BAILY'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

SPORTS AND PASTIMES.

MR. A. H. TURNER NEW COMEN.

THE subject of our present sketch, the Master of the Cleveland, is well deserving of a place in that collection of Yorkshire sportsmen which has contributed so largely to fill Baily's' gallery. Born in 1844 at his ancestral residence, Kirkleatham Hall, near Redcar, Mr. Newcomen evinced a passion for field sports very early, and was Master of a pack of harriers at the promising age of thirteen. The passion developed with his growth, and he soon became well known as a good performer with the Hurworth, Durham, and Mr. Cradock's hounds, and when last season he took the Cleveland, one ambition of his life may be said to have been fulfilled. A bold rider and a good judge of pace, he is generally to be found with his hounds in the rather rough country over which they hunt, and he has a good huntsman in Richard Sherwood.

Mr. Newcomen continues to breed from his grandfather's valuable and now rare old strain of blood from which sprang the Flying Dutchman, Van Tromp, Zuyder Zee, &c., and his young homebred hunters give promise of becoming as celebrated as the Perions' and the 'St. Bennetts' in days of yore. He is fond of a little racing, and occasionally has a horse or two of his own breeding under Sanderson's care at Hambleton, among which we may mention Souflé, Kelchburne-the latter once beating some good horses in the Autumn Plate at Newcastle-and others. He is well known as one of the best and quickest game shots in the north of England, is good with his rod, fond of cricket, and, in short, 'can play the game all round.'

We must not forget to add that to him is mainly due the excellent racecourse that Redcar now possesses, with its straight seven furlongs on old grass land, and the new Grand Stand, second to none in the far north for comfort and convenience. In fact, the Redcar meeting quite holds its own with the older established ones, chiefly owing to local support and the excellence of its course.

VOL. XXVII.-NO. 188.

Y 2

Mr. Newcomen has married a daughter of Sir J. Clarke-Jervoise of Idsworth Park, Hants, and to say that that lady is a sportswoman, in the best sense of the term, is only saying that she is her father's child. She takes the keenest interest in all outdoor pursuits, and has a very famous breed of Dandie Dinmonts and colleys which have taken prizes all over the kingdom.

A 'SECOND OCTOBER' ACROSTIC.

WORKED BY CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.

1. Nothing venture, nothing take;

2. Though a Monarch's first-born names the stake.

1. Lie by my heart, cold love;' 'twas thus she sighed,
The swarthy Queen; my love lies cold and dead;
One silent kiss, and life's exulting tide

No more reseeks its throbbing fountain-head:
Slow steals oblivion o'er the darkened brain,
Like ice that seals the currents of the main.

2. Oh! paths that lead to yonder heights sublime,
Wherein divinely reigns her noble power,
Would I had sought ye! ere the hand of time

Came, blighting all the sweets of Beauty's bower,
Throning in place of Kings presumptuous churls,
And whelming those we fondly pledged in pearls.
3. But he, still softer than his name in Greece,
Bound me with rosy fetters to his car,
And laid me, sworn to victories of peace,

At his proud feet, the arbiter of war:
Then marvel not with Anthony he came
In thin disguise to feed the subtle flame.

4. No slave from yon benighted neighbouring shore
Lay more securely fettered; all my blood
Rose in wild tumult, ever more and more,
Like teeming Nilus at his height of flood;
Beneath his force the thirsty plains were hidden,
Mine had the topmost Pyramid o'erridden.

5. Back to thy source, weak harbinger of grief,

Shall one poor drop my flaming woes assuage?
There are to whom thy courses bring relief;

The babe's smooth face, the furrowed cheek of age
Are wet with vernal shower, or autumn rains,

But summer withers on her arid plains.

6. "Ah, miserable! ah, unkind !"-but no,
Forbear that last cold epithet to breathe,
I have enough to whelm me in my woe;

And my lost love calls from the shades beneath,
"Come, in Elysian shades the past renew,
More blissful hours than e'en the fancy drew."

7. I come-life's setting sun his parting beam.
Flings on the clouds of tempest overpast,
And lo! reflected in yon placid stream,

Hope rears his airy token-peace at last!
The slow, cold poison curdles all my blood,
As feebly ebbs its palpitating flood.

8. One word above my ashes-this to tell

The ruling passion of my life-be writ
In Roman characters: by what strange spell
"I governed," ask not; let my failings flit,
Remembering I was woman; and be blind
To all the imperfections of my kind.

9. Land of my birth, from thee my glazing eyes
Draw their last light: my spirit fades away
Like some white fleecy cloud from summer skies,
Or flowery coronal of bridal day,
On Nile's broad bosom negligently cast,
To die in Ocean's briny wave at last.

10. Like to that mythic bird of Eastern tale,

I long, from Earth's dull fetters freed, to soar;
To ply my wing on some celestial gale,

Hearing the sullen waves beneath me roar;
And marking earth, through long harmonious years,
March to the music of the rolling spheres.

11. Great Mother, to thine all-enfolding arms

Receive a weary heart that scorns to break,
No more satiety of life hath charms,

With pleasure, love, ambition, all at stake:
Unloose the weary circle of the crown,
And cast in dust th' imperial sceptre down!'

A.

FRANK RALEIGH OF WATERCOMBE.

CHAPTER XX.

WHEN the letter of Dr. Twigg, enumerating the many acts of insubordination of which Frank had been guilty, and his consequent expulsion from Buckbury school, reached Watercombe, a postscript appended to it informed the Squire that if his son did not arrive at

home that evening, he would be found at Heathercot, where, as the writer believed, he might probably tarry for a few days.

By all that's sacred!' exclaimed the Squire, his eyes contracting ominously, and his sinewy hand dropping the letter on the breakfasttable as if he had been suddenly shot, that shall never, be! I'd 'rather see Frank in his coffin than coupled up with such a lot!'

'What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Raleigh?' inquired Lady Susan, half petrified with alarm at the outburst of her husband's passion and the fierce language he used in reference to Frank. What has the poor boy been doing now?'

Read that letter, madam,' he said gravely, but as courteously as his temper would permit him. According to that report, the Doctor seems to think he is only fit for the penal settlements; but, lawless as he makes him out to be, there is no imputation against the boy's honour; that at least is a comfort, and were it not for the postscript I should not feel so worried about him.'

Lady Susan, who was dotingly attached to her son, and never would allow, however much she might have felt it, that he had ever given her a moment's uneasiness, perused the document with an anxious look, but without comment, down to the last word.

The whole letter,' she said, 'is a piece of spiteful and gross exaggeration; just what you might expect from the head of such a 'school as that of Buckbury. Had Frank been sent to Eton, as I 'wished, he would not then have fallen into such low company, and 'we should have been spared this bitter mortification. It's a trap 'laid for him, no doubt, by that designing widow; but, at his age, if he falls into it, he's sharp enough, I hope, to find a way out

' of it.'

'What! back out of an engagement, like a cur out of a fox-earth? 'No; if he is ever fool enough to make an offer to that girl, or any other, by heavens he shall stand to it, or I'll disown him for ' life!'

Then, Mr. Raleigh, you would be doing him a grave injustice; 'the boy is only seventeen, and, if entangled now by the meshes of ' an artful woman, it would clearly be your duty to step in and help him out of them. Such a mésalliance would be the death of me.' A sudden impulse appeared to seize the Squire; for, without waiting to reply to Lady Susan's last remark, he flung impatiently out of the room, and hurrying to his sanctum, rang the bell for Matthews with an energy that made the old butler jump from his chair and hobble to answer it with very unusual promptitude. Order King Cole to 'be got ready, and tell Langworthy to bring him round as soon as ' he is saddled,' he said, in so short and imperious a tone that, contrary to his habit, Matthews stayed not to ask a single question, but proceeded at once to execute his master's commands.

'Zummut's up now, Tom, and no mistake,' he remarked, as he entered the stable and took his seat on a huge oaken corn-bin opposite the stalls, and filling a wide window-recess expressly constructed for its reception. I reckon 'tis my lady again, for I han't