It was "Borderer's" lot to see a little dark-eyed boy amongst a lot riding at exercise for an Epsom trainer some thirty years ago, and to ask the trainer about him. "Yes, sir," replied the trainer, "that little chap has not been with me long; he is the son of a man who drives a mail-cart about London for the General Post Office. He gets kicked off twice a week, but is a nice boy." "Let him ride in that trial to-morrow," replied I, "that we are arranging to have." "He's hardly strong enough, sir; he only scales 4 st. 7 lb. That boy next him is much better." Like a wilful fellow, however, "Borderer" would have his way, and the little dark-eyed boy, that looked as keen as a hawk, rode in and won the trial cleverly. "From this circumstance began my acquaintance with Constable, the jockey, for he was no other than my dark-eyed _protégé_. For me he won his first races, and in his earlier years I taught him to have money in the Savings Bank, and he seldom failed to come to me for advice, some of which, I trust, was for his good. A straighter lad than Constable never strode a horse. He promised me when he was free from his articles not to ride for a bookmaker and never to pull a horse, and I believe he religiously kept his promises. It sounds egotistical to tell these stories, where the author is himself concerned, but my readers will, I hope, forgive me. Pope is not far from the mark when he says, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree inclineth,' and so it is with jockeys as with other mortals." The chief jockey is petted like a prima donna, and made a companion by sporting lords. His movements are chronicled as carefully as those of a Prince of the Royal blood. His cartes-de-visite are in constant demand. He is surrounded by a host of parasites; his "mounts" are backed till they are quoted at the shortest odds; his opinion of the animal he rides is anxiously asked for by owner and trainer; while the ragged regiment of gamblers who pin their faith to his horse are pleased with a smile even from his valet. Sporting journals publish his portrait, and garnish their columns with criticisms of his riding and anecdotes of his career; his bon-mots are circulated as good things, and his clothes are imitated by the vulgar. Moreover, he earns a larger income than a Prime Minister, his services being intrigued and paid for with a power of diplomacy and at a rate of remuneration only known "on the turf."