A VICTORY! THE joy-bells peal a merry tune The crackling bonfires turn the sky A little girl stood at the door, Sudden her cheek turns ghostly white ; And, rushing in-of-doors, she screams— A mother sat in thoughtful ease, She tore her few gray hairs, and shriek'd, Oh, God! my son ! my son ! And thousand joyful voices cry, "Huzza! Huzza! A VICTORY! A youthful wife the threshold cross'd, A smiling infant nestling lay In slumber at her breast. She spoke no word, she heaved no sigh, An old weak man, with head of snow, One scalding tear, one choking sob- THE REV. R. E. B. MACLELLAN. ENGLISH SCENES AND CHARACTERS. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. JOCKEY DAWES. THERE was not a man in all that part of the country who was able to compete in wit with our old friend, Dick Redfern, in his best days, but Jockey Dawes and the jockey has a fame as extensive and enduring as Dick himself. By a jockey the people of the midland counties in common parlance, do not mean, as the term more usually signifies, a rider at races, but a horse-dealer, a horse-jockey. Jockey Dawes was a prince and a leader in his profession, and that, as all the world knows, requires a keen wit and a cunning. There is no trade in which overreaching is more highly estimated as a science. With this class of men it is a constant battle of intellects. It is always diamond cut diamond. To be a good horse-jockey a man must, to use their own term, be as deep as the north star. To bargain, to banter, to pose by a species of sharp sarcasm and vaunting eloquence, to set stratagem against stratagem, trick against trick, lie against lie, that is the daily business of the jockey. A fair statement of the actual quality of the article, a fair demand for it, those are the very last things which are thought of. The grand triumph and glory of jockeyship is, by well-laid schemes, good selection of customers,-for a jockey sees at a glance whether he has, to use his own phrase, got the right sow by the ear,-by the practice of the most singular arts and artifices, to palm off a worthless beast for a good price, or a good beast for five times its value. Hence all the practices of patching, painting, clipping, trimming, gingering, to cover defects and impose a temporary show of spirit till the bargain is over. It is only a practical eye that knows where to look for what is real, and what is deception; but that eye will in a moment detect the cleverest deception. The good jockey will coolly lay his finger on the weak point, on the concealed defect, with a quiet smile, as if it was a thing of no great importance,-show up the cheat, and tell to a penny the real worth or worthlessness of the animal. It is the Johnny Raw and the pretender who pay the penalty for dealing in horse-flesh. It is Moses who sells his horse, and gets a gross of spectacles in shagreen cases. I have known many who prided themselves on their judgment in such matters, but I scarcely ever knew one man who was not a regular jockey himself, who did not severely suffer for such transactions. if The Jockey has a pride and glory in his profession proportioned to its difficulties and scope of imposition. See him riding into a town to a fair, with his long string of steeds all tied head to tail— what a confident, self-satisfied air there is about him, as he jogs on, generally mounted on the most sorry jade in his possession, which you would not think worth a sovereign, but which, if you ventured such a sentiment, he would immediately crack off as a most extraordinary creature. Nay, he will point out points in the scarecrow as actual points of breed and beauty; and telling you, you be a judge, you must see that at once, will make you quite ashamed of your ignorance. And then, as to virtues, and special qualities-why, there never was such a horse! How many miles has he actually ridden that tit in one day without drawing bit? How many miles an hour does he trot? What weight has it carried or drawn? and what have said such and such great men of it? Bless us! why it is a fact, Bellerophon was a dog-tit to that horse! And with that he gives the jade a coaxing slap on the chest, with a-" What, they'd run thee down, old Bob, eh? They'd make us believe that thou 'rt fit for nothing but the dog kennel, eh? But let 'em show us a tit that can clear the ground like thee yet. No, no, thy best days are to come yet. Thou 'rt none of their flip-flap, rashy-washy bits of Arabians, that can be slipped out of their dandy wrappers and run over the course for ten minutes, and then into their jackets again, and all covered and cordialled and coddled up like a sick child, or an old woman with the ague. No, Bob; no, lad, thou 'rt all fair and above board, rough and ready, all steel and pin-wire, and wilt be jogging on thy ten miles an hour when many a showier thing is not fit to draw a babies' cart." And then he gives him a cut with his long whip, and makes him start and prance, crying-" See! what, he's no spirit left, has he? Isn't that action? What d'ye call that? See the jockey thus on the pavement of the fair, in his long coat, his old boots, his great jockey whip, his hat that has no shape that mortal terms can describe-brown, slouching, without either roundness or squareness, corners or edges about it; and his stout waistcoat with its double rows of great buttons; see his ruddy, sunburnt face, and how he plants his leg, and puts out his hand as he is in the midst of his bargain-why, he would not thank the Queen to be his mother-he is a clever jockey—a rare hand at a raffle, and that is, in his eyes, the summit of existence. And what a thing is a jockey's bargain! He would scorn to set a fair price on a horse, and sell it at once and quietly. There is no fun in that. No, even when he knows that his customer is up to the thing; knows the worth of it as well as he does, he 'll ask at least a fourth more than he means to take, that he may have а chance by the force of his palaver to take in the knowing one a bit. It is at least the way to show his wit, his knowledge; to enjoy the luxury of a good hard fight. He is all tongue, all eyes, all ears. He has half-a-dozen bargains on the tapis at once, though he seems to be absorbed body and soul in an eager endeavour to convince some one person of the superlative qualities of some particular steeds; though all the while he is perhaps well satisfied that he shall not sell those very horses to this particular man; that the bidding is only to show off on the other side. And truly, a pretty contradiction of terms do you have about the same horse. The owner has not words to express all his virtues and beauties— the bidder to express his astonishment at the strange defects of the creature. What a chest! what shapely buttocks! what an eye! what a beautiful head! what a set of handsome legs and neat feet! what fire and action he has! according to one,-and according to the other, what a joulter head! what a pig back and bony hips! what incipient spavins, tetters, and glanders! He is, according to the bidder, liable to all sorts of diseases, colics, coughs, staggers, and heaven knows what. You wonder what he can want such a horse for. By his account it is too bad even for the dogs. But while the heat of contest goes on about this sorely praised and abused steed, the eye of the jockey is secretly aware of three or four other parties, that he knows are more likely to purchase, and far more easy to be taken in. Suddenly, he turns to a quiet clergyman-like sort of a person, and saysThat's a capital horse now, if you wanted one for a gig-sure-footed as the sun himself-goes like the wind, and is only rising four years old. He's been run for a year by Sir Toby Blaze, who would not have taken two hundred pounds for him, but Sir Toby was a little run out at the elbows, I reckon, and is off to France. I can let you have that a bargain;-all right and tight,-you 'll never have the chance again. "What's the price?" Price!-dog cheap-a mere old song. Seventy pounds.” The clergyman-like, mild gentleman shakes his head, and is walking away. "What will you give then, master? Name your price. I might possibly come down a trifle or so, to do business." I don't want a horse at more than fifty pounds," says the mild gentleman, softly. But Fifty! oh, I can let you have a dozen at that price, at forty, thirty, ay, twenty-five, if you will. See here! and here! take my advice now, that is a bargain! that is a horse! tell you it is as well worth two hundred pounds to a gentleman as a penny loaf is worth a penny. But to make short on it, I'll say sixty-five! There! what do you say then? "Say forty, Jem!" says an equally sharp-looking fellow of the same genus, "and let the gentleman go; you see he wants to be going to his dinner. Say forty; that's the real value of the tit. I'll bid it for him, come, done! very Forty? forty devils! Do you think, Houndell, that I steal my horses? or take the dog-flesh of the cavalry? No, the least penny I'll take is sixty-three! Ah, neighbour! says he, suddenly bustling away to a farmerly-looking man, who is eyeing a pair of black colts" Ah! you've some white in your eye, I see. You know a bit of good stuff when you see it, as well as. |