THE EMPTY LOOSE-BOX.

“And why does that box stand empty, Tho’ the manger is full of hay, And the floor is deep with bedding; O where is the owner pray?” The stud-groom’s face grew sadder And he viciously chewed a straw. “That box ’as been standin’ empty, For fifteen years an’ more. Fifteen years last November, Since an ’orse in this box ’as stood, And that ’orse did as brave a thing As any ’ero could. The ’orse’s name was Snowflake, You can see ’is name over the door; The best ’orse ever I seen, sir, An’ I’ve ’andled many a score. You know our Master ’Arry, ’E’s turned eighteen you know; An’ ’e’ll never be nearer death than ’e was Some fifteen years ago. ’Twas the day o’ the point to point races, They was over at Braeburn that year, Twenty mile from our ’ouse to the course, sir, And there wasn’t no railway near. We ’ad taken old Snowflake over To go in the Lightweight race; The Squire ’e rode ’im ’isself, sir, An’ lor ’e did make the pace. You’d ’a thought he was goin’ four furlongs, Instead of a good four miles Over walls an’ brooks an’ oxers An’ five barred gates an’ stiles: ’Ad it been any other ’orse, sir, ’E wouldn’t ’a got ’alf way At the orful pace they was goin’, But Snowflake was one to stay. ’E sailed past the post at the finish, A street in front o’ the rest, Which wasn’t surprisin’ to me, sir, Knowin’ as ’e was the best. We ’ad just got ’ome that evening, When the nurse runs out an’ cries, “Quick, sir! an’ send for a doctor Or Master ’Arry dies.” The Missis jumps out o’ the dog-cart An’ runs into the ’ouse with a shriek, The squire ’e turned as pale as death An’ seemed as ’e couldn’t speak. “Snowflake’s the fastest we’ve got, sir,” I made so bold to say, “An’ ’e’ll do it if any ’orse can sir, Tho’ ’e ’as done a lot to-day.” “All right,” says the squire, “Jump on ’im, And gallop like ’ell to the town, Gallop to Doctor Jackson’s An’ tell ’im to come right down.” He kissed old Snowflake’s muzzle An’ ’e says “God speed old friend If any ’orse can do it You’ll be there before the end. You’ll try and save my baby’s life.” Then on to ’is back I leapt An’ clattered out o’ the stable yard, An’ the squire sat down an’ wept. The ’orse seemed to know what was wanted, An’ he galloped away with a will, Seven long miles of ’ard ’igh road And five o’ them right up ’ill. He was gettin’ weak near the finish, Swayin’ all over the road, An’ I cries, “We must save the kiddy’s life,” An’ ’e ’urried as if ’e knowed. Twenty yards from the doctor’s ’E staggered an’ then he fell; I picked myself up and ran on foot An’ tugged at the doctor’s bell. I gave the doctor the message, Told ’im to ’urry of course, ’Elped ’im to fettle ’is dog-cart An’ then I went back to the ’orse. ’E was lyin’ just where I left ’im, ’E ’adn’t turned ’is ’ead— And I sat down ’an cried like a babby, For the grand old ’orse was dead. An’ ’is box ’as been standin’ empty Since ’e ran that last long race, ’Cause there isn’t a ’orse in the world, sir, As is worthy to take ’is place.”