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“ Them as haves jackets shall get great coats.”

Popular Proverbs.

The Royal Meeting at Ascot Heath closes, with a scene full of gracious “ pomp and circumstance,” the first moiety of the racing season. It is a point from which observation may be conveniently turned towards the past, and haply with profit as relates to the future. For such as take interest in the fortunes and prospects of the turf the present year has, so far, been one of no ordinary promise. Almost without a single exception success waited where it was due ; while, as uniformly, discomfiture attended stratagem and artifice. It must have been a disastrous time indeed for the market. The “ pots” boiled over as regularly as they were put on. The like fatality has followed the divinations of the talents, One of the leading authorities—a shrewd and experienced investigator of racing mysteries, upon whose opinion public reliance has been long and justly placed—has scarcely been once right, even by accident. Horses have won the most important of the spring races which the keenest of all the turf sages imagined were as little fitted to accomplish such achievements “ as roasted turkeys to play on the cornet à piston” (the simile is Eugene Sue's). To say nothing of the supremely " crack" events, such as the Chester Cup, the Derby, and the like, for the six principal races at Ascot he had not the luck to throw in one solitary main ; e. g., the Queen's Vase he awarded to Canezou or the Fleawinner, Glenalvon ; the Ascot Derby to Drakelow-winner, Repletion ; the Ascot Triennial Stakes to Hotspur--winner, Borneo, late Dotheboys; the Ascot Stakes to Jellyfish, for choice-winner, Vampyre ; the Cup to Chanticleer--winner, Van Tromp; and the New Stakes, at least as regards their places in the betting, to Penang or the Cadgerfirst favourite at starting William the Conqueror, with 7 to 4 on himwinner, Blarney. I quote these cases to show that the wisdom of the wise has been sorely discomfited, and surely none of the “ saws” and “ instances are more true than that which affirms

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies,

But in battalions." At length the race is to the fleet and the battle to the gentle. The shadows of coming events lower ominously. One of the money partners of a great racing firm has already seceded, and the leviathan of the ring is fast eating up all the small fry. Presently Tattersall’s will have but one “ leg" to stand on, and the Sibylline books, once a goodly library, will be gathered into a single volume...... And who is there that shall regret this consummation? Let him turn for consolation to the report in the “Times," of the 14th ult., which details the judgment of Mr. Commissioner Fonblanque in the case of De Monte Arbuthnot, a bankrapt. He will there find an analysis of the stuff whereof the betting ring is composed, and what mannor of men they are who make a profession of the course. But let us

1' --lay this sheet of sofrows on the shelf,' . . . .

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