always do yeoman service in the ring during the week, picked her up, and dusted her in a trice between them.

There is plenty of fun for the money, but the ring ought to be kept more strictly; so many officious people creep in on horses which have not got a prize, and the whole thing beeomes confused, and a sort of wild Sir Roger de Coverley on horseback. [Woe to the man who tumbles or rides a horse given to refusals, as the audience "spot" him at once!] Again, it is not fair to the public that the gold medal cob judging should be announced for Monday, and then put off till Wednesday; and certainly it would not be amiss if some new men could be asked to judge. Scores of peers and country squires can be had for the asking, and why should the Company, when that is the case, keep eternally fiddling on one string?

It was Mr. Thompson's fate to "march up the hill and then march back again," with his kennel, when he tried to sell them in the Doncaster Horse Fair last September. The Bedlamite sale some twelve years before had been a wondrous success; but barring Mr. Bland, there did not seem to be a coursing man about, when Mr. T. tried to follow suit. Trovatore was not among his Horse Fair lot, as she was the trump card for the 1866-67 season, in which she seemed on the whole to play the part of Savernake to Lobelia's Lord Lyon. Mr. Thomp son intends to take breathing time after a very successful career, and he is now left with only old Tirzah. Aldridge's was the sale venue, and a goodly number of coursing men got round the green-baize table, on which Beacon, Sea Pink, Canaradzo, and a host of other cracks have had to mount in their day. Mr. Bland was at his wonted place with two or three others in the window; Mr. Randell might be seen on the auctioneer's left, and Colonel Goodlake and some five-and-twenty more well-known leash men stood about the office, or pressed round the rails. Mr. Thompson was peripatetic, and watched no bids more keenly than those which were made for The Thames, his favourite sapling. We thought, as we saw Mr. Warwick looking very keenly at Theatre Royal's dozen pups, that, what with distemper and accident, it was almost Hermit odds against his ever meeting more than four of them on a coursing morning. There was not much news stirring. Rebe's brace of saplings by Calabaroono are going on well; she has just visited Little Wonder, and Restless Belle has been to Patent.

The Canaradzo—Annoyance blood could barely make an average of 17 gs. for the brother and sister, Tullochgorum and Theresa. Theatre Royal, a most beautiful-headed bitch, began well at 10 gs. There were two bidders in at 16 gs., and again at 20 gs., but after that the biddings were slow, and the bitch, considering the prices subsequently fetched by her puppies, was amazingly cheap. Then came a fine fight over Trovatore, a bitch with most beautiful loins, rather high on the leg, but rather short of quality, and with her tail set on very low. She has won about £300 for Mr. Thompson, and nothing worked harder during the six last weeks of the season. Mr. Clark's commissioner fought it out well, but the opposition stuck to him up to 56 gs., and then their pluck failed and she was borne off to Howden. Time Gun, her brother, very big dog, with very odd toes, especially on the near hind-leg could hardly fetch a guinea. Trustee by Terrific out of Tirzah was the hero of the day, and we soon heard of "fifty in two places;" but Colonel

Goodlake persevered, and got as slashing a dog at 60 gs. as we have seen for many a day.

Troutback and Threadneedle were small and light, but there was a very cheap sweet-looking bitch, Trial Trip, among the saplings, and Mr. Allison's 8 gs. seems likely to come back with interest. The Thames was a fine red sapling, by Beckford, out of Bessie, and Traviata, the top-price sapling (17 gs.), only beat him by half-aguinea. The sale of Theatre Royal's puppies by Bonus created great amusement, and the first couple went off at 21 gs.: the other five couples made 15 gs., 131 gs., 11 gs., 10 gs., and 10 gs. The dam undertook the bringing up of five, and another greyhound and a cross-bred bitch suckled the remainder. They were pupped on April 29th; and therefore Mr. Thompson offered to keep them for a fortnight, at the buyer's risk. The yard was not so crowded as usual, and the two hours made a very pleasant finish to the Derby week. It was refreshing, after being in such a howling wilderness of humanity at Epsom, to get among a quiet set of men, whose heart is in the pastures and the fallows. The 54 lots, counting each puppy as one, averaged rather above nine guineas, so the Cumberland papers will have something to talk about this time, instead of receiving telegrams with "only two sold-no buyers," or something to that effect.

Lincolnshire has lost a fine old sportsman in Mr. Thomas Brooks, or "Tom Brooks" of Croxby, as he was familiarly called. In his early days, no man rode harder, and he and "Field Nicholson," who had sat on the same form at school, had many a hard tussle over the Brocklesby country. They had about the longest steeplechase on record-ten miles from Thoresby to Aylesby Steeple, with 70 or 80 fences in it; but Nicholson got too far out of his line below Barnoldby, and Tom won cleverly. For many years past Tom has officiated as judge at the Royal and other great shows. He liked being among the hunter or the blood horse classes; and his stalwart figure, with his rather high broad shoulders, thinnish legs, and somewhat small, weather-beaten head, made him a man of mark in the centre of the ring. He knew his work thoroughly, and would not brook "veterinary dictation ;" and his rejoinder when one of them raised his hat, and remarked with what he thought cutting irony, "It seems then that I may retire, I am not wanted here," caused many a laugh among those who "could see Tom saying it." To the last he could go a burster in the hunting field for a short distance, and no one loved the sport better, or remembered more accurately the work of every great Brocklesby hound. Old William Smith's day brought up many a racy story, told in such a dry, quiet way. He bought many hunters for Baron Rothschild, and though he did not bother about breeding blood stock, he liked a race dearly. We well remember meeting him in the paddock on Caractacus's Derby day, and his telling us that he "didn't quite see the winner," but he had his eye on Lord Clifden, as a regular clinker for the next Derby, and that he should never see such a two-year-old again. He was also a capital judge of cart-horses, and a grey he met at the Worcester Royal was the apple of his eye.

A few weeks since, he had the misfortune to have one of his little fingers chopped off in a thrashing-machine. It did not heal well, and at last he applied some salve, which cured it, perhaps too quickly. After that, he burnt the back of one of his hands severely. Both of these accidents told on him, and then he got very wet over a farm-valuation. On reach.

ing home he took to his bed, and lay there from the Tuesday to the next Monday, when he died. Lincolnshire will long think of her fine old hunting "worthy."

Mr. John Thompson, another well-known Royal judge on the other side of the Humber, died not many weeks before him. For some time past, he had been complaining slightly of illness, and Mr. Teale, the celebrated surgeon of Leeds, had warned him that his heart was affected, and that he must beware of all excitement. However, Sir Clifford Constable's staghounds came to look for an outlying deer, and to uncart a fresh one if they failed to find it. He came out on a horse which his son had purchased from Mr. Percy Williams, and was delighted with his mount, as he did not previously think that it was up to his weight. His friends were surprised at his wonderful spirits, and there is no doubt he over-exerted himself in clambering up the side of one of the Holderness drains. He chaffed an old friend who followed, and required some help from a hunting whip. Five minutes after that he must have felt dizzy and dismounted for a minute. Only one person, a girl, saw him, and she said that he stood for a minute or two holding his horse's rein, and then sank down as his hand slackened its hold. He must, in fact, have died as he stood. There were few men more beloved and honoured, and you could not look in his face and fail to see that he was all kindness and goodness.

The Council of the Yorkshire Agricultural Society have decided not to hold a show of cattle, as it would have been impossible, under present circumstances, to get a licence for it, except it were confined to the North-Riding, which would have sorely reduced it. They have, therefore, increased the blood-sire prizes to £50, £20, and £10; the hunting brood-mares to £20 and £10; and the agricultural broodmares in the same proportion. Mr. Parrington was anxious to fill up the "red, white, and roan" gap with a show of blood yearlings, and Mr. Jackson, we hear, would have supported him heartily. However, the directors would not have it, although they freely acquiesced in the hound show being repeated on the last day of the show, August 9th. The entries must be made on July 6th, and this year huntsmen &c. must appear in full hunting costume, or they will not receive any gratuities they may win. There will be six classes, and the gratuities amount to £36. Class I. is for two couple of entered dog-hounds not more than seven-season hunters-£20 and £10; Class II. ditto for bitches, £20 and £10; Class III., unentered dog-hound pupped since December, 1865, £10 and £5; Class IV. ditto bitch, £10 and £5; Class V. stallion hound not less than three-season hunter and sire of puppies, £10; and Class VI., brood bitch having reared puppies since December 1, 1865, £10. All the above prizes will be given in plate. The entry is 10s. for the first two classes, and 5s. for the other. There are some capital promises of support already, and it is quite hoped that Lord Wemyss's will cross the Border again, to contest the belt which his lordship was obliged to give up without a struggle last year.

Mr. Codrington, a son of the great M. F. H., has taken the South Wilts country, in conjunction with his relative Captain Wyndham, of coursing renown. We are glad to hear that Frank Goodall is recovering from his severe illness (which caused the report on the Derby Monday that he was dead); but alas! Jem Hills will for the future only live in storv, as it has been found necessary to place him under

restraint in an asylum at Stafford. It is a sad ending to such a professional and cheery career. He was only born with the century.

Tim Whiffler's stock have made a wretched start in point of bone and prices; and even The Hermit's success did not send up the Newminsters, as might have been expected, at the Rawcliffe sale, of which the good price for two Clarets was a feature. The subscription lists of Trumpeter, Rataplan, and Muscovite (in France) are all full, which makes some two dozen full this season-a circumstance without parallel, more especially as 200-guinea and 100-guinea fee horses are most run upon; and The Miner retired to the stud after Northampton, The warning clause as to no payment no delivery will no doubt reduce yearling averages; but it would have been well for Messrs. Tattersall if it had been put into operation some years ago. Bond fide bidders are not to be punished by men who bid without the smallest idea of paying, except "something turns up," and, in fact, expect the proprietors of the Corner to keep them in race-horses gratis. As for the Soiled Dove case, if anybody can understand all its ins and outs, coupled with the exact Parliamentary position of the compound house-holder at this moment, he richly deserves a duplicate of the Gold Medal, which Mr. Dodds has just given for the best 16 st. cob.

The committee of the British Regatta in Paris are making great exertions to bring off their regatta on the Seine on July 9th and the four following days. There are four classes-for amateurs, watermen, menof-war's men, and yachtsmen. The course is at St. Cloud, and is about 1 mile in length, down stream, and any boat may compete, with or without a coxwain. H. R. H. the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edinburgh subscribe £100 each, and so does Mr. Alan Morrisson; but the funds are at present not up to the requisite mark. It is proposed to give four cups in the canoe race, and an ocean race for yachts will start from England on the 4th July.

THE DOG-MARKET AT PARIS.

Of all the markets of the French metropolis, the dog-market is by no means one of the least remarkable. Indeed, as may be readily imagined, it has a very distinct physiognomy of its own, and is very curious of its kind.

This market is held (of all days in the week) on Sundays, from twelve to two p.m., at the rear of the "Jardin des Plantes,' on the same space of ground allotted for the sale of horses; and all English visitors who happen to have upon their mind an uneffaced reminiscence of the close, gloomy, half-a-dozen cribs and stalls which constitute in Leadenhall the dog-market of the city of London, are constrained to admit that the canine race of the dealers of Lutetia have at least, upon sale days, advantages of locality and fresh air such as the poor quadrupeds of Leadenhall might well envy.

On Sundays throughout the year, at the hours above-mentioned, the Paris dog-market presents, however, a sight both entertaining and picturesque. In the stalls, appropriated on week days to the hippic race, every imaginable variety of the canine race is to be seen, and under all the various circumstances of deportment natural to their

respective characteristics of breed, typical of their special instincts, proclivities, and purposes. Attached together in these stalls by a rope, the dogs for sale form of course the most prominent feature, and exhibit themselves to the spectator each according to his mood of the moment—some with drooping ears and tails between their legs, others jumping and barking in chorus with their here-and-there neighbours, in every variety of tone and expression.

The visitors on these market-days must not be supposed to consist only of those who come with the desire to buy. Yet more readily recognisable to the eye of the habitués of the market, and especially of the experts of the Parisian dog trade, are those who are in hopeful, yet anxious search for the "lost or stolen;" and fortunate indeed are they who, after an interval of a couple of days, can recognize their Fidèle or Azor, so skilful are the fancy-dog dealers of Paris in disguising, or rather metamorphosing, the lost quadruped, more especially when it impersonates a certain marketable value; for, should a valuable dog have been thin, he is fattened beyond recognition in an incredibly short time; if, on the other hand, he was fat, they know how to take the fat off of him as quickly; and, if his kind of breed admits it without disparagement, they crop ears and tail, or shear him poodle fashion.

The Marché aux Chiens attracts, moreover, not unfrequently, many of the fashionables of the higher ranks of Parisian society. At times, handsome equipages are seen driving up to the entrance, whose elegantly-attired occupants are not afraid to thread their way through this place, where for the most part of the time reigns a tumult of canine noises sufficient to scare, as well as offend ears accustomed to less outrageous discords.

Here contiguous, or mingled indiscriminately together, are to be seen that favourite of the ladies the King Charles, which here fetches frequently from two hundred to three hundred francs; the snarling "roquet," a shock lap-dog of Scandinavian breed, much patronized by Madame la Bourgeoise; the hideous pug, once so fashionable in English drawing-rooms; the Italian greyhound, that to me hateful type par excellence of canine femininity and selfishness; the setter, the spotted Dane, the pointer Anglais (as he is here called), the spaniel, and greyhounds so unlike your Swaffham spankers. Here, in majestic repose, slumbers the Newfoundland dog; yonder crouches, as though in philosophic meditation, the canine philanthropist of Saint Bernard; close by, uttering every now and then a low, suppressed growl, the frowning mastiff; and a little farther, in a stall to themselves, tethered at short lengths, the ferocious bulldog, with his bloodshot sanguinary eye. On another side, attractive far more for qualifications the reverse of grace or beauty, are to be seen several dogs of large size and uncouth form, their rough coats standing on end: with ungainly limbs, and hollow, tucked-up flanks, no one would think them possessed of such strength and renown for courage in the defence of the flocks of the shepherds of the Pyrenees, or the cattle of the herdsmen of the South. Yet, in the restless vivacity of those ever watchful eyes, an intelligence of no ordinary kind is perceptible-they are in fact, both in animal power and sagacity, a race apart; these dogs are the most rare, and fetch the highest prices. Many a grazier and herdsman of the Vosges and Basque country would refuse one thonsand écus for his faithful Turc or his terrible Brise-fer.