' me to dinner, and I found that my friend was Mr. Henry Fauntle'roy, the banker of Berners Street. I felt almost as much puzzled as I was flattered by this attention. Here was a man well known ' in City circles, with no habits in common with mine-what did 'this all mean? He knew nothing of the game, and had, apparently, no sporting tastes of any kind; yet I met others, chiefly young 'men like myself, at his table, and we were all handsomely enter'tained; though one thing struck me as very remarkable, namely, 'that our host_invariably fell asleep over the table. My invitations were more and more frequent, till at last I was requested to come at any time, a knife and fork always ready for me; and Mr. 'Fauntleroy by degrees began to open his mind to me on many 'subjects. One day he said,

"Budd, I was married this morning: you know to whom." Impossible! Had you only spoken to me, this should not have

"been.'

"Yes; but I must otherwise have fought the brother; and that ""was not in my way. However, the lady and I parted at the ""church door."

'Such were the terms of our intimacy, when, while shooting at 'Osbaldeston's, in Yorkshire, in 1824, and having seen nothing in any newspaper to prepare me for the news, I received a few lines 'from Mr. Fauntleroy, begging that, if what I was then engaged in was not too important, I would at once come and see a broken'hearted fellow-creature.

'Osbaldeston's coverts were no little attraction to me; but in the shortest time practicable I was on the mail-in Berners Street— ' and thence directed onwards, utterly bewildered and astounded, to 'Coldbath Fields Prison. Fauntleroy made a clean breast to me at once. The bank had been in difficulties; he had forged powers of attorney, and sold out the stock of his clients, expecting to replace on a fall of prices-prices kept rising. Dividends had to be paid, to 'conceal the loss of stock. Thus one forgery necessitated another to cover it, till stock to an immense amount (it cost the Bank of 'England 363,000l. to replace it) had been transferred and sold. 'He said he was well aware that proof of his guilt was certain, and 'he gave himself up for lost.

'My poor friend felt much relieved and comforted by my so ' promptly coming to see him, and unburthened his mind as to the years of agony he had endured. His fondness for me was soon 'explained. It was in my youthful vivacity and spirits that he ' chiefly found diversion; and as to his sleeping over the wine, and waking fitfully, why, he never slept in his bed, but enjoyed this ' little imaginary security, and snatched a few minutes of repose with 'youthful friends around him.

I immediately formed a plan for getting him out of prison, by 'having a rope thrown over the wall, and my brother's stable was to be the place of concealment till the scent was cold. All this time I 'forgot I was investing him, a very different man, with my own VOL. XXVII.—No. 183.

C

' activity and spirit. For Fauntleroy was a heavy man, and at that 'time heavy at heart too; besides, the parson had been at him, which 'made him more desponding still.'

'But I heard, Mr. Budd, he offered 20,000l. to the jailer to connive ' at a plan for his escape?'

'He never could have commanded such a sum: 800l., I believe, 'he did offer. My wife made him a silk purse to wear with notes 'next his skin. No doubt it was for these notes, raised, I think, 'from sale of wine and furniture. But the offer was refused. You ' remember all the particulars of the story from the papers. There is a villa at the north-west corner of Lord's. There lived a 'lady, a cousin of Fauntleroy, for whom he was trustee. It un'luckily happened that, from some little difficulty, the trust fund was ordered to be paid into Chancery, and Fauntleroy's co-trustees 'went down to the bank before he was aware of it, or could do any'thing to replace her stock. There was the turning point.

'I was the last who saw him on the morning of his execution. In 'the afternoon, while sitting alone, with what feelings you may 'imagine, in my house, No. 29, Alpha Road, near Lord's, the servant 'announced Mr. Vicary. Vicary was the master of Coldbath 'Fields Prison.

"What can you want now, Mr. Vicary?" I exclaimed. “Is my poor friend come to life again?

"Mr. Budd, you will admit I gave you every indulgence while "Mr. Fauntleroy was alive. Pray answer me one question: Are ""there any of my turnkeys I cannot trust? My mind is ill at ease." "Oh! if that is all, you can trust them a great deal too well, or "he were alive at this very hour."

"I thank you, sir. And in return I will tell sir. And in return I will tell you that we suspected "" from the first that you had a plan for his escape, and we kept watch ""accordingly, and am but too glad that was not attempted, for6 cc you were to have been shot!" Life was held cheaper in those days.

London began to lose its charm for Mr. Budd about this time. He soon after accepted a pension from the War Office, and was only occasionally seen at Lord's; but for twenty-five years after he was always a star, and one of some magnitude, in West of England

cricket matches.

One word more of Fauntleroy. I am writing in a coat made by one Mr. Paul, lately deceased, who was proud of having made a suit of black for the celebrated Mr. Fauntleroy to be hanged in, and said, 'The poor gentleman, as he tried them on, was just as particular, and we took the black silk knee-breeches back for a trifling alteration, 'just as if he were going to live.' I daily pass a house at the corner of Hampton Place, Western Road, Brighton, where Fauntleroy lived. 'Four horses,' said an old inhabitant, might often have been seen at 'the door, for one of the very rapid journeys by which Mr. Fauntleroy 'commanded both his business in Berners Street and the sea breezes of 'Brighton.'

·

SIR JOSEPH HAWLEY.

IN MEMORIAM.

OUR readers will require something more than a mere passing notice of the name which heads this brief tribute to the memory of one of the leading sportsmen of his age. It is not solely because four Derbies, besides most of the other great trophies of the Turf, have fallen to his share that we especially direct attention to his connection with the racing world for a period considerably exceeding that attained by the majority of his contemporaries. Other sportsmen have achieved almost similar distinctions, but there their connection with the history of racing ends. Sir Joseph was part and parcel of the scenes in which he mingled, and no mere shadow, known as the owner of some famous horses, and remembered only as 'belonging to' such celebrities. He. combined with real love of the sport and enthusiasm in its pursuit a clear head, consummate judgment, and the will and the power to mould to his own ends what he took so energetically in hand. He bred or selected his own horses, and possessed remarkable tact in estimating their early abilities; so that his entries in important stakes were felicitously made, and not haphazard, as is too frequently the case with lavish patrons of racing. After he determined upon deserting Alec Taylor's stable for the sake of greater privacy and convenience in a private establishment, he selected men admirably fitted for their posts as trainers; trustworthy, reliable servants, content to work under his own supervision, and to subordinate the stable mind' to that of its master. Their services were required merely as trainers, and were not called into requisition in the management and conduct of trials, which Sir Joseph invariably superintended himself. No one could put horses together' more cleverly; and though he made mistakes, they were few in comparison with those of his more sanguine but less experienced contemporaries. More than this, he was quick in making himself acquainted with the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of animals, knew how they should be ridden, and was an excellent judge of racing in all its varieties. Consequently, riding to his orders (always personally given to, and clearly impressed upon, his jockey) was generally attended with success; and, though severe in his notions of obedience and discipline, he was always ready to make allowances for his servants. He displayed an admirable command of temper and forbearance when Wells scaled overweight for Blue Gown in the Doncaster Champagne, and, though evidently most deeply annoyed, passed the matter quietly over, and readily forgave his favourite jockey. No master could be more kind or considerate to his servants; and if he erred, it was on the side of prodigal liberality, as on one occasion when he presented Wells with a cheque for the value of the Derby stakes, or put on Job Marson a most handsome sum to nothing for his Guineas or Derby mount. No one else would have pardoned Wells his latter extravagant eccen

tricities of dress and manner; and after the seizure which prevented his reappearance in the saddle he continued to take the liveliest interest in his well-doing, and was never wearied of continuing his former liberality. Close and cautious in his dealings with the Ring, Sir Joseph kept his own counsel, and was impatient to a degree of any interference with his transactions so far as his own animals were concerned; occasionally giving intruders upon his plans a sharp rap on the knuckles by withdrawing his horses when he was unable to obtain a fair price against them. Yet, except upon rare occasions, it could not be said of him that he kept his horses dangling in the market for every fly to blow upon; and if they were not timely struck out, it was not through any desire or intention of allowing bookmakers to milk the public. The best proof of this lies in the fact that no racing man, excepting perhaps Mr. Merry, ever had such a large following on the Turf, and the popular cherry and black' had only to show on a racecourse to meet with support from a large section. Sir Joseph was a heavy bettor when his prospects of success were reasonably bright; but his love of speculation never degenerated into the plunging mania of a school which he utterly despised, and always maintained to be a reproach to the Turf. His attempted reforms were conceived in a spirit of earnestness and devotion to the true interests of racing, not perceived or admitted at the time of his celebrated 'proposals;' but he quite outlived the accusations of peevishness and arrogant dictation launched against him by the young England school of the period, and future legislators may be glad to revert for guidance to the opinions so clearly enunciated in his famous letter to the 'Times.' If any were entitled to attention through a long and varied experience on the Turf, Sir Joseph Hawley was surely the chief among them; though he might have erred in his judgment as to the right season for inviting his colleagues to the consideration of his proposed reforms. Few have passed through a career marked by so many stirring incidents without, at some time or another, incurring odium and unpopularity; and, doubtless, more than one of Sir Joseph's actions in his earlier career savoured most strongly of the indiscretion almost invariably attaching to the inexperienced heats of youth; but the ghosts of The Ban and Breba scandals have long since been laid, if we may judge from the full tide of enthusiasm among the masses setting towards the 'lucky baronet up to the date of his final retirement from the active pursuits of the Turf a short time since. His racing string had long since dwindled down to insignificant proportions in comparison with that which swept along the gallops of Cannons Heath in the palmy days of the great Kingsclere stable; but the dispersion of the Leybourne Grange Stud was the signal for a monster gathering at Middle Park; and the prices realised by mares and stallions showed how thoroughly the breeding world endorsed his judgment and appreciated its results in the production of such animals as Blue Gown, Rosicrucian, and Pero Gomez. It might be invidious even to hint at the possibility that chance had anything to do with their origin; but we cannot assign

the highest place among breeders to one who seemed to proceed on
no system in particular, and whose practice it appears to have been
to send his whole fleet' of mares to Asteroid, or Beadsman, or
Fitz-Roland, in successive years, instead of casting about for different
crosses for each. We can hardly utterly condemn a method the
results of which were so generally successful, but it is at any rate
startling on account of its novelty. Old Mendicant may be de-
scribed as the corner-stone of his fortunes, and to her union with
Weatherbit we are indebted for the perpetuation of the Sheet Anchor
line, which at one time threatened to become extinct. Beads-
man, however, came to the rescue just at its vanishing point, and
this was entirely owing to Sir Joseph's belief in the brown's ultimate
success, and to his use of the horse after Yorkshire had despised and
rejected him through mere caprice. Leybourne Grange was quite
the beau ideal of a country gentleman's retreat, with its walled
paddocks stretching southward down the hill, and its long ranges of
snug boxes and roomy pastures for the mothers of the stud. In
addition to those sporting tastes which mostly endear to their fellow-
countrymen the potentates of the racing world, Sir Joseph Hawley
was also a patron of the fine arts, and of late years an indefatigable
collector of old china and old books. Title and lands pass away to
kinsmen least of all likely to emulate his sporting proclivities, and
the garish colours which the men of Kent were wont to follow so
proudly, and to stand by so staunchly, must be wiped out of the
calendar for ever. But Sir Joseph Hawley's name will remain as a
landmark in Turf history for years to come, among those whom
future generations may look upon as a race of giants looming in
grander proportions through the mists of time.
A.

A WILD LEGEND OF THE WEST.

'I'VE seed un at last, sir, an' I am sure he must be the "old un " 'hisself or Will Jones,' said Tom Ashton, the park-keeper, to his master, whom he had waylaid as he came from the house towards the stables after breakfast.

'Indeed, Tom! and pray what is the "old un," as you call him, ' like?'

'Why, a little brown beggar, not much bigger nor a fox, as went 'bounden along, and rise like a woodcock at the park palens, and ' was out o' sight in the copse afore I could fire at un. Nothen as 'couldn't flee wad ever a got over the pales, as stops all our bucks ' like that.'

Well," old un " or not, we must stop his depredations at any rate. 'Where did he go to?'

'Straight into the very thick of Ashway Copse, sir.'

'All right then; we will have him out before long.'

Old Tom shook his head and walked away incredulous, hoping no harm may come of it; but for his part he didn't like the job. Tom was quite one of the old school, a faithful and trusty servant,