MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 



And a braver man ne'er stripped for a fight, 

 And soon he achieved a grand Tour 



De Force on the Champion's terrible right, 

 While Tom made his upper cuts sure ; 



And gazed at the rapidly waning light, 

 Like a High Art connoisseur. 



How the claret flowed from each battered nose, 

 How fierce was " the left duke's" sting, 



How oft Little Tom was knocked down and rose, 

 Is for Cornhill poets to sing ; 



Right well was it told in the glorious prose 

 Of the Southeys of the Ring. 



They will meet no more in their buff array, 



But this one-armed feat alone 

 Will stamp the man who gave away 



Five inches and nigh three stone, 

 As a monument for ever and aye 



Of old English pluck and bone. 



Sporting Magazine. 



THE PROPHET. 



" From some extraordinary private information which I have just 

 received, the race for, &c., is the greatest certainty extant. Fee only 

 20 guineas per annum." STAMFORD. 



AIR " She wore a wreath of roses." 



He wore a jaunty stable dress, the morn when first we met, 

 And round the Great St. Leger course he led the crack a sweat ; 

 His carcase was all lightness, he scarcely rode eight stone, 

 Still to his youthful heart was not " the time of day" unknown. 

 I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now, 

 As he pulled up on the leader at the top of Cantley brow. 



A most eruptive handkerchief when next we met he wore, 



He looked ten stone, and "VOLTIGEUR" was the classic name he 



bore ; 

 With "TRAMP" and " MISSIVE" as his pals, he sent out from Fetter 



Lane 

 Half-a-dozen winners for each race, and then came " RIGHT AGAIN !" 



I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now, 



Gaily twining every Thursday Life's laurels for his brow. 



