XV111 MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 



And can it be, thatjso deep-drained is Malt-on' s lucky cup 



Its stable on the telegraph owns not one number up ? 



Once on a time it stood as firm as Old Gibraltar rock, 



When " Brother John" was trainer, and " Brother Bill" was jock. 



To view the " Richmond Clipper" does each horse-flesh lover strive, 

 As his trainer leads him saddled from the Baron's fir- clad drive ; 

 See " The public" rally round him in a thousand-thick battalion, 

 While The King turn up their noses at the " lusty country stallion." 



As he strides down to the distance, there are eyes that seem to scan 

 Like form and sweeping action to Lord Eglinton's old Van ; 

 May Job, who, like his prototype, has borne hard fortune's brunt, 

 Now triumph over calumny, and hand him home in front. 



Now, Hibburd, hoist your signal ; the grand secret let us know, 

 Three hundred thousand peepers are watching for your "go;" 

 Each pulse is wildly thrilling 'neath fine linen or a rag 

 There, he's got them well together ; hurrah ! down goes the flag. 



Deicoon and Lawyer Ford's Penang are rushing to the fore 

 Once up the hill, their places will never know them more. 

 Now fails the stroke of Bolingbroke now Mildew feels the pace ; 

 See Voltigeur comes forward in a merry inside place. 



Come, Flatman, shake your Nigger ; Rogers, rouse your Cariboo 

 By Jove, he's looking dangerous. No, Ghillie, it won't do. 

 Alas ! for the game Mavors ! too true was Fobert's fear 

 There shoots Alfred on his chesnut, like an arrow from the rear. 



These seconds of deep agony each breathless gazer rack, 

 See Clincher leads, and Marson takes a strong pull at his black ; 

 Though every eye is on him, and a wild roar rend^ the air, 

 He sits not more cool and quiet in his Middleham arm-chair. 



Now, Frank, lay on to Clincher ; just glance to your right hand ; 

 Pitsford is at your saddle girths they're three lengths from the 



stand. 



There goes Job's finger off his rein, he clears them at each stride ; 

 He wins, he wins, does Voltigeur there's " 7" up the slide. 



'Tis done! mixed pain and pleasure sets each mad brain in a whirl. 

 Loud claps of vocal thunder greet the " red spots" of the Earl ; 

 While the delighted multitude by no means lack the will 

 To carry to the weighing-house, Job, Voltigcur, and Hill. 



Speed, jolly tumbler pigeons ! bear your namesake's fame to France ! 

 'Long some thousand miles of wires let the pleasant tidings glance ; 

 Eecord, Masonic Wardens, in the archives of each lodge, 

 The triumph of your Master, who ne'er stopped to cross or dodge. 



Ho, Herring, Hall, and Barraud ! get your brushes and start fair, 

 To paint in generous rivalry his game son of Voltaire ; 

 To disregard all likeness, with silk mercers seems a beauty, 

 Since for him on some handkerchiefs old Vyvian does duty. 



