THE THISTLE DOWX. 25 



mocking- his long stride, as they run matches against each 

 other to the tinkHng- of the starting-hell with which the 

 wandering ewe will clear the way. How different in its 

 sober, monotonous echo, to that quick, thrilling alarum 

 which proclaims " they're off!'' When, in the noise and 

 turmoil of the crowded course, we are challenged on every 

 side by the hoarse husky Ishmaelite who will '^ lay agen " 

 everything and everybody — when, amidst the din of dis- 

 cord and the wild revelry of such a holiday, we catch a 

 glimpse of the yellow jacket of Aristophanes as he sweeps 

 by in his canter, or struggles home lo a chorus of shouts 

 and yells, of cracking of whips and working of arms — 

 hero, then, though he may be, high though that number 

 7iine be exalted, we see little here of the beauty and poetry 

 of the thorough-bred horse's life. We must seek this 

 rather in the sweet solitude of the downs and by-ways, 

 where the shepherd's hut is the ending-post, and the 

 farmer, thrice happy in his ignorance, will lean carelessly 

 on his stick as they march by, to ask '' What's the name 

 of that un?" 



[This sketch of 'Mr. 3Ierry's racing stable at Russley was written in 

 the spring of the year 1862, when Thormanby, a winner of the Derby, 

 and Buckstone, a first favourite for the Derby, were both in work.] 



