the first lot, was a little model bay, as beautiful as a picture, and worth 100 gs. to a man of cheques, if only to look at. Copper Plate was not so handsome, but more generally useful. Royal Arch was a gaudy chesnut, but the Duke of Grafton, owing to his action more than his looks, took to him, at 60 gs. Dora, a whole bay, and a very sweet mare, became Lord Dudley's at 68 gs.; she was quite a huntress in miniature, and said to be great with the side saddle. Lord Cardigan marked Red Gauntlet for his own very early in the afternoon, and examined him carefully when he stood under the archway, and then sealed his inspection by 73 gs. He is a size larger than Estate, but not so much the gentleman. Sparta was bought in at 55 gs., and Venetia, which we did not especially like, at 42 gs. Drama was a very smart one, with fine quality, and a very gay reach, but there was a query as to whether his and another's fore legs would "bear rattling." Composure and Retort, two roans of a different shade, were bought by Lord Hastings, and there seemed quite 10 gs. between them. As it was, they cost 142 gs.; and the bystanders rechristened them The Duke and Kangaroo. Regiment was useful and more castle-like in the neck than the rest; and little Pattern, although quite the "Minnie Warren of the lot," made 80 gs., to the nod of Mr. Tod Heatley, the wine merchant. The people closed in dreadfully, and to say the truth, a more uncomfortable crushing job than a popular sale in this spot we do not know of. Why could there not be a half-moon ring made, instead of leaving it to nature and a nimble pair of heels?

The mass had gone over-night; and a few Yorkshire farmers, who had just been beaten over a railway bill, and a solicitor who thinks that minorities should be represented, shared the carriage with us in that delightful five hours' run to York. The Alexandra Park looked green and guileless enough; and we hear that the Messrs. Lucas have got possession, and will most probably convert it to its original uses, bar the racing. The new grand stand at Huntingdon stood out, in all its red-brick grandeur, from the beautiful green Turkey carpet of verdure round it; and as we reached Dringhouses, blood mares and foals clustered in the meadows hard by The Marquis's home. The sight stirred up the party; and one of them, who had previously declined to go through with his companions, because he had to be "sworn-in church warden" somewhere on the road, quietly set off for Knavesmire. Do what they like to York, it never seems to become modern. Barefoot lingers on the signs, to tell of '25; and the little man of the Georgian era, in his cocked hat and blue laps, still takes a sight at something (which looks like a golden fragment of a fish's backbone) on the top of that massive clock. Amidst all the racing bustle, there reigns a sort of solemn decorum, which is very refreshing, and in fine contrast to the fast celebrations in the South. Big noses, Prince of Wales's feathers, and scratchers bear no part in the Yorkshire racing rites. The Turf, with the tyke, is a religion; and Breadalbane is his present, and Velocipede his departed prophet. One very respectable vestige of creation in Old Ebor has been swept away, in that hateful ferry-boat; and the new bridge is quite a blessing. It once seemed like a day's journey, getting from Nelson's-yard to the station; whereas now you slip aeross for a halfpenny, in an instant.

The great Inca was catching it pretty decisively when he reached the course. We do not wonder at it, as we have seldom hated a yearling more. He did not reach his reserve on the first day at Doncaster; but they persevered, and brought him out on the fourth, and got their 600gs. He then looked as big as a four-year-old, and had a bad eye in his head." "I think he'll hardly win the Derby now, Captain," was one of the Ring's salute to his owner. The Zetland field were not a very striking one. Credulity was a smart, short, little filly, and looks as if she could go fast; but Osiris has not much capability of improvement about him. Bachelor was quite a Voltigeur-loaded in front, and rather light behind; and Applecross, with the Watts harlequin, was hardly one of De Clare's sort. He is a nice colt; and we may hear of him some day paying his way, but perhaps not more. Castanet does not look like a flyer, but likely to be of use-in his generation. Fordham was always in the rear of everything; and half the delay at the post was caused, not so much by the others breaking away, as by his taking it so very leisurely. When it suited him he sent the spurs in, and had his horse well placed from the start.

This over, Mr. Marshall mounted his mule-carriage, and rode away to the Two-mile-post. He was not followed by a very distinguished company; and the big, hollow-backed Cathedral, as he took his canter, reminded us rather of the action of Hookem Snivey, when, with Sim up, he followed Job, on Sir Rowland Trenchard, round the Middlethorpe turn. The chesnut has wintered well, and seems to have more quality about him than he had on the Derby-day; but 7st. 4lbs. was mere child's-play to him. Claxton did not "act," in his canter, like his sire; and we had no hope that he would turn the tide of war for Lord St. Vincent; and Fordham did not look ill-pleased with his mount on Stanton, when he took the short cut to the post with this wiry Jack-of-all-trades.

The Union Plate bardly brought out a Yorkshire hunter field. Three of them were in fair form; and there was quite a crowd round Mr. Lambert's horse, while Mr. Boynton saddled him. However, neither Mr. Thompson in the scarlet, nor any one else, excited half the interest which a young farmer did, on a wretched, half-trained Maroon mare. It requires immense nerve to turn out in such a queer cap, yellow buckskins, and jack-boots; and they asked Mr. I'Anson whether he was sure he didn't want him for Breadalbane? Another was in the same bootless plight, which was unpardonable, sceing that there was a circus in the town, and plenty of propertyboots in its wardrobe. There should be a clause in the conditions touching the subject of proper jockey-costume. Neither Tiger nor Emperor the Third stirred from the Strickland stable. The latter, if we mistake not, is sold for a long price. One of the jack-boot men made running at a great pace; and the other was beaten into a trot near the wood. Still, he had his consolation, as he was far more loudly cheered than the winner, when he did arrive. There was quite a village-gathering round the horse who was third in the next race. He must be trained privately, as the whole family came to see him run. The old man helped to saddle him, and talked amazingly; and the lassie held the head, and the stable-lad was up; and, in fact,

it was a grand bit of Yorkshire life altogether. There were some familiar faces missing. We didn't see Will Danby; and we never could find Snarry, to have a chat about Dalby. His faith in "Daniel" was always unbounded; and he was dreadfully indignant that either Fandango or Colsterdale should "starve" him. We remember the Chester Cup winner well, when he was a foal. He was, with his dam, in Castle-field; and Snarry, in speaking of him, said, "That big foal in the middle, he's brother to Highflyer-and not fly so very fast either." Sim Templeman was looking on, and perhaps mentally comparing the meeting with the one of forty years ago, when he won for Ridsdale on Rochester, when Lottery won the Gold Cup, and Memnon the St. Leger, and when a condition of one 50Sovs. p.p. sweepstakes ran thus: "The winner to take all the horses engaged."

We looked into Nelson's yard next day, and a nice crush there was. One auctioneer was selling a child's pony at the entrance: then you pushed your way up to the Tattersall phalanx, and then, by a judicious flank movement, over a dung-heap, and among a number of gigs you could take Mr. Johnson in the rear and the farthest corner. He was so scrunched up, that at times sold horses had to be led through his ring from the stables behind, and it was a mercy, as Isaac Walker said, that no one got killed. Isaac spoke feelingly, as he has only just got on to his legs; but the broken knee is still very stiff, and he considers that he is laying on flesh as fast as his old friend "Springy Jack." However, "he maks a very good tew of it," with only a stick to help him, and we comforted him as we could with the Joe Maiden stiff-knee precedent. There was a great rush to look at Vandal, when he came into the ring. He has shown his head in front some six times already, to one Mr. Johnson, and now, when the other brother had him in hand, he gradually got him up to 450 guineas. We understood that 440 guineas was the reserve, and it was said that "the Extra Number party" had bought him. After he was beaten at Thirsk last year he might have been purchased for £120; but he cannot jump over a stick, nice game-looking horse as he is. A big Bonnie Morn colt was another of the Middleton lots; and Mr. George Holmes seemed to be after him, with a view to the summer shows; but he did not care to go up to the 50 gs. As for Roman Bee and Deerstalker, we saw enough of them when we met them in the street. We are told that the Rawcliffe are the poorestlooking lot they have turned out for some time past, but still they averaged 151 gs., and we may take it that there is no harm done if a yearling reaches 120 gs. There was a great deal of talk about Mr. Jackson's St. Albans colt-a handsome, flashy oue as needs be, but like many of that get, not first-rate behind the saddle. It was a lively morning on 'Change, but we missed the old faces. Sir Tatton was not in the accustomed spot, and they were just laying, "in another place," the foundation of a tower to his memory. Mr. Tom Hodgson's place knew him no more; and we called to mind how three years ago he was there, strong in the faith of Virgilius. Dr. Shorthouse was present, ready to labour for the conversion of any Yorkshireman who still swears by the two V's (Voltigeur and Velocipede), and not quite ready to give up "The Grappler," till he burst on his horrified sight on the course in the afternoon. Then he did tear himself from him, and considered that they

had been trying to train him by physic. There was "I'Anson," telling those poky fellows, who would ask him what to do, that he knew no more than they did whether bay or chesnut was the best for their money; and there, too, were the well-known "Jacks" of the East Riding, one of whom sticks like grim Death to "nevvey," and the other with an equally high and dauntless faith to "uncle." Botli are apparently far more concerned than Mr. Chaplin, who looked, as the train picked him up with the rose in his coat at the Grantham station, as if having a Derby favourite was the greatest fun in the world.

As long as a country member hitches up his breeches, and horrifies Mr. Gladstone by saying, "Old as I am, and half woor out, I would lie on my back and halloo Fudge! about this Union Chargeability Bill;" and again, "If the girl came into your parish, and the kid wur dropped, and you had to be accountable for it," &c., there will always be a rus in urbe. Still, only a very few of us can be at Westminster to participate in these babblings of hedge-rows and apple-blossoms, and we require some friendly railway to aid. Owing, perhaps, to its being a child of Doncaster, there has been no greater friend than the Great Northern to the racing man; and for 3s. 6d., Admiral Rous and his Jockey Club frien Is travelled the 25 miles in and out, to recover from The Duke shock, and to get a little brown bread relish before the Derby, while those of more frugal mind were accommodated for half-a-crown. Five special "maloganies' swept out of the station in the course of the morning, with upwards of two thousand people in them. Again we gazed on that wonderful Alexandra Park, and thought of those phantom stakes, "First Alexandra Triennial, with £1000 added," in which Mr. Naylor entered 12, Mr. Hodgman 8, and Lord St. Vincent 7 out the 187; and the Grand Two-year-old Prize, with its £500, and 184. The sham Burton-on-Trent programme was but a trifle by their side.

There was only one stoppage-at Hatfield, where plenty of recruits came in; and a ride of five miles, past meadows shut up for hay to rather more purpose than in '64, and waving with red clover, landed us at Harpenden. "Here you are," said the guard, opening the platform door. "Here we are," responded the insides, and scrambling up the embankment amid shouts of " Now, you come back, there," along the wheat headland, and into the lane a fourth of the party went. It was a very dusty one, and condition began to tell; and gradually the vans and cabs absorbed a greater part of the voyagers at a shilling a head. The female natives were all out to see the invasion, and the roadside was full of knots of women and children, with bunches of straws under their left arms, and working with pale and nimble fingers at the bonnet plaiting trade. Others went into the purveyor's line for the day. Little cottages became cafés, at prices which would horrify the careless tribe on the eve of Ascot or Epsom. You got monster sandwiches for 3d., and tea was spread out, with new laid eggs, currant cake, and we know not what beside, for those who cared to ruralize; but alas! the ginger beer had a sun-stroke, and in one or two instances it was some time before "harmony was restored." Harpenden, three miles from Wheathampstead, is a long, straggling village on each side of a green, overshadowed with rows of oak and elm. A trainer or two have lived here in their time; and if we mistake not, "Simple Simon" went from these parts to victory at Northampton. Mr. Oldaker is no man for banyan fare, and

his card had eight races on it; one of them a Hunt Cup, value not stated, and given by himself. The green" eventuates" on to the moor or race-course, which begins with a mass of stunted gorse which never bred a fox; and to make out two miles, the horses start at the foot of a hill, to which the Epsom gradients are a mere bagatelle, run past the stand, and round a small circle at the other end, and so back again. The hunters were coming to the post as we paused at the foot of the Alps to have a chat with Mr. Marshall. They were a funny-looking lot. Mr. Brown was "up," according to a usual custom, in the yellow jacket, and not leaving so very much of the 12st. 10lbs. to be made up by the saddle. He was "truly British" in his stable notions, and with his "Briton" and "British Prince" to choose from, he bestrode the latter, a brown stallion, with his fetlock joints behind almost on the ground. There was also a grey in bandages; and Mr. Wood, speaking feelingly for his bay, Woodpigeon, and the rest of them, might well say, "Our cattle are not very splendid." Blemish, a chesnut, won. He was a short, Harkaway-looking horse, and, excepting Paddy-bird at Northampton, we never saw one walk away from the post with such a game, "Bless you, that's nothing," eye and step.

The Steward and County Stands have a great pull over the general one, and the Herts witches made no bad array. An ex-master of racers was as snugly shaded from the tropical heat in the judge's box as if ho were in a nutbush; while the ring opposite had rather a hot time of it, with plenty of gravel and a sad paucity of awning. The Admiral was standing, dusty and benign, in the centre of the course, as the patron saint of the rurals for the day; and it was well he came there, as he had to decide upon Ambition's qualification. Behind the stand was a little meadow doing duty as a saddling paddock, with a mild Cerberus in a smock frock, and brushwood hurdles about three feet high, which any man of moderate length of leg could have walked over. There seemed

to be no policeman about, and nobody wanted them. Some of the Herts Yeomanry drove up in a tandem, with two orderlies in scarlet behind them; and there, on a magnificent 16-stone bay, in his mahogany tops, his straight-cut black frock, his round hat, and his white cravat, was "Bob" Ward, from Lord Dacre's, looking quite the county huntsman after Sir Tatton's and the old school's hearts. Well might the Cambridgeshire poet write, in reference to the days when he whipped into John Ward

"And what a whip we had in 'Bob!'

That fellow always had a nob,

And in it wily cunning kept

As if from fox-earth he had crept.

I think the evil day began

When first we lost that ripe, good man."

The course behind the cords is marked out by a long single furrow and a few poles, with new hurdles-some edgeways at dangerous places; and for nearly half a mile it seemed one double line of carriages, dogcarts, and agricultural four-wheels. Each farm-house had been its own Fortnum and Mason, and a merry time the lunchers had of it among the lamb and lettuce. The labourers came in huge harvest waggons, and stood on the seats; some wandered among the gilded gingerbread, or risked their pennies like men at rouge et noir-" Stand black'un,