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these hounds run into their fox in twenty-five minutes, or trot after them for an hour and a half, as on Monday the 29th, and see them hunt him to death, to be convinced that high-breeding and steadiness may be easily combined.

re, now I think you will be tired of le res, which, if you are too fast, you will not appreciate ; and if you are too slow, are hopelessly thrown away upon you.

The country showed symptoms of drying a little last Monday: we had a most clipping thirty minutes late in the afternoon, from Welton Osier Bed, and whipped off, it being too late to hold on to Dodford Holt, whither he had gone, after running through Norton, over Barrow Hill, into the Daventry Road, and turning to the left over the large grass fields between Dodford and Weedon, at a pace that tried even the thorough-bred ones. Adieu, my dear Nephew.

Your affectionate Uncle,

SCRIBBLE. Dec. 9, 1852.

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ENGRAVED BY J. B. HUNT, FROM A PAINTING BY HARRY HALL.

BY CASTOR.

Would that we had less reason for presenting a portrait of this truly celebrated jockey than that we are enabled to offer with it. James Robinson can never ride again. Those who have so often enjoyed the finished elegance of his set-to—who have stood in wrapt admiration at the precision and coolness with which his great efforts were timed and made, and have confessed that in his form, temper, and system were embodied the perfection of race-riding, must never hope to witness it again. The man is happily yet spared to us, but the jockey can live now only in the memory of those deeds, so few who have seen them will be able to forget. At such a season, then, his portrait must come more than ever acceptable : as with it we may associate the sketch of a career that, at any rate, closed in the full vigour of its course. Too many successful men, it has been said, know not when to retire from the scene of their triumphs. Fate, with a harsh summons enough perhaps, withdrew Robinson from the heath while we recognized in him still the same accomplished horseman.

James Robinson is a Newmarket man by birth as well as by education. He was born there on the 22nd of June, 1794, and is the son of one John Robinson, who trained in those days for the well-known Mr. Panton. When yet at a very early age the lad James was placed in the stables of Robson, the most successful trainer of the time--a rare opening for a boy of any promise, and one that young Robinson did not fail to take advantage of. It was not long before his ability was

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discovered by so good a judge as the master he lived under, and he consequently soon emerged from the common routine of stable-work and exercise to the better practice of riding trials. It is said, indeed, that his first mount of this kind-on a two-year-old of the Duke of Grafton's -was by way of a recompense for the boy's disappointment in not being allowed to take Pope, a horse he was then looking after, to run out his engagements at Epsom. Mr. Robson considered him too small to have charge of a horse on such a journey ; but not for the more worthy and important duty of riding one. The event proved the corrects ness of the decison. So delighted was Robson himself with this debût of the future jockey that he repeatedly declared “ He can't be a boy, he must be a little man !” From this time Robinson continued gradually perfecting himself in his art by the experience he gained in riding the many trials of so strong a stable. We have not been able to ascertain the occasion of his first appearance as a public race-rider; but Frank Buckle was one of his early patrons, as well as the model from whom he took many a useful hint. A good story is told of the two being engaged against each other in a race, when Robinson was yet quite at the commencement of his career as a jockey. The finish was left between them, and the young one contrived to “ gammon ” Buckle that his horse was quite beaten, when he had in fact a little still in him. The elder accordingly, in all confidence, sent out his horse to finish, and the young one, coming with a rush, just caught him on the post. The tone with which old Frank told his pupil on pulling up, to “ try that on somebody else next time,” conveyed a greater compliment than was perhaps intended.

Only once allowed an opportunity for the display of his ability as a horseman, and Robinson quickly “ got into plenty of riding,” as the Newmarket term phases it. He was but little over his majority, in his twenty-third year, when he first gained the blue ribbon of the turf," winning the Derby, in 1817, on Mr. Payne's Azor. From that period his success for a long series of years was almost, if not altogether, unprecedented. No man rode so many winners ; none afforded such frequent displays of fine riding ; and few, indeed, were found so little liable to mistake of any kind. It would be impossible here to do anything like justice to his performances—the Calendars must be left to speak for themselves. We may however notice, that seven years from his riding Azor he repeated his Derby victory, in 1824, on Sir John Shelley's Cedric, winning the Oaks the next day on Lord Jersey's more celebrated Cobweb.* A well-known anecdote connected with these two events couples yet another with it : Robinson having taken long odds that he won Derby and Oaks and was married all in the week! Miss Powell was not less inclined to smile than fortune, and our jockey won his wife and his bet.

Lord Jersey and Sir John Shelley were, if we recollect right, confederates at this time, and it was in the Middleton colours that Robinson long carried all before him. The very next year, 1825, he again won the Derby on Chesnut Middleton ; 1827, for the same noble lord

• In riding this race, the gag which had been put on the mare got entangled in the bit, and Robinson, leaning forward, took it off in running! He won the Oaks thrce years previously for Lord Exeter, on Augusta, but never since. He also won the St. Leger but twice-on Matilda, 1827, and on Margrave in 1832, for Mr. Gully.

and good sportsman, on Mameluke ; and the year succeeding, for his Grace the Duke of Rutland, on Cadland. In Mameluke's year he also attained his first St. Leger, which he won after a most brilliant race, on Mr. Petre's Matilda ; Sam Chifney contesting it with him on the Derby winner. So gratified was one gentleman, Mr. Cruikshanks, who stood on the mare, that he presented Robinson with the magnificent sum of £1,200 as some token of his admiration of the manner in which Matilda was ridden. Universally lauded as this was, it was surpassed, however, the following season in the dead heat between, and subsequent defeat, of The Colonel by Cadland for the Derby. It was here that Robinson's temper and coolness availed him so much. While poor William Scott was looking all nervousness and anxiety and their own trainer, old Mr. Boyce, equally excited and ill at ease, Robinson took his leg-up for the deciding heat as calm and collected as if he were going for a fifty pound plate. “Stop a bit,” he said, with a laugh, as he was in the act of reaching his horse ; “stop a minute, just let's have a pinch of snuff first.” How many thousands hung on the resolution that could relish that pinch of snuff !

It may have won the Derby, but it lost the man whose coolness thus achieved it his money. Robinson some time before the race took sixteen fifties to one about the Colonel, while on Cadland his winnings were but £275. A similar circumstance occurred to him in the service of the same noble Duke : His Grace had a mare, very favourably tried, called Catherine, and as Robinson was taking her to the post he was asked what he would like to stand on her himself ? His reply was

Nothing ; there was one in the race must beat her-Lord Exeter's Progress ; and, in fact, he had backed him for a hundred.” The event proved Robinson not far wrong in his opinion, but still not quite as correct as his employer. It came to a race with the two, a very fine raco indeed, and Catherine won by a short head !

After a considerable interregnum Robinson won, what we must now write as his last Derby, again for Lord Jersey, on Bay Middleton. The unconquered career of this celebrated horse, good as he was, is still attributable in a very great degree to the jockey who rode him not merely in his races, but even in his common exercise. Middleton was very hot-tempered, so impetuous indeed as to become at times almost ungovernable. Robinson, fortunately for all concerned, possessed & temper of exactly an opposite quality, and by the day of the Derby they were both almost equally good. Perhaps one of the very finest finishes ever seen was on this horse, when, after being left a little too close, he beat Elis a head for the Two Thousand. It was only the other day this was brought forcibly back to our recollection when making a call on a friend at Kensington. In his sanctum hangs a picture of some size, from the easel of the elder Herring, depicting the struggle between these two famous horses, and with equal character “the set-to” of “ Honest John” and “our James.”

But how many of Robinson's finishes could we dilate on !-His Russborough rush for the Leger, when, as he himself said, he got a great deal closer than he had ever any business to be ; his yet more unexpected appearance on Clarion for the Cesarewitch in 1840, when Sam Chifney and Bloomsbury succumbed to him ; the electric flash on Rathmincs but two years since ; his Cup race at Ascot, on Caravan ; his

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