nate Fitzroy), a grand mare herself. The speedy Attraction stopping at the same place, has a niceish foal to Prime Minister, and Spanish Fly one to the same sire, and both are put to Asteroid. Sam Rogers has a neatish foal by Optimus from Duchess, and a rattling fine yearling by Surplice from Begonia, who has a still finer foal (an own brother), and is put to him again. Coming out on to the Bury Hills I was just in time to see Lord Lyon lead his light-actioned sister a gallop up the hill; how very different the action of the two! and yet both so good; then I saw The Rake take two good long canters up, and then a real good bracing gallop right over the hill-no mistake about his doing work-but he don't go well to my eye, and will win no Derby. D'Estournel was on this side of the town for the first time, and looked the most placid, idle horse possible. It seems he was hit over the head last year, aud and has been afraid of a whip ever since. He went kinder in his first double-bridle on Monday, but little Kenyon gave him three "side braiders," as he said "just to waken him up," and it did him no good; he jumped right from under him, and for some yards Kenyon was sitting on his loins right behind the saddle spurring his hind-quarters, and which gave the horse the appearance of going so oddly. With an artist like Custance up, he went quite differently, and is no doubt a great horse, and will be nearer the Derby still than many think. A few minutes at Mr. Hall's studio filled up my spare time before the races; the gem of his easel is Lecturer with Hibberd up-certainly the nicest picture I have seen of his painting. As a likeness of the horse it is wonderful, and the colouring and finish are charming. Peter's colours are not very attractive to the eye in the life, but Mr. Hall has so toned them here that they are excessively pleasing; he has a copy to make for both John and Alfred Day, and it is a great contrast to one I lately saw of the same horse by De Prades. A somewhat sketchy picture of Redan; one of the lowforended Land-tax; a very beautiful portrait of Broomielaw, with Cusstance in the "all rose," with an unusually cross expression of countenance; the outline of Vauban just begun, and for which the Duke had kindly detained the horse another day (as he was locked up the night before, when Mr. H. went to sketch him, and John would not have him disturbed after his fatigues "for any man living"), with Newminster and Stockwell, were the others I best remember. Mr. Hall seems to me to improve yearly, and with such opportunities as he possesses it would be wonderful if he did not excel in all the minutiae of the Heath, and one never sees a billet or a buckle wrong in his pictures. The pouring rain after the races on Wednesday spoilt the rest of my day, and I had to leave for town at night, and this is about all I did in "Vauban's year." There was, by-the-bye, some monstrous heavy betting late in the evening; which was wound up by a well-known man "offering to take 60 to 40 that another died first!

"THE GRAND

NATION A L."

BY CASTOR.

In these fastidious times, when people talk of the Two Thou', the Metrop', and The Moog, the Grand National stands, of course, for The Grand National Hunt Steeplechase; the more decisively as the Liverpool Grand has degenerated long since into a handicapping, squaring, scratching sort of business, at the very best but a distant relation of pure sport. The Hunt National, on the contrary, is about the most sportsman-like race that comes within the cognizance of The Calendar. The steeplechase here returns to its pristine and proper interpretation, as a trial of skill in which gentlemen can ride and hunters have a chance. On such a showing the meeting was never so well suited as at Bedford, where the finest line was available that we have ever yet seen. It was a fair but good hunting country, and we are enabled to say so much on the strength of having been over the greater part of it some two or three months previous to this being flagged out. Then, it was all in grass, and the inclosures being generally large there was not too much jumping, as is generally the case with the cockneyfied artificial fences put up a-purpose in some places. At certain points of sight, such as when the field came streaming down one long pasture soon after starting, the thing had quite a Leicestershire character, and there needed but a few couple of hounds threading their way through to complete the delusion. The only really awkward fence was the double post and rail handy the Messrs. Howard's homestead; but with the top taken off, this became negotiable enough, or as varmint old Mr. Barling put it, "You went over without knowing it." Further, nearly the whole line was "visible;" not, however, that the stand was altogether well placed, for the horses finished at you in a corner instead of coming alongside, and that most delightful feature in the proceedings, the parade down and the canter past, was quite lost to ninetenths of those who paid their money for special privileges. And, as we are in a critical humour, it may be as well to add that the great "poster" kind of card was next thing to a nullity. Many of the runners were never coloured at all; while others sported anything but the caps and jackets put down for them. Now, if such a correct guide be ever required at all, it is at such a meeting as this, where many of the horses have never been out previously, and many of the owners have never before known exactly what their colours were. Amongst "the regulars," where you recognise the crack in a moment by my Lord's trainer who is saddling him, or "spot" the yellow jacket of Mr. Merry as already mounted in the distance, the uses of a card are not so imperative; but how in the world is one to identify what Mr. Sheppard runs, or Mr. Stokes names, or Mr. Nelson strips, if there is not something to go by? A well-known novelist has confessed that how a turf-reporter ever contrives to describe the actual running of a race is a business quite beyond his comprehension, and we are at times much inclined to share in such a feeling of unqualified adiniration. When Mr. Walker was sending along Mayflower at the pace he did, not one man in a hundred seemed to know exactly what was leading, although

BB

from having carefully looked her over in the paddock we had that pleasure-and it really is a pleasure to know what is going on.

However, despite one heavy shower, and our near side horse going anything but comfortably, we have done our ten or twelve miles in very good time, and getting the right of way through Mr. Howard's farm, we are landed as handsomely by the side of Clapham Park Wood. And one word here for the Messrs. Howard. Considering how often he himself has donned the cap and jacket, it was only natural enough that George Higgins should offer the committee all the 'vantage ground he could; but the Howards are not sportsmen, or rather not racing men, for the Oakley never now draw Clapham Park blank, and Mr. James Howard not only knows a good horse when he sees him, but can ride him too. Still this kind of thing is somewhat out of their way, and the greater thanks are consequently due to the firm for the readiness with which they gave Messrs. Harry Bolton and Co. all leave and licence to map out the course here and there, as was most desirable. And a lovely line, as we have already testified, it is! And with the right sort of company, moreover, to welcome the Grand National, despite the ominous lists "ranged in a row" on the further side. There is a hunting true-blue tone about the people, and if betting be slack, you hear from your next neighbour that up to Saturday last, March 30th, Mr. Anstruther Thompson had killed his seventy-nine brace of foxes, though we fail to find that mighty Nimrod in the crowd. Indeed, Masters of Hounds are not so numerous; but Mr. Arkwright of course puts in an attendance, with Lord Curzon for the Atherstone, and Mr. Harvey Bailey with all the blushing honours of the Rufford thick upon him; while Lord Poulett and Lord Hastings are clearly come upon business. Then, for we are here early after all, the Kimbolton and Althorp parties in turn arrive, and one feels half-inclined like other more cunning craftsmen to go into ecstasies over the enchanting combination of black velveteen and white lace. But however tastefully the ladies may be equipped, what wonderful figures some men make of themselves when armed against "winter and rough weather!" Those long bed-gown kind of overcoats may be comfortable enough, though terribly cumbrous to the eye and the action; but it is over its continuations that original genius chiefly asserts itself. One exquisite cuts a pair of grey trowsers down into breeches, which he meets with Pendragon boots-and infamous is the effect! Another stitches a pair of drableggings on to his half-boots, and mounts these with Bedford cordsand fearful is the sight! A third has his boot to button from the ankle to the knee, so that his trowsers may be more carefully folded therein— and incongruous is the "association of ideas." Yet another still finishes off his suit of ditto with volunteer gaiters over make-believe button-boots, a sham-tied neckcloth, a Vandyke shirt-collar, and a stiff yellow wideawake, the structure of which should alone drive the Graces distracted. But they are real swells, mind you; and hear it not, shade of Sir Henry or credit it not, thou evergreen Master of the Essex! but there is a man here with at least two nosegays about him, one posy being fastened to the button-hole of his bed-gown, and the other, for the day improves, as neatly arranged on his under-coat. It was said there was a master-mind smoking a cigarette, and "cribbing" his toothpick "all at the same time," but we did not see him, being fairly carried

off our legs in a rush made at "Your Dukeship" to a crescendo chorus of "What d'yer want to back?"

Fortunately there is a ready escape to the back of the Stand, where a very good impromptu paddock is contrived, and where the men who think more of horses than of backing them are gathered to. gether the John Bennett and Mr. Storey stamp of sportsman, while sagacious Mr. "Sago" is on the look-out for anything clever, and Newcombe Mason busy over the toilette of an outsider. But he is clearly of the old school by this time, and there is hardly a man "up" to-day who ever tried his luck against poor "Jem" or Bardolphnosed Bill Bean.* The nags are walked round in the regular orthodox order, and one of the first we come across is Emperor the Third, a horse so like to his own brother that it is quite needless to ask his name. He is, however, all over better looking, and one of the very neatest hunters ever seen. As with all true-made horses, he looks smaller than he really is, until you get fairly alongside him, and then, though by no means "a welter," he proves capitally. His condition, again, is about perfect-bright and clear in his eye and coat, with the light, straight walk of health and strength; and if we had gone for a portrait of the modern steeple-chaser we should have taken the Bedford Emperor, with Mr. Coventry on his back, as he left the inclosure for the course. The smart rose jacket, the "natty" getup, and the lithe, cheerful seat, harmonise well with the corky, bloodlike, "little" bay horse, as we are half-inclined to call him. But they are not "favourite " for all that, for the formidable Mr. Studd has one of his Sigmas in the entry, and, with Mr. Thomas to ride, they quote him at 3 or, often enough, at 2 to 1. That is the horse in the M'Intosh quarter-piece-a low, lengthy, powerful, but not taking animal, though, nevertheless, with something dangerous in his staid, slouching bearing. And then, "you know," it is one of Studd's, "you know," and Thomas, "you know"-who, if we remember aright, is a nephew of that fine horseman Mr. Vevers, of Shropshire, and so famously "connected" for cross-country purposes. Further away,

one of the Walkers is saddling a sweet black chesnut, now known as Mayflower, and that, if appearances go for anything, is pretty certain to mind her own business. Still there is a local manner about the pair, and the distinguishing tells that Mr. Nelson claims the tenantfarmer's privilege to stake his five sovs. against the swell's ten. That very neat rider Captain Smith, of the Carbineers, is paying every attention to Marley, a nice horse enough, with some pace about him, but terribly stale and worn. And there, by Jupiter! is the old Bay Middleton purple-and-yellow stripe come to steeple-chasing at last! Whatever would the Lord Jersey have said to it?-who, by the way, and strictly by the way, we once saw step out of his carriage to get a glimpse of them running the Aylesbury, as they chanced to cross his line on the road to London. But Mr. "Jay's " Bicester, for so it is written, looks very like a workman, and Mr. Merton seems quite satis fied with his mount. Not so Captain Ricardo, sure-ly, who is begging somebody to give him a leg on to the old postboy-saddle with which they

* Bean, who was born in 1792, was the son of a riding-master, and at one time had a good business as a dealer, in George-strect, Portman-square, with a country, place at Southgate.

have accoutred Stoneham; and that same somebody cheerily wishes the gallant gentleman good speed; but if ever he volunteered for a forlorn hope, it was in that glorious charge to Clapham Park. Lion-hearted Mr. Barling, too, can scarcely dare to think of doing more than look on with his "just" useful Thorganby that has been with hounds within the week; but, as he says afterwards, he enjoyed the ride amazingly, and it was worth all the money to see so much of it. And then, bless us all! here is Mr. Alec Goodman, not, perhaps, quite so young to the eye as he was some years since, and what is he going to ride? As at that very moment a very thrusting yeoman from Oakham asks if we have seen the bay brown horse, General Williams? We have not, but we do eventually come across about the best-looking one in the race -a lengthy, handsome, well-bred horse, thoroughly realising the notion. of the Leicestershire hunter, with plenty of power and lots of pace about him. "That's about the sort we should give first prize to," whispers a learned brother at our elbow; and there is yet time to get on at 100 to 7, or thereabouts. Still Lord Poulett, after the Northampton running yesterday, is said to hold the General safe enough with Father O'Leary, that we miss when stripped, and scarcely get a glimpse of in that hide-and-seek, out-of-the-way canter up; but Gelert and Yarborough are another couple that do every credit to the occasion. And now, my Southdown friend, that we have made out all we can, what is the conclusion that we come to thus far? In so many words, that the Grand National Hunt Steeplechase is well maintaining its purpose. There is not a drafted half-tutored plater in the race-we may meet with a few such by-and-bye-but the "national" hunters give you, so far as they can, the warranty of hunters in their appearance; and now, if you please, we will see how far they can sustain such a character. But mind you, before they are off, the two best-looking are General Williams and the Emperor, whatever Mr. Studd or my lord, who seems to have sent out his own cap and jacket, may say to the contrary. The line is certainly rather fancifully mapped out, and surely the plan might have been given on the back of the Chaplin-tinted card. Beginning with a kind of outer circle, you see but little of what is going on until they round the top of the hill, and turn the first time for home down that long stretch of pasture, and with one or two already out of it. Sensation has thus early come to grief, but there is little of that shouting amongst the ring-men with which they usually proclaim that "the favourite's beat!" And then the sweet Mayflower goes to the front; and how well the nags fence, and how close the men sit! But now it is over, Mr. Walker, didn't you make the pace a little too strong over the bottom, with such a hill to face and a biggish place or two to find your way over ere you settle down to finish? And, long though be your lead, there are three of the best horsemen in England in waiting. The pink jacket of Mr. Chaplin shows well in the glimpse of sunshine, with the bay horse taking fence after fence with a kind of mechanical correctness. Alec. Goodman is alongside him, and the chesnut in the same cluster carries Mr. Edwards in Lord Poulett's colours. Of course, Mayflower comes back to them at the hill, and as they take the water there is nothing but the three favourites in it, and, with such a line to go by, the speed of Father O'Leary is certain sure to be served. Alas! he overjumps himself, and the Emperor, a deal fresher horse than the