Si 



■ AND THE TURF. 2il 



forgotten. About forty years fince, according 

 to my authority, the Lord March being at 

 York Meeting, made a bet with a farmer, who 

 was a ftranger to his Lordfhip, of courfe the 

 man's name was particularly required. The 

 farmer anfwered, " my name is Dick Hut- 

 " TON, I thought every body had known me, 

 " for I come here every meeting, and generally 

 " bring two or three hundred pounds in my 

 " pocket, either to win or lofe ; and pray now, 

 " what may be your name ?" The peer replied, 

 his name was March, he was Lord March — 

 " O ho ! faid Dick, if that be the cafe, come, 

 flump ! flump ! for as your name is March, 

 you may perhaps take it into your head to 

 " march off." His Lordfhip was highly divert- 

 ed with the honefl bluntnefs of the man, and, it 

 feems, every meeting afterwards, enquired par- 

 ticularly for his old acquaintance Dick Hutton. 

 I tell this little tale of his Grace of Queenfbury 

 with the more boldnefs, lince, ifit want authen- 

 ticity, it contains no mattor of offence ; the 

 idea of having wantonly or unjuftly wounded 

 the mind of either noble or plebeian, would m- 

 flicl the feverer wound upon my own breafl. 



Much has ever been faid, and more imagined^ 

 of the ftratagems and manoeuvres of the courfe; 

 — and is.it not very natural, that fuch fhould 

 be pra£lifed in a fyflem the very effence of 

 which is the produftion of pleafure and profit, 



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