his first attempt had his two dogs, FuUerton and Troughend, left in to 

 divide the stake in 1889, and the next three years in succession Fullerton 

 won ontright. 



No one begrudges this to the gallant Colonel, for he is a downright 

 good sportsman. It only shows what luck is, same as does the Derby, 

 which, despite their many endeavours, was never won by either the 

 nobleman who instituted the race a hundred and fifty years ago or 

 by any of his successors, while it has been won by men the very first 

 time they tried. 



The late Mr. William Irvine of Hawick was a man highly cultured 

 and endowed with great refinement of taste. In every phase of life he 

 was poetical, and no companion was more genial. He loved coursing 

 and enjoyed friendly relationship with the leading coursers of the day, 

 with none more than Mr. Robert Jardine of Castlerailk. When that 

 gentleman's bitch Muriel won the Waterloo in 1873 Irvine composed a 

 song to commemorate the event, a copy of which in manuscript he gave 

 me, and as I don't think it ever appeared in print, I now produce it 

 in memory of my very dear friend. 



Mueiel's Waterloo A^ictory. 

 Air : " Adieu, a warm, a fond adieu.' 



Auld Scotland now may raise her pow, 



Her coursers one and a' git fow, 

 For twal lang years hae come and gane 



Sin' she has won " the Waterloo." 



But now the thistle brag? the rose 

 And shades the shamrock in the vale ; 



The Cap has gone to Castlemilk 



And .Jardine's fame rings in the gale. 



Prince bow'd the knee to MiirieVs power, 



Chamelion flashed her hues in vain. 

 The haughty Croesus bic the dus<-, 



Mage7ita's laurels strew 'd the plain. 



The Welshman's Peasant Boy looked grim 

 While touts and backers yell'd his name j 



The sprit-like Muriel bowl'd hi;n out 

 And bore away the wreath of fame. 



Down clash'd the Welshman's brimming pot 

 And up went Jardine's spotless silk ; 



While shouts of triumph rent the sky 

 To cheer the Laird o' Castlemilk. 



Long live the Laird o' Castlemilk ! 



A sportsman good and true is he, 

 And few will grudge our genial Laird 



His beauteous Muriel's victory. 



The above when sang by poor Irvine in his rich melodious voice was 

 indeed a treat to listen to. 



