per mare which his owner made with success during his last two or three seasons. Venison seems to be rather going out of repute as a stallion, as since the days of Alarm nothing of any sterling repute has owned him as a sire. He was himself a remarkably stout enduring animal, and his stock seem generally to take after him. Distance lends enchantment to their windpipes. Vatican is perhaps the best animal "out" by him at present, in spite of his nasty temper, whenever he catches a sight of Field Marshal Hibburd and his "flag-steward." We thought he would have broken a man's skull in at Ascot, as he struck the rail with a thunder crack within three inches of his head. For some time after the advent of his almost invincible 1847 trio, to wit, Van Tromp, War Eagle, and Ellerdale, Lanercost was bracketted with Touchstone at the head of the profession, but of late his popularity has been on the wane. His stock are generally fine sound brown animals, with perhaps a tendency to be ewe-necked; but they do not generally "pay," as their prime, like the young Saddlers, never seems to be attained till the two heaviest engagement seasons are past. We believe that many of them have been wholly laid aside as sluggish, and as "slow as a man," whereas if they had been persevered with, they would have proved very remunerative: like their father, they are generally up to a good weight, and fond of a distance. He was one of the most sluggish animals in existence, and we well remember one morning in 1840, observing William Noble pounding away at him in his exercise sheets to get him to canter at all. His efforts excited the amusement of some non-professional friends among the bystanders, on seeing which, ho jocularly told them that he would let any one of them mount, and bet heavy odds they could not get him out of a walk. The death of his then owner, Mr. Ramsay, has inflicted a sad blow on "The Turf, the Chase, and the Road," in Scotland. Although of late years the "green body and yellow sleeves" has been comparatively seldom seen on the racing cards (only one race-horse, Lizars, has been disqualified by his death), he stuck manfully to his two other cardinal points. We remember a remarkable instance of his generosity. After Lanercost had defeated Beeswing for the Newcastle Cup one year, in one of those conand tests which used to set "canny Newcastle Imerrie Carlisle " fairly by the ears, he observed a pale-faced little man giving way to the most frantic expressions of delight, as the horse returned to scale, and in fact performing some sort of Ojibbeway dance round him; he immediately inquired who that "crazy fellow" was, and was informed that he was only a racing enthusiast from C-, rejoicing at the triumph of his county. On hearing this, he had the curiosity to accost him, and eventually set him up in a first-rate inn, and became a steady friend to him ever after. The career of Touchstone since he was allowed, like a jock after the Houghton meeting, to run to fat, has been most fashionable, and this year the three most titled ladies of the turf, Beeswing, Alice, and Crucifix (Lord Clifden should christen one of her infants Gilcrux, vide Lewis's Top. Dic.), with some thirty or forty others, have smiled on him. Somehow or other nearly all his progeny seem to be blessed with infirm legs, which require a fearful amount of propping up with bandages from their early years. Owing to this, his son Surplice's power of locomotion has left him altogether; and it is a sad pity that they did not put him to the stud in the spring of '49, when they found that these infirmities were crowding thick on to him. Velocipede, we believe, is dead. Queen of Trumps was his chefd'œuvre, and Maid of Team Valley, who was won by her present owner in a raffle, and is to our minds by far the prettiest animal on the turf, also owns him as her sire. Speed rather than bottom has been the predominant characteristic of his stock, thus indicating their descent from the slashing Roman-nosed Blacklock. Bay Middleton, on the strength of the Dutchman's running, changed his locale from Doncaster to Stockbridge. As a general thing we prefer the mares got by him to the horses, and some of them, Rachael for instance, have turned out most wonderfully useful animals, both for hunting and steeple-chase purposes, as well as for those of the turf. To our minds the idea which prompted Mr. John Hutchinson, and (with the peace of Dr. Pusey be it spoken) the Reverend - Goodricke, first to run horses at two years old, somewhere about 1780, has been a lucky one for the young B. M.'s. We cannot help thinking that the leg infirmity of the father has descended upon the children, as many of them seem to us to have, when foals, a contraction just above the coronet of the near front foot, which although it is not so apparent when they get a little age on them, makes us somewhat suspect their soundness. As a general thing his stock take very much after him in look, besides inheriting his brilliant turn of speed. The Coronations have not been particularly lucky, and we are not aware that the horse has had many very good mares, perhaps from a slight feeling against his Sir Hercules blood, which strikes us as well as others to be a trifle jady, in spite of all its speed. The C.'s seem to take after their sire, and have the same deep "chaps" and pointed nostrils, which does not make them difficult to distinguish in a crowd. Since his stately daughter Canezou begin to repay John Scott's attentions, Melbourne has had a wonderful number of good mares. What he will "beget on their bodies," as the lawyers say, remains to be seen; for our parts we do not fancy him much, as he always gives us the impression of a slack-made horse. Pantaloon, since he left the Eaton stud, has been remarkably successful in Lord John Scott's hands, and his get are generally smart runners, though none of them of late years equal Satirist, who was sold far too cheap. "Little Elthiron," as Fobert calls him, either out of sheer affection, or contra-distinction to the Goliath-like Dutchman, is, however, decidedly No. 2. A season or two ago Irish Birdcatcher was all the rage among breeders, and some of the best mares in the country were sent to his harem at Easby Abbey. We do not know why he quitted those quarters, but certain it is that Pyrrhus the First, who succeeded him, has had a very poor season of it in comparison. His father Epirus, whose vision haunts us yet, as he came galloping in with his horses at the St. Leger, after depositing "Black Bill" with a broken collar bone in the middle of the course, gets remarkably pretty stock and speedy into the bargain. The velocity with which his son Pitsford came through his horses after mounting the hill at the Derby, was, we think, the most tremendous we ever saw, not even excepting that at which Officious got over the first quarter of a mile for the last Ascot Vase, or The Traverser, Vulture, and Semiseria respectively attained to at Newmarket, when they defeated Alarm, Grey Momus, and Queen of the Gipsies in matches. Red Deer's foals are remarkably large and fine, and the horse himself has very much thickened, and looks very different to the dull lop-eared animal he was towards the end of his three-years-old racing season. Ithuriel, who ought to have at least "frightened " this pair in the St. Leger, has, bar Azeth, had no great luck. We think we never saw any horse run so raw and awkward as he did for the Gratwicke Stakes. It was in this race that the eight contending jockeys disputed as they went up to the post as to which was the G.S.C., and as the then "clerk of the course and starter," was not a very bright genius in racing matters, he was unable to settle the matter, and hence three "took up" one turn and five up the other, each division pounding away as if for life and death. Lord George was dreadfully outraged, and stood for some minutes in the weighing house, which was then directly opposite the grand stand, with his eye steadily fixed on Sam Rogers, who seemed fairly to wince under his gaze, and but once uttering in slow cutting tones -"Rogers, I didn't expect this." Many believed at the time that this circumstance determined Lord George more than ever to try and get at the bottom of the Ratan affair. Deserved as the punishment for that offence was, every one connected with the turf was rejoiced when it came to an end, as it would have been a sad pity if a man with such "hands" on a horse, had devoted them in future (so the Cambridge wags used to say) to making confectionary in King's College kitchen, with whose Soyer he claimed kindred. The dreadful temper of Mundig, which was said to be some shades savager than that of The Bard and Zohrab, put him out of favour, and he vanished to the continent, but not without sowing some splendid specimens of hunters broadcast in his travels about Northamptonshire and Leicestershire, as well as that extraordinary eighteen-hand specimen of the Duke of Bedford's, yclept Magog, who seemed like an importation from Brobdignag, as we once remember to have seen him looming into sight, above the then foggy Newmarket horizon, with Teddy Edwards on his back, and rolling about in hopeless difficulties before he had got well to the cords. We do not know where this monster is at present located, or whether he is not a eunuch. He was then said to be intended for the use of the "Bedford tenantry," one of whom bred Retail, and received a handsome silver cup from his grace as a new year's gift in consequence. Jumping does not seem to be an inherent quality in the stock of many horses; in fact, with the exception of the majority of the young Mundigs and Presidents, we do not remember any that seemed to have that taste bred in the bone. Harking back for a moment, we may observe that while Magog was the largest race-horse out in any century, Mickey Free was perhaps the smallest that ever trod the turf in the eighteenth, while the smallest that was ever out, was Sir Charles Bunbury's gr. h. Gimcrack, who only measured a quarter of an inch over fourteen hands, and yet won twentyfive races under the high weights that were in fashion in his day, between which and the present some four score years intervene. Like Priam, Cotherstone seems only to get good fillies; while Slane is a very deserved favourite, as, like their father, his stock can go all distances. Don John has got some nice things, but, like Launcelot, we have heard that it was some time before he would look at a mare. The young Simooms are few in number, but generally "clippers." The Provost always struck us during his racing career as a bit of a cur when any hard work was to be done, and we never could understand why a certain nobleman should have put so many of his somewhat chickenhearted mares to him one season. Inheritor does not look like a horse calculated to get "flyers," though as fine model as ever was seen for a hunter sire. He was as honest a racer as ever looked through a bridle, and we shall not forget in a hurry seeing Harry Edwards (of whom Tommy Lye used to say that "he would rather ride against the devil if he really meant winning") handle him for the two cups at the Liverpool July meeting in '37. His late "stable-chum "The Doctor, is fast rising in reputation, and a beautiful bloody-looking piece of ebony he is, and one who always ran as true as steel. A struggle for the Queen's Plate at Carlisle, four miles over a course nearly knee deep in water, gave him a dressing which we do not fancy he ever quite got over, although he defeated Deception the next season. This race at Carlisle, like American steam boat trips, generally "eventuates a spanker." While the "four miles" was still unrepealed, Mr. Lye ran a dead heat for it on Sampson, and only won the next go by half a neck, and at the late races the same little hero, who has scored sixteen winnings already this season, won after three two mile heats on Flash; "a head,' "a head," and "half a head," being the respective fiats of the judge. We seldom see finer looking young things than those got by Hetman Platoff, and some of them, like Cossack, have a good notion of using their feet, though we have observed nothing yet to convince us that, like the Dutch burgomasters and their chubby vrows, they are overburthened with "bottom." Hetman always struck us as being for a four-years-old one of the very best of weight carriers, and right bitterly were his powers taxed in this respect. Some animals are uncommonly touchy on this point, and we do not fancy that Beeswing ever felt really comfortable with an ounce above 9st. or 8st. 13lbs. on her back. Hetman, as a four-years-old, seemed to play with 9st. 7lb.; and if the stable had not previously put their money on Charles XII., we fully believe he could have won the St. Leger easily in 1839. Cardinal Puff was his predecessor at Tickhill Castle, but by some strange fatality mares perpetually missed to him, although his haggard look at the end of the season seemed flatly to intimate that he had done his best for them. Charles XII., although his stock fetched fearfully long prices at a sale of his owner's yearlings in '46, is not very fashionable. His running was in and out; his hair often "looked every way for Sunday," and, in short, he was a very difficult animal to keep in anything like form. The Goodwood course seemed to suit him best, and we think that we never saw a horse take such a length of stride, and yet go so easily as he did in his memorable 1000gs. a side match against that then "illustrious maiden " Hyllus, although he changed legs very mysteriously about a hundred yards from home. We have heard good judges speak of Picaroon as one of the prettiest horses in Yorkshire, and we should fancy that Van Tromp is, and will be for some time to come, the premier in that country. The manner in which he made his own running for the Ascot Cup, stamps him as one of the gamest horses in existence. Notwithstanding the pluck he then showed, it is said on pretty good authority, that he all but ran a cur for the Goodwood Cup the preceding year. Considering the state of the ground all that dreadful week, and the four mile race he had had with Cossack on the Tuesday, it is no wonder that he should have wanted to shirk a second dose. Even that "king of the mud-turtles" (as Wright of the Adelphi would say), Chanticleer, pulled up quite leg-weary after winning the Stakes, and could not raise a canter as he wended his way next afternoon to the Cup starting-post, and we have been told that the exertion of running second, slow as the pace was, fairly blinded the French horse Armin. It is said that the remembrance of this fact deterred Lord Eglinton from entering The Flying Dutchman for the late Goodwood Cup, in which he would have had to carry 9st. 6lb., as he knew that even with that "steadier" a fond public would have backed his Eclipse junior, and he would, with his usual kind consideration. have not felt himself so much at liberty to draw him, even if he had run a severe race for the 300 gs. stakes. Lord Stanley and Lord Eglinton stood up almost side by side, on a bench in the Steward's Stand, at Ascot, during the decision of the momentous question; the former peering very anxiously through his spectacles, and the latter all smiles and confidence. It was told as a good joke that Lord Stanley had directed Butler to "draw it as fine as possible," while Lord Eglinton assured his friends, as Payment cantered away from Prestige the day before— "You'll just see The Dutchman do the same to Canezou to-morrow." We fancy that Canezon is a very fair cup mare, but nothing very much out of the way, still our firm impression is that, in spite of her throwing a plate near the Intack Farm, if Butler had been allowed to ride her his own way, and not been expressly ordered to force the running about two distances front home, she would have won the St. Leger. The result of the stable orders was that the sluggish nature of Surplice got thoroughly roused; whereas, if the mare had waited on him till nearly the finish, Nat might never have got the steam thoroughly up, and have just been defeated by a turn of speed. One could hardly fancy that this Surplice is the same melancholy cripple, who appeared on "the blasted heath" this year, only to cause £300 to pass without a struggle from Lord Clifden and his heirs for ever. It was about as melancholy as the Attila versus Chatham exhibition in '43, when the only bets before the humane compromise which took place at the post, was as to which would break down first. But to return to The Dutchman. We by no means coincide with those thick and thin partisans of the "tartan," who will swear he " has never been extended," as we believe that owing to the heavy state of the ground he only just won the Derby, and that if Tadmor had not been disappointed, and Hotspur came to the start leg-weary and mud-crusted, he would only have been third, in spite of the reported warning of his lordship to all at Spigot Lodge whom it might concern, that he would sell his stud unless he won. It is said that young Prince, who lost the Eglinton riding for giving private information about the horses intended for Goodwood that year, won a very handsome amount on this race. The most ridiculous cock-and-bull stories have been told about Hotspar. One was that Whitehouse privately unshipped some half a stone |