legitimate existence. Government patronage has about as much to do with it as the institution of the polka had with the repeal of the corn laws. Its tower of strength is popular support, and the public have surely as much a right " to do what they please with their own" as your members of exclusive classes. Suppose the right purpose of racing to be the improvement of the national breed of horses, and the wrong to supply a stimulus for excitement and speculation, what chance has the good with the evil when the premium is a hundred per cent. against it? Guildford is an emblem of the turf under government patronage. Goodwood, of the same national affair promoted by an individual. Taking horse-racing, then, as we find it, there can be no doubt but that its most attractive feature at the present hour is the handicap. It brings out large sporting fields, and it affords the most exciting races put upon the course, both as exhibitions of interest, and as investments of principal. As loyal subjects, we are bound to receive this system of things as the best. If our rulers thought it fit that the turf should be upheld on the grounds it was by their predecessors, they would not contribute towards it, by analogy, at the rate of 3s. in the pound. For this reason, all hail the handicap, and may its shadow never be less-may its substance increase after the rate of compound interest! Perhaps I may not be suspected of having written the preceding paragraph in prepense purpose. Nevertheless such is the fact. I marked the influence of the events put forth at Newmarket in the late meeting, and I saw that the Cesarewitch did more for its eclat, ministered more to the popular purpose of that assembly than all the rest put together. The important results that must accrue to the metropolitan turf, from the establishment of one of the greatest handicaps in existence in its especial neighbourhood, struck me at the time with the force which example exercises so much more strongly than precept, and I said, "I shall be doing a grateful service in urging upon those engaged in the undertaking strenuous exertions in a cause so ample in promise of reward." The Metropolitan Stakes, introduced to the patrons of racing last spring, were the first fruits of a scheme that deserves well for very many reasons. First, Epsom, the metropolitan race-course, so long surrendered to absolute neglect by its natural protectors, is still in a state of extraordinary destitution, as regards turf patronage. The Emperor of Russia gives £500 at Ascot, and the Great Western Railway £300 at the same place. The Cesarewitch gives £300 at Newmarket, the King of Holland £500 at Goodwood, the Queen of England and the Government prizes at various places-but nobody gives anything at Epsom-that can help it: always excepting the lessee of the Grand Stand, who gives his money and his best efforts to cater for the sport of those who repair to the downs of Banstead. Let us hope that he may be assisted to the purpose in his exertions. A most influential body of men-the licensed victuallers of the capital-have adopted the Spring Meeting as their own. Their suburban brethren ought also to enlist in the good cause. With a "pull all together" they could give us for Epsom Spring Races such a stake as the turf has never yet known. I am fain to hope that this will be the case. "Last scene of all," we come to the Houghton Meeting. As it is lawful for an author to borrow from himself-many, indeed, have established the precedent of stealing from their neighbours-I take the liberty of picking my muse of the subjoined prologue, being pertinent to my purpose, and better of phrase than the pressure for time at this instant writing might suffer me to construct. All the world knows, or ought to know, that, out of the annual fifty-two weeks, seven are appropriated at Newmarket to the business of the turf. Since the Olympic Games, and the equestrian solemnities at Elis, horse-coursing was never celebrated with the rigid keeping and finished etiquette which distinguish all its details at the great modern Hippodrome. The Houghton week saw it put on the scene with admirable éclat. First claiming notice are the facilities for transit to the place of action. You have but to pass from Mayfair to Shoreditch, threading the rural avenues of Smithfield, and eke the New Jerusalem known by the name of Finsbury, and, trusting yourself to the Eastern Counties Railway-unless it should happen to break its engagements, and your neck-you are delivered, in some couple of hours, at Chesterford, after departure from the Great City. This is convenient, and consistent with the "progressista" spirit of the time; but, compared with the practice of some half-dozen years ago, there is a sad falling off in the poetry of the thing. See how ship-shape your correct man used to do it then; we do not speak of your ultra-exquisite, for extremes of any kind are to be eschewed. We suppose him a sojourner west of Hyde-park-corner. He has been advertised-of course-that the first day's racing commences at such and such an hour; if the July meeting, it will be, perhaps, three p.m. Well, at a quarter past six a.m., his buggy is at the door; he has three miles to do to Charing-cross; and, as his horse cannot comfortably trot less than thirteen miles an hour, as the minute-hand of St. Martin's Church clock points twenty-nine minutes past six, he pulls up at the Golden Cross. In a minute more he is on the box of the Norwich Telegraph, carefully preserved for him on faith of his never-failing half-crown; and, as the chime tells the halfhour, "Sit fast," cries Mister Bottom, and up the Strand they toddle. While they arrange their load, and tie down the tarpauling at the Flower Pot, Bishopsgate-street, he draws forth his cigar-case, lights his weed, folds his box-coat over his knees, and sets at defiance an encroachment from the morning air. As he glides over Lea-bridge, the day comes forth rejoicing; and at Epping-place he falls upon breakfast like a French falconer. At "Owen Edwards's," the waiter without the hat-the man that never was known to wear any covering to his head but its natural thatch-at Chesterford, we say, he proceeds to soda and sherry; and thence, with a light load upon his bosom, to Newmarket, where he is set down at twenty minutes past one. Thus it used to be in the matter and manner of the wayfaring: now, the hot-water system commences before you arrive. But, once there, whether the year be 1836 or 1846, alike is the social detail. Around are groups of men scattered, habited as English sportsmen alone are; and, looking the business for which they have met together, ye understand the English sport is degrees above mere com . I-TAG KMnge has about as much to is iamond ( vh the repeal of the 31 I COURT Sport, and the public These with their own" 2 TO 20# I CUNT DER Surge the right purpose of mentored of horses, and the - 1 Simms ir aciement and speculation, what 20-god wit te ench the man is a hundred per SON of the turf under governThele Grootwork of the same national for promoted by Ting song, da, s we find it, there can mon pastime. Lilliputian boys, in plain frock-coats and faultless boots and breeches, proclaim the nature of their service, and the unimpeachable taste of the masters they serve. Tiny, graceful phaetons, drawn by pigmy steeds of perfect action and symmetry, glide ever and anon along the smooth street. Within recline fair women, the élite of bon ton, the peerless of fashion's paragon. Nothing mal à droit or unseemly mars the harmony of the ensemble. All is gentle and aristocratic in the composition and conduct of the picture. Even the fungus which here and there is seen popping its head outside the frame-the misfit of Nature's journeyman, gibbeted in a Whitechapel "Taglioni," and hung in chains of Mosaic gold-serves to set off the general effect, by throwing the gentler points into stronger relief. Peradventure, all may not be honourable men; but the tailor and laundress have done their duty by them; and if they have sinned a little, they may repent. The prodigal sons of the turf are welcomed back on evincing a disposition to turn from the evil of their ways: "levanting" is a weakness to be repaired by the amende honorable... "Time hath, my Lord, a wallet at his back, The ultimate week failed not to draw: last appearances are sure magnets. Farewells are sad things; but they are not to be avoided, so the wise make the best of them. They did so on Monday, the 26th of last month. The heath was a vast social chess-board. There were your knights, rooks, pawns, and the whole army of martyrs to boot. "There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician, Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner; Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner; Good at all things, but better at a bet." The racing began with a match between a pair of small quality, Chance and Ruff-the former winning with exceeding facility. Then there was a Handicap Sweepstakes of 25 sovs. each, for three years old and upwards, for which five went, and all found places. The winner was Miss Slick, one of John Day's young ladies, that cut out all the work, and had all the business to herself. After this, there was a match between Secundus and the Bishop of Romford's Cob, wherein Secundus was primus, and thus the lion of the meeting began to roar in the ring, and the arena to be cleared elsewhere for the Cambridgeshire. The course is the prettiest at Newmarket, and at the post there showed a field not unworthy of the scene, three-and-twenty being a dainty company anywhere. The betting, which had, as regards Alarm, been tolerably steady, wavered much about the other market horses the winner, however, the favourite at the eleventh hour. It finished at 3 to 1 against the colt by Touchstone, out of the sister to Joanna, 5 to 1 against Alarm, 9 to 1 Iago, 14 to 1 Best Bower, 16 to 1 Lady Wildair, 18 to 1 Red Robin, the same about Conspiracy; nothing else under 20 to 1, and few besides backed at any price. The |