DOT AND CARRY ONE. 323 



to day between the police and those who spin stories 

 for the press. At a later date I learned that Luke 

 Lightwood had made it a rule for many years to walk 

 from his lodgings, in what was called Greenwich Vil- 

 lage in the old days, and remain on the Battery from 

 twelve to two in summer, and from twelve to one in 

 winter, before taking a car up town. He was so 

 regular in his movements that the clerks in the Cus- 

 tom House were in the habit of regulating their 

 watches by his coming or going, while Luke, all un- 

 conscious of the attention he attracted, took his con- 

 stitutional, watched the vessels passing up and down 

 the river and talked with the boys, with whom he was 

 a prime favorite. 



As newsgatherers are fond of odd characters, I had 

 the officer arrange matters so that I was added to 

 Luke's list of Battery acquaintances, and when the 

 old man learned that I was fond of a galloping horse 

 he was only too anxious to again live over in memory 

 the old days, when he was in the saddle and riding on 

 the tracks between New York and New Orleans. On 

 one occasion, when in a communicative mood, Luke 

 recited the words of the old song, "The High-Mettled 

 Racer," which he said was from time immemorial 

 sung each year by the President upon the removal of 

 the cloth at the Jockey Club dinner of the South Caro- 

 lina Jockey Club, which held its meetings at the 

 Washington course, near Charleston. He also said 

 that he stood on the lawn and heard it the year (1846) 

 Childe Harold won the Jockey Club purse from Jerry 

 Lancaster and Sally Morgan. As I appeared to be 

 much taken with the words, Luke repeated them, line 

 for line, while I wrote them in a memorandum book. 

 The following are the words of the song: 



