Henry Hawkins Brampton.

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tribute to their preservation.

' Put up the prisoner !' said the Recorder in solemn
and commanding tones.

Down into the jaws of the cavern below the dock
descended the gaoler of six feet two the only big thing
about the place. He was a resolute-looking man in
full uniform, and I can almost feel the breathless
silence that pervaded the court during his absence.

Time passed, and no one appeared. When a sufficient
interval had elapsed for the stalwart gaoler to have
eaten his prisoner, had he been so minded, the Recorder,
looking up from behind the Times, which he appeared
to be reading, asked why the prisoner was not ' put up.'
This was spoken in a very stern voice.

They did not put up the boy, but the gaoler, with a
blood- forsaken face, put himself up through the hole, like
a policeman coming through a trap-door in a pantomime.

' Why don't you bring up the prisoner ?' asked the
learned Recorder.

' I beg your honour's pardon, my lord, but they have
forgot to bring him.'

VOL. i. 6


' Forgot to bring him ! What do you mean ? Where
is he ?'

'They've left him at Chelmsford, your honour.'

It seemed there was no gaol at Saffron Walden,
because, to the honour of the borough, be it said, they
had no one to put into it ; and this small child had
been committed for safe custody to Chelmsford to wait
his trial at sessions, and had been there so long that
he was actually forgotten when the day of trial
came. I never heard anything more of him, but hope
his small offence was forgotten as well as himself.

This, however, reminds me of a ludicrous circum-
stance of another kind that occurred when I was a
small boy, and when those dignified beings in red and
gold, known as beadles, were in full bloom, sometimes
combining the more important office of sexton as well.

The sexton whom I remember was a stern man, and
a most workman-like grave-digger. He had dug more
graves than any living man ; and used to say with a
little levity concerning his vocation that he provided
a home for everybody, and they never * turned 'em out
when he once put 'em in !'

His attire was not exactly clerical ; nevertheless, of
a mournful complexion and somewhat saintly that
is to say, when he was on Sunday duty. He always
carried a long ash stick which he twirled occasionally
round the bodies of small boys who misbehaved them-
selves on what he facetiously called his ' manor ' the
manor of God's-acre. In fact, whenever he met a
small boy it was his mode of discipline to give him
a cut with his ash wand. If a boy slept in church he
awoke him with that instrument, and thus prevented
him from sleeping during the rest of the service.


This official's name was Morgan, and his duty was
to assist the clergyman at funerals.

On one occasion a man was to be buried, and the
bearers were four paupers from the workhouse. They
were carrying a brother pauper to the only home he
ever had ; and as they were slowly wending their way
to the grave, there came running at full speed a little
boy shouting, ' Hould 'ard ! hould 'ard !' The sexton
saw him, and got his ash stick ready for its proper
office. The boy dodged him with wonderful agility,
but at last the ash knew too much for him, and came
across him with such a swish that the boy leaped into
the air.

Nothing daunted, he reached the clergyman, who
was standing with his book ready to begin the service.
' Hould 'ard, sir !' he said ' hould 'ard ! Please, sir,
they've left Maister Farlow at hoame !'

I relate this as something that happened in my
presence, and never set myself to solve the mystery.
I have no doubt, however, that the mistake was
speedily remedied and Maister Farlow duly deposited
as a tenant in Morgan's manor.



I HAVE been often asked whether I ever owned a
racer. In point of fact, I never did, although I went
as near to that honour as any man who never arrived
at it a racer, too, who afterwards carried its owner's
colours triumphantly past the winning-post.

The reader may have been shocked at the story
I told of those poor ill-brought up children whose
mother was murdered, from the natural feeling that
if pure innocence is not to be found in childhood,
where are we to seek it ?

I will indicate the spot in three words on the

True, you will find fraud, cunning, knavery, and
robbery, but you will find also the most unsophisticated

I went as a spectator and a lover of sport and
a lover of horses ; and took more delight in it than I
ever could in any haunt of fashionable idleness.

I amused myself by watching the proceedings of
the betting-ring, where there is a good deal more
honesty than in many places dignified by the name
of'* marts.'

But if there was no innocence on the turf, rogues


could not live ; they are Dot cannibals not, at all
events, while they can obtain tenderer food. And
are there not commercial circles also which could not
exist without their equally innocent supporters ?

Experience may be a dear school, but its lessons are
never forgotten. A very little should go a long way,
and the wisest make it go farthest. If anyone wants
a picture of innocence on the turf, let me give one of
my own drawing, taken from nature.

All my life I have loved animals, especially horses
and dogs ; and all field sports, especially hunting and
racing. But I went on the turf with as much simplicity
as a girl possesses at her first ball, knowing nothing
about public form or the way to calculate odds, to
hedge, or do anything but wonder at the number of
fools there were in the world. I did not know ' a
thing or two,' like the knowing ones who lose all
they possess. Who could believe that men go about
philanthropically to inform the innocent how to ' put
their money on,' while they carefully avoid putting on
their own ? Tipsters, in short, were no part of my
racing creed. I was not so ignorant as that. I believed
in a good horse quite as much as Lord Rosebery
does, and much more than I believed in a good rider.
But there were even then honest jockeys, as well as
unimpeachable owners. All you can say is, honesty is
honesty everywhere, and you will find a good deal of it
on the turf, if you know where to look for it ; and its
value is in proportion to its quantity. The moment
you depart a hair's-breadth from its immaculate
principle there is no medium state between that and

However, be that as it may, I was once the owner


of a pedigree thoroughbred called Dreadnought, which
was presented to me when a colt. Dreadnought's dam
Collingwood was by Muley Moloch out of Barbelle.
Dreadnought was good for nothing as a racer, and had
broken down in training. As a castaway he was
offered to me, and I gladly accepted the present.

Being too young to work, I sent him down to

Park to be kept till he was fit for use. He was there
for a considerable time, and was then sent back in a
neglected and miserable condition.

I rode him for some time, until one day he took
me to Richmond Park, and on going up the hill fell
and cut both his knees to pieces and mine as well.
This was a sad mishap, and, of course, I could have no
further confidence in poor Dreadnought, fond of him
as I was, so he was placed under the care of a skilful
veterinary surgeon, who gave him every attention.
His bill was by no means heavy, and he brought him
quite round again.

In the course of time he acquired a respectable
appearance, although his broken knees, to say nothing
of his ' past,' prevented his becoming valuable so far as
I was concerned. Certainly I had no expectation of
his ever going on to the turf. How could one believe
that any owner would think of entering him for a

One morning my groom came to me and said, ' I
think, sir, I can find a purchaser for Dreadnought, if
you have no objection to selling him ; he's a gentleman,
sir, who would take great care of him and give him a
good home.'

' Sell him I' said I. Well, I should not object if he
found a good master. I cannot ride him, and he is


practically useless. What price does he seem inclined
to offer for him ?'

' Well, he ain't made any offer, sir, but he seems
a good deal took with him and to like the look of him.
Perhaps, sir, he might come and see you. I told him
that I thought a matter o' fifteen pun might buy un,
I dunnow whether I did right, sir, but I told un you
would never take a farden less. I stuck to that.'

' No,' said I, ' certainly not, when the vet'.s bill was
twelve pounds ten not a farthing less, James.'

When the proposed purchaser came, he said : ' It's a
poor horse a very poor horse ; he wants a lot of look-
ing after, and I shouldn't think of buying him except
for the sake of seeing what I could do with him, for I
am not fond of lumber, Mr. Hawkins I don't care for

It was straightforward, but I did not at the time see
his depth of feeling. He was evidently intending to
buy him out of compassion, as he had some knowledge
of his ancestors ; but I stuck to my fifteen pounds hard
and fast, and at last he said : 'Well, Mr. Hawkins, I'll
give you all you ask, if so be you'll throw in the saddle
and bridle !'

I was tired of the negotiations, and yielded; so away
went poor Dreadnought with his saddle and bridle,
never for me to look on again. I was sorry to part
with him, and the more so because his life had been
unfortunate. But I was deceived in him as well
as in his new master. From me he had concealed his
merits, only to reveal them, as is often the case
with latent genius, when some accidental opportunity

At that time Bromley in Kent was a central


attraction for a great many second-class patrons of the
sporting world. I know little about the events that
were negotiated at Bromley and other small places of
the kind, but there was, as I have been informed, a
good deal of blackguardism and pickpocketing on its
course and in its little primitive streets lucky if you
came out of them with only one black eye. They
would steal the teeth out of your mouth if you did not
keep it shut and your eyes open.

However, Bromley races came on some time after
the sale of my Dreadnought. The next morning my
groom came with a look of astonishment that seemed
to have kept him awake all night, and said :

' You'll be surprised to hear, sir, that our 'oss has
won a fifty-pound prize at Bromley, and a pot of
money besides in bets for his owner.'

' Won a prize I* said I. ' Was it by standing on his
head ?'

' Won a race, sir.'

' Then it must have been a walk-over.'

' Oh no, sir ; he beat the cracks, beat the favourites,
and took in all the knowing ones. I always said there
was something about that there 'oss, sir, that I didn't
understand and nobody couldn't understand, sir.'

I was absolutely dumfoundered, knowing very little
about 'favourites' or 'cracks.' My groom I knew I
could rely upon, for he always seemed to be the very
soul of honour. I thought at first he might have been
misled in some Bromley tap-room, but afterwards
found that it was all true he had heard it from the
owner himself, in whom the public seemed to place
confidence, for they laid very long odds against


The animal was famous, but not in that name ; he
had, like most honest persons, an alias. How he
achieved his victory is uncertain ; one thing, however,
is certain : it must have been a startling surprise to
Dreadnought to find himself in a race at all, and still
more astonishing to find himself in front.

' How many ran ?' I asked.

' Three, sir ; two of 'em crack horses.'

At this time I took little interest in pedigrees, and
knew nothing of the ' cracks,' so the names of those
celebrated animals which Dreadnought had beaten
are forgotten. One of them, it appeared, had been
heavily backed at 9 to 4, but Dreadnought did not
seem to care for that ; he ran, not on his public form,
but on his merits. My eyes were opened at last, and
the whole mystery was solved when James told me
that all three horses belonged to the same owner !

From that time to this I never heard what became
of Dreadnought, and never saw the man who bought
him, even in the dock. It is strange, however, that
animals so true and faithful as dogs and horses should
be instruments so perverted as to make men liars and
rogues ; while for intelligence many of them could
give most of us pounds and pass us easily at the

Take the little fox-terrier that I once owned many
years before my faithful Jack saw the light. He used
to sleep outside my bedroom on a mat, and one night
woke me by scratching as though he would tear the
door down. I knew something was the matter, and
got up. The moment the door was opened he led me
downstairs to a window on the landing at which a
burglarious gentleman was endeavouring to enter. I


caught sight of the evil-looking brute, as he caught
sight of Tim's teeth, and very soon felt them in his
face, which was actually staring at us as he was
getting through. But down he went with a heavy
thud, and I could just see he was not killed, for his
faithful companion supported him as they wended their
way into the street. The terrier, meanwhile, aroused
the whole neighbourhood, for there was no parlia-
mentary way of closuring him, and never ceased to give
the alarm until I carried him upstairs in my arms and
put him to bed. Poor fellow ! he died only a few
weeks after.

But speaking of dogs and their ways reminds me of
dog-stealers and their ways, of which some years ago
I had a curious experience. I have told the story
before, but it has become altered, and the true one
has never been heard since. Indeed, no story is told
correctly when its copyright is infringed.

There was a man at the time referred to known as
old Sam Linton, the most extraordinary dog-fancier
who ever lived, and the most curious thing about
him was that he always fancied other people's dogs to
his own. He was a remarkable dog-jinder, too. In
these days of dogs' homes the services of such a man


as Linton are not so much in request ; but he was a
home in himself, and did a great deal of good in his
way by restoring lost dogs to their owners ; so that it
became almost a common question in those days, when
a lady lost her pet, to ask if she had made any inquiry
of old Sam Linton. He was better than the wise
woman who indicated in some mysterious jargon where
the stolen watch might or might not be found in the
distant future, for old Sam brought you the very dog


on a specified day ! The wise woman never knew
where the lost property was ; old Sam did.

I dare say he was a great blackguard, but as he has
long joined the majority it is of no consequence. He
went away without leaving his address, and, perhaps,
as he keeps it dark, as he did here, he may still
be looking after dogs not lost but gone before. There
was one thing I admired about Sam : there was
a thorough absence in him of all hypocrisy and cant.
He professed no religion whatever, but acted upon
the principle that a bargain was a bargain, and should
be carried out as between man and man. That was
his idea, and as I found him true to it, I respected
him accordingly, and mention his name as one of the
few genuinely honest men I have met. The way I
made his acquaintance was singular. I was dining
with my brother benchers at the Middle Temple Hall,
when a message was brought that a gentleman would
like to see me 'partickler' after dinner, if I could give
him a few minutes.

When I came out of the hall, there was a man
looking very like the burglar that my little fox-terrier
flew at. It was old Sam Linton, the great dog-
finder, as well known in society as the Bishop of
London. His dress, or what you should call his ' get-
up,' is worth a momentary glance. He had a cat-skin
cap in his hand about as large as a frying-pan, and
nearly of the same colour this he kept turning round
and round first with one hand, then with both a
pea-jacket with large pearl buttons, corduroy breeches,
a kind of moleskin waistcoat, and blucher shoes. He
impressed one in a moment as being fond of drink.
On one or two occasions I found this quality of great


service to me in matters relating to the discovery of
lost dogs. Drink no doubt has its advantages to those
who do not drink.

' Muster Orkins, sir,' said he, ' beggin' your pardon,
sir, but might I have a word with you, Muster Orkins,
if it ain't a great intrusion, sir ?'

I saw my man at once, and showed him that I
understood business.

' You are Sam Linton ?'

It took his breath away. He hadn't much, but
poor old Sam did not like to part with it. In a very
husky voice, that never seemed to get outside his
mouth, he said :

' Yas, sur ; that's it, Muster Orkins ' with an East-
End accent.

His huskiness, I should like to say, was not like that
of Mr. Justice Maule, which, though wheezy and
asthmatical, was refined to a degree that made it
almost musical. Sam's was guttural, or sometimes
cat-guttural, if I may be allowed to say what forcibly
struck me at the time, although by no means intended
as a pun or a joke at this present moment. Then he
breathed, ' Yer 'onner, wot I means to say is
this '

' What do you want, Linton ? Never mind what
you mean to say ; I know you'll never say it.'

' Well, Mr. Orkins, sir, ye see it is as this : you've
lost a little dorg. Well, you'll say, "How do you know
that 'ere, Sam ?" "Well, sir," I says, " 'ow don't I know
it ? Ain't you bin an' offered fourteen pun for that
there leetle dorg? Why, it's knowed dreckly all
round Mile End the werry 'ome of lorst dorgs and
that there dorg, find him when you wool, why, he


ain't worth more'n fourteen bob, sir." Now, 'ow d'ye
'count for that, sir ?'

' You've seen him, then ?'

' Not I,' says Sam, unmoved even by a twitch ;
'but I knows a party as 'as, and it ain't likely,
Mr. Orkins, as you'll get 'im by orferin' a price like
that, for why ? Why, it stands to reason don't it,
Mr. Orkins ? it ain't the dorg your payin' for, but
your feeliris as these 'ere wagabonds is tradiri on
Mr. Orkins ; that's where it is. Oh, sir, it's abomnible,
as I tells 'em, keepin' a gennelman's dorg.'

I was perfectly thunderstruck with the man's
philosophy and good feeling.

' Go on, Mr. Linton.'

' Well, Mr. Orkins, they knows damn 'em ! as
your feelin's ull make you orfer more and more, for
who knows that there dorg might belong to a lady,
and then her feelin's has to be took into consideration.
I'll tell ee now, Mr. Orkins, how this class of wagabond
works, for wagabonds I must allow they be. Well,
they meets, let's say, at a public, and one says to
another, "I say, Bill," he says, "that there dawg as
you found 'longs to Lawyer Orkins ; he's bloomin'
fond o' dawgs, is Lawyer Orkins, so they say, and he
can pay for it." " Right you are," says Bill, " and

a d lawyer shall pay for it. He makes us pay

when we wants him, and now we got him we'll make
him pay." So you see, Mr. Orkins, where it is, and
whereas the way to do it is to say to these fellers
I'll just suppose, sir, I'm you and you're me, sir ; no
offence, I hopes " Well, I wants the dawg back."
Well, they says ; leastways, I ses, ses I :

'" Lawyer Orkins, you lost a dawg, have yer ?"


' " Yes," ses you, " I have," like a gennelman excuse
my imitation, sir " and I don't Jceer a damn for the
whelp /" That's wot you orter say. " He's only a
bloomin' mongrel." '

' Very good ; what next ? What next, Mr. Linton ?'

' " Don't yer ?" says the tother feller ; "then what the
h are yer looken' arter him for ?"

' " Well," you ses, Mr. Orkins, " you can go to
h . I don't keer for the dawg ; he ain't my

' A proper place for the whole lot of you, Sam.'

* But, excuse me, Mr. Orkins, sir, that's for future
occasions. This 'ere present one, in orferin' fourteen
pun, you've let the cat out o' the bag. and what I could
ha' done had you consulted me sooner I can't do now ;
I could ha* got him for a ft -pun note at one time, but
they've worked on your feelin's, and, mark my words,
they'll want twenty pun as the price o' that there
dawg, as sure as my name's Sam Linton, That's all I
got to say, Mr. Orkins, and I thought I'd come and
warn yer like a man he's got into bad hands, that
there dawg.'

' I am much obliged, Mr. Linton ; you seem a
straightforward-dealing man.'

' Well, sir, I tries to act upright and downstraight ;
and, as I ses, if a man only does that he ain't got
nothin' to fear, 'as he, Muster Orkins ?'

' When can I have him, Sam ?'

' Well, sir, you can have him let me see Monday
was a week, when you lost him ; next Monday '11 be
another week, when I found him ; that '11 be a fortnit.
Suppose we ses next Tooesday week ?'


' Suppose we say to-morrow.'

' Oh !' said Sam, ' then I thinks you'll be sucked in !
The chances are, Mr. Orkins, you won't see him at all.
Why, sir, you don't know how them chaps carries on
their business. Would you believe it, Mr. Orkins, a
genleman comes to me, and he ses, " Sam," he ses,
" I want to find a little pet dawg as belonged to
a lidy " which was his wife, in course and he ses
the lidy was nearly out of her mind. " Well," I ses,
" sir, to be 'onest with you, don't you mention that
there fact to anybody but me" because when a lidy
goes out of her mind over a lorst dawg up goes the
price, and you can't caulculate bank-rate, as they ses.
The price '11 go up fablous, Mr. Orkins ; there's nothin'
rules the market like that there. Well, at last I
agrees to do my best for the gent, and he says,
just as you might say, Mr. Orkins, just now :
" When can she have him ?" Well, I told him the
time but what a innercent question, Mr. Orkins !
" Why not before ?" says he, with a kind of a angry
voice, like yours just now, sir. " Why, sir," I ses,
"these people as finds dawgs 'ave their feelin's as
well as losers 'as theirs, and sometimes when they
can't find the owner, they sells the animal." Well,
they sold this gentleman's animal to a Major, and the
reason why he couldn't be had for a little while was
that the Major, being fond on him, and 'avin' paid
a good price for the dawg, it would ha' been cruel if he
did not let him have the pleasure of him like for a few
days or a week.'

Sam and I parted the best of friends, and, I need
not say, on the best of terms I could get. I knew him


for many years after this incident, and say to his
credit that, although he was sometimes hard with
customers, he acted, from all one ever heard, strictly
in accordance with the bargain he made, whatever it
might be ; and what is more singular than all, I never
heard of old Sam Linton getting into trouble.



LIKE most men who are not saints, I had the natural
instinct for gambling, without any passion for it ; but
soon found the necessity for suppressing my inclina-
tion for cards lest it should interfere with my legitimate
profession. It was necessary to abandon the in-
dulgence, or abandon myself to its temptations.

Many of our virtuous resolutions are brought about
by experience, while all our errors are the result
of temptation. As the thief remarked to the Alder-
man, 'Put yourself in my place, your worship.' ' Thank
you, no, ' said his worship ; ' I would rather remain
where I am.'

I owe my determination never to play again at cards
to the bad luck which befell me on a particular occasion
at Ascot on the Cup Day of the year 18 . I was at
that time struggling to make my way in my profession,
and carefully storing up my little savings for the
proverbial rainy day.

Having been previously to the Epsom summer races,
and had such extraordinary good luck, nothing but
a severe reverse would have induced me to take the
step I did. Good luck is fascinating, and invariably
leads us on, with bad luck sometimes close behind.

VOL. i. 97 7


I went to Epsom with my dear old friend Charley
Wright, and we soon set to work in one of the booths
to make something towards our fortunes at rouge et
noir. The booth was kept by a man who seemed to
me, at all events to be the soul of honour. I had no
reason to speak otherwise than well of him, for I staked
a half-crown on the black, and won two half-crowns

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