Payne's 100gs. commenced the sale. He did not leave off there, and Nana Sahib, who seemed dear, became his at 500gs. The possession of Nicholas, who, like his half-brother Muscovite, was as long as a town, was fought out between Bretby and Danebury. Day got the 270, and Lord Chesterfield 410 bids; then Day shot out rather, jumping 20gs. at a time, and reached 500gs., where he steadied, and crept up to 550, and let his Lordship beat him by 10gs. The Admiral rallied the vanquished John, and said he "did not fight quick enough." Chirp was a very staying-looking gentleman, with a nice shoulder, but Mr. Howard would not look at him. He had enough of the family, he said-they had "taken too many goldfinches out of him already." Mordanto stopped so dead at 30gs., that Mr. Tattersall asked Mr. Greville if he was to go on, and being requested to do so, he persevered, and got 60gs. Refugee, with his crooked blaze and Alarm head, was about the best of the lot. Harry Hill went to 370gs., and when Mr. Tattersall begged him to go on, he said he was 'quite spun out." Mr. Gully, however, was not, and bid to 70gs. more. St. Katherine was small; Provision, the highest priced of the Greville stud, took after the dam, and with her the interest of the sale ended.

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Mr. Anderton's yearlings were not first rate. There were two West Australians among them-one of them Industrious, with a good neck and head, but a filled leg, which caused Mr. Tattersall to announce that 50 gs. was his reserve. Chirper, by West Australian, was very common, short in the quarter, and long from the hock. Aristocrat's head was the very image of his sire Stockwell's; but he had lightish bone, high stockings behind, and wonderfully high-bred pasterns. Sam Day went in for him in pretty good earnest, but did not stay beyond 55 gs. The hunting mare Carlotta was one of the neatest we have seen, and is destined for Germany. Lord Londesborough seemed determined to give character to his sale by bringing out his crack Loiterer at once; but he is rather neat than powerful, and has not length or bone to justify the extravagant stories which have been circulated about him. A richer chesnut we have seldom seen. He was put in at 100; then came 150, and 175 from Mr. Ten Broeck, who bid in person, on the right of the auctioneer. At 225 there was a dead pause; and after he had been walked down, Mr. Ten Broeck opened with 230, and Mr. Padwick closed with him again; and on they went, the American, who got 250, 300, 350, 400, 450, in vain trying to shake him off all the way up by sometimes 20-guinea bids. Mr. Padwick looked puzzled at last, and did not attempt to go over the 500 gs. for which America bore him off. Sweep stood over a good deal of ground, but was rather high on the leg, and odd about the ears. The Rap was quite the pick of The Wests for size and substance; and when John Scott came forward, with Perren at his elbow and Ashmall not far off, it seemed a done thing; but John had to "catch the Speaker's eye" several times before it could be achieved. There is no mistaking Scott's eye, when he means it. This colt's head was remarkably beautiful and tapering; and some said he was for Lord Derby, who did not, however, show, as he often does on these occasions, to get a quiet chat with John in a loose box. Shoulder Knot had rather a heavy shoulder, but was compact, and on a short leg; and we did not feel altogether sure that we did not fancy him most for future work. Florentine reminded us of her

kinswoman Evadne, but was rather light-timbered and small-footed, and slight in her quarters. Viscountess was disputed by The West and Stockwell; but we incline to the former's claim. In 1855 this stud went principally among the jobbers; and 33 gs. for six was all it made. In 1857 The West came to the rescue; and 120 gs. was the average; and this year The West's stock, alone averaged 153 gs. -very good, considering that up to that point Penalty was the only winner out. They have come thicker since Adelaide, Ticket of Leave, &c.; but still we doubt his future being a great one. There is a lack of strength about their legs, their feet are small, and their pasterns show but little breeding. On this latter point Stockwell is especially great; but still, his savour far more of the pretty, neat Birdcatcher, than of his slashing self. We could not help thinking, as we left the yard, how his lordship's purchase of that delicate uncertain roan Warlock, at Ascot, for 3,000 gs. !!-fully four times his worth, must have swallowed up more than thrice over all his yearlingstud profits.

A once well-known turf character died on Thursday week, in David William Jones. He began life as one of the three hundred little red-jackets who rode the post in London. Hampstead was his beat; and, earning some distinetion by the fearless way in which he dashed his pony up and down its hills, he was picked up by some gentlemen, and sent to old Chifney's, at Newmarket. From that, he got put forward, and rode several races-one of them a very good one, with Buckle-and was eventually made head-lad to John Stevens. He had charge of thirteen, in his absence, when Dan Dawson tried to get at Mr. Kit Wilson's July horses, and poisoned Stevens's lot instead. Two of them died as rotten as a pear; and Jones gave his evidence at Cambridge, but not on the indictment out of the three which proved fatal. He was also head-groom to the late Marquis of Westminster, and the first man, we believe, that ever slept in Eaton Hall. From his lordship, he was passed on to the service of General Grosvenor for some years, at Hare Park, and then became a head-groom in Sir John Ramsden's family. He was also in the Peninsula, and at Waterloo, in charge of the horses of a general of division, and then served many masters in India, France, Spain, and Germany, and could speak the languages of the three last countries. The death of his master, a well-known baron, by his own hand, brought him again to England; and for some time he trained at Hampton, for Mr. De Burgh. His eyesight, however, began to fail him; and, after being slightly injured by riding against one or two posts, he gave it up, and took a Mayfair lodging-house with his savings, which several of the nobility stayed at. Evil times were in store for him, as the utter ruin of the season, by George IV.'s illness in 1830, broke him entirely. Blindness supervened; and an expensive family sunk him lower and lower. His wife became a pew-opener at a church, and contrived to keep him till her death, some four years ago, when he entered Chelsea Workhouse; and there he died. His latter years were cheered by a ten-shilling allowance per month from the late Mr. Edmund Tattersall, which was continued by his nephew; and it was on his return from receiving it, one Sunday morning, that he had a slight fit of paralysis in Sloane-square; and when he had been carried home, he never rose again. Upon old times and horses he was a wonderful

chronicle; but Priam's was the last year in which his sight was perfect. You would meet him on the summer Sundays, led by a little girl up and down the Brompton lanes, with a posy in his button-hole, "to show 'em I've been in the country;" and he walked so well that he would say, even at seventy-seven, that he wished he "could get a match on yet, to walk five miles in the hour." Still, his heart was broken by the thought of being in the workhouse, and the sad contrast to old days. Even when he was almost dying, he thought he was with his lot again at Hampton, and asked for some Champagne! One of his sons, who was principal groom to Napoleon Bonaparte, died at Scutari, in 1854, or else it was fully intended that he should end his days in France, with his grandchildren. That, however, was not to be and the pauper's grey jacket was his lot to the last. By the kindness of an old lady who had felt some interest in him, he was not "rattled over the stones-nobody cares for a pauper's bones"-but found a quiet resting-place at Brompton Cemetery. In his time he was a very fair jockey, and a strong waster. Over and over again, he would walk from Hampton to Hyde-park Corner, and have his hack waiting there, to ride back-a stretch of leg from which modern jockeys would shrink in dismay.

Manchester confirmed Dawson's good opinion of the somewhat coarse Hadji; still Duneany's company, even giving 2lb., is not a great thing to keep till just on the post, though Cotswold's defeat by half a length at 191b. for two years was better. The neat, lengthy Underhand gave us a slight foreshadowing of Newcastle in the Tradesmen's Cup; East Langton kept up the undoubted superiority of the Derby horses over the Oaks mares this year, by cutting down Tunstall Maid; Monsieur Dobler the unlucky got the Salford Borough Cup; and, strange to say, Admiral Harcourt did not run a single horse. Middleham, after being without races for exactly twenty years (when Malvolio and Tommy Lye, won, after in vain trying to overhaul The Commodore and Tommy Nicholson at Stockton), made a good start again, ten going for the two-year-old race, and fifteen for one of the handicaps. Rosabel, a plain-looking and rather ragged chesnut, drew first blood for Newminster in the Ascot Trial Stakes, where Northampton had ill-luck with his stirrup-iron. After the Ascot Derby, the Newmarket men declared more and more that Mentmore should have come through with the cripple in the spring, and tried to break him down or chop him up in his unprepared state; and certainly to let such a creature as Mentmore make a final effort up that hill, and then an "exciting issue," does not look Leger-like, even in this day of small things. Sedbury's victory in the Vase is one of that long list of utter flukes which racing men treasure up. "The little black rabbit" had a turn in, and having once imbibed the notion that he could stay little, it is doubtful whether the stable will ever quite get it out of their heads. Four-leaved Shamrock seems to have a patent for third or fourth place. The trial of the Short-horn colonel's Hesperithusa was one of the truest that Middleham Moor has known, and her pretty head was accordingly seen in front for the Hunt Cup. Colonel Towneley has the West Australian and Augur blood principally among his young things, and we only trust that the Oateses (more deserving brothers do not exist) may be as lucky in their livery for him, as Joe Culshaw has been with Master Butterfly and Victoria. These are the genuine style of racing men we require. The Hunt Cup will look

well with a background of Royal Agricultural and Smithfield medals. Saunterer's appearance in a race has now lost its interest, and he was quite among the ignobile vulgus here; and John Osborne wasted to 7st. 121b. for Rosa Bonheur, the first time for many a month that he has got below 8st. Wells's orders to make running on Fitz-Roland no doubt cost him the Biennial at the hands of Eclipse, and Ancient Briton again proved that in the present dearth of good whips, he would be invaluable to any country. Hepatica and Zitella took the Voltigeur blood to the fore, and the latter was run well home by a Newminster colt; Happy Land, even in half a mile, being regularly smashed up from the start.

The card seemed so dull on the Thursday, that we felt that we would gladly have stopped at Eton all day, and watched the lads playing at cricket, or pulling to Surley Hall. Across the park there was nothing but still life, except when "twinkled the innumerable ear and tail" of the troops of deer. Scarcely a carriage was to be seen; the flag was down at the castle; the publicans and their spouses growled loud and deep as they drew you a cider glass in the bar; along the road the very best booths had laid in so little ginger-beer, that it was exhausted before 12 o'clock; and, in short, everything but nature, great as usual in her Berkshire ferns and her brackens, seemed in a universal sulk. The four-in-hands alone drew up well in front of the stand, eight strong. Badminton's, with the Duke and Duchess on the box, was side by side with Mr. Morrell's, which was a perfect cluster of staunch Old Berkshire men, secretary, new master, old, and all, while the yellow drag of Sir Michael Shaw Stewart headed the line nearly opposite the winning-chair. Knights of the foray, seeking what they might devour, issued from the grand stand at intervals, and dragged those well-filled drag stores; but the Ascot race-course harmonies seemed absent, and "Hoop de Doodem Doo" from the sooty melodists was the stock piece of the day. Donkey Jemmy, or the Gong Donkey (as Dickens has him), and the other Bohemian varieties, were at once sparse and dull. As they said in the Reform Bill spasm, "The Queen has done it all." Sedbury and Arsenal were both saddled and led about to the last at the bottom of the course; though why the former should come out, except to make a little worry in the stand when news came up that he was there, it was very difficult to see. Arsenal looked bigger and coarser than he did last year. They say that he was lame in the hock, and blistered hip and stifle as well. Sunbeam had lost a good stone since Epsom, and Gildermire had put some flesh on. Commotion looked staring in his coat and silly in his temper, which did not last beyond the first two months of the season. lock's short leggy style was most un-Ascot-like, and we thought on what a very different animal we saw Alfred Day, wearing the "bonny blueand-silver," four years ago, when poor Job, on Kingston, drew up at the distance to try conclusions with him. The absence of Skirmisher (whose Whip race last year has half ruined him), Vedette, and Blink Bonny, had plucked all the heart out of it, and we would as soon have gone botanizing as stand to look at it. There was more to see on the hill afterwards, when the two-year-olds saddled. North Lincoln had a perfect Waterloo-square round him, and two groups in it especially struck There was the "civil and religious liberty one" of the Premier and Baron Rothschild inside, and on the outside were Davis (alas! that a Cup day should lack him in the scarlet!) and Jem Mason-the incarnations of

us.

War

the present and the past schools of perfect horsemanship. Hughes's knee, which almost prevented his limping into the enclosure at Epsom, has laid him on to the sofa at last, and he does not dare to hope to leave it before Doncaster. The affection is an enlargement on the joint, and is, we fear, hereditary, as one of his brothers is lame from it. Ashmall, who is running into luck at last, took his place to-day, and "the oldest inhabitant" said that he had never seen such horse saddled at Ascot. Musjid reminded us slightly of Arsenal, but he is bigger than he was at three years old; hocks, gaskins, back, and everything are grand, and if we mistake not, there is both a Cup and a Derby horse there. The Earl of Scarborough bred him at Tickhill. Still it struck us that he is a little tender in the fore-legs. Marionette looks soft, Brother to Chanoinesse was as tucked up as a weazel, and we did not care to look twice at Lord of the Manor. Mazzini reminds us not a little of M. Parr's Mortimer, and will, we think, be useful some day; and Sharper was quite backward, and merely came for a trial. The two Newminsters finished second and third; and as Rawcliffe now holds the best blood in the kingdom in its hands-in fact, the only good scion of old Beeswing which fate and the foreigners have left us-we should be very glad to hear of them getting rid of The Dutchman, and trusting to their own horse.

Our note-book was sadly short when we left the Heath. In vain did we thread our way in and out among horses and men for two weary hours, without once stopping to rest, or even speak to a friend; but the meeting "would not work." As good luck would have it, we were seated in the return train under the cold shade of Windsor Castle, when the door opened, and in dashed the sable valet-interpreter of the King of Oude, after stowing his royal party away. His excitement at that moment was confined to a leaden token, or carriageadmission, which he had carried away from the course, and which he seemed to consider it high treason not to restore. On this point the guard made him happy. We should fancy that he lives on the same terms with royalty as the boy who swept out "Cuffey's Parliament" did with "the member for all London," &c., when they held their meetings, A.D. 1848, in John-street, taking the morning paper to himself, and telling the above member, whenheremonstrated in the presence of ourselves and others in the gallery, to "just bide a bit, and let me finish." Most confidential communications took place at the carriage-door, and he seemed to have been "Chorus" to them all day. He had certainly done his duty, for we never saw a man perspire so much; it stood in glittering beads, as emblems of his allegiance, all over his neck and forehead. We like to hear foreigners talk of sporting. One of them told us, on the road to the Derby, "that thimble-rig man he not take me in-I give him charf." And then there was another, a German. Talk to him every September, and away he goes: "When the honting season does commence I feel so excoited. I shake, when I sleep, in each part of my body. I dream of de fox. My brother he sleep in same room, and he hear noise in my sleep. He say what for you so excoited? It is well you not married, or youfwake your wife. I say I do hunt, I do see the fox. I cannot help it. I ride, I jump hedge and ditch-I do dream of it de long night through." Our friend here was full of what he had seen, and we were nothing loath to encourage him. "I trust his Majesty has enjoyed the races," said we,