Trials. 135 



gallop, in which he went on for the last half mile, when 

 Ireland's Eye retired, showed them that they got the 

 public form correctly enough. Aleppo and Roger- 

 thorpe were as near in private as in public. The 

 latter at even weights won the T.Y.C. trial by a neck, 

 and when they met over the old two mile course at 

 York, next year, the slbs. which Aleppo received, 

 brought it to a dead heat ! 



Now we find ourselves in dear old Richmond 

 Yorkshire, the week before the St. Leger, 

 and more confirmed than ever in our belief, as we 

 rest, carpet bag on shoulder, at many a rustic hostel, 

 that the women fry ham all day, and the men talk 

 about Scott and John Osborne at night. The horses 

 are all at work on Richmond High Moor this morn- 

 ing, as for the first time in our lives we scale the 

 Beacon. Belle Isle lies at our feet, and we insensibly 

 mix up rusty Billy Pierse histories of Oriana, Manuella, 

 Comedy, and Swiss, with Vedette and Ignoramus, 

 those sheeted notables of the present, as we watch 

 Abdale nicking in with them on his pony, in their 

 gallops, and having a tremendous set-to for about 

 fifty yards. Still September has come round without 

 a St. Leger nag for Richmond ; and hence the little 

 gap amid the firs, which stands out bleakly against 

 the sky on the distant hills, soon beckons us on our 

 willing way to Middleham. 



The Grey Stone, which has seen many Road to Middie- 

 a gallant field sadly " squandered" ere ^^"^• 



they reached it, and the rich Aske Valley, where we 

 have been reintroduced to Voltigeur, (rolling glorious, 

 muddy, and free, with a subscription already full, in 

 his paddock), that still finer model of a Cup horse. 

 Fandango, and an infant Hospodar — are once more in 

 our lee. Now we are passing Spennithorne church, 

 where beneath a large gravel mound, marked by no 

 tomb-stone, near the chancel, rests all that is mortal 

 of their once great jockey, and we are in Middleham 



