MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. xx 



When the summer days are ended, and the year begins to wane, 

 On the honoured turf of Doncaster the eight will meet again. 

 Though the rise from Langley Bottom made the speediest of them 



flinch, 

 The battle o'er the Yorkshire flat they'll fight out inch by inch. 



The mantle of a prophet has descended not on me 



I've no plummet fit to fathom the vasty future's sea. 



But one sound leading maxim I would sportsmen bid remember 



See the Leger horses saddled on the eighteenth of September. 



Sporting Magazine. 



THE FIGHT FOR THE BELT, 1860. 



Let us sigh no more for the ancient time, 



When Figg made each foeman rue ; 

 When Broughton was honoured in every clime, 



And lithe was Mendoza's thew ; 

 When Gentleman Jackson, in manhood's prime, 



Taught Eoyalty half he knew : 



When The Chicken's plumage and eye were bright, 

 As he stripped to the buff for the fray ; 



When Scroggins was not a wan " ghost" of the night, 

 But, like Belcher, the pride of the day ; 



And when Gully proved to the Gregson's might, 

 Twice over, that he could stay. 



Johnny Broome and Dutch Sam to their rest are gone : 



Deaf Burke cannot shy up his cap ; 

 No more does each Eutland and Leicestershire don 



Rush from sessions to Thistleton Gap, 

 To see the heroic Tom Cribb turn on 



The " real South African" tap ! 



And still in each eye the thought of Tom Spring 



Can light the Corinthian flame ; 

 Years will not efface Owen Swift from The Ring, 



Or sully Jem Ward's proud name ; 

 While Brettle, and Mace, and Nat Langham can bring 



The chaplets they won from Fame ! 



And the Sherwood Ranger, bold Bendigo, 



Is on training no more intent ; 

 But the trout full well that ex-Hittite know, 



On a summer's eve, in the Trent, 

 How still, when he feints with his right for a throw, 



Some terrible mischief's meant. 



