196 /;/ Scarlet and Silk 



of his bit, lie came along with giant strides, 

 and won by three-quarters of a length. 



George Fordham was as near perfection as 

 a race-rider as it is possible to get in this 

 sublunary sphere, and I suppose the worst 

 race he ever rode in his life was the solitary 

 Derby he won on Sir Bevys, on which occa- 

 sion he came round Tattenham Corner so wide 

 that he lost lengths, and then after taking 

 the lead at the Bell, rode his horse right out 

 to the end, as though hotly pressed, nothing, 

 as a matter of fact, being near him. Contrast 

 that performance with those of the Fordham 

 of old days, the Fordham of the wonderful 

 finishes at Newmarket, when with Tom 

 Chaloner, Custance, Tom French, old John 

 Morris (as good as most of them if he had 

 not been so deaf), et hoc genus omne, " he 

 witched the world with noble horsemanship." 



Despite the fact that we have now many 

 really sterling jockeys, I almost feel inclined 

 to relapse into the cry of " fogey dom ; " laud- 

 ator tempores acti. 



Mention of Tom Chaloner reminds me of 



