Doncaster Moor. 3 1 9 



told us of the death of Eclogue, and added, " It's an 

 omen for me!' The foreboding was too true, as his 

 hour had come before the next May morning, and 

 three veterans in Yorkshire history, Sir Tatton, John 

 Gully, and Tom Hodgson — ninety, eighty, and 

 seventy — lay dead, in the same county, almost within 

 a month of each other. * 



Each man sees and puts things from his own point 

 of view. The Learned Blacksmith merely esteemed 

 Melton Mowbray as a veritable Goshen of pork-pies. 

 The Scotch Minister wrote of his spouse that " she 

 was taken by a bilious attack from my bosom to 

 Abraham's ;" and Drunken Barnaby " saw nothing on 

 the banks of the Don save a lively Levite," and sang 

 not of racers and horse-copers, but — 



' ' As all things come by natur, ■ 

 Concerning looms from Doncastur, 

 And weaving done by w^yter." 



It is difficult for any enthusiast to get away from his 

 Doncaster theme. The Moor — with its long line of 

 stands, its historical Red House, and " the hill" which 

 breaks the flat so beautifully — looks more the real 

 racing thing than any other course in the kingdom. 

 The hill especially is big with the memory of Bill 

 Scott. Here, in '37, his horse Epirus (belonging to 

 " the remarkable young 'un," as he always termed Mr. 

 Bowes) rolled into the ditch, and threw him into the 

 course right on the track of Harry Edwards on Prime 

 Warden. His collar-bone united quick enough, but 

 when, next year, he was on Don John, the first St. 

 Leger winner ever trained at Pigburn, and reached the 

 spot once more, he sent out his horse as if with a 

 savage determination to be by himself this time in 

 front, and Lanercost and every horse in the race felt 

 it " like an electric shock." The brothers Scott have 

 always been specially connected with Doncaster, and 



* See "Scott and Sebright," pp. 327-334. 



