a very green contrast to the howling wilderness known as "the world." They volunteer, in fact, a bonus oscillating between twenty and some hundreds per cent. to all who may incline towards the possession of our thorough blood. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovs. each, for two and three year olds, first half of Abingdon Mile; for this there were four entered, and they all ran; the odds were 5 to 4 against Herschel, and 5 to 2 against Telescope; a slashing race between Herschel and Captain Flash ended in favour of the former by a head. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovs. for two and three year olds, T.Y.C., six subscribers, came off a quartet; they backed Cotton Lady even, and laid 7 to 2 against the colt by Kremlin, out of Glee, and 4 to 1 against Deceitful; here they were wrong, for Deceitful contrived to be first by three parts of a length. For the Audley End Stakes, five subscribers, Nutshell walked over; and Frantic having received in the Match for 300 sovs. h. ft. from Clelia, the list was exhausted.

Saturday-with a lovely forenoon, and an attendance "beautifully less" than on the anniversary of the Cambridgeshire-closed the Houghton without the strife and stir of " vulgar company." There was some growling, it is true, about the handicaps, but "it's not in nature to command”—universal satisfaction. We were at work betimes, the list opening with a Selling Handicap Sweepstakes of 15 sovs. each, for all ages, Audley End Course; for this there were six named, but only three" fancied it." The betting was 6 to 4 against Liberty, 7 to 4 against Abdallah, and 3 to 1 against Grand Duchess; the favourite made the running, and was beaten in the race up the cords by Abdallah finally by a neck. A Handicap Sweepstakes of 15 sovs. each, for two year olds, R.M., had four nominations; but only a moiety, as in the preceding instance, liked it; they laid 6 to 4 on Hyacinth; and they were right, as he won by some half a score of lengths. It must be admitted that on paper the backers of the loser seem to have been let off very reasonable at the price; e. g. Hyacinth 8st. 2lbs., Royalty 7 st. 131bs.-three pounds short weight. Match for 100 sovs., half forfeit, D.M., Guy Mannering, 8st. 7lbs., and 9 to 4 on him, beat Lord Glasgow's!......Knight of the Garter, 7st. 8lbs., by two lengths, in a canter.....A sweepstakes of 5 sovereigns each, for all ages. First half of Ab. M., nine subscribers, brought them all "to the outrance." The betting was 5 to 2 against Forlorn Hope, 7 to 2 against France, and 4 to 1 against the filly by Slane out of Exotic. The race, however, was in effect a match between Teeswater and Ariette, which the former won by a length cleverly. The favourite was fourth. Some idea of the high bred cattle that ran for this Sweepstakes may be formed from the price at which the winner might have been claimed, but was not-£25....The Houghton Handicap of 15 sovereigns each, for all ages above two years old, T.Y.C., had 16 subscribers, and a field of nine. They laid 3 to 1 against Hungerford, 7 to 2 against Iris, and 5 to 1 each against Young Altisidora and Curl. As they entered the cords the leading division consisted of Young Altisidora, Hungerford, Iris, Eliza Middleton, and one or two others. The finish was in favour of Young Altisidora by a head. What a myth racing is! Who can guess the object with which the winner of the Oaks was sent for a stake like this...It was, however, a grouping full of interest. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovereigns each for all ages, T.Y.C., seven subscribers, brought out the whole lot. The betting was 7 to 4 against Equal, 4 to 1 against

Old Rowley, the same about Newport, and 5 to 1 against Happy Joe. Old Rowley made all the running, and won, as he pleased, by a length. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovereigns each, for all ages above two years old, Ab. M., seven subscribers, was run for by the whole gathering. The odds were 5 to 2 against Eolus, 3 to 1 against Post-tempore, and 7 to 2 against Vanguard. The first of the work was disposed of by Reindeer. He then gave way to Vanguard, who was never headed afterwards, winning cleverly by half a length....And so ended the legitimate racing year of 1851. The brief notice that I purpose of the provincial miscellanies by which it was succeeded will demonstrate that the essay to eke out the season will illustrate by those modern instances the truth of the axiom

"Est modus in rebus; sunt certi denique fines

Ultra quos, citraque nequit persistere."....

St. Helens, Lancashire, Races and Steeple Chases occurred at the close of October, of which it may be stated that the racing fell too late, and the steeple-chasing too early. Epsom Autumn Meeting came off on Tuesday, November the 4th. Somebody suggested, in some newspaper or other, that the idea of converting the Crystal Palace into a winter garden must have heen promoted at the instance of the metropolitan cemetery companies. The view might be made more comprehensive by the institution of a series of suburban race meetings, to commence on Lord Mayor's-day and end in Lent. Apropos of the occasion in question, Bell's Life remarked-“Truth obliges us to add that while it realised all that could have been wished for in the shape of sport, and received every possible aid from the railway, it was as a speculation—and in no other light can racing at Epsom in November be regarded-a most decided failure. The Grand Stand was almost empty; at no one time were there a dozen gentlemen in the privileged compartments." It may be said en passant that of ladies there were none: what sort of an assemblage patronized it, the reader may figure to himself. Such being the social agrémens of the scene, and the mercury at the freezing point, it won't do to linger long on the Surrey hills. There were half-a-dozen races, the last of the lot being weighed out, upon the authority before quoted, by means of " a dozen candles, to make darkness visible in the dungeon-like apartment appropriated to the clerk of the scales." The principal event was the Epsom Autumn Handicap, to which a couple of hundreds were added, or rather in which they were thrown away. Fifteen went for it, and in a wretchedly-run race Don Pedro was the winner by a length. Slow as it was, Sauter-la-Coupe was half a furlong astern at the mile post. The course was that known as "The New Derby." How "such a getting up stairs" came to be selected for the service of the greatest three-year-old stake in the world passes my understanding. The first moiety of the distance is probably the most disheartening piece of ground, for its length, in use on the British turf. If the object had been to take the speed and "the shine" out of a field of young horses a mile in anticipation of the finish of their race, then here was the place to do it. What would the Olympic fathers who christened the acclivity at Newmarket "choke-jade" have called the quarter of a mile with which "The New Derby Course" at Epsom commences?

A couple of days later in November they held an "autumn" meeting at Worcester. Albeit, as the reports related, "the weather was bitterly cold," the essay had better luck than that adjacent to the metropolis. The flat racing-for here, as at Epsom, the materiel was mixed; one day of legitimate sport and another of "steepling”—was ample and good. It wound up with a Match for 25 sovereigns each, couched, as regarded the conditions, in terms so primitive as to startle the propriety of these fast days-" weight for age as at Newmarket!"......Liverpool November Meeting occupied the 13th and 14th of that merry inonth. Like the others, aforesaid, it was hermaphrodite-half turf and half chase. There were lots of horses-racers and hunters—and the sport was satisfactory, as far as related to those concerned in it. "Following suit," there was an Autumn Meeting on Moulsey Hurst, on the 11th ult. It was the first attempt of the kind at Hampton, and will probably be the last. As steeple-chasing has broken out under the eaves of "The Toy," we may look for that sport forthwith among the novelties at the Flora Gardens. Tewkesbury Races also took place on the 11th of last month, and Warwick and Leamington November Meetings would have occurred on the 18th, but that the weather and the Stewards forbade it. . . . . .

Among the actual resignations on the turf are those of Colonel Peel and Sir Joseph Hawley. Mr. Gratwicke has removed his stud from Goodwood; and rumour asserts that the Duke of Richmond, the Marquis of Exeter, and the Earl of Strathmore, are about to decline racing. Ominous as such secessions must have seemed under any circumstances, still they might have been accounted for at one time. on a presumption of the doctrine of chances. But not so now. The representatives of gentle society, the disciples of decorum and goodtaste, are made aware that the scenes and associations consequent upon a visit to a race-course-even within the limits appropriated to the ladies of the land-are unsuited to their habits and unbecoming their position. When betting was a class stimulant-taken at a race meeting by persons of condition as they might sip liqueur after ice-the Ring was upon Epsom Downs, beyond sight and hearing of the position set apart for "fair women" and courtly company. Now that betting is a businessby no means select-when the odds are desperately dealt in by the dregs of the canaille, it is transferred to the lawn of the Grand Stand, where not a point of its practice, nor a figure of its rhetoric, can be lost to the beauty and fashion in the balconies.

The portents of the past season are facts-not fancies. Racing, from a popular sport, is being fast perverted into a social scandal. But we must not let these "shadows" fright us from our propriety. The storm will pass, and once again there will be sunshine where so often, and with so light hearts, we have bade it welcome. Peradventure there is a project in contemplation

"Where, my good lord?

"In my mind's eye, Horatio;"

-whereby the fable of "the Lion and the Mouse" shall find its moral illustrated by a modern instance.

"Turne! quod optanti divum permittere nemo

Auderet, volvenda dies en attulit ultro."

367

THE WINTER EXHIBITION FOR 1851.

BY SCRIBBLE.

Paxton, my fine fellow, it's all over you may shut up shop: we are likely to have a winter exhibition down here, quite equal to yours. If the provinces spent the summer in London, it seems not improbable that London may spend the winter in the provinces; and I will venture to say that if the curiosities on your side have the advantage in quantity, we may safely claim the victory on the score of quality. What a month is November! Talk of suicides and long faces!-I never saw such real jollylooking dogs in my life as I meet almost daily. Talk of fogs!-I like a fog; a good thick one, to cut with a knife: it finishes up the lingering warmth of summer. So does an early frost, such as we had last week. How it walked into the dahlias! they went down like ninepins. dening is all very well in its way, for old women and sentimental young gentlemen; but what a real happiness it is to see the last of the heliotropes, out of one's bed-room window, hang its frost-bitten head and die! I like hunting.

Gar

Shooting-not a battue in a Norfolk turnip-field, nor following a single bird with his legs down, from hedgerow to hedgerow; but a good, straight-forward, food-digesting walk, with a brilliant dog, and a sprinkling of game-is not a contemptible amusement for September and October it is, moreover, a poor man's amusement: it requires skill, perseverance, and knowledge: it may be done well with long legs and a short purse: but November wants short legs and a long purse, or you had better be in Paris or London. You may relish a well-cooked dinner in either of those places without an appetite; but for country fare -legs of mutton and sirloins of beef-commend me to a good run in the open as an incentive.

In the direction of the Midland counties whole flights of sportsmen are settling migratory birds, many of them; the woodcocks of the hunting-field; venatorial swallows; capital fellows; spending their money as they get it, perhaps before they get it; despisers of bygone days; indulging in fresh air and exercise, instead of gaslight and smoke. Every county contributes for whatever name that jackass-following, wheat-destroying, lane-riding, horse-killing amusement with the stag, or that humdrum business with twenty old fogies and a dozen couples of heavy-headed hounds over the plough, may rejoice in, it is'nt hunting. Here they come, seduced by the grass, or the honour of the thing, good, bad, and indifferent, into these highly-favoured regions; and though I think the sport might sometimes be better without so many exhibitors, we cannot speak disparagingly of the fun. O Leamington, Leamington, for what sins you have to answer! How the shades of brokenthighed hounds! and the manes of inhumanly mobbed foxes must haunt you! What a host of unmentionable expletives must rise up in judgment against those gallant heroes who come forth from you with a stern determination to be the death of something!

However, my very excellent reader, be this as it may, hunting, and hunting in its very best form, is now the fashion, the rage, the fureur. I do not believe, myself, that more than one out of every ten persons who put on a scarlet coat and a pair of top boots cares one iota about the

business.

Whether 'tis a fox or a stag-this is somewhat fast in pace for a muff-or a rabbit-skin, is quite the same, as long as there's plenty of cigar-smoking, galloping, and coffee-room conversation to be got out of it. But it is the fashion; not as it used to be-Melton, with ten or sixteen horses for the men who could afford it; but four, three, two, and even one make up the stud of many an embryo Osbaldeston: and I am polite enough to admit that I very much approve of the taste or ambition of the age, though sometimes a little detrimental to one's comfort.

To a man of observation, like a friend of mine, whom I shall not flatter by mentioning, there are distinguishing marks which almost tell the locality from which our friends arrive. That's an Irishman: not Lord C--or Lord H-, but an Irishman from Ireland: a raking looking, short tailed grey, with ragged hips; and you will not be five minutes in the field before you discover that he's the very best timber jumper in the country. That broad-backed and broad-skirted gentleman, on what we should call a useful one here, is evidently from the Holderness country; and very like a sportsman he looks; rather slow, perhaps ; but he has his eye on the hounds, and I should think cared little about anything but them and his dinner. The canny Scot rides a small bay horse, with a shortish tail, and legs not over good: he's a hard-featured, flat-faced man, generally marked with the small-pox, and has red whiskers he doesn't say much, but what he does is to the purpose; and he goes well, though they're not nationally good horsemen. But of all the counties to which we are indebted for the pleasure of chance passengers, Middlesex is as about nineteen to one. Year after year, lately, has London poured forth its thousands to spend a few months and a few hundreds on this glorious sport. These are the fellows that enjoy it; no blasé looks at the cover side, as if foxhunting was a sort of endurable martyrdom; no rushing up ten minutes after the fox is gone away, as if getting out of bed for such an every-day occurrence was rather a bore, and hardly worth the trouble of dressing for. By Jove, sir! those fellows, many of them, don't sleep through October for thinking of November; and as to dressing, they've looked at those leathers in every possible light, optically and mentally, for the last three weeks. Just come with me into the City for a moment. There, do you smell that smell? “I should think so: leather." Leather, of course it is, my boy. Those are the top boots making for every respectable and solvent (they are not always the same) member of the Stock Exchange: they're so fond of the thing, they order them by the gross and I know one man who will make his wife order a side-dish of tripe once a week through the summer because it reminds him so of his breeches." Now come along down St. James's Street. Look at that old grizzle-headed aristocrat at White's. I dare say you think he's looking at the leading article: not a bit. He wants to find out where the Quorn are for the week, and is only calculating whether Misterton with the Pytchley is not nearer to him and much better than Lowesby. He's obliged to be in attendance as Gold Stick or Silver Umbrella all the year round; but even that won't keep him altogether away. Look at the window at Long's-Jubber's I should have said. You see that youngster flattening his nose against the glass and looking at nothing: he's just taken his degree at Christ-church: he owes a chalk or two that would sink a seventy-four, and he's now only meditating how he may get on the blind side of Tollitt for a couple of twelve-stone horses,