 the gallant champion of England. Of the venerable baronet's pluck 

 a good instance is recorded in connection with Mr. Tattersall, the 

 father of the present head of the firm. The two went together to 

 the theatre at Doncaster, and were sitting in the back row of the 

 boxes, when a person came in with a cigar in his mouth. As there 

 were ladies in the box he was asked to put it out. The man refused, 

 and Mr. Tattersall, who though lame was very powerful, opened the 

 door with one hand and swung the fellow out with the other. He 

 stormed and blustered, but Sir Tatton immediately jumped up, 

 buttoned his coat, and said in his mild way, "Leave him to me, 

 sir, if he comes back, leave him to me." But the cad did not 

 come back. Although mixing much among sporting men at a time 

 when swearing was the fashion, the grand old Yorkshireman, like 

 Admiral Pocock, of Havannah renown, was not only not addicted to 

 the habit, but cordially disliked it. In illustration of this pecu- 

 liarity, we may give the following anecdote. When that eccentric 

 jockey, "Will Scott, was mounted for the St. Leger of 1846, on the 

 horse which bore Sir Tatton's honoured name, a noble lord, whose 

 knowledge of the merits of lago led him to think that Frank 

 Buckle would do the trick upon the latter horse (as he very nearly 

 did, by the way), said to Scott, " You won't win to-day, Bill." 



" You be d d ! " was the rude reply of the spoilt jockey. Sir 



Tatton was at hand, and called out in his own mild way, " Don't 

 be rude, William, and don't swear, and I will lead your horse 

 back if you win ! " The horse did win, and how the Yorkshiremen 

 cheered as the venerable baronet, then in his 75th year, led his 

 namesake back to the weighing house ! From that hour till the day 

 of his death every jockey that rode a St. Leger winner claimed, as 

 one of the rewards of winning, a shake of the hand and a kind 

 word from the Yorkshire patriarch. It will be long before the name 

 of Sir Tatton ceases to be familiar as a household word among the 

 sportsmen of the shire of broad acres. He was the very type of 

 man they best appreciate and admire. He loved a good horse, a 

 good hound, a good shorthorn, a good sheep, and at Sledmere he 

 gratified his taste for all of them on a princely scale. Indeed, the 

 reverence felt for him in Yorkshire was akin to idolatry. To see 

 him riding out of the Eddlethorpe paddock after a September ram- 

 letting on his Colwick black, accompanied by the clergyman of Sled- 

 mere, returning right and left the greetings of friends and tenants, 

 and to hear the half-whispered " God bless him ! how hearty he is 

 — -he'll put in for a hundred," reads to us like a chapter out of the 

 Spectator. " How's Sir Tatton looking ? " was one of the first ques- 

 tions asked as each York and Doncaster meeting came round, and 

 strangers would bustle their way in excitement through the mob to 

 have a glimpse at the famous old sportsman as, umbrella in hand, 

 he stood there dressed in the old garb of Yorkshire — the long, 

 straight-cut black coat, the ample frill, the beaver gloves, the drab 



