fancied by his owner, nor were Miss Sarah or Farthing Candle, who occupied the second and third place, in any demand. The Great Yorkshire Stakes excited extraordinary interest, from the effect which its result would have on the St. Leger. Out of the thirteen starters for it, Iago was naturally the favourite, being backed at evens against the field. Had he not laid out of his ground so much, he could not have lost. As it was, he was only beaten by one of the shortest heads ever seen by any judge, and suffered nothing by his defeat in the estimation of his friends. This year, it is proposed to have two meetings on Knavesmere: it deserves them; for it was the cradle of British horse-racing.

Wolverhampton is so locally adapted for becoming a crack country course, that with proper management it could hardly fail to achieve great éclat in that character. Let them give two good days' racing; that would be a mighty improvement upon the "long-drawn-out' system. The Produce Stakes produced a good race between Auricula and Romance, which ended in favour of the latter, much to the annoyance of Mr. Mytton, who thought his mare had so little chance of being defeated, that he made an arrangement with Mr. Gully not to send Mendicant for it. For the Wolverhampton Stakes, Dulcet made a capital finish with that good public mare, Inheritress, but was eventually beaten by a neck. It was said at the time that he was not quite "fit." In the Patshull Handicap, Connaught Ranger for once ran straight, and, but for the difference of weight upon Fair Helen, would, "for this time only," have remunerated his backers.

A slight biography of the "little goes" that intervened between this gathering and the mighty northern tryst, will be sufficient for our purpose. The Egham meeting, which, to such members of the sporting world as remain in London until their presence is called for at Doncaster, is looked upon as a boon, was tolerably successful, at least on the second day, when the racing was good and plentiful. The Surrey and Middlesex Stakes, which Pine Apple ought to have won last year, he now carried off in a creditable manner, although from his uncertain temper he had but few friends. The Queen's Plate, which has since been the subject of so much discussion, fell an easy victory to the Hero, although Nat, on Wolfdog, did his utmost to "snatch" it from him.

The meetings at Ipswich, Canterbury, Huntingdon, and Stourbridge, call for no remarks.

The Warwick Meeting was a decided improvement on the preceding one, and the sport gave unqualified satisfaction to all who witnessed it.

The Leamington Stakes went to that popular young nobleman, Lord Brook; more, perhaps, owing to the judicious riding of Crouch, than to the merits of Gwalior; for had not Kitchener hurried Camera Obscura in the manner he did, she could hardly have been beaten. The subsequent running of the pair would seem to bear out this remark. The Cup afforded a splendid race between Wolfdog and the winner of the Goodwood Stakes; and although the palm of victory was awarded to the former, yet Jonathan ran so gamely as to maintain, in all its pristine vigour, his former good character.

Doncaster meeting was a mighty popular gathering; but less gentle

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and aristocratic than was its wont. You missed the pomp and circumstance of the rural magnates: you found four days too many for your patience, as well as for the provision of sport. There is a good deal of money given. £1,000 well applied would ensure three days of remunerative racing, and, consequently, good fields. The race for the principal northern two-year-old stakes-the Champagne-brought out Van Tromp and Planet as competitors, the latter being beaten on two points-pace and lasting. This, of course, gave Lord Eglinton's colt another lift in public esteem and a better rate of exchange to the hedgers, who took long odds about him for the Derby. year the Leger was destined to outstrip all its predecessors in the amount of obscurity and doubt and devilment by which it was ushered in. All the world know that all manner of plots were in contemplation and progress to rob and ruin all those who backed or betted against anything engaged in it; and every man you met had his own version of the conspiracies. The day-indeed, the whole week-was superb, and although the saints relished it as the palate does asafoetida, it was a goodly tryst. Some folks in Doncaster are opposed to the races for conscience' sake: these are the people, I suppose, who, to mark their principle, charge a thousand per cent. more on that occasion for their wares than they are worth. The snivellers in the north are by everlasting odds the most offensive party in that district of the kingdom. "Because they are virtuous (over the left) there shall be no more cakes and ale!".... Come we to the second act of the farce-the getting up of the St. Leger race. Having been duly advertised that Sting had won his trial with The Hero, in a canter; that Fancy Boy could n't be beaten, inasmuch as a couple of gentlemen of the ring, originally employed to back Sir Tatton Sykes, had done the other thing, and got on Mr. Meiklam's nag-wherefore they must make Bill, or the baronet, or both, as safe as bowl could do it; that Bill was not to be "had," being in safe custody of

"The three black graces-Law, Physic, and Divinity;"

that Brocardo was the broth of a boy, a leetle fattish, but uncommon fast, and so our public rated him, till

Wednesday "t'Leger" anniversary filled the town, as aforesaid, with company and rumours. The friends of Sir Tatton Sykes presently learnt that Captain Pitt, the reputed owner of that bizarre animal, had bestirred himself to keep all right, and that William Scott sweated in the morning, with the view to ride, and had also put on the brandy-and-water muzzle. In the event of Scott not having been able to ride, William Oates, his trainer, was to be put up-a young man whose general character is as good as any of his profession can boast-better than too many of them can lay claim to. .... Bill Scott did ride soberly and well, winning, as everybody knows, by a clear moiety of a length, Iago finishing very brilliantly at his quarters. The pace which Tom Tulloch forced to his utmost for his length-a mile-was very severe, the time really being about three minutes sixteen seconds. A vast many versions of " the play"

in this race have been sent out, with none of which I agree. It was a true test of the quality of every horse that ran in it on the day. Sir Tatton won because he was the freshest of the first rank; Iago's was the best, the truest performance, regard being had to his late labours at York: non semper arcum tendit Apollo.

The Two-year-old Stakes Foreclosure won, beating Slander....but scarcely in her form-they did not send Van Tromp for this. All things, however, had in account, this was an achievement which ought not to be lost sight of. As some return for capital, Tom Tulloch walked over for the Foal Stakes, and Iago won the Threeyear-old Stakes-a dollop of more than a thousand pounds. I must not set my seal on the meeting without stating that in his race for the cup-save the mark!-The Hero sailed away from his field as a Bermudian clipper would from the Lord Mayor's barge. What a pair of three-year-olds for one man to have in his life, Venison and The Hero! I have said nothing about the Great Yorkshire Handicap, not being very partial to issues of its class, and that they only interest those immediately concerned in them. Without wasting space on any small deer, we come to the final meetings of the season, at Newmarket.

The First October opened with the defeat of Sir Tatton Sykes, by Iago for the Grand Duke Michael. They told you the former horse wasn't fit, any more than his rider: he certainly ran a cur--that is, the quadruped-whatever might have been the reason. Here, too, Sting made a manifestation of his racing pretension, by winning the St. Leger in a really honest form: but he has been an ungainly courser. Öf the youthful races no more need be said than that Isis won the Hopeful and Slander the Rutland. The Second October is an occasion of considerable account. Its last celebration was brimfull of sport, and some good racing to boot. The first sensation was caused by the announcement that Sir Tatton Sykes was scratched for the Cesarewich; the second, the winning of that event by Wit's-end, a most middling nag. The Clearwell was won in a most straggling field by Glentilt-said, by the very knowing, to be the stable representative for the Derbythis was not a flattering sample, at all events, of his quality, verb. sap. ....The weather had at last changed, and from frying, according to the custom in this climate, had receded to freezing. But the ardour of the turfite had in no way abated, so on he went till the Sabbath put an end to his career.... And now, to sum up our eventful history, the Houghton was put on the scene, as they put your villains and their deeds in the melodramas, in utter darkness. There was a fog as substantial, though far from as palatable, as pea-soup, and of a like hue. Alarm was the favourite for the Cambridgeshire, almost up to the time of running, when he gave way to a colt subsequently named the Prior of St. Margaret's. Sting was second, giving 21lbs!.... The race was truly run, perhaps; but it was run under false colours: "dun-ducketty mud" isn't the light for fine riding. Clementina, with a penalty of 7lbs. up, was within a head of Coningsby, for the Criterion. This filly had too much of it during the season, to have fair lines from such a trial. The course, always a trying one, in this instance should not be held to have been a convicting one also. To catalogue the fun would be to

perpetrate a twice-told tale-enough to set down its moral. If there be any faith due to promises, then did the season of '46 close with more goodly hopes for the turf than ever set upon its twilight, full of "a glorious morrow." But a day or two ago I received the first volume of the "Racing Calendar," with the intimation that a second would make its appearance early in the present year. Added to this there is Ruff's business-like little book, and Dorling's "Racing Almanack," and many another literary bantling of the turf. What a contrast with "the good old times!" when the leading journal of this kingdom scouted as infra dignitate the publication of Tattersall's betting in its columns. What palmy days racing will have marked when Tattersall's List shall be itself a journal!

LITERATURE.

THE ANNUALS.-HEATH'S BOOK OF BEAUTY. 1847. With Beautifully-finished Engravings, from Drawings by the first artists. Edited by the Countess of Blessington. London: Longman and Co.-The embellishments of this volume consist of fancy sketches of the heroines of Byron's poetry. They have been-that is, the graven images-most unmercifully handled by the majority of those who have publicly reviewed them. Such fate, too, waited on more than one of the originals. Gulnare was by no means a generally prepossessing personage, and Laura was undeniably fie, fie! It is fit to say, the painters' presentments are in excellent keeping with their models. The first of this pair, as pourtrayed by Mr. Corbould, is just the style of lady we should not desire to be left alone with; and the latter precisely the one we should. It's no wonder Mr. Beppo suffered in the way he did: his lady, as handed down to us by Mr. Hayter, is nothing less than an allegory of Doctors' Commons..... The character of these imaginations is not to our taste. Haidee, by Corbould, is anything but what Byron drew; and Zuleika!-if ever there was anything of the feminine gender in its teens that we could not have stomached, it would have been such a Zuleika as Mr. Wright has given to the Book of Beauty. Still, there are some gems. Medora is one. So is Kaled, the "beautiful exceedingly" of Lara. As a literary composition, it is not necessary to deal with this work, whose purpose is purely pictorial.

THE KEEPSAKE. 1847. With Beautifully-finished Engravings, from Drawings by the First Artists, engraved under the Superintendence of Mr. Charles Heath. Edited by the Countess of Blessington. London: Longman and Co.-This is in every way an unexceptionable volume. It is exquisitely got up: it is replete with matter void of offence, and furnished with some articles of considerable taste and talent. The frontispiece is remarkably delicious, and so is the last engraving-" Florence," after Wright. These annuals come recommended to us, moreover, by a melancholy interest: they are bright children of a fast-departing family. What if the cause of its ruin was unthrift! it ran a glorious career while it lasted,

and has left behind many memorials of hot-pressing and typographical elaborateness, an honour to the mechanical literature of the day-no small thing when letters had nothing else to boast of. We hope these brilliant twins may have a long life, and a profitable for their godfathers and godmothers.

GUIDE TO THE TURF; OR POCKET RACING COMPANION FOR 1847. By W. Ruff. London: Ackermann, Regent-street.-This most useful manual has appeared for several years at the close of the racing season, replete with matter essential for all who are concerned with the turf, either professionally or for amusement. It is now announced for publication twice a year-namely, in the winter and spring quarters; in the latter to contain the January and March nominations, and other seasonable additions. The racing public are much indebted to Mr. Ruff for this admirable little work. It is a most portable and pretty pocket companion; it is cheap, and it is complete what more would they have?

THE ANALYSIS OF THE HUNTING-FIELD. R: Ackermann, Regentstreet.-Every writer is distinguished, more or less, by a certain peculiarity of "style," and scarcely any one in a greater degree than the author of this very capital work. To him, we believe, we must award the credit of having relieved sporting literature from a "sober sadness" and dry monotony of detail that, however good in proper time and place, had begun to tell, on the sæpè, if not semper cadendo principle. We have, to be sure, in the annuals, almanacs, and so forth, many a time and oft, had gentlemen ready and willing to be facetious at the expense of field sports; but then, unfortunately, a want of knowledge but too generally accompanied a want of wit, and so the laugh went at instead of with them. In both these items the author of the "Analysis”—and we see no reason for attempting to conceal the name or hide the light of Mr. Surtees-in both these respects, we say, he has a very long and strong pull. In the first instance, without ever making the least fuss about it, he has enjoyed an experience as a practical sportsman that few men could surpass; and in the next, he possesses naturally a quickness of observation and easiness of expression which carry forth with the most complete success the scenes and characters he would depict. Occasionally, perhaps, his humour becomes a little caustic; but whenever this is the case, he is sure to show good cause for it; and the man or the measure that Mr. Surtees singles out for a quizzing, we may rest tolerably satisfied, only gets what he deserves. Let the reader just take that glorious creation, "Captain Shabby Hounde," or old "Bullwaist the blacksmith," from the work before us, and then say whether he ever recollected harder hitting or finer sketching.

The newspaper essayist, by which we mean the man who fills his columns with matter chiefly independent of momentary interest, has more often than not a very up-hill game of it. People look to their paper for what is doing, or what is to be done, and, allowing "the leader" to be swallowed entire, ought to be about the extent of hard reading expected. This we believe to be more especially the case with your hard riders. After drawing them gently through the betting at Tattersall's, horses for sale, meets of the week, runs on record, grand steeple-chases, and deciding