scarcely ever heard before by 66 ears polite." It is a common remark with trainers, unsuccessful ones invariably taking to it, that "only give us the right sort of stuff to work on, and anybody can do the trick then," an opinion which the wonderful achievements of Wadlow's horses this season go far to corroborate. In his case it is only common justice to say that the good stuff was from first to last done good service by; and although at this time the very sheltered situation of his "workshop was set down as about the most clever part of the story, subsequent events showed that the managing man was well entitled to a good allowance of the applause. Indeed, I believe Mr. Wadlow to be in every way worthy of his fortune, and so sincerely congratulate him on his sudden change from hurdleracing and leather-plating, Woodbines and Mary Woods, to Chester cups and Queen's vases, Intrepids, Sweetmeats, and all such kind of society, trusting that it may be as lasting as it has been unexpected. The great feature, however, in this spring's racing at Bath, was the anxiously looked for performance of the hitherto unconquered Old England; one which, had it ever come off, would, I reckon, have been the means of making John Day's stable very near first favourite for Epsom. The only observation that I would offer on this now old story is, that I fully believe the acting partner in all this infamy to be far greater fool than rogue, and ineffable often has been my astonishment at gentlemen committing their horses to the jockeyship of such a helpless idiot, or even at his own family allowing him the power they did. As it was, Worthless stood the party as a very good friend in need, with a brace of victories that in the end, though, were of more value to the opponents than supporters of his horse.

A bumper benefit for Idas and the Newmarket men was the main result of the First Spring, a meeting that, excellent as it was on the whole, had still but a race of any great interest or influence. That the Derby was now settled, minus only the shouting, was as clear as day; the personal appearance of the crack, his style of action when they could force him into something like energy, and above all, the cream of all the "races past" that rather singularly came out to be conquered, were great facts that really went far to justify the two to one that was taken about him. Still, the severe nature of the Derby course, the extra distance, and the hill, we see, from the experience of almost every season, ought to be objects of weighty consideration, particularly with the flyers born and bred up to the plain sailing of Newmarket Heath. In fact, I do not expect to see another candidate from the capital at such small odds, however flattering may be his recommendations (none could well be more promising than Idas's), until the returns have assured us of Orlando's successor. On the Oaks, the events of this same week tended to the formation of equally erroneous estimates, chiefly at the expense of the Goodwood company. The race for the Thousand Guineas, without affecting any of those who appeared in it, giving a decided lift to that queer customer Miss Elis; while Refraction for self, in a set-off to her twoyear-old triumphs, destroyed the confidence of the majority of her admirers.

The Chester Cup, from the immense number of animals which, on

some pretence or other, have their names quoted in the business on it, almost always a good thing for the betters round, was this year nothing less than a perfect harvest-home (at the right end of the season), for such as on principle raise a hand against every thing. A welcome salve to the awkward "certainty" of last time, that any fieldsman, with a moderate share of lungs and credit, could not but participate in. Like the very lovely and loveable lady in the story, who spits out pearls whenever she speaks, a man had but to enunciate an offer to bet the odds, as a formal preclude to winning money. The grand favourites for this race, never very remarkable for bona fide claims to the positions they hold in the market, seldom made a worse fight of it than the brace who so long and strong were supported at prices varying from six to eight to one. The mare's pretensions for such a race I never could comprehend: to be sure, she had the benefit of the very best advice in all matters relating to riding, training, or managing every assistance in fact to be had from man; while, on the other hand, she was known to enjoy a bodily power that never yet exceeded a mile and a quarter, with a temper that couldn't stand any ruffling. As it turned out, there was no excuse on the latter head, and Semiseria, with a good lead to begin with, went just as far over the "wriggle and twist" of Chester race-course as her previous performances warranted us in supposing she would. Experience, too, assures us that the faint-hearted sort are never of any real service for such a distance over such a course: with Red-deer, Alice Hawthorne, Cardinal Puff, King Cole, General Chasse, Birdlime, Independence, and other winners farther back to guide us, let the washy ones be left for straighter running, a clearer stage, and more favour.

In the two years succeeding the amicable adjustment of the Bath versus Chester question, the great race of the one has afforded a capital line to the decision of the other. In '44, the winning of the Somersetshire Stake acted but as the prologue for the same horse; while in '45 Sweetmeat's success did as much for the only one the rising powers had in the race. The business effect, however, of the two years will bear no such similitude; indeed, the lucky outsider's performances, before and since, show that week's work to be, as is often the case, totally sui generis. At all events, we should henceforth look to Bath for a first favourite for something a little further on; though I still fancy, barring accidents of all kinds, Old St. Lawrence or Councillor would have added one more to the list of really good horses famed in Coop story. The Chester St. Leger, an injudicious change in name for the Dee of old, was, as usual, the next, if not the only other race of any immediate consideration, though The Libel's victory over a promising and intrinsically good field was more conducive to argument on the Ironmaster query than to the winner, and (as time proved) really better horse. This, with another confirmation of the Bath sport in the style the Princess Alice ran away from her cotemporaries, brings us through a Chester race week quite as interesting, if rather more orderly, than usual.

The Suffolk Stake, after all, has saved the Newmarket Second Spring Meeting-the great eclat with which this year's past off even stimulating the town-people to make something more of it by the ad

dition of one of the new-fashioned two-year-old stakes, and silencing altogether the gratis advice offered for doing away with it in toto. It was the appearance, however, of the very seasonable weather and of the best mare in the world combined, that gave the weight to this handicap it enjoyed; for the other stakes and plates, the old Rowley Mile included, were, although generally well filled, of less than ordinary interest. The ability of Alice had been so fully acknowledged elsewhere, that even the unequivocal defeat she now sustained was, I am inclined to think, at the moment, by far more attributed to bad generalship on the part of her jockey, than the real and visible state of the case. At Newmarket, still, she has never shone very brightly, and never yet, as she never will, forget the terrible towelling administered here in the autumn of forty-four. Alas! poor ill-used beauty, despite all your noble efforts and triumphs, you must go down in turf history-thanks to contracting parties, and a lawful owner minus the heart to support a well-bred jackass-with laurels sadly torn and tarnished. The winner, Queen Mab, like Old Isaac, Euphrates, and some others, appears to have required plenty of time to truly develop her qualities; for my own part, I fancy the trotting training, so characteristic of the opening of this year's racing, was as really advantageous to many of the old ones, as it most likely at first was thought prejudicial. I do not affirm this was the cause of the striking improvement in Mr. Payne's mare; but I do venture to say, in the face of the one or two "prize pigs" we have seen saddled lately, that more, a great many more horses run indifferently through having too hard and too long continued a preparation than from being a little flattered or backward in their work. This said exhibition, of course, gave the winter first favourite a lift, though without a hope of gaining the lead again this side of the post.

Although gradually declining, as far as high racing is concerned, Manchester, on local grounds, is doing well; and it is in the countenance of friends and neighbours alone that the authorities must look for success; the very date of its decision precluding of itself the patronage of the world at large. Beyond the deserved, though hard-earned, favours awarded to about that Maecenas of the meeting, Mr. Meiklam, the Queen of Tyne's race, followed so closely as it was by an equally profitable journey to Gorhambury, gave some colour to the spirit with which, "in a certain quarter," she had been backed for the Chester Cup. At the scene of her second or southern victory, a double damper was the reward of the very able contrivers--a want of fine weather, a consequent want of fine company, and a much-to-bedreaded want of funds. As far as this one season's sport was concerned, the first of these tria-juncta-in-uno might be made to answer for all; for, though the sport generally was good, neither the rank nor previous positions of the horses engaged commanded, in any way, an equal interest with those of former times. After seeing Gorhambury (one of the pleasantest gatherings within many miles of the metropolis) give up the ghost without a struggle, we must not feel surprised at Mr. Parsons, of Merry Hampton, raising the voice of complaint, or Mr. Younge the prices of admission to his Royal Peckham scenes in the circle. The gentlemen, in fact, have in this mat

ter, like the pig in his swim, been the perhaps inevitable agents in shortening their own amusements; and, had one anything of the genius of Punch's pourtrayer, a new edition of "The Bellowsblower" might be knocked off with some effect. For example: my Lord Verulam depicted as looking moodily over his deserted Cherrytree Mile or T.Y.C, with the flash man of the rouge-et-noir firm, rather out at elbows, and quite as desirous to see the ball a rolling, familiarly inquiring" Shall it be we, then ?"

According to all opinions, the Derby was a great mistake from end to end; the field, too, called together for it of a very middling description. With regard to the winner on the first of these points, I can only repeat an observation I have made, that when a genuine outsider does win the Derby, his great day's work will seldom bear testing hereafter. A more genuine outsider, by the bye, than the Merry Monarch never was hailed as number one; the majority of the public, sporting and non-sporting, I really believe, not knowing he ran until he had won. The stable also, it was announced, was equally taken by surprise-a declaration that the almost unknown winning jockey as well as horse would seem to authenticate; on the other hand, sagacious old Mr. Forth is remarkable, on nearly every occasion, for the cleverness with which he keeps the secret-the real Simon Pureuntil everybody has learnt it. The full extent of this said mistake can be scarcely allowed: the placing of the third and fourth, for instance, could not have been truer; and as to Alarm, just now talked of as the horse that ought-that must, indeed, have won, I do not hesitate in declaring my belief that, under any circumstances, he would have found, or yet find the Derby course quite as objectionable as his nextdoor neighbour in the spring's business list did. If one be forced to name a better horse than the winner, or the best horse of the lot, on the day and at the distance, I should fall back for once on John Day with Old England-a horse which met with (as it afterwards turned out) plenty of scurvy treatment before, and one or two heavy drawbacks in running. It is bad taste, maybe, to blow one's own trumpet, but, being so much in fashion just at present, I might perhaps presume to remind the readers of this work that, a year ago, I distinctly pointed to Old England as the best Derby horse out, and, though terribly out of favour at the time, the best worth backing. We neither of us have had fair play. On the score of quality, some very in-and-out trials since tend to make the thirty-one exhibitors rather an evenish class, although to the eye it is long since a finer or more racing-looking lot ever came out; Newmarket's pride, too, unquestionably having the best of it, both in the gifts of nature and the assistance of art. The best man of his time was singularly mild at and for some time previous, in his influence over this race, the split in the partnership threatening a diminution of power that even later events have not exactly re-established. Somehow or other, the first favourites for everything don't all come from Malton now-a-days. The best man of his year, again, Wadlow, was a little out of place at Epsom, what with the Iron-master disqualification, and the unsatisfactory and rather strange form of The Libel; in either case, however, it is pretty evident now that he had nothing ever in the race, although

most probably something in the stable, good enough to win it. Sweetmeat should have been doing something better than sweeping off hundreds and fifties from Shrewsbury.

The Oaks, of course, was another mistake, as indeed it now always is; the best mare of her year contriving to run up handy, and the second-best and most fancied, nowhere. As this race annually continues growing downwards as a sporting one, the slight interest ever attached to the last being rather owing to subsequent than prior events, I shall not hesitate to dismiss it at once, with this bit of consolation to the lovers of right and justice, that, though perhaps a bad mare won, she belonged to one of the best of men.

(To be continued.)

WILD SPORTS IN THE FAR WEST.

BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN, ESQ.

No. I.

A SPORTING ADVENTURE IN TEXAS.

One fine morning in December, 1842, cool for 27 degrees of north latitude, the schooner Santa Anna, on particular service, being in the bay of Aransas, and I a passenger on board on my way from Corpus Christi to Galveston, it was intimated by Capt. Simpton that a fourdays' refit was necessary ere any further progress could be made. There being on board the said craft at that time not one person with whom ten minutes' rational conversation could be held, and painting, splicing, and carpentering in no way adding to the delights of a residence in a vessel the cabin of which was of the smallest possible dimensions, and where books were a rarity not known, I determined to spend my leisure days in exploring Aransas Bay in search of game and fish, without other company than my gun, powder-horn, blanket, and fishing tackle. A canoe was readily obtained from the pilot on St. Josef's island, and in this I embarked early on the morning in question. The southern and western shores of the bay being low and abounding in swamps and lagoons, I rightly judged them to be most likely to be stocked with wild fowl, and, accordingly, giving my dug-out a sweep in that direction by means of my paddle, I hoisted my diminutive jib and mainsail, of the finest possible canvas, and lolling in the stern sheets, smoked my pipe and steered my little craft with a delightful sensation of ease, liberty, and enjoyment which I had not realized for many a day. It was facetiously remarked that Santa Maria-so was my canoe called-would float wherever it was damp; but joking apart, she would sail excellently well in six inches of water, accordingly I gradually neared the land until within pistol shot, when I eased off my sheets, and the water being smooth as glass, and the wind, considering the craft I was in,