The last time I saw Lord George, he was in his place in the House of Commons, heart and soul at work in the good cause of striving to serve his dearly-loved rural friends, actuated by honest conviction, a hatred of treachery, and genuine affection for his country; warmed into action by the fears he entertained for her safety, and sacrificing at a word all his cherished predilection for sporting, together with all hope of future ease, to be enabled to devote his great talents to her service.

And thus to die! during his short, short respite from the wear and tear, and turmoil of the brain,-in the prime of life-walking "across the fields," where,

"Winding into pleasant solitudes

Runs out the rambling dale,"

dropped in the balmy eventide of a sweet autumnal day on the wellknown path whereon his youthful steps so oft had strayed, without a friend or passing rustic to receive his last breath, or close his manly eye!

How inscrutable, truly, are the dread decrees of our Maker! how futile the learned calculations of the actuary!

The occasional levity, not to say leaven, of turf phraseology unavoidably introduced in these pages in illustration of the subject,and yet, possibly, to be repeated-may not, perhaps, induce the reader-merely contemplating the ripple on our stream of narrative -to give the author much credit for a tendency to sadness; but, he assures him, that he seldom, if ever, felt more sincerely grieved at the loss of a man whom he had but the privilege to esteem and admire on public grounds, than at the premature, melancholy death of Lord George Bentinck.

CHAPTER X.

Return to the Bye-Lanes and Downs.—Our Ride to Chester.-The Season.-The River Dee." He's sure to be beat!"-The County.-The Tradesmen's Plate. -Sounding the Market.-The Off-game.—The Ring.-The Irish Division.— His Reverence "laying the Twigs."

As, when the churchyard turf closes over some gallant comrade, to us no more! and the rattling volley rolls in congenial requiem o'er his grave, the warlike, clanging band, changing quickly from the dismal notes of woe wherewith it had solemnly marshalled the sad ceremony and the dead, strikes up some gay and spirit-stirring strain, and heads the survivors to their barrack and their duty; so do we leave the more serious and honoured task of chronicling the political worth of the lamented subject of our late short memoir to some future Hume or Gibbon, and again, in company of our friend and steed, salute the breezy morn, en route by bye-lane and down, and not infrequent trespass-venial let us hope-over tempting gap, to cross the green fields and wolds, towards the not less verdant Roodee of Chester.

And a long ride had we, keeping the Welsh side of the great iron road on our right flank, and proceeding by Gloucester, Hereford, Shrewsbury, and Wrexham to our place of destination.

The dog-cart preceding us a stage, containing ample change of linen and other luxuries, occasionally receiving us when so disposed,

we made "fair weather" of it throughout, and enjoyed ourselves excessively.

The sweet fertile country over which we crossed; the many objects of antiquity and interest that met our eye in our passage through old cities and hamlets not less quaint; together with the oft-occurring adventures of the road, and snug quarters at night, all served to render our equestrian trip pleasant in the extreme. At length, on the evening of a Sunday, we entered the ancient city, and after stabling our nags at the "Hop-pole," the host of which old-fashioned hostel was as venerable and game an example of a landlord located in a hunting country as ever drew a cork, we engaged the old quarters of Dallas, situated on the walls, preferring to sleep and breakfast in private, and to dine at any of the " ordinaries" or coffee rooms according to our fancy.

Chester is at all times a glorious old place; and at a race time outdoes itself in pleasantness and gaiety. There is none of the Newmarket intensity of turf business, though no lack of betting, God knows! but every one seems disposed to enjoy himself; eating, drinking, lounging on the walls and under the rows; flirting with the bonny Welsh and Cheshire lasses, and setting care, the devil, and the settling at defiance for one week out of the fifty-two.

The season, too, is so delicious and mirth-infusing. Spring has lost her coyness, her smiles and tears, and is now warm, and loving, and seductive as a Haidee. In truth, she all but averts her blushing face from the ardent look of summer, who comes in pride of youth, soon to be attended by the sultry hours-yet still, with

"Ever fanning breezes on his way,"

whilst the Roodee spangled with early dew, gay, and green, and alive with high-mettled racers at exercise long before sunrise, would tempt the veriest sluggard from his lair.

The rolling Dee, the deity of the ancient Briton, gushes from the wild depths of Pemblemeer, and flowing by savage Cader Idris and the vales of Denbigh, environs old Chester broad and fair, till, swelling in flood and turmoil, he tumbles headlong in the Irish Sea.

The downy orchards are in bloom, gaily encircling the old grey walls, and are filled by the feathered Persianis of the woods to the incessant serenade of the earlier bird of the turf, as he seeks, and at times vainly tries, to court his matin rest.

We remember, on one occasion, to have been an admirer of Sir Thomas Stanley's "Cow-boy," a horse in the " cup," then a favourite, and heavily backed,—and if ever a "little bird" did whisper his advice to a mortal ear it was on our proceeding to our quarters on the Walls, when a songster from the leafy orchestra invariably tuned up his pipe, and intreated us to "get out" by asserting in a tone of confidence, if somewhat shrilly, yet as plainly as a human being could have uttered it, "He's sure to be beat! he's sure to be beat! he's sure to be beat!" And beaten he was, though I did not, unfortunately, give credence to my friendly little thrush till after the race, when old "Cowboy," aided by the whip of Simmy Templeman, came driving all before him, beaten off a distance.

Cheshire is a good, sound, proud old county, full of families able and willing to appear on the Roodee in force and fashion; all fond of racing for its own sake, and delighted at the yearly muster in its quaint old capital.

"The Marquis," Sir Thomas Stanley, Sir Richard Bulkley, a perfect bona fide gentleman,-the Mostyns, Prices, Lloyds, Traffords, cum multis aliis of blood and attachment to sporting and country tastes, all contribute money and horse-flesh to the Roodee, through a neighbourly feeling, inducing their sweet women to grace the scene, and thus complete its hey-day and happiness.

The Tradesmen's Plate" is a very interesting and important event in our turf annals; and to the betting fraternity may be likened to a fatted calf, roasted, stuffed, and suffused in rich brown gravy thrown into a kennel of blood hounds! The "excellent picking," equally as dainty as substantial, serves them through the winter and early spring, and, to the Manchester division, is as "daily bread."

Out of a hundred nominations or more in this "handicap," probably a score come to the post; and out of these again fifteen are as safe "as if they were boiled," as the ring expresses itself when very sure of a horse being harmless. Some animal "roped," stopped in his stride, that is, for a course of one, two, or three seasons, running and being beat through that length of time in order that he may secure a light visitation at the hands of the handicapper, is, if tried to be good, really intended to try for the stake, and makes his appearance in the market at the Bush or old Bake's as cautiously as the stealthy foot that steps across the boards of the darkened Surrey in a murdering melodrame.

The commissioner from the stable, say Tom Dawson's, is, of course, the last man to open the affair, or even to sound the market; but, intrusting the delicate mission to some one he is rarely ever seen to speak to, probably a Bury, Ashton, or Rochdale man,-a manufacturer if he can get one,-the unheard of "nomination" is nonchalantly offered to be backed at outlandish odds as a mere spec through guess-work, or a stroke of ring pleasantrie!

The accredited envoy from Middleham Moor instantly snaps the facetious speculator, and lays him the odds as "found money." The taker, a humorous, fat man, with credit and a turn for lotteries, is the true sort! hardens on it, and takes the same odds from all the other good men in the room-all laid "accept or not," as if there was doubt on the subject! and thus he gets "on" at the best market-price, reserving any small portion of the odds taken through his agency to his own account, and yielding the gross amount to his employer over their brandy toddy at the Albion, or other distant part of the town.

The Bury man, if this neighbourhood is employ ed,-half-trader, half-muff ostensibly, now becomes a kind of star at the bettinghouses, and is always received as the " Alice Stanthorn man," with open jaws by the anxious pack. The known commissioner, probably seated cheek by jowl with the trainer, making a pop visit, and affable to a fault! openly backs another horse in the stable, and looks on the muff with supreme contempt.

From the vast number of horses nominated for Chester Cup this game is a "round" one in the ring, and by no means exclusive plunder-the "talent" soon becoming au fait to the dodge after laying a few thousands to fifteen," when they go into the highways and bye-ways for a return. The great "pull" consists in laying against certain non-starters, and in betting between these and horses as surely intended to run. They will lay you the odds

against a horse if they bear the owner's commission to scratch him in their pocket; and will give you about as great a chance as a cat is supposed to possess in the infernal regions without her clawscertainly not more. All this, together with innumerable other moves, is termed playing the "off game," - heads I win, tails you lose.

At Chester the ring musters in great force; for, besides the average harvest garnered by the talent on the great event, a profitable shot at the Derby nags, or rather at their country backers, is always made at this meeting, when the Anthropophagi of the turf prowl in comparative serenity, and devour their species in a more playful ferocity than at Newmarket or Epsom.

The streets, rows, walls, hotels and lodgings, swarm with the denizens of the race-course from all quarters. The "business" is transacted on the flags before the Royal Hotel, in the mid-street, and at night in the coffee-room of the house, when chairs, tables, and the very mantle-shelf are mounted by the shouting, bellowing throng. If the Irish division is in force the hotel is little less than taken by storm; when the ferocious brogue, swaggering offers of millions to tens, and infernal din made in their attempts to get the "tens," would frighten any one but the hardened or reckless performers in the orgy.

"By J! who says five to two against the Cure' for the day?" "The Dee takes," roared a long, uncouth Patlander, from the summit of a dumb waiter; "it's myself that will lay it to one, and thank any gentleman's son for taking that same," concluded he, thinking thereby, being a friend of the stable, to send the horse back in the betting, having a man ready to snap at any better offer. This Patlander, a lanky, school-boyish cut of a fellow, once kept old Ralph of the Talbot, at Liverpool, grimly awake all night, "studying his character," as he told me, endeavouring to make out to his own satisfaction, whether he was a sharp or a flat!

"The devil take him! said the worthy host, as wide awake a gentleman as any going, "the long, giggling, Irish spalpeen comes with offer after offer to me that looks like finding money' for any man to lay, and yet, before I have well booked him, he has always six to four the best of me."

"I can't make him out," continued Ralph, "and will decline further business till I do. I fancy old Joe Rodgers, and one or two more, are farming his d―d simplicity of countenance, and have turned him loose as a country agent. There was a parson of old John Day's stable, a cove with a white bibber, and a nob like Saint Peter, who came the amateur over me and my room once, we shan't forget in a hurry. He had the 'office' fresh laid with his breakfast every morning, and laid the twigs' so d-d cunning, that he 'gave it' to both me and Tom Speed, when we both thought we had him fairly in chancery, hotter nor boiling lead. I believe this gauky Irish fellow to be another missionary from the Heath, 'if not the Parish Clerk.""

"A man is never safe a moment, even in his own house," piously remarked he of the "Talbot," "but if I have an opportunity, I'll give the long Plenipo such a slogger!"

65

PARA; OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES ON THE BANKS OF THE AMAZON.

BY 1. E. WARREN.

Regions immense, unsearchable, unknown,

Bask in the sunshine of the torrid zone.-MONTGOMERY.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Departure from Cajueiro.-Presents from the Natives.- Last Scene.-Conversation on Melancholy.-A Song.-Parrots.-Ciganas.- The Cyracura.-Last hours at Jungeal.-Departure from Marago.-Arrival at Para.

It was not many days after the hunting excursion, related in the preceding chapter, that the writer of this humble narrative, bade farewell to Cajueiro-for ever!

The Englishman had volunteered to be my companion as far as Jungcal, and took with him the powerful native Pedro, to assist us in paddling.

While making preparations to get off, several of the warm-hearted islanders came down to the brook-side, bringing in their hands presents of various kinds, which they presented to me, at the same time asking with great sincerity, if I was ever coming to see them again. Weakness it may have been, kind reader, but I was, nevertheless, truly affected by these manifestations of good will on the part of the natives, and experienced a similar degree of regret on leaving them, that I did on taking leave of my beloved friends at home. Solitude has a tendency to develope and draw out the finer feelings of the soul, while an indiscriminate mingling with the crowded world, and the daily observation of hypocrisy and all other species of wickedness, which degrade humanity, not only operates as a serious check upon the sentiments of our nature, but absolutely tends to materialism, and to sever and calcify the heart. Thus we see an Emperor, who had deluged Europe with blood, so softened by the solitude and quiet of the lonely isle on which he was imprisoned, as to become attached to a few small fishes, and to grieve deeply at their lossyes, he, who had occasioned the destruction of thousands of human beings, without an emotion of pity, or a feeling of remorse, mourned sincerely at the death of a few little fishes! Then, again, we hear of another, though less distinguished, making companions in the silence and darkness of his dungeon, with a couple of sportive mice, who had been enticed from the security of their holes by the overpowering music of his violin. But I am getting diffusive, and must proceed.

The presents which I had received from the natives consisted of about a dozen chickens, a number of loquacious parrots, several huge bunches of bananas, and a miscellaneous assortment of other fruit.

All things being nicely stowed away in the montaria, and my "adieus" having been rendered to each one of the natives separately, we shoved off from the shore, and were soon floating rapidly down the stream, assisted by both current and tide.

VOL. XXVI.

F