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stakes, like value (4 subscribers); and then we had the 50 sovs. sweepstakes that ought to have brought out Running Rien, and that did bring out Keeley-and prove him worthless. It was won in a field of five, after a decent race by Skeleton, that Running Rien beat twenty yards in the autumn. Still they say he'll go at Epsom, and win-which I'll believe when I've seen it. Lord Glasgow ran a dead heat for a match with the worst mare in Newmarket, and so the day's sport finished.

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TUESDAY brought down half London, and brought up three-fourths of the provinces to see the crack, and we had the most crowded heath I ever remember. It was a day of burning summer-without a cloud in the sky-but rather gloomy, in the matter of men's brows, towards evening. The sport opened with a couple of indifferent matches, which brought us to the all-important issue of the weekthe race for the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. Out of a nomination of twenty-five, but seven came to the post-more than one subscriber throwing away the certainty of winning from fear of the Ugly Buck, who was backed at any odds to be got; from 5 to 10 to 1 on him: this is a fact. I saw him saddle at the R. C. stables, and take his preparatory canter-and felt that his friends were sanguine. Seven mustered for the start, namely, the Ugly Buck, The Devil to Pay, Joe Lovell, Algernon, the Wadastra colt, Elemi, and Dr. Philli more; and at the first offer got off admirably-the favourite in front. As soon as they were under way, Sam Rogers came out as hard as he could split with the Devil to Pay-his orders being to sacrifice his horse's chance to find out what the Buck was made of. The Wadastra colt was next, and the others beaten before they reached the bushes-for the lot was a sorry one. Down the fall from the bushes, I really thought the Devil was going to win, for he collared the pet, ran head and head with him to the bottom, and once I imagined had caught him. As it was, after a fierce set-to, the Buck won by a neck, the Devil being subsequently found to be good for nothing. By subsequently, I mean on the following morning. Joe Lovell was a respectable third, for a lame one; the others, being rubbish, where it became them. I do not intend to insist that the Ugly Buck will not run better for the Derby than did Coldrenick; but I'm sure he will not have a better chance of winning. He's a lathy leggy weed, not within two stone of a race horse, to my estimate. Wee Pet won the Queen's hundred, for mares, the Round Course; and Red Deer the Coffee-Room Stakes, weight for age, beating Voltri and two others; a tolerably flattering trial for a steed weighted four stone and a half less, for the Chester cup. The rich 300 sovs. sweepstakes, for four-year-olds, worth £800, which Cotherstone did not come for, being not quite in form; Minotaur, ridden by James Robinson, quite in his form, won, beating New Brighton. The pair walked very nearly to Choke Jade, and even then were awfully beaten it's terrible work, your four mile heats, whatever our grandfathers might have thought of it. As the betting is not likely to assume any settled character until towards the close of the meeting, I delay any allusion to it till then.

WEDNESDAY's list was a truly slender one-three poor affairs, not

worth, altogether, four hundred pounds. The first was a £50 plate, B.C., a match-I won't, out of compassion, even name the competitors. And next was a veritable T.Y.C. match, in which Oakley gave Pergularia three stone and a beating. The last a 50 sovs. sweepstakes T.M.M., won by Hyrcarnian, beating I-am-not-aware and Barbarina. It was a day, in fact, devoted to private business-trials, stable inspections, and such like. It is to be feared the results were not very satisfactory to the owners of racing stock. Probably a worse general lot of horses has not been known for many years at Newmarket. Ratan is the only superior animal in training there, so far as present experience teaches, and the future looks unpromising enough.

THURSDAY.-Although the attendance to-day by no means was so great as that on Tuesday, there was no lack of evidence that considerable interest attached to the débût of the fillies for the One Thousand Guineas Stakes. The tone of confidence, however, in which the Bee was spoken of by his party very materially damaged speculation in the town; while on the heath many backed her at a point of odds against the field, though her current price was even with it. How the public is thus gulled is not my affair; that they humbug themselves a hundred times every season is past peradventure. This animal was as dark as if she had only landed from the South Pole that very hour, and yet there were rouleaus lavished on her as if she had the previous day beaten Cotherstone a match, giving him half-a-dozen stone over the course. Apropos of Cotherstone, he is a little off, but no more; and therefore made Minotaur a present of £800, as shown on Tuesday. The day's sport opened with a brace of matches won by the Duke of Bedford (that Captain Rous is hard to get to windward of in match-making), and a small sweepstakes, and then the Thousand was on the carpet. It gave us nine at the post, and a race that cheered the drooping crests of the fielders. The favourite never ran a furlong on terms with her horses; was the first beaten, and the last by a score of lengths at the finish. Some said she was hocussed, her friends were at all events. The race lay, if race it may be called, between Sister to Martingale, who ought to have won the Column, and Meropé, a likely mare of Lord Exeter's; the former won (pulled to her opponent by the fine artist James Robinson) by a couple of lengths. This filly, if well on the day, and with Robinson on her (he will ride her if he can get off Lord Albemarle's mare), will be hard to beat for the Oaks she is a very resolute animal, with great stride and good hind-quarters; a racer to look at, especially for Epsom. Meropé, too, will be dangerous to stand against. Lord Exeter is running very promisingly this season, and he is as straightforward a sportsman as ever did honour to the British turf. The exhibition of Cockamaroo for the Glinton Stakes gave another kick down to the hopeful in Scott's lot. Elemi, a little horse of very mean pretensions (though cried up for the Derby for forty-eight hours), ran him to a head, and would have beaten him had they much further to go; the pace, too, was bad. All the three-year-old colts out are bad, except Ratan, whose form is first-rate, for the Newmarket courses.

FRIDAY'S list contained but two events-the Newmarket Stakes,

and a match in which Oakley gave Celia 6 lbs. T.Y.C. This was the fastest thing I have seen for many a year. It was timed, by the falling of the flag, at three quarters of a minute, and as this course is only 84 yards less than three quarters of a mile, it will be seen the performance was not a bad one for our degenerate race of horses. Eight went for the Newmarket Stakes, which were won very cleverly by the Duke of Portland's Tragedy colt, bought a few days previously by the Duke of Rutland for £300, without contingencies: no bad bargain. To be sure he is not in the Derby (and if he were he couldn't win it), because the Duke of Portland has not had a horse in that race since he won it in 1819 with Tiresias. At that time he was annoyed with certain applications and busy-bodyings about his jockey, which made him come to the resolution to have nothing more to say to Epsom or its "doings." His Grace is the most honourable man alive, and the kindest: his philosophy would put even Sir Isaac Newton's to the blush. He used to be especially fond of scrutinizing his horses in their trials.

Now, it came to pass, that on the occasion of Tiresias being tried, previous to the Derby, as they were saddling him, the duke got off his hack to examine his points; and when they set off for the gallop, he looked in vain for his hack to cut across to the most interesting point of the trial course, for the groom had gone off with himself and his master's horse to boot, being as sanguine in such matters as his lord. One of the duke's friends, who saw what had occurred, when the trial was over, cried out," Oh! caitiff groom, your last hour is at hand-say your prayers: here comes his Grace-you're a dead man." But, when his Grace did come, instead of despatching the wretch's ghost to Hades, he merely observed, as well as his respiration would let him, "William, it wasn't well done of you to set off in that way-indeed, I may say it was ill done-without giving me any notice." Now, if that was not philosophy in the superlative, I should like to know what stoicism, or taking it easy may be.

A FEW REMARKS ON THE DERBY FAVOURITES.

BY UNCLE TOBY.

According to annual custom, I commence my "summing up," on the "evidence adduced" by different "witnesses," on the "great trial" at Epsom, on which "judgment" will be given on Wednesday, the 22nd inst. It has been a "rule" laid down by many "learned judges," that the "field" is always a good horse; they contend, and justly so, that it is never troubled with coughs, break-downs, or withdrawals, so frequent to an esteemed "favourite." I shall never forget an observation made by the late Jem Bland, who, when told by the owner of a popular favourite for a great betting race, that his

horse was well, responded-"That may be; but I would rather have heard from you that he had broken-down, for then I might have profited by it." Racing now-a-days is carried on by the lordly and the lowly, and every information ought to be brought into the market for the benefit of those not always in the betting circles, but who invest in those lotteries now so much in fashion all over the kingdom. It was stated by an honourable member on the Committee, which sat in the House of Commons on the Gaming Bill, that more than £100,000 was paid away in the shape of sweepstakes and lotteries during the last year; hence the necessity of enlightening the unwary, who, not knowing the dark paths of racing life, may tread out of their depth, and be at once discomfited when a little "pilot-boat" would have saved them.

The coming Derby promises to be a race of vast importance, not so much for the money that has been ventured on it, but because several of the crack trainers are amazingly fond of "their own." I do not anticipate a large number of horses at the post on the eventful day, perhaps there may be from twenty to twenty-five, but I would rather back the lesser number. The betting has, I am happy to state, been more confined than of heretofore, and, from the healthy state of the market, I have no doubt that more money will change hands, if either of the favourites win, than has been the case for many years. The new and highly important rules and regulations drawn up by my Lord George Bentinck, and put in force at every meeting of respectability, have done more towards cleansing the "ways of the turf-cutters" than anything of modern date. But to commence my address. It is the opinion of one of the best Newmarket judges that, since Priam, no horse has appeared with a better Derby-like character than Mr. Crockford's Ratan. I have frequently heard the "old gentleman" state that he should be recorded the winner of the Derby, ere he was "gathered to his fathers;" and I must say that this year may bear him through victorious. The performances of Ratan are exceedingly good; and his trainer, one of the cleverest men at Newmarket, makes certain of winning the "golden prize." When Ratan ran his "maiden-race" at Ascot, against Assay and others, he was strongly fancied by his party, who, immediately after his victory, commenced backing him for the Criterion Stakes, against The Ugly Buck: the very easy style in which he defeated his "field" in that race rose him to the premiership in the Derby betting-a position, during the winter, rather questionable at times between Newmarket and Danebury. Ratan has won his engagements so ridiculously easy, that it would be merely wasting time to tell the beaten ones; therefore I shall content myself by stating that Ratan and Sam Rogers are my "cracks" for "the day." The running of The Ugly Buck at Goodwood last year quite convinced me that John Day had a very superior two-year-old. They laid 4 to 1 on him to beat his field, and although he was described to have run in a "slovenly manner," still I know that he won "most easily." His race for the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes was won by a neck; still young John Day had not fired away all his "ammunition;" and if the distance had been a hundred yards farther, Lord

George Bentinck's tit would have "shot his bolt" with little or no effect. I am extremely partial to the blood of the late Partisan, and Venison's stoutness makes me stick to the Ugly Buck, notwithstanding his "standing over," his "sand-crack," and various other imperfections, said to belong to him. Young John Day will, of course, ride for the honour of Stockbridge; and I am not a flatterer when I state that the favourite could not be in better hands. Some oldfashioned folks say that John Day will "never win a Derby:" let them be cautious on the present occasion, or they may burn their fingers.

Of course Sir Gilbert Heathcote's two, Campanero and Akbar, have been supported by the Epsom with great spirit. The running of Akbar at the Epsom Spring Meeting was very good indeed; and if it be true that Campanero can give his companions a dozen pounds, then I am free to confess that Ratan and The Ugly Buck "will shake in the shoes" on the great and important day "big with the fate of thousands." Chapple rides for Sir Gilbert; and, notwithstanding all rumours, I lean to Akbar, who will unquestionably run well. Mr. Forth generally" shows a head" at Epsom; and this year he stands well with Leander, Foig-a-Ballagh, The Ashstead Pet, and Mr. Gratwicke's Needful. Of these Leander is the favourite, and I anticipate he will be a thorn in the way of the brace of favourites. The Ashstead is half-bred, and ran well last year at Ascot. Now that Colonel Wyndham's chance is gone, the clever little Bell will" pull the ropes" for Forth's favourite. Leander ran respectably at Ascot and Goodwood last year, and is a nice Derby-like colt-said to be five years old! Colonel Peel's lot, Orlando, Ionian, and Zenobia, shall be no winners to me; but of the three I certainly prefer Ionian, who is a good-like three-year-old, but I am afraid is troubled with that sad distemper called the "slows!" Mr. Ongley's King of the Gipsies is reported to have won a capital trial, against some tidy cattle;" but, clever as Flintoff's is, I do not, on the present occasion, look for the Derby winner from his establishment. Imaun, the property of W. T. Copeland, Esq., M.P., according to my notion of things, is a very dangerous colt to be heavily against. He is trained by Mr. Walters, at Hednesford; is a very fine animal; has been backed at long odds to win a great sum, and, if well on the day, will run well to the greatest certainty. Marlow will ride this horse, against whom they are betting fifties and sixties to one!

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Of Scott's Lot I think very meanly, but Bay Momus now appears to be the "pick of the basket." This colt was bred by Sir T. Sykes, and sold with six others to John Scott last summer; he is reported to be a very fine animal, with capital action, but as he is dark he shall not be a winner in my "little book." Cockamaroo won his race at Newmarket the other day by a head only, therefore he "lost cast" in the ring. This pair, I apprehend, will be the only starters from the Whitewall establishment.

In the spring of the year, Loadstone, now under the guidance of Isaac Day, was backed for some money to carry off the Derby, at 16 to 1: since then one of his legs gave way, and now 50 to 1 may be easily obtained. Loadstone ran well enough in Ireland last season,

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