[Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines] all coming to the post orderly, and leaving it in as admired order. Of course, upon system, the light-weights made the running as long as they could; but Nottingham presently broke down, and others were sooner or later diddled. Through the Ditch they came-a most imposing phalanx; (for after all, Newmarket is the only place to see a field of seven-andtwenty horses in actual racing, as they move and have their being, run across the long flat) upon better terms than one was prepared for. But the speed, though steady, had not been good; and even at the bushes, the beaten were less numerous than the most sanguine had reckoned on. Here, first, those without racing-glasses became aware that the Baron was in front clear of his horses, and obviously with the race in hand. He won very easily by a length, with Wee Pet for second, and no matter about the rest. Almost as soon as the result was known, they took 2 to 1 about him for the Cambridgeshire. Anon it came out, that Mr. Watts had sold him to Mr. E. R. Clark, who soon after came in to the Subscription Room at Tattersall's, and announced that the Baron should not start for the Cambridgeshire unless twelve thousand pounds to one thousand were laid to him against that horse for the race. This was strictly according to the precedent established by a leading member of the Jockey Club, in the case of Elis for the Leger, nine years ago; even the odds and the sums required were the same-I say according to a precedent established, because I know of no measures being taken at the time, or subsequently, to declare the practice opposed to the principles of racing, or inconvenient as a custom among gentlemen.... Will the recurrence of the occasion, mutato nomine, bring about any change in the policy? Time will tell.... The Clearwell, with seven starters, and Sting backed to win at 5 to 2, could scarcely be expected to command much interest. This colt is the most perfect two-year-old ever seen, with lots of speed and power that scoffs at penalties of weight. Should his form in another year be like what it is at present, woe to those who are against him for the Derby. But this is a contingency of rare befalling. It was so in Attilla's case-and yet that first-class racer was revolutionized by one attempt at oppression: as with states, so with steeds. In a match for £500, Cataract receiving 7lbs. and a year from Sorella, won in a canter. The Squire is not quite au fait at match-making; indeed how should he, being a Benedict?

Wednesday, as to the forenoon, was devoted to the settling here of accounts due those of hopes too rashly indulged. One heard of all sorts of rascally shuffling and contrivance, which one ventures to trust was not actually as bad as represented, and to assert, if it was only half as infamous, that it ought to have earned for its professors the bottom of the nearest horse-pond. The sport was no great matter: the chief of its features was the match for £200, won by Celia, and the Oatlands by Jet-my Lord Exeter victorious in two consecutive races! Metal won the Town Plate. Longitude ran for this plate; but her jockey having weighed beyond the Ditch, she was not telegraphed among the starters. No doubt precaution will be adopted to prevent such a chance in future, of which very sinister use might be made. Deerchase won a small 10 sovs. Sweepstakes for two-year-olds,

286 NEWMARKET FIRST AND SECOND OCTOBER MEETINGS.

and Prologue beat Vaudeville and Conrad for a 200 sovs. Sweepstakes; and this constituted all the racing of the day.

Thursday was profuse of sunshine and racing; the latter excellent also in quality. First came a match between Mr. Greville's Motilla, and Lord Glasgow's Miss Whip colt, for 200 sovs. each, T.Y.C., which of course the latter lost. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovs. each for two-year-olds and upwards, Lord Exeter won with his filly, by Beiram out of Mantof, beating a decent field of half-a-dozen; and a similar Sweepstakes as regards amount of subscription, for two-yearolds only, was won by the Duke of Rutland's colt, by Slane out of Voluptuary, in the Derby. For that this was a promising trial I suppose, this colt is now the property of Lord George Bentinck at the price of £250. For a match, T.Y.C., giving a stone and a half, the Bishop of Romford's colt beat Duc-an-Durras; and then for a £100 Handicap Plate field of sixteen came to the post. It was won, after a fine race, by Mr. Onslow's Ruff, 3 yrs., 6st. 9lbs. The course was across the Flat, and among other cracks beaten was Intrepid. How they came to fancy him for the Cesarewitch, I do not presume to guess. The Bretby Stakes for two-year-old fillies brought out three of the eight entered, the trio running a slashing race, all ending "of a ruck." The winner was Cuckoo, (which makes the performance for the Hopeful, already alluded to, very good. The day's work finished with a match for £50, wherein Minus beat Moonbeam.

Friday was a gloomy affair altogether. Moreover, something was obviously out of joint touching the Baron's general position. Some said he was in physic; some said only feigning to be so, to dose those who might be caught against him. All this is wretched work mixed up with the recreation of gentlemen. In a match for £150, equal weights, T.Y.C., the Cobweb colt beat Comrade in a canter. And then came two chicken handicaps, both won by Lord George Bentinck with African and Astern, in the order they are here. Prologue gave Deodara a stone and a half, and an awful beating, the Rowley Mile; and Lord George Bentinck ran first and second for the Prendergast, with Princess Alice and Ennui, in their order. For 200 sovs. cach, Oakly, on the T.Y.C., gave Hartshorn 3st. 7lb., easily. The career of Oakly as a match-runner is surely without a parallel in the annals of the British turf. A Sweepstakes of 10 sovs. each, for two-year-olds and upwards, first half of Abingdon Mile, Col. Peel's Caen won cleverly. And this brought the meeting to a close, at 3 P.M. Its character is to be gleaned from these its details in epitome. I wish I could venture to say-as my own opinion -that it put forth any prospect of racing being released from the ill report which attaches to it as the agent of unscrupulous adventurers, and a resort which brings men of honour into mischievous association with the most unprincipled portion of society.

THE BARON.

WINNER OF THE ST. LEGER, 1845.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY J. F. HERRING, SEN.

"Didn't Faugh-a-Ballagh win the Leger last year?"

"Yes, of course he did."

"Wasn't he an Irish horse?"

"To be sure he was."

"Didn't the Baron win the Leger this year?" Certainly; we all know that well enough."

"Isn't he an Irish horse?"

"I should rather think he was, too."

"Very good. An Irish horse won it last year, an Irish horse wins it this; ergo, the Irish horses are the best in the world. And the sons of Erin, well content with such an argument, shy up their hats and open their throats to chant the Song of Victory, set for the nonce to a new tune called 'Do it again!'"

Without going quite so far in this cock-a-whoop kind of logic as our Hibernian brethren, their success of late years on the English turf, when properly considered, sounds really quite "prodigious." When we compare the few ragged, half-stud, half-potato farms over there, with the many princely establishments amongst us, or, taking them in the aggregate, when we count the few score brood mares they possess, with the hundreds on hundreds that have here found a name and a place in the Stud-book-when we put the right estimate on all this, and then turn to number up the few chosen out of the few, and sent over to try their speed and their fortune in Merry England, the gross amount of "first and first" due to the intruders will be seen to be something pretty considerably over the common average, or the Walker's Assistant code of calculation. It is true enough that every nag reckoned a flyer over the Curragh, as in the cases of Loadstone, Clear-the-way, George, and one or two others, has not exactly supported that character after making the voyage: still, speaking in general terms, we are inclined to think that even in this terrible time for speculations, there can scarcely be a better, if experience be any test, than breeding race-horses in Ireland, and running them in England. The tide of fortune, as far as we can trace it, seems to have set in with the arrival of the far-famed Harkaway, winner of the Goodwood Cup two years in succession, and other good things out of number; then came Cruiskeen, almost cotemporary with him, winner of the Chester Cup, the first Cesarewitch, and many more pretty pickings, far too numerous to make mention of here; next, close up with them, we have Roscius, winner