It was evident to me that Frank Morrison could turn the whole regiment round his little finger. When we adjourned to the public billiard-table, and played our "pool," much bemused with brandy-and-water and cigars, not a cue in the company could boast the unerring certainty of Frank Morrison's; and I saw plainly that he had only to persevere in that amusement to insure a very handsome annual income. It was the same thing during the whole of my sojourn at Brighton. In our regimental cricket-matches, there was but one player who invariably "carried out his bat ;" at pigeon-shooting, one gun that won every sweepstakes; one popular singer at every mess-table; one partner in request at every dancing party. Need I say that "admirable Crichton" was no other than Frank Morrison? With regard to his flirting propensities, I have reason to know that in this instance he acted not so much upon inclination as system. Like many another Adonis, he was singularly callous to the influence of the softer sex, and paid no woman devoted attention, save with the aim and purpose of securing his footing in society. Shrewd and wide-awake, he knew too surely that in the socalled great world, the ladies, and not their lords, determine the position and standing of its members; so, being well aware that he possessed neither birth nor riches, he sedulously adopted those means by which he could hope to obtain a fashionable reputation-equivalent, and often more than equivalent, to both those undoubted advantages. Therefore it was that Lady Jane went home from her ball with a heartache, and drew invidious comparisons between her cousin Lord Looby and that Mr. Morrison, as the dowagers call every man whose income falls short of five thousand a-year. Therefore it was that stout comfortable Mrs. Marygold, who gave the best parties at Brighton, fell furiously in love at eight-and-forty with the handsome Cornet, and after wasting away down to a mere fourteen-stone, was only saved from a positive decline by the return of her eldest son from abroad, accompanied by his wife and two chubby grand-children of the smitten dame. His intimate friends wondered why he did not marry an heiress. We had an idea at Brighton that Frank need only attempt anything on earth to be sure of success; but there was some mystery about him which prevented his ever being considered a marrying man, and to that very fact he probably owed a good deal of the favouritism which was lavished on him by the fair sex. As long as a man may possibly become the husband of one of them, he is a fair mark for the criticism and ridicule of the rest. Directly it is voted impossible to tame him (and the wilder the specimen the more they seem to prize it) he becomes a general favourite, "open to all and influenced by none." One of my chief regrets at leaving Brighton, when my regiment was ordered away, was to lose the society of Frank Morrison, for we were not in the same corps, and nowhere else could I hope to meet so agreeable a companion, so jovial a comrade, or so kind and light-hearted a friend. I can see him now, coming down to breakfast in the mess-room, after being up all night engaged in revelry or devilry of some sort, as "hungry as a hawk," and, as he said himself, as "fresh as a rose.' Nothing tired him; nothing bored him; nothing put him out; his brain was perhaps incapable of deep reflection, but his nerves and constitution were of iron, and though his feelings were not excitable, his digestion was magnificent!

In our young days, and particularly when knocking about the world

If

soldiering, we soon lose sight of our early friends. Youth is easily furnished with these accessories; and when deprived of one, is quite satisfied to "go to the Coffee-house, and take another;" and so for some years I thought but little of my former "chum," and should probably have forgotten him altogether, had I not seen his name in the columns of my morning paper, as gazetted out of the Lancers, and— ominous conjunction !—in the list of outlaws on the opposite side of the sheet. I had myself quitted the army some months previously, and had seen but little of any member of the profession; so the news of "Morrison's smash," as they doubtless called it, came upon me in a manner for which I was totally unprepared. Not that there was anything very surprising in such a termination to so brilliant a career. a man with a fortune of some few thousand pounds, and what he can borrow thereon, chooses to embark in a mode of life which entails the disbursement of at least fifteen hundred a-year-if, in addition to this, he stands "a cracker" on every great turf event of the season, and to crown all, earns the reputation of being one of "the pluckiest" players that ever sat down to "flirt with the elephant's tooth," he may be disgusted, but he cannot be astonished to find that he very speedily gets to the end of his tether, and that bills become due without a chance of being taken up," whilst cheques are dishonoured with the galling indorsement of "no effects." "Well," thought I, "there's another of them gone. What a lot of old friends I've seen out, to be sure! I daresay he's bolted, living in some poky little attic at Brussels, or perhaps lingering and pining no further off than Boulogne. He was a good fellow, too. Poor Morrison! I fear I can render him no assistance!" So I dismissed the subjeet from my mind, and went on with my breakfast, satisfied that Morrison and I were not likely to meet again for some considerable period.

One morning, in the following December-by the way, not a great many weeks after I had seen my friend's name in such unenviable notoriety-I was riding quietly along the Oakham road, on my way to meet the Cottesmore hounds, and indulging in pleasing anticipations of the sport I might expect that day from Ranksborough gorse. I like hunting from Melton for many reasons. In the first place, one is quite sure of a good dinner every day, a talented cook being in that sporting locality a prior consideration even to an efficient stud-groom; then I like the society, and the whist in the evenings, not to mention "the coffee-house" and amusing conversation in the field; above all, I affect Leicestershire hunting for this most important reason, that with few exceptions there is a hand-gate in every field. To a man who enjoys exercise and open air, and the amusement of seeing hounds run and horsemen ride, without caring to break his neck in order that he may drive the former off the scent, while he is being crossed, and jostled, and cursed by the latter, I need not point out the advantage of having a commodious entrance and egress to every enclosure; whilst at the same time I must confess that, to an ambitious dare-devil, who wishes to enter the next world in good company at the rate of forty miles an hour, there is no county in England in which the pace and the fences offer equal facilities for the indulgence of so morbid a taste. Accordingly I keep the few hunters I possess exclusively at Melton; and it was jogging comfortably along on my covert hack from that town on the morning in

question, that I overtook two remarkably good-looking horses, appointed and turned out as such seldom are, save in "the shire" in charge of the neatest possible "second-horseman," and wending their way leisurely to the same destination as myself. I could hardly take my eyes off the nag the groom was riding. A dark chesnut, with one white hind-foot, apparently up to fourteen stone, and if there was any truth in looks, well bred enough to win the Derby. "With those wide hips, and great hocks and thighs," I thought, "he must be able to jump a town, whilst that game head and wild full eye betoken pluck to face a river." What more could the veriest customer desire?

"Whose horses are those, my man?" said I to the groom, who touched his hat as I passed.

"Captain Morrison's, sir," replied the man.

I could scarcely believe my ears. Here was the Frank Morrison of former days, whom I had been pitying as ruined, and wasting all my sympathy on, as starving in his hiding-place on the continent, at Melton -actually at Melton, probably far better mounted than myself, and in defiance of his outlawry, no doubt to become the most popular person there, as he had always been wherever he chose to show his merry, handsome face. Everybody out seemed to know Frank Morrison; and my old acquaintance seemed as much at home in Leicestershire as he had formerly been at Brighton. Ere we had interchanged a cordial greeting -for Frank was late, and we had not met for years-the hounds had found, and our fox was hallooed away, I need scarcely say in the direction of Overton Park wood. My friend on the dark chesnut instantly assumed his place in the front rank, with that unmistakeable air of confidence which it is impossible to put on, and which is only worn by the real workman, who finds himself at home in that position two days out of every six. As in these modern times a run is a thing unheard of, and a succession of scurries the usual ingredients of a day's sport, we were soon together again, and, eating our sandwiches in Owston Wood, I had leisure for a little conversation with my friend: of course we began about his horses.

"I think I have got a fairish lct," observed "the gentleman in difficulties." "I gave thirteen hundred for five of them, and nearly a couple of thousand for the whole. But I like them good-looking as well as good you know I always was particular."

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Pretty well," thought I, "for a man without an income ;" and once more I remembered a certain list on the supplementary sheet of my morning paper. "I wonder how the thing is done?" Just then Lord Topthorne rode alongside of me, as Frank moved on.

That's the pleasantest fellow in England," said his Lordship: "he dined with me last night, and kept us in fits. 'Gad! he plays a good hand at whist, too; but we cleaned him out for all that; never saw a fellow hold such wretched cards!"

So it was evident to me that Frank Morrison was once more at "all in the ring."

The whole of that winter he was the life and soul of us at Melton. I went abroad in the spring, and on my return to England could hear nothing of my old friend; all that I could gather was that his horses had been sold at Tattersall's (uncommonly well, by the way), and that he himself was what the world charitably called "under a cloud."

"Poor fellow!" added the world, always meek and forgiving to such as impose upon it, "what a pity-he was such pleasant company!"

Years rolled on, pretty rapidly too, what with hunting winters and Paris springs, Epsom, Ascot, Goodwood, Cowes, Inverness, and Doncaster; nor did I see anything more of, nor trouble my head any farther about Frank Morrison, till one brilliant summer's day, going into the ring at Ascot to hedge a trifling bet, who should turn up with his merry smile but the good-looking ci-devant Light Dragoon, heavier in frame than formerly, but handsome and joyous as ever! There he was, betting away as if he owned a gold mine; up to everything, down upon everybody, and realizing, as the event proved, a golden harvest. For six weeks I saw him everywhere, floating on the surface of society as if he had never sunk or suffered shipwreck; dining with dukes, flirting with duchesses, and on the sunshiny afternoons in the Park, riding with his old friend Lady Jane! There are some men women do not easily forget, and I think Frank was one of them. I was scarcely surprised to hear, after the memorable St. Leger of that year, that Frank could not pay up-in short, was a levanter. That St. Leger had been the "best thing of many a long year: a favourite seven pound better than the next best horse in the race, sound as a bell, and honest as the day; a trainer that" stood in" to his very shirt; an owner one of the best jockeys in England, who had backed himself to his last farthing to ride; and a committee of gentlemen, themselves the soul of honour, and heavily interested to see after everything. The enemy tried to "nobble" the flyer of course, but in vain; they would even have set fire to his stable, but were repulsed, and the horse came out on the day as sure to win," so everybody said, "as if the race was over." Well, having striven fruitlessly to drug the horse, there was nothing left for it but to hocuss the jockey, and this was accomplished by means of a little weak sherry-and-water with something in it. The rider was so stupified he could hardly sit in his saddle; the favourite pulled all over the course, and upset in every possible manner, after all to be only beaten on the post by a length; and Frank Morrison, being the one amongst his backers on whom the loss fell most heavily, and who had nothing to meet it, was compelled, nolens volens, to spread his wings and take flight for the con

tinent.

Once more I saw him, and only once. I had been unfortunate enough, in an unguarded moment, to ask a certain cousin of my own to stay with me in London. Of all things, defend me, for the future, from a man billeted on me in the metropolis. My cousin had spent the greater part of his life in India, and knew scarce a soul in England save myself: he was devoted to billiards, and not a little given to what he called "brandy-pawnee"-Anglicé, stiff brandy-and-water. So, on the fine spring afternoons I was compelled to forego my lounge in the club window, and my ride in the park, for a close billiard-room, and a game of "a hundred," which I generally lost. My cousin was a fairish player, and wondrously fastidious about cushions and pockets, and so on; accordingly we tried nearly every table in London, till we lit upon one at last that seemed to please him. The marker was absent when we

* In the language of Newmarket, that is termed a “good thing,” if you are in it, which is dubbed "a robbery" should you have been kept in the dark, and remain "out of it."

entered, but came in just as I effected a brilliant "fancy cannon." I could scarcely believe my eyes. Close-shaved, his curling locks cut off, but with the same fresh complexion, the same merry smile-that marker was Frank Morrison. He appeared in no way taken aback at meeting me, talked freely of his difficulties, his position, and his hopes-in short, went cheerfully over past, present, and future, and seemed to make quite as good a marker as he had made a dandy. I am ashamed to say, I lent him five pounds; and on my return the following afternoon, he was gone, nor have I ever seen him since.

My old friend Captain Taffrail, of the merchant service, is very full of a most delightful passenger whom he took out with him, under a false name, on his last trip to the gold-diggings; and I have casually heard of a very agreeable man at this moment attached to Omar Pasha's staff in the Balkan; from all I can make out, one or other of them must be Frank Morrison, nor is it quite impossible that he may be identical with both.

THE SPIRIT OF THE TURF.

BY MARTINGALE.

The heath of Newmarket, the downs of Epsom, and the royal turf of Ascot, have won honours as immortal as those achieved by Olympia of old; not, however, with a breathing interval of four years, but year by year, and month by month, as if there were no end to either resources or excitement, and those innumerable impulses which concentrate their tens of thousands at each favourite place. So, travelling a little northwards, we meet with a town which, dedicated with an equally aspiring zeal to Jupiter Olympius, and encouraged by the example of Iphitus, lays as high a claim to celebrity as any of its southern rivals. Exactly one mile from the heart of the borough stands this celebrated spot-this famous common; not distinguished, like Chobham, for encampment and sham fight; yet common to the foot of the pedestrian-common to the hoof of the horseman-common to the tire of the carriage wheel; as common, too, to the bound of the race-horse, as gladdening to the eye of the stranger; as common, also, to the call of the lapwing, as to the zig-zag flight of the snipe; to the little pyramid of yellow gorse, as to the swing of the tiny hare-bell in the gentle breeze.

The road to this immense arena, where the first qualities of the best equine competitors, fleetness and endurance, are put to the severest of all tests, is flanked by giant elms, whose huge arms overhang a wide gravel foot-path, railed off from the broad level turnpike, both of which are capable of receiving a stream of human beings in carriages or on foot, sweeping or moving along to the wide-spread treble-piled green carpet, decorated with white rails, line beyond line, divided into courses, and so arranged that the pedestrians, also railed off, do not suffer the least annoyance from either vehicles or horsemen. Beyond the entrance to this common, on the line of the St. Leger rails, extends a noble avenue