you and a pleasant ride back in the evening to a good dinner at Cambridge." This is well put, for we have always thought it a great relief to get out of Newmarket when the day's racing was over; as unless you do nothing but bet or shake your elbow, it is the very stupidest place in the world of an evening, and we say so much with quite as great confidence as our friend, "if he will allow us to call him so," speaks of the galloping ground. And now even "the bones" are to be banished, and the Sunday train "service" put a stop to. Verily, what with all this, and the Jockey Club's proposed discountenance of very light weights and very early racing, Newmarket is going at last to set us an example; provided always that Admiral Rous does not feel it necessary to write another letter to The Times clearly demonstrating that any such corrected conditions will be an interference with the liberty of the subject, however much he himself may regret the consequences to which these evils are conducing. Surely there never was such another instance of any man writing so resolutely up to the meliora probo, deteriora sequor!

But Reform is to reach even from Newmarket to London, and if the police are instructed to seize the hazard box, they are equally well advised as to how to deal with all the miserable machinery of the "specs" and lotteries-the books and "result sheets" and tickets "enough to fill four hampers," and the monies "in small coin," amounting to fifteen hundred pounds or so. And then how can the shop-lads and artizans who so readily pay over their shillings stand such evidence as this? Inspecter in disguise, loquitur: "I received the result-sheet produced from Sergeant Sullivan, and found that the ticket 72,374, which I purchased, was a £1 prize. On April 7 I went about two in the afternoon and was told by a little girl that there was no one at home. I returned again about three o'clock, found Morris and Walker at the door, and followed them into the office. Morris said, I'm afraid we have kept you waiting.' When I presented the ticket, Walker asked me the amount of the prize. I said, 'I believe, £1.' I handed the ticket to Morris, who said, 'What is the matter with it?' I said, It has got some ink on it, apparently.' After looking at it, he had some conversation with Walker, in an undertone, their backs being turned to me, and Morris turned to me and said, 'We can't pay this, that's all about it.' I called his attention to the fact of the number on the ticket being quite plain, that it was not injured, and that it was purchased of them. They refused to pay it, and I left the office. I endeavoured to get the money, and they argued against it."" Of course they argued against it! and we argue against it, for these wretched "specs" and lotteries do more harm to sport than any other possible contrivance, and all true friends to racing will go with the determination to put them down.

And so they are going to bring out a new edition of old Sam Chifney's Genius Genuine, not as it strikes us as a very genuine book, and we happen to possess one of the only half-dozen copies or so said still to be about. And the price is to be a guinea, almost as preposterous a figure as the five pounds, at which the work was first "sold for the author at 232, Piccadilly, and nowhere else." Even with a charitable object, it seems scarcely worth while to revive all the dead-and-gone scandal about the in-and-out running of the Prince of

Wales' horses, and the "infernal conduct" of Mr. Warwick Lake and Frank Neale. The best part of the book is the conclusion, where there are some hints which still should be of service in the "very fine parts in riding a race," and some close reasoning on the way in which horses vary in their running, as well as the absurd way in which they are, or rather were then, treated. As apropos of our plate, "it is destruction to horses to sweat them in the manner they are sweated at Newmarket, as the practice there is to sweat them once in six days, sometimes oftener; and between those days of sweating it is usual for the horse to go out twice a day, each time having strong exercise. In these sweating-days the horses are mostly covered with cloths two or three times doubled, and go in their sweats six miles, more or less, and at times go tolerably fast. Directly the horse pulls up he is hurried into the stable, which is on the spot for that purpose. As soon as he gets in, there is often more cloths thrown upon him, in addition to those he has been doing his sweat in. This is done to make the horse sweat the more, and he stands thus for a time panting, before he is stripped for scraping; that with being thus worked, clothed, and stoved, it so affects him at times, that he keeps breaking out in fresh sweats, that it pours from him, when scraping, as if water had been thrown on him. Nature cannot bear this. The horses must dwindle."

Old Sam clearly lived before his time, as the gentleman on the brown hack would tell us. There is little of such barbarity now-adays; for some horses are never sweated, and none after such a fashion as our genuine genius denounces. The last nag of the three, just in front there, is going for the Two Thousand, and all Newmarket stands him to win, so of course he won't; while if they tout one of their own back to a hundred to one, you should then get on him for the Derby, as it has just been ascertained that the Newmarket people are the worst judges in the world, especially of horses they see every day of their lives. And so, if you should get up early in the morning for a stroll on the Heath before breakfast, you must take care to believe very little you see, and nothing you hear.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY H, WEEKES.

So far master Rough would seem to have all the fun to himself, but the gentleman taking the rails looks vastly like Time the Avenger, in the shape of a much-outraged keeper. However, if all the new Game Bills get their will of us, there shall presently be no more harm in killing a rabbit than a rat or any other "destructive" creature.

Mr. Weekes has been best known hitherto by his studies of sheep, and other such renderings from rural life, while we hear that his present subject will have a place in the new home of the Royal Academy.