with 5 sovs. added by the stewards and proprietors of the course, heats, three times round and a distance (six subscribers, three of whom paid 1 sov. each)," was to come off at one o'clock. Up to this period, the brothers-in-law were speculating upon their winnings; the five pounds bet had increased to ten, Lord Stakeland having laid five-and-thirty to ten against the horse with the long name. The bell now rang for saddling. Some half-dozen constables attempted to keep the course; the clerk of the same, decked out in a pair of white-cord unmentionables, dark-coloured top-boots, and a red hunting-coat, which he had hired for the day from Moses Levi's second-hand clothes warehouse in Gosport, appeared in all the dignity of his office, mounted upon a raw-boned, spavined hack, which he in vain tried to coax into a canter. "Clear the course, gentlemen-the horses are out. Back, back, there!" shouted the hero of the hunting-coat.

"You mayn't go there!" exclaims a constable.

"Vy not?" asks a genuine cockney pea-and-thimble proprietor. "Make your game, gen'lemen-lots of time before the 'osses start. It's I to hide and you to find: now, I'll bet any sportsman five or ten as he don't say where the little hobject his. Von, two, three-the game of the little pea! Portsmouth, Portsea, Gosport- Portsmouth's vhere the Qveen's dock-yard is-now, the only difference between her Majesty's dock-yard and my thimble is, hers is perminent and mine is locomotive. This is the game that is called the multum in parvo, which means as you may win a werry large sum with a werry small capital. Down with your mopusses, gen'lemen! them as plays can't win, and them as don't play can't expect to win. Silence, young man; I heard you vink! Make your game, gents; vhen I loses I pays, vhen I vins I pockets. Vot argufies if I spends my fortin; aint I a right to do vot I likes vith my own, as they say in the 'ouse of Parliament Peers? It only requires a quick eye and a good hobserwation for to say vhere the little hobject his."

"You must clear the course-you must muv on!" cries the constables.

"Make 'em stand back!" vociferates the clerk, amidst the shouts of "Go it, old scarlet-coat!" "Does your anxious parent know you're out?" "Why don't you go home and tell your mother to

chain up ugly?"

"Here's a card and a sheet-list, noble sportsmen! names, weights, plates, and colours of the orses and riders." And, as our readers inay like to have a copy, we lose no time in presenting them with

one :

DITCHLEY RACES.

ONE O'CLOCK. THE DITCHLEY STAKES.

Lord Stakeland's b. g. Dick Turpin, by Cracksman, six years old, 9st. 3lb. Captain Freeman's ch. h. "Hop light, ladies, day's a breaking," four years old,

8st. 4lb.

Mr. Colling's gr. c. Cream of Tartar, by Saracen, out of Dairymaid, three years old, 6st. 121b.

Mr. Smith's b. c. Flare-up, by Lamplighter, aged, 9st. 5lb.; Mr. Roger's bl. f. c. The Singing Mouse, by Mus, out of Syren, three years old, 7st.; and Mr. William son's b. g. Never-cry-die, four years old (half-bred), 7st. 111b.-paid forfeit.

At half-past three o'clock, the Fakeaway Plate of 5 sova., for the beaten horses (handicap), added to a sweepstakes of 3 sovs. each, p. p.

At four o'clock, a Match for 50 sovs., h. ft.; twice round. Lord Stakeland's b. m. Epsom Lass, five years, 9st. 1lb.; against Mr. Milsom's ch. c. "Go it, my cripples; crutches is scarce," brother to Crutch, two years old, a feather.

All dogs on the course will be shot.

Stewards' ordinary at Parslow's Flying Horse booth, at the end of the first race.

Tickets, 2s. 6d. each.

Mr. W. FAIRMANER,Stewards.
Mr. BURTON,

JOHN TRAILL.

Clerk of the Course.

The high-mettled racers were now paraded in front of the stewards' stand, which was a small wooden box about six feet square; from the top of which floated majestically a blue-peter flag, borrowed from a neighbouring slop-shop. "Dick Turpin," instead of appearing short of work, looked as if he had just returned from his far-famed namesake's journey to York. He was ridden by the trainer, in a splendid new jacket of rose-coloured satin and black velvet cap, which was a great contrast to the other two turns-out. Our friend Dick Milsom mounted a pair of dark-coloured, greasy unmentionables, with boots the tops of which looked as if they had been cleaned with walnutjuice; the jacket had once been white, edged with light blue, but was now so stained with dirt of different soils, that scarcely a vestige of the original could be traced; while the light blue velvet cap, from the same cause," harmonized" (as the painters say) admirably well. The lad that rode the three-year-old had evidently borrowed his dress from the gambling-booths: he was decked out in a pair of white "cords," boots with patent leather tops, and a cap and jacket made of blue and white calico, striped across the body. Three to one was now freely laid on Lord Stakeland's horse. The bell rang, the course was cleared, and away went the three terrible high-bred cattle at a slashing pace, Dick Turpin leading, Cream of Tartar lying well up, and the horse with the long name pulling double. Thus they remained until within half a distance of home, when Milsom eased his hands, and the Almacks colt sprang forward and won gallantly by six or seven lengths, Cream of Tartar second, Dick Turpin dead beat, nowhere. The betters of the odds looked downcast: Milsom gave Mr. and Mrs. Styles a knowing sort of a wink, as he repassed the winningpost to go to the weighing-stand. Young Sam was delighted at seeing his uncle win, especially as during the last week he had ridden the horse in his exercise. The odds were now completely changed: three to one was freely laid upon Milsom's horse; Lord Stakeland had drawn his horse, to run him for the beaten horses' plate, and hedged all his money by betting four poneys to one upon "Hop light ladies." No sooner had Dick Milsom weighed, than he anxiously sought his brother-in-law, whom he found, with his wife, enjoying the delight of seeing a "fresh-water sailor," with one leg, jumping over sundry chairs and tables, in a manner that quite astonished the natives. Young Sam had slipped away from his revered parents, to witness a young lady in a pink, spangled, muslin frock, white trousers, elaborately frilled and vandyked, with a tartan satin bonnet, dance a minuet

on stilts; with a thin, knock-kneed youth, decked out in a light-blue cotton tunic, tastefully trimmed with silver bows and pink rosettes, a pair of flesh-coloured "tights," red leather sandals, and a black velvet Spanish hat, ornamented with pink, black, and yellow feathers.

"Well, Dick, I congratulate you!" exclaimed Styles, as his beau frere approached him, in somewhat a slovenly costume, his white hat over his faded velvet cap, and a great coat, looking as if it were made out of an old blanket, dyed with spots of unspeakable hue.

"I want a word with you, Sam," said Milsom, in a mysterious voice. "Here, step into the Eclipse booth; Marthy will take care of young Sam'l."

The ex-ostler begged Mrs. Styles would take especial care of her charge and her pockets, and, dropping her arm, proceeded to take that of his brother-in-law. The latter, however, whispered, in a low voice-"Follow me; but, till we get to the booth, mum's the word!"

Styles the elder, all anxiety, now followed his leader, who threaded his way through a crowd of itinerant merchants, in the nut, shrimp, and gingerbread line, importuned on every side by an innumerable host of solicitors and special-pleaders, in the shape of one-armed soldiers, wooden-legged sailors, maimed mechanics, starving artizans, blind weavers, with hosts of fatherless, motherless, ragged children, of humble parentage and doubtful origin.

Upon reaching the "Eclipse" booth, Dick Milsom seemed to possess a sort of open sesame charm, for no sooner had he made his appearance at the bar than the landlord rushed forward, oversetting in his haste four basins of soup, or, as they were technically called, one ox," "two mocks," and "a giblet," that had just been ordered for "No. 2," and the waiter in vain held his plate to "mine host" for "a slice of beef cut with an 'ammy knife for to give it flavour."

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"Here Molly, shew Mr. Milsom into the parlour," exclaimed the landlord, upon which the above-mentioned culinary artist left the sausages she was preparing for "No. 4" to fry themselves, and, in her hurry, upset a cauldron of boiling water, from which she was in the habit of diluting the glasses of gin, rum, brandy, and peppermint. The parlour, into which Mr. Milsom and his brother-in-law were shewn, was a small enclosed space, beautifully fitted up with pink and white calico, and festooned with laurel leaves. "Two glasses of cold vith," said Richard, in a patronizing tone, "and a couple of slices of polony sassage."

Molly retired, and, in a few seconds, again made her appearance with a tray, upon which were the aforesaid luxuries. No sooner was the coast clear, than Richard, in a low tone of voice, began as follows::

"Sam'l, I vish's to hact quite on the square with you, not that I'd do anything onhandsome to any man vatsumdever."

"I'm certain you would not," responded Mr. Styles. "Vell, I'll tell you vat it is," continued the winning jockey, mysteriously, "I don't think I can quite pull through the race." Styles was all amazement; from what he had seen, he thought nothing but a

strong pull could prevent the horse winning. "That ere young colt, 'Cream of Tartar,' is an oudacious hanimal-ondeniable bottomcan last for ever-vhile my orse a'nt got a gallop in him." Strange! thought Mr. Styles, who began to doubt his own optics, for, according to his view of the race, no horse had ever won more easy than had the Almack's colt.

"You know, Sam'l, times is ard," proceeded the other, "ve've a ten pun note between us on the race, and I don't quite like it—if the young'un makes running, he'll beat us into fits."

"Really!" responded Samuel.

"Now it o'curs to me, as ve ought to 'edge-I can't go into the stand, or they'd smoke me; but, as you knows some of the nobs, vhat say you to getting our money off-take four score to one, as if for a com mission; they von't twig you."

"Well, Richard, you know best, and I suppose it's all right and above board."

"To be sure," responded Dick, "every man may edge his own money."

"I'll do it!"

"Vel, Sam'l, do it varily, try it on with the hofficers, and if you can make it ponies, vy, all the better for us-I'll stand twenty of it and you five. I shall do my best to vin, but I know it's onpossible, and if the captain vere here I'd make him draw his orse."

No sooner had this colloquy ended, in which our readers will probably have the discernment to perceive that honest Richard made a virtue of necessity, and entrusted his brother-in-law with the affair, from having no other person he could employ to get on his money— then the friends parted; one to put a few flats up to a good thing, by saying that the Almacks colt could not be beat, the other to get his money hedged, and honestly too, as he thought, laying the flattering unction to his soul, that it was at least agreeable to the practice of the turf, as laid down by that truly respectable supporter of it, Mr. Richard Milsom. We shall leave the former to his own peregrinations, and follow Mr. Styles to a fashionable four-horse drag, upon the roof of which was laid out a splendid luncheon of cold meat, cold pies, tongues, salads, fruit, iced punch, and champagne. A dozen young men, some on the box, some on the hind seat, some on the wheels and steps, were partaking of the ample fare.

"Ah! Sam Ostler," exclaimed one of the party, "how does the world treat you?"

'Bravely, bravely!" responded the other.

"A glass of champagne, Sam?" asked another, filling a huge silver goblet with the sparkling liquor, which he presented to his old acquaintance of the road. "Well, Sam, what's to win-you ought to be a good judge of horse-flesh-many's the good nag you have turned out in your day?"

"Why really, gentlemen, I cannot say-some seem to think Cream of Tartar has a chance; indeed, I have got a commission to lay out a few pounds upon him.'

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At what price?" shouted half a dozen voices together. "I'll bet you forty pounds to ten-is it a bet?"

"Why, gentlemen, as I am to take the odds to a score, or five and twenty pounds, I should prefer it in one bet."

"Well, we'll bet it amongst us, Sam-book it to the coach, four ponies to one-it's a bet!" upon which the spokesman, from the drag, took out his book and entered the bet, saying

"Come, Sam, old fellow, take another glass of wine; we'll drink to your friend Captain Flatman's health-his pony is as good as lost -take my advice, don't you stand with him-Cream of Tartar' couldn't beat a jackass for a thistle stake."

The bell now rang, the course was cleared, and the two horses paraded in front of the stand; after taking a slight canter, they turned round, and, upon the word being given, the winner of the first heat went away best pace. Sam, having joined his wife and child, took up his station upon the steps of the steward's stand, and was not a little surprised at seeing Milsom make such severe play, nor were his cars gratified at hearing the following remarks from every quarter:-" Dick Milsom in a canter-Nelson's pillar to a stick of sealing wax on the old one-Salisbury Plain to a lark's sod on the horse with the long name-Portsmouth Harbour to a duck-pond against the young one.' They have passed the stand the first time round, Dick still leading.

"It's all up with my five pounds," exclaimed Sam Styles, turning his head away from the race in despair. Whilst thinking over his apparent inevitable loss, a squeaking voice was heard"Oh! pa, uncle's broke his stirrup leather-he'll be off-oh dear!" The elder Styles turned round, looked, and saw that what his son had said was true. Dick was rolling about in his saddle. like a porpoise in a storm.

"Why, the old one's bottled," shouted a dozen voices, and so it was; Richard Milsom, finding it impossible to hold in his horse, or, to use his own phraseology, "to come Captain Armstrong any longer," had goaded the steed with the right spur, and losing his right rein, had pulled out of the course with the left. To give a color to the whole proceeding, Dick had put on an old stirrup-leather which he knew would give way at any moment. "Look to the distance," cried the steward; "All right," responded the clerk of the course, galloping down to it, and seizing the flag from a clod, who, little intent on the sport, was whistling for want of thought. "Dick will save his distance," shouts one. The thermometer of Sam Style's hopes went suddenly down to Zero. "No, he can't," cries another, who was a true prophet, for the wary jockey never got into the course, until he saw his adversary so forward, that not even an "Eclipse" could have saved his distance. Dick was loud in his anathemas against the saddler, and was much commiserated with at the untoward accident that had lost him the race. Dick pretended to be very irate with the lad that rode against him, accused him of crossing him, threatened to appeal to the stewards; all of which, however, ended in smoke, as it was apparent to every one on the course, that Milsom was a couple of lengths in advance when his horse bolted.

We must, now, briefly wind up the sports of the day. "Hop