OLD JOHN DAY. 55 



OLD JOHN DAY. 



Another link in Turf history is lost to iis. It would 

 seem^ indeed^ as if the chain were giving way altogether 

 in a place or two. Take ten, or twenty, or even thirty 

 years since, and what a group could we picture, as the 

 hell rang for saddling for the opening race over Bath, 

 Bihury, or Cheltenham ! Here, inside the ropes, waiting 

 for his horse,, is quaint, quiet, Jem Chappie, in the well- 

 worn white body and red sleeves of Isaac Sadler, who in 

 his own favourite body clothes, the blue coat and brass 

 buttons, is finally determining whether they shall ^^ g'o 

 for the heat " or not. Close at their elbow stands his 

 namesake, Isaac Day, of Northleach, amply protected 

 against the Lansdowne breezes in his well-cut drab dread- 

 nought, and the as invariable drab trowsers to match. 

 In earnest converse with him mark the useful ^^ Vicar,"' 

 or dandy Arthur Pavis, come all the way from New- 

 market to ride Caravan for the Cup; while sedately jog- 

 ging up on his hack, hails them '^ Honest John" himself, 

 looking as grave as a pai'^on, and very like one, even when 

 lie was stripped to the strictly clerical habiliments of Mr. 

 Wreford — black jacket and white cap — who is going to 

 win the Two Year Old with Wapiti, Westeria, or to put 

 <ome other such invincible ^^a double" on them. 



And have they all gone from amongst us ? Shall the 

 starting signal summon rhem no more ? The only echo is 

 no more 1 No more shall the one Isaac bustle away on 

 his varmint pony, or the other walk calmly back into tlie 



