THE EPSOM AND ASCOT MEETINGS.

THE TURF IN THE SUMMER OF 1845.

Was it by grace of a prayer, couched in the spirit of the motto, that the legs first obtained licence to drive their dreadful trade, as certain paupers in Scotland were formerly granted permission to beg, and cadets of condition are still conventionally allowed the run of great people's kitchens? Nobody will contend that the presence of professional speculators was either useful or ornamental to the turf; or that the establishment called "the ring," whose acting members, to the amount of a hundred or more, each of them drew two or three thousand pounds annually from its funds for his expences, to say nothing of the fortunes many of them retired with, could tend to enrich the system of horse-racing. Some desperate fatuity, if not something more discreditable, appears, since my experience of them, to have hung over the policy of those who directed the economy of our racing. For the last five-and-twenty years this has grown worse, while every other social arrangement was making rapid strides in amelioration. No doubt it is the peculiarity of the English character, that in the proportion in which it is individually wise and sagacious, collectively it is foolish and obtuse. A body of men, from "a house" at St. Stephen's to a vestry at Walbrook, or anywhere else, perpetrate acts with impunity-nay, éclat—which, had any one of them attempted in his own family, he would most certainly have found his way to a private asylum at Hoxton or Chelsea. Upon this principle only can I account for the things done by the Jockey Club-a society formed for the most part of gentlemen of as high consideration as any in the land. "God sends meat," says the homely proverb, "and the devil sends cooks." Without meaning it coarsely, the Jockey Club are the cooks, who, having the turf in hand, have made a pretty "hash" of it.

It is my earnest wish to bring about a better day for one of the noblest, most characteristic, and most popular of our national sports; and therefore, if I run ultra fines, let my zeal be my plea for breaking bounds. I know this will be read by those on whose conduct it may seem to animadvert. In all courtesy, I beg they will believe I intend them no offence. On the contrary, I would turn aside from them much public obloquy which attaches to their existing position. There is no gainsaying the fact that plain people look on the horse-racing circles with scanty consideration: that they gauge them on the "Tell me who you go with, and I'll tell you who you are" principle. Now let us deal with this question in the spirit rather than the letter of discussion. With what object, to what end do men, chivalrously careful of their associates elsewhere, countenance and confederate with individuals

come of the dregs of society, brutal of manners, and unscrupulous of morals? Let this not be met with denial of its truth. I solemnly appeal to all having experience of the turf, whether, on Newmarket Heath or at the metropolitan rendezvous for betting, they have not witnessed such unholy alliances? It may be invidious to particularize a case; but let one, which is now beyond the reach of greater damage, be quoted as a sample of the system. Would the robbery attempted on the Derby of 1844 have ever been concerted unless the parties by whom it was got up had been put into the condition to turn it to account by the countenance and acknowledgment of the leaders of the turf? Will it be denied that lords and commons have betted with the chief actor in that consummate plot of rascality? or that, when so betting, they knew him to be a common dicer, one whose daily bread depended on his luck at the hazard table? And is this an isolated case? Are there not shoals in the ring, known to every man that frequents race-courses as living on the prey drawn within its vortex? It will be seen that within the last twelve months various schemes to swindle the public by means of the turf have been brought to light. Who were the agents? the noblemen and gentlemen engaged in racing for patriotic purposes or wholesome recreation? In every instance we shall find the contriver or the inciter a leg or a commissioner, or a jockey or a tout, or some parasite of the turf, absolutely trained, by those assuming its care, to twine around it, and rob it of "the means whereby it lives." What wonder that the respect of plain people is drawn from a society that could sanction such a state of affairs as this, or that all who wish well to British racing look suspiciously on the Jockey Club, and ask "Is it an enemy hath done this thing?"

EPSOM MEETING.

It was long since so unindicative a spring had preceded the great metropolitan meeting, as that of 1845. Last season, indeed, was not prolific of flyers, but Ratan was generally believed a superior horse, and barring that the Newmarket trainers cannot try-(which very recent events give fair grounds for suspecting) he had been in the balance, and, as they assured us, was not wanting. The Ugly Buck was supported by the "brass" of the stable-as the vulgar call coin-and the slang, "courage," or " countenance." I always pronounced him an impostor, but that is all over now. The three first meetings at Newmarket, though they considerably affected the winter betting, left apparently the Derby pretty much where it was. When such nags as Plenipo, Bay Middleton, or Glencoe come out, even over its flat, it does not require a man with a lantern to look after their fortunes. But these are the exceptions to its produce and performance. Still Idas won all his races, and his party cried out, "What more do you want?" They apparently wanted no more, but went into the market, and backed him through thick and thin; and then naturally he went up in the odds. As usual, there were unpleasant facts as heralds of the Surrey tryst: a colt called Ironmaster, made a racer of high form, upon strength of the achievement of a stable-companion-according to the logic of the ring-was declared to be disqualified, by verdict of the Jockey Club, for the Derby, or some confession of an individual who had previously called Diana to witness he was fully entitled to start. Folks, morever, could not account for the ducks

and drakes that Old England was making in the market; but there is an end of all things, and even this was little more than a nine days' mystery. Betting was "uncommon slack," as the gentlemen of the profession say, and also not all couleur de rose. It conferred a few black eyes, for instance, on a gent "sometime affecting Limmers," and it begat "shindies" elsewhere.

But "time and the hour" wear away rough occasions, and, lo! we are on the eve of the races; and behold! there is a row, "and no mistake," to borrow the last novelty in emphasis. On the Sunday preceding the meeting-" the better day the better deed"-Mr. Gully made the most of the South Western Railway to Danebury, and having squeezed out of William Day-head boy at his father's training establishment there-that he, William, had leagued with one Stebbings and other dissolute persons, to get money out of Old England, Mr. Gully returned brimful of proper intelligence and indignation. On Monday afternoon, during full 'change at Tattersall's, he mounted a rostrum, and in a speech of considerable eloquence (for a ci-devant member of parliament) denounced one Mr. Hargreaves, of Manchester-or rather, "a Manchester man," as the vernacular runs with having seduced Billy Day; a most grave charge. He also said that temptations had been held out to his brother, " young John Day," which failed; that young man being-according to Mr. G.'s expression, "above price," which I suppose means not to be bought. We shall presently see whether Mr. Gully valued him properly.

But my conscience warns me that I am dealing with a most melancholy matter, as relates to one party affected by it, in too light a vein. We will pass for a while to the meeting under consideration, and return to it anon.

Epsom Races, in the present year of grace, commenced on the last Tuesday of May. The opening day here is an unengaging one; few people go, and those that do encounter the downs en déshabille, for the tent-poles have not set up their drapery. The first race, however, of the first day had interest enough to bring me to the post, as well as the nags engaged in it; in fact, the Craven had representatives from most of the great stables, and promised to be a tell-tale issue. It was won cleverly by the Knight-of-the-Whistle, making a sad example of Evenus, and the shadow of Idas's fortune that nobody would look at, long and lugubrious as it was. The Woodcote, a smart two-year-old of Lord George Bentinck's Light Cherookee, won in a canter: she is in next year's Oaks.

It rained dolefully in town on the all important Derby morning, and certainly the mise en scene at the Regent Circus, Limmer's, Long's, and such like points of sporting movement, was below many a former anniversary. The road down, however, was a very stirring sight, and when we reached Ewell, the rural contributions had swelled the stream of locomotion to a flood. The rain, which ceased before noon, had made the drive a delicious one for those who started at a Christian hour; and the downs, soon after the sun made its appearance, were as dry as a carpet, and a thousand times more grateful to the foot than the best productions of the Persian loom. Epsom, at that hour, was as full as a fair, and the course, which I surmounted by one o'clock, presented a marvellous multitude. I never saw so many men and women there in my life, save on the hill

never such a lack of "turns-out." Carriages there were, no doubt, in most admired disorder; but the specimens of perfect English equipage were few and far between. A horrid chaos and lucre-alluring Charybdis was the ring, made up of tens of thousands of civilized beings all intent on preying on their neighbours! The only gambling per mitted by the Secretary of State for the Home Department is that done in the betting circles: in roulett, rowley-powley, and similar round games, he has made a counter revolution. If speculation had been heretofore supine, now it was making up for lost time; such vigorous betting has not been since the Queen came to her own. Before we leave it, we may as well say that 3 to 1 was taken about Idas just as the ring broke up; 7 to 2 about Weatherbit offered; 10 to 1 against The Libel; and then the 20 to 1 lot, headed by Alarm. Merry Monarch was backed early in the week at 33 to 1, but I could not learn that he was ever named in the ring on the day.

The sight at the starting post was a very animating one; but I cannot conceive why even a disposition to disoblige the Grand Stand Committee-however well they deserve it-constrains the authorities to allow the saddling to take place where it does. When the Warren offered its protection to those engaged in this important solemnity, it might have been as well there as elsewhere; but now the practice is the most inconvenient that can be imagined. No pretence even is made to clear a space for the saddling; and not only the race horses, but all who go afoot to look at them, are at the mercy (or rather the want of it) of all who may choose to ride over them, or kick up any lark they feel inclined for. Surely this is monstrous. In front of the stand every facility for this preparation is afforded, while, at the same time, a most grateful exhibition would be afforded the greatest sporting assembly in the world. Is not this worth the consideration of all those it concerns? and are not they, the subscribers to the Derby in general, and those who bring out all their horses for it in particular? At half-past two, in pairs and fours, the largest field ever seen for the Derby began to muster for the preliminary canter : to say which looked the best would be nonsense; there was hardly an animal short of the perfection of training, and not one ungainly brute to the eye, saving always the Irish champion, Clear-the-way, a great ragged giant, that, with Jim Robinson on his back, looked the ideal of the sublime and the ridiculous. When such a squadron is to be formed into "double squeeze" (all youngsters, and not previously on visiting terms) it is easy to conceive that confusion must ensue: so it did. Libel, not the best tempered even of his peevish family, set to with Alarm, who ran away; his jock, Nat, being severely hurt in his wrist during the scuffle. Besides this, there were other episodes of kicking, which having wasted some three-quarters of an hour, Mr. Hibburd then succeeded in getting the lot away. The best off was the favourite, Woodpigeon being next him, then a close shoal of horses, the rear up the hill consisting of Old England, Annandale, and Weatherbit. As they made the first turn, Pam ran up to the front rank, attended by Merry Monarch, and at the same time, The Cobweb Colt, Alarm, and some others threw up altogether. Closing Tattenham Corner, Pantasa and Mentor neared the leaders, and in dipping the hill the latter ran into Pam, capsized him, but righted himself, while Old England and Weatherbit leaped over the pros

trate horse and his rider; the former, that is to say Pam, receiving some desperate cuts as he lay on the ground, and being otherwise disabled. Before making the turn, Salopian and Kedger were well forward; and now they cross the road, and the welkin is split with the cry "Idas is beaten!!!"-and so he was; his distance was done as well as himself. At the distance Kedger stopped, as also did Doleful, who had crept up from the top of the hill. The race now consisted of Merry Monarch, Annandale, Wood Pigeon, Mr. Gally's two, and Pantasa, all full of running. At the stand the former "came," as the phrase goes, got a good lead, held it, and finally won by a length cleverly. Annandale ran a staunch nag, and Old England's third place makes him as good as I thought him, or nearly so. Weatherbit, his jock told me, was altogether disappointed by Pam's accident; his finish, but for that casualty, would no doubt have been better. As the ruck of horses never ran beyond the distance, it is not easy to dilate on their merits. If Idas was not the last, he was the first to weigh to; nothing could have been more perfect than his condition when his jockey was in the scales, he did not appear more distressed than if he had never started. Libel was amongst the first beaten, with the big Irish horse and the Black Prince. The speed for the first mile was tolerably good, and the remainder of the distance was severely contested: still, that the race was a true indication of the relative qualities of all engaged in it, I do not believe. The gentlemen were the backers chiefly of the "crack;" and as they were the chief losers, "of course" the settling was easy. Had certain of the market horses won, we should have had a still further weeding of the ring; as it is, their effrontery lives to run away another day. The race was worth, to the winner, £3,975; a great stake!

Thursday was truly an "off day:" it was cold and comfortless and company less. The two principal events Lord George Bentinck won -the Sweepstakes with Moonshine, a cruel ugly filly, subsequently bought by Squire Osbaldeston; and the Surrey Cup Handicap with Croton Ŏil........ Friday, which gave us the once "gentle and aristocratic" Oaks, was sadly below its whilom palmy condition. There were a good many people, but too many of the wrong sort, which is àpropos of an episode. In leaving the saddling house, as the preparations for the race were on the move, I encountered Mr. Charles Wagstaff, and wondered "what business had he there at such a time." It was soon learnt. He had sold his Oaks mare to Lord George Bentinck, on whom he called (you see the turf and death alike level all distinctions) a day or so before the race, representing his Queen of Cyprus as a superior young lady, and consequently worthy of his lordship's countenance. "Mr. W.," says a sporting paper, in detailing this affair, "happening to owe the noble lord £900 on the Derby and St. Leger, 1836, his lordship agreed to take the mare," &c., &c. What an odd chance it seems that the son of a duke should be so situated with Charley Wagstaff! Well, the mare, as it has turned out, was four years old instead of three; of course she was good for nothing in one way or the other, or is it probable she would have been offered in liquidation of a debt of honour by Mr. Wagstaff?

In the ring, betting was at length active on this issue among the fillies. Nearly a score were in the odds-the Lancashire Witch at