THE PARSON'S JOCKEY. 45 



came to the town near which J/zV/^r Robert Miller lived to draw 

 his pension. On these occasions the two cronies dined together, 

 and had a long smoke afterwards in the saddle-room. I was 

 present at one of these ' smokes,' and then I heard the following 

 story of the grave staid Mister Miller's adventures on the Turf 



I shall not mention precisely in what portion of her Majesty's 

 dominions the scene of this story is laid, though I daresay some 

 who know the place well may recognise it from the description. 

 It is enough to say that it boasted one of the oldest race-courses 

 in the kingdom — a beautiful stretch of turf a mile in length, 

 lying between two bays ; and, forty years ago, the races were 

 popular and well patronised in the neighbourhood. The Rev. 

 Dr. Grosesmith had been then installed some three or four 

 years as rector of the parish. He was a clergyman of grave 

 and serious demeanour, a learned man, an excellent preacher, 

 and held in the highest respect by all classes. Mister Robert 

 Miller had been about two years in the reverend gentleman's 

 service as coachman and groom, and was believed by his master 

 to be an exceedingly quiet and respectable young man. His 

 solemn face even then stood him in good stead. But Mister 

 Robert Miller's intimate associates could have given him a 

 rather different character. For all his solemn face he could 

 take his liquor with the best of them ; and when once the liquor 

 was in him, he was the maddest devil of the lot. Well, it was 

 just before the autumn race-meeting, some forty years ago, and 

 the rector had bought, a few months previously, a very stylish- 

 looking little mare, a good goer, with plenty of blood in her. 

 It was thought he meant her for his wife, who was a pretty fair 

 horsewoman; but the mare had too much spirit in her for a 

 lady's hack, and Mister Robert Miller had her all to himself, to 

 get her, if possible, more tractable and steady. He was a smart 

 horseman, was Mister Miller, had a good seat and fine hands ; in 

 fact, had all the requisites of a first-rate jockey. He cut a 

 dashing figure on the parson's handsome little mare, and bragged 

 a good deal in his cups of what the two of them could do if 

 they tried. Two days before the meeting came off Mister Miller 

 was drinking, with his companions, at the taproom of the 

 George, and the talk naturally turned upon the coming races. 

 The item in the programme which excited most local interest 

 was a race confined to the district, for which a high official annu- 

 ally gave a thirty-guinea cup. There were four entries for this 

 event, and the prospects of the four were being busily discussed 



