to the gloomy regions of Proserpine. Three betting men mounted on forms behind Mr. Stonehewer, and offered to bet £100 to £10 you needn't put down £5, and then "£10 to £5 you lose it if you do put it down." The objector grew wroth, and wanted "none of your impudence." A member of the Jockey Club, who afterwards laid £15 to £10 on Jemmy for the Scurry Plate and won it, told his friend not to put down £5, and appealed to "Argus" if it was a Newmarket rule? and per Mr. Justice "Argus": "It is not a Newmarket ruleit is a Verrall rule" (hear, hear); and per Chief Justice Stonehewer: "Come, let us have no more of this bother-ring the bell." "Yes, your worship." And, amid a deafening peal, the owner of Threeand-a-half sat down, and penned his protest in peace. Be it on paper or in a County Court, a man always seems so refreshed by protesting or giving a bit of his mind. Ink or tongue, no matter which, so long

as he has an outlet.

Then the donkeys appeared in their ribbons and quarter pieces, and "The Rogue's" friends popped it heavily on to their champion at the lists. Rogue "would walk in;" Rogue "knew the course;" and Harry Cuddington "had been squared to give him a lead on his bay." As for Nettle, late Caphoozel'em, he was a mere humble friend, despite the Lanercost jacket. It was 4 sovs. for the first, and 1 sov. for the second; distance, a quarter of a mile. Nettle turned stupid going to the post, and put down her jockey, and of the subsequent fate of Hermit, Hippia, Blair Athol, and Marksman (late Lytham), &c., we know nothing. We could only see the crowd closing in on them from the start, screaming and shoving like maniacs. Then arose the mighty rushing roar of "The Rogue wins." Only three were in it at the Stand; the others had turned nervous or kicked when their tails were touched, or had lain down; but those three came bobbing along at about six miles an hour, Nettle leading a length, and The Rogue with a devoted backer shoving him. Both jockey and shover waited most artistically till the last two strides, when in went the spurs, and up went the whip, and a mighty rush, and a still mightier shove, brought the favourite bang up to Nettle's head. They both belonged to one owner, and it was well that Mr. Stocken gave it "a nose" for Nettle, as no bets would have been paid on The Rogue after such barefaced assistance.

Mr.

Once more the beadle boomed out his summons, not for the hurdlerace match, as the riders had thought better of that; but for the 2 sov. a side pony match. The bay was fat, and the grey looked stumped up in its walk, but it had a leery jock upon a 21b. saddle. He used his condition till within 100 yards from home, when he suffered, came again, and won by half a length. It reminded us exactly of the match between Bob Heseltine and Lord Cardross at Doncaster in '51, which poor Bob declared to be the best race he ever rode in his life. Baker narrowly escaped being chaired, and his friends patted him so violently on the back when he unsaddled his grey, that he seized his saddle and fled swiftly to scale. And here ended Mr. Stonehewer's labours, which very much resembled those of the Great Eastern porter of Punch in the Hudsonic era, who worked the points with his feet, waved the danger flag with one hand, and rang the bell with the other. He presided in his stormy tent, he drew up lists of the post entered

races, affixed them to the Grand Stand, and handed a duplicate to Valentine and Wright. He settled every moot point where evidence was not required, and, when his labours were over, and there was peace upon the hills once more, he drove home with his pocket-book full of protests, and not at all weighed down in his spirits by them. We only heard of one accident, and that was not serious, and we only met one man who had "received on the nose," and he was a gate-money receiver. Such was the germ of the Thunder's Barrow maiden Meeting, which about paid itself. Mr. Stonehewer will not let it rest there, and when he next year prepares another drama for Sussex on Whit-Tuesday, it will be, in the language of the footlights, with the donkey race repeated and many "new and startling effects." Mr. Pearson has a much better course at his disposal, close by the present one.

The local press somewhat differed in their estimate of the day. One had only a bilious little paragraph, headed "South Shoreham," which looked as if the writer had "put down the pieces," and not picked them up again. Another spoke of it as "a great success," and computed the company at five thousand. The labours of the chronicler under canvas were rather more elaborate than salient; and a rival account did not profess to be by "our own reporter," but merely by an occasional correspondent." It must be the way at Brighton. When Boz's Dr. Blimber invited his boys to a party at the end of the half, he shook hands with them in the drawing-room, as if he had not known they were coming-" Eh! you here? God bless my soul!" So it was with "an occasional correspondent." He professes a fashionable unconsciousness of any races at Thunder's Barrow till quite a late hour of the morning, and begins thus in his airy style :

"WHILST sauntering down Ship-street on Tuesday morning, in search of a breath of fresh air by the sea-side, your correspondent was aroused from a lethargic state-in which he was dreaming of nothing but the unpleasant oppressiveness of the atmosphere-by the application to his calves of a few inches of whipcord attached to a whip wielded by a friend, accompanied by another friend, and seated in a basket chaise. Your correspondent did not swear, for the tingling sensation was rather refreshing than otherwise; neither would he have had time to have uttered more than the tiniest of oaths, because his friend had no sooner inflicted the bane than he administered the antidote by offering the vacant seat with a view to Old Shoreham Races. The sports in prospective certainly did not allure me; but the contemplated drive by the sea-side may have done, and being assured that Thunder's Barrow, on which the races were to take place, was an airy place, Y. C. consented to accompany these genial spirits, and we went."

Then he pitches into prices, as if people who can afford conveyances are to have all their fun found for nothing, and grows pathetic over a costermonger, who had declined to pay for a cart laden with " sourlooking premature cherries." He is ironical about the “rural magisterial mind," and surprised at the notice against dogs, and "will not venture to suggest" who "could have been so vindictive as to prevent the canine species from setting foot on the ground." He then discovers that they "give good measure on Thunder's Barrow" when they call the course three-quarters of a mile, the first one-third of which struck him as being 66 very steep and sulcated." There's a word for you! "Humphrey Davy was the favourite, being barred, when 3 to 1 was laid against any other; and as for the donkey race, it is doubtful if the third moke has yet passed the post; he was a long way off when

THE OMNIBUS.

your correspondent last saw him." So much for Y. C. and his report
ing. which was free and easy, like that ever-memorable day.

We were unable to reach Mr. Blenkiron's first sale, the average of which was 466gs for 42, as against 455 for the same number last year. Old Weatherbit, who is only a year junior to Orlando, has done the stud a good turn, as eight of his averaged 4971gs., while the eight Dundees did well at 3851gs. It is no slight credit to him that one of his stock should have held his own Derby place at the first year of asking. The public had the choice of eighteen different sires, and seven of the lots were from Birdcatcher mares. plainly what they thought of the 2,500-guinea Angus by passing his Mat Dawson's stable showed pretty own sister at 250gs., and equally recorded their high sense of Leonie's power by giving 2.000gs. for her brother. Thus for two years in suc cession have the Sledmere mares been the dams of the highest-priced ones. They were purchased from Mr. Crowther Harrison, who sent the mares two years in succession to Newminster, and may therefore claim the honour of breeding Leonie. hankering at one time for Newminster, and could have had him, we The late Sir Tatton had a believe, at very considerably less than he paid for Rifleman, but he thought that his action was not suited to hunter getting. Still, if he had bought him, and begotten a Leonie with him, the world would have been no wiser, as the chesnut would have been on seeds, and then in the marshes, and then gone to the stud, in pursuance of that unaccountable and pretty nearly inflexible code to keep all the fillies guiltless of a bridle. Voltigeur's blood found a 520-guinea admirer in Earl St. Vincent; and we hear that Malton expects a cracker of the sort in Betrayal, own brother to Vedette. It is said that, unless the Middle Park Plate tempts him. Mr. l'Anson will pursue the quiet system with him, as he did with Blair Athol. foal the mare has thrown since Vedette. If we remember rightly, this is the first colt name from some dispute about a claim in a Selling Race. On dit that he takes his

The first of the East Acton sale Saturdays was a success, as 44 averaged 183gs., which is a paying price after all, if you keep your own horse or do not soar into the 100-guinea and 200-guinea latitudes. The arrangements are capital, but still it is a remarkable paradox that our great blood-stock sales are still liable to be marred by a wet afternoon, and that the only things which are sold under a tent are Mr. Knight's Exmoor ponies, when they come up to Reading each September. Brother to Friponnier advanced to 650gs., or 400gs. more than Mr. Bell gave for him as a foal after Doncaster last year, and See Saw's Stockbridge running was pretty well foreshadowed by the 700gs. which was given for his Dundee half-brother. We had the last racing trace of "old Pam" at this sale in the 40-guinea filly, whose dam Bistre he sent to his latest stud fancy, Chevalier d'Industrie. of Friponnier is good enough to shake those who are so very much The running afraid of in-and-in breeding, as his sire is by Orlando, and his dam by a son of Orlando. The Neviles and Big Bens sold remarkably well, and a slice of Dundee always seems to fetch its price. People are beginning to look rather askew at the Thormanbys, and many have never liked them since Mr. Cookson showed his hand in '65 at Doncaster with Freemason and all that unfortunate lot.

There is not much hunting news. The Quorn had ninety couple in

kennel, when their own puppies were sent in, and the Badminton second draft has arrived in addition. Captain Thompson, Mr. Clowes, and Captain Barlow had a long morning drafting them down to sixty couples. His lordship has no intention of giving them up, although he has sold the horses, but Pike leaves. Eber Long has gone on as first whip to the Badminton, vice Jack West, who at last starts on his own account with the Cottesmore horn. A better whip never rated foxhound, and he was quite a popular character in his old country. A photograph of Jack is generally to be found in Bath, facing that of Clarke, and rare sport they have shown between them. David Edwards has come out as fresh as ever again in the South Berks country, after being so long out of commission. The Bedale were very anxious to have Jack Goddard's services, but he declined to go to a three day's-a-week country. One side of this country is said to be very bare of foxes. They will have a very active field manager in Mr. John Booth, who also horses the men. Thomas Carr, late of the Herefordshire, is the huntsman. We hear that poor Jim Hills has improved since he went to the Stafford Asylum. It is always very trying to an old huntsman's mind to have to quit the head of his pack, and for the next season he was hardly ever out, and merely looked after the Heythrop horses; and when he did go out latterly, he seemed to have quite lost his zest for the sport.

Mr. Stonehewer intends to make up a Sussex pack for otter hunting out of his dwarf foxhounds, 1 brace of otter hounds, and his white terriers; but we do not hear whether he has as yet lighted on a DuckFingered Joc, to carry the pole and to tail the otters, of which there are said to be plenty. As soon as the grass is well off, he will, we hear, begin near Hayward's Heath. Dr. Grant had some good fun in the Ale during the past month, and killed a fine dog otter. Bill was unfortunately left at home, but a Labrador dog and a Tweed spaniel (whatever that may be) did some good service. The Doctor does not intend to hunt them himself this year, as he is not allowed to go into the water, but "Sandy" will come over on great days. Part of the pack are with Sandy at Carlisle, where they are having capital sport. The 1866 season, in which not one otter was brought to hand, has made the Carel chaps value their "little man" as they never valued him before.

The deaths of the month have been singularly few, and, in fact, the Turf has lost no one, except it be old Tom Taylor, and he had ceased to train. The Newmarket wags made merry over the late Judge Clark, when he married in the evening of life :

"O'er Hymen's course Judge Clark would ride-
With winsome Mistress Macey;
Quoth he, A maid's a spicy bride,
But a widow's far more racy" ".

and the late Lord Chesterfield never laughed more than when he heard that Tom, of 73, was going to be united to the widow of Will Beresford, the trainer. Tom was originally a groom with Mr. Ridsdale, but he had been for many years, like Will Derry the huntsman, an attaché of the Chesterfield family. His lordship had a great respect for him, and many a good race he and Nat or Butler brought off for Bretby,

with Lady Wildare, Typce, and Lady Evelyn; his last great coup was the Cambridgeshire with Bathilde. Little did he expect to survive his lordship, which he did by just a year. He retired some three or four years since, but his friends used to tell him that he might awake any morning, and find Lord Glasgow's horses all waiting for him at his front door, with a message and a cheque in advance. He was a curious irritable-tempered man, and it was rarely indeed that any one saw him smile. No trainer brought out his horses better, and Lord Chesterfield and his other masters fully appreciated his surly worth.

June has been a stirring month, more especially memorable from its two-year-old racing, and the matches which Leonie and Mameluke won in the Happy Valley. Ascot has had the most extraordinary "sandwich weather," and a meeting which restored to Lord Hastings about half his Derby losses, and placed Lecturer at the head of the Cup horses of his year. It is well now that old Sir Tatton did cross the Humber with "Richard," and give that thousand for Colsterdale. The Root stable brought out their first winner of the season at Newton in Evelina, by Kettledrum or St. Herbert, and a good second in The Sawyer by Kettledrum. At Manchester Challoner had a great riding week; but the Buckley colours, a thing quite contrary to the family charter, won nothing. Regalia took the place on the Hampton "Cup"-day, which Tormentor and Caller Ou held before her, and the Danebury stable was in such force at Stockbridge, that fielders hadn't a chance; in fact, some of the races were mere trials for John Day's horses, as he started five twice over. The four days were a weariness in the flesh; and the handicapping grievously unlike "the memory of the just, which blossoms when he sleeps in dust. " It is very remarkable that whenever a horse is beaten, his stable always say it is the want of pace or bad riding. The Day party elect to attribute Vauban's last Derby to the former; but how they make it out and what expectation they can have of beating Hermit at Doncaster is incomprehensible. In the Derby, Vauban forced the pace round the Corner, and never seemed to go quite so free and well after; three distances from home Marksman led him by a neck; but instead of Vauban's wanting more pace, the chesnut made it so hot for him, that he died away at the centre of the Stand, and then Hermit settled the horse who had settled him. The Ascot running makes no better of it. Epsom showed how little Achievement knows about staying; and yet she was good enough to be second to him twice over at Ascot, and fairly stood still" on the hill each time. If Vauban could not cope with Hermit at Epsom, he should have no chance at Doncaster now that the invisible hand which kept check-mating Captain Machell and the Blosses till within a short time of the Derby cannot reach the horse, and he has begun to lay on muscle in earnest.