BATTLEAXE'S STEEPLECHASE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1266, 4 June 1896, Page 25

BATTLEAXE'S STEEPLECHASE.

Him going to lido for us! Him with tho punts and tho eyeglass and all. Amateur! Don't ho just look it it's twenty to ono on a fall. Boss must bo gone off his head to bo sending our steeplechase crack Out over fences like these with an object

like that on his back. Rido! Don't toll mo ho can'rido! With

his pants just as loose as balloons, How can ho sit on his horse ? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons. Ought to bo under the Dog Act, ho ought, and bo kept off the course. Fall! Why he'd fall off a cart let alono off a steeplechase horse.

Yessir, tho horse is all ready; I wish you'd have rodo him before. Nothing like knowing your horse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore. Battloaxe always could pull, and bo rushes his fences like fun— Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun. Oh, bo can jump 'cm all right sir—you make no mistake, Vs a toll'; Clout's 'em in earnest, too, sometimes — you mind that he don't clout you off. Don't seem to mind how lie hits 'em, his shins are as hard as a nail: Sometimes you'll see the fence shako and tho splinters fly up from tho rail. All you can do is to hold him, and just let him jump as he likes, Give him his head at his fences, and hang on like death if ho strikes; Don't let him run himself out—you can lio third or fourth in the race— Until you clear tho stone wall, and from that you can put on tho pace, Fell at the wall once, he did, and it gavo him a regular spread ; Ever since that time he flics it ho'll stop if you pull at his head, Just let him race—you can trust him—ho'll Like first-class caro ho don't fall, And I think that's tho lot—but, remember, he must have his head at the wall.

Well, he's down safe as far as tho stait, and ho seems to si' on pretty neat, Only his bairgified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat— They're away—hero they come—tho first fence, and he's head over heols for a

crown ! Good for tho new chum, he's over, and two of tho others are down ! Now for tho treble, my hearty—by Jovo, ho can ride, after nil; Whoop! That's your sort let him fly them ! He hasn't much fear of a fall. Who in tho world would have thought it ? And aren'i; they just going a pace ? Littlo Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly run race. Lord! But they're racing in earnest and down goes Recruit on his head. Rolling clean over his boy—it's a miracle if he's not dead. Battloaxe, Battloaxe, yet! By tho Lord, he's got most of 'om beat — Ho ! ilid you see how he struck, and tho swell never moved in ids seat? Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well ; Hark to him clout ing the timber ! It don't seem to trouble the swell. Now for the wall -let him rush it. A thirty-foot leap, 1 declare Never a shift in his seat, and bo's racing for home Lice a hare. What's that that's chasing him - Rataplan —regular demon to stay ! Sit down and ride for your life now ! Oh, fjood, that's (he stylo—como away ! Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip ; Sit down ami rub in tho whalebone now—give him the spurs and tho whip! Battloaxe, Battloaxe, yet—and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown ; Look at him rushing tho fences—ho wants to bring t'other chap down. Rataplan never will catch him, if ho only keeps on his pins ; Now! (ho last fence ! and bo's over it! Battloaxe—Battloaxe wins!

Well, sir, you rodo him just perfect—l knew from tho first you could lido. Somo of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like, this a ono side ; Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman— tho saddle is whero bo was bred. Weight! you're all right, sir, and thank you ; and them was tho words that I said.

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