Nought their spirits could crush, cheered with thoughts of the lush,

I

("It's a dem'd fine thing is that porter ;")
So on this side the Cock, they soon came to a lock,
And like steam engines, pulled up to water:
Still 'twould baffle a Cocker exactly to say,
What tons of leather were lost that day.

With my skew-ball card in hand,
At the station gate I stand,
Bearing with contented mind,
Sundry shovings from behind.
Jew and Gentile, prig and peer,
Form a motley chaos here:
A good start for a "first class
Seems the only "pride of place."

race,

Turfites, playmen, grooms, and touts,
Maidens, matrons, bawds, and louts,
M.P.'s English, Macs, and O's;
Drummond, Greville, and their Co.'s ;
Faithful to their watchword—" mizzle.”
Won't these just the public chisel?
Vanishing to-night by stealth,
Off to Paris for their health.
Prophets bad and prophets good-
Flying Dutchman, Collingwood,
Jasper, Judex, Old Turfite,
Nimrod, Tacket Street Arkwright;
Prophets long, and prophets short,
All to gain a carriage fought.
Bad luck to the breaths like onions ;
Woe betide all corns and bunions.
What a devil of a row ;

What a wiping of each brow.
Would his name were labelled on
Each man's back. A college don,
Full of starch and classic pride,
Struggles to look dignified;
Ofthis Ebenezer

rose

With a stamp upon his toes.
Near him wrestled in the fray,
Professor Ingledue, M.A.;
All the stoic's calm disdain
On his face was written plain;
Through his deep mesmeric lore,
He could place the whole first four;
With such knowledge he bids fair
To become a millionaire :

But (as every great man should,)

He martyred himself for the nation's good,
For thirty stamps the depth we find
Of his professorial mind.

Some at early dawn of that selfsame morn,

་ ་ ་་་་

Had quitted their Manchester pillows;
While one for a bet, had steadily set
Off from Paris, and crossed the billows;
Swore he'd dine in the Temple, and wind up
By snoozing, ere twelve, 'neath the Amiens' sheets.

his feats

The "Puffing Billy" goes whistling along,
Freighted chockfull with a motley throng;
Each swell on a nag with its " biler bust,"
Laden with chaff and coated with dust,
Looked on the "railers" with envious eye,
As 'neath the road bridges the train swept by:
And enquiries were heard, "How they liked their lark ?”
And hopes "they'd arrive at the course ere dark.”

Onward still we speed like lightning,
Every anxious eye is bright'ning,
As it views the stand.

(Who now thinks of troubles hard,
Chances gone, and prospects marred,
As he walks with Dorling's card,
In the racing land?

Seedy horse-cads watch for fees,
Thimble-riggers shift their peas,
With every liquor that you please,
From "half and half" to Rhenish.
With slices Liliputian,

If you'll shell out like a man,

Your inner regions Careless can

Carefully replenish.

Gipsies with their lustrous eyes,
Promise ladies fair a prize,
In the marriage mart.
Catgut scrapers force out notes,
Ethiopians clear their throats,
Acrobats look out for groats,
Ere the platers start.

Butler in the Lincoln green,
Scarce a neck in front is seen,
Steering Joc-o-Sot.

Quenchless is the ancient fire

Of Leicestershire's lamented "squire,"
May he get his share of "wire "

In some rattling pot.

Hark! hark! the bell is ringing; to the paddock we'll away, (5) Where four-and-twenty champions are stripping for the fray. "Our Jim " is "up" triumphant, over surgeon, drugs, and nurse, And he hopes to see Newmarket with a monkey" in his purse.

Though of his size and prowess, his eager friends may vaunt,

No laurel crown is destined for this son of John o' Gaunt ;

Soon will the clerical trustee," perhaps, wish he saw things plainer, (7) When the trainer blames the jockey and the jockey blames the trainer.

The MILDEW looketh showy, still Bartholomew must know

That the honest steel's not in him, which still surpasseth show;

Tho' his sire, Slane, was ever a tough old racing file,

His mother, Semiseria, could only get a mile,

(8) There fat GHILLIE leads the NIGGER, one may know that "he is

From the mischief that is lurking in the smiles of Nat and Kent.
"Old John" is sweet on PITSFORD, and his praises loudly hymns,
And enforces all his sentiments by "beggaring his limbs."

For "Sim" on THE ITALIAN no Surplice honours wait,
And ROYAL HART's no Phosphorus, despite the Rowley Plate;
ST. FABIAN and VALENTINE, their "ponies" lost will rue,
And BRENNUS and ALONZO will find the pace too true.

CAPTAIN GRANT will fail his backers in their hour of utmost need,
And no story of Prince Albert can bolster up THE SWEDE ; (9)
While his great half-brother CHARLEY will never face the hill-
Ere the corner, the DARK SUSAN COLT, will come to a stand-still.

The KNIGHT OF GWYNNE would seem to have no stomach for the fight,
And long-backed, short-legged MAVORS has a hock that's far from right;
There goes PENANG, the hollow back, to lead his chum a spin,
And Rogers upon CARIBOO declares he means to win.

Hail, Arab-like (10) YOUNG NUTWITH! of thee strange tales they tell—
That the kernel is departed, and there's nothing left but shell;
The chestnut colt, AUGEAN, of wind will find a lack,

Though he bears a strong armed artiste, like "Old Harry" on his back.

I'll lay my life upon it, that's an ugly tempered loon

That Johnny Sharpe has mounted, and my Dorling styles DEICOON. There's the "rough and ready" CLINCHER, though a double winning

bout

Keeps him in force, the Derby Course will find some soft place out.
And can it be, that so deep drained is Malton's lucky cup-
Its stable on the telegraph owns not one number up:
Once on a time it stood as firm as Old Gibraltar rock,

When "Brother John" was trainer, and "Brother Bill" was jock.

To view the "RICHMOND STUNNER," does each horse-flesh lover strive,(11)
As his trainer leads him saddled from the Baron's fir-clad drive;
"The fond public " rally round him in a thousand thick battalion,
While the ring turn up their noses at the "lusty country stallion."

As he strides down to the distance, there are eyes that seem to scan
Like make and sweeping action to Lord Eglinton's old Van;
May Job, who, like his prototype, has borne hard fortune's brunt ;
Now triumph over calumny and hand him home in front.

Now, Hibburd, hoist your signal; the grand secret let us know,
Three hundred thousand peepers are watching for your "go;"
Each pulse is wildly thrilling 'neath fine linen or a rag—
There, he's got them well together; hurrah! down goes the flag.
DEICOON and Lawyer Ford's PENANG are rushing to the fore-
Once up the hill, their places will never know them more.
Now fails the stroke of BOLINGBROKE-now MILDEW feels the pace;
See VOLTIGEUR comes forward in a merry inside place,

Come, Flatman, shake your NIGGER; Rogers, rouse your CARIBOO–
By Jove, he's looking dangerous. No, GHILLIE, it won't do.
Alas! for the game MAVORS! too true was Fobert's fear-
There shoots Alfred on his chesnut, like an arrow from the rear.

These seconds of deep agony each breathless gazer rack,
See CLINCHER leads, and Marson takes a strong pull at his black ;
Though every eye is on him, and a wild roar rends the air,
He sits not more cool and quiet in his Middleham arm-chair.

Now, Frank, lay on to CLINCHER; just glance to your right hand; PITSFORD is at your saddle girths-they're three lengths from the stand.

There goes Job's finger off his rein, he clears them at each stride,
He wins, he wins, does VOLTIGEUR-there's "7" up the slide.

'Tis done! mixed pain and pleasure sets each mad brain in a whirl, And loud claps of vocal thunder greet the "red spots" of the earl ; While the delighted multitude, by no means lack the will

To carry to the weighing-house, Job, VOLTIGEUR, and Hill.(12)

Speed, jolly tumbler (13) pigeons! bear your namesake's fame to France! 'Long some thousand miles of wires let the pleasant tidings glance; Record Masonic Wardens in the archives of each lodge,

The triumph of your Master, who ne'er stopped to cross or dodge.

Ho, Herring, Hall, and Barraud, get your brushes and start fair,
To paint in generous rivalry his game son of Voltaire ;
To disregard all likeness, with silk mercers seems a beauty,
Since for him on some handkerchiefs old Vyvian does duty,

(14)

(15)

When the summer days are ended, and the year begins to wane,
On the honoured turf of Doncaster the eight will meet again."
Though the rise from Langley Bottom made the speediest of them flinch,
The battle o'er the Yorkshire flat they'll fight out inch by inch,

The mantle of a prophet has descended not on me—
I've no plummet fit to fathom the vasty future's sea.

So one sound leading maxim I would sportsmen bid remember-
See the Leger horses saddled on the eighteenth of September.

(1) Wilberforce is my authority for this very refined expression.

(2) Most of my readers must be aware that this deeply learned man professed (see advertisement) to foretell the Derby by the aid of mesmerism.

(3) A young Irish barrister is the hero alluded to, and an amusing dog he was, nearly as much so as "Joe Muggins's."

(4) A friend remarked to me as I walked to the course, that if visitors to Epsom learnt suddenly for a fact, that the world was to end at four o'clock, they would not turn back, but see the Derby over first. I believe him. The excitement is tremendous.

(5) In consequence of his severe illness this was Robinson's first mount this year.

(6) "A monkey," alias £500, is sometimes the compliment to the winning jock. Marlow got that sum,I believe, for riding the Dutchman.

(7) This mutual recrimination went on, I am told on the best authority, when these two gentlemen met after the race.

(8) Ghillie was really very short of work, though he did not show it very much, (9) A story got about that the Prince had bought this horse.

(10) Nutshell.

(11) Voltigeur was kept walking up to nearly the last moment in the Baron de Tessier's grounds.

(12) Hill, a pupil of Robert Johnson, of Beeswing fame, trains Voltigeur. (13) Voltigeur means a " tumbler, &c.," in French.

(14) I stopped to look at a handkerchief Derby portrait the other day; portraits of Scott on Attila, and actually Captain Becher on Vivian, were unblushingly stamped on them as true and correct likenesses of Job and Voltigeur.

(15) A very interesting race is generally expected for the Leger between the leading Derby horses. The Derby course is no great test of the capacities of large, long-striding horses, as the hill at first punishes them so severely.

VOLTIGEUR.

WINNER OF THE DERBY, 1850.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY HARRY HALL.

Voltigeur, bred by Mr. R. Stephenson, of Hart, in 1847, was got by Voltaire out of Martha Lynn, by Mulatto, her dam Leda, by Filho da Puta-Treasure by Camillus.

Voltaire, also bred by Mr. R. Stephenson, in 1826, and by Blacklock, dam by Phantom, was a very good racehorse, having won five out of his six appearances, including the Doncaster Cup. He is yet better known as a stud-horse, being the sire of upwards of seventy winners, and his stock generally very grand, fine specimens of the English thorough horse: they number, amongst others, Henriade, Picaroon, Slashing Harry, Harpurhey, Cowboy, Lady Mary, The Dean, Charles XII., Yorkshire Lady, Thirsk, Semiseria, Prussic Acid, Executor, and Black EagleVoltigeur, however, being his first Derby winner.

Martha Lynn, bred by Mr. Sharpe, in 1837, ran at two and three years old under the late Mr. Ramsey of Barton's colours, and with very fair success. She was put to the stud in 1842, but out of five produce has yet thrown nothing save "this one' to add to her renown.

Voltigeur, a brown horse with no white about him beyond a little in the off hind foot, stands fifteen hands three inches high; he has a some. what coarse head, small ears, strong muscular neck, and fine oblique shoulders, with very good depth of girth; he has rather a light middle, but good back, with powerful quarters drooping towards the tail, muscular thighs, and good hocks and knees, with plenty of bone. He stands,