94 'S'^^ and Scarlet. 



** get hod," and put it in his fatal cross-buttock. In 

 vain the umpires threaten to blow them out of the 

 ring if they keep up the delicious suspense much 

 longer ; but all in vain. Weightman kens Geordie's, 

 and Geordie kens Weightman's grip too well to let 

 him have him by the waist a half second in advance. 

 Then they smile, raise their heads, shake them at the 

 umpires, and try it on once more. No better luck 

 again ; till at last the bell rings for Canteen to saddle, 

 and confront his Border friend Fair Helen, and 

 Bonassus for the Gold Cup. At the sound their 

 hands close round each other at last with a snap 

 which nothing can unloose this time. Hayton or 

 Bolton Gate must rejoice or wail ere night. Weight- 

 man's tall lank frame towers upwards, as he seems to 

 lift the little one almost off his legs, and prepares to 

 fling him into space, but Geordie is busy below. 

 Again and again he stops the dreaded cross-buttock, 

 but the hipe has done its work at last, and the Eden 

 bears to the Solway the long thunder-fledged shout 

 that " Lang John" holds the belt once more. And so 

 the stalwart Cumbrian crow-alleys settle their diffe- 

 rences ; and as they hold the plough on their fell sides, 

 or along the rich meadows of the Peterill, the Gelt, 

 and the Caldew, or herd their Cheviots amid the 

 heather wastes of Bewcastle — near scenes hallowed 

 by Dandy Dinmont and St. Ronan's Well — they may 

 well think with pride, till another Carel Races comes 

 round, of how 



*' Chapman was the man 

 Who bore away the prize from aU 

 At the merry sports of Flan ;" 



how Jonathan Whitehead " can fling them ony way ;" 

 and how Robert Gordon and Jackson of Kinneyside 

 were still the best cocks in a far nobler main than 

 Chester's. 



A Turf Retro- But the race-course seems to have 

 spect. faded from our notes, and we have left 



