trary, and which is comparatively of recent occurrence, the theft having been committed in June, 1842, by one Ben Easton, a wellknown "tyker," or dog-stealer, who purloined a bloodhound bitch, the property of the Marquis of Worcester. Unfortunately for the thief, the hound had on when stolen a collar of the nominal value of seven shillings. His lordship being aware that the fellow would escape with only the fine or imprisonment, indicted him for stealing the collar, and, upon his being found guilty, he was luckily transported for seven years.

The cruelties attending starvation, and the disfiguring their victims to prevent identity, are quite in accordance with the rest of this abominable traffic, such as cropping, docking, and even drawing their teeth. A favourite Italian greyhound, the property of a Mr. Rabnett, of Hanwell, was lossed (Anglicè, stolen by the fancy). However, he did not recover it, on account of having threatened the parties with legal proceedings. He subsequently lost in London a puppy, the produce of the above-named bitch, and upon hearing where it was to be seen, he went, pretending to buy it: upon being shewn the puppy, he seized it and claimed it as his own; but being threatened by several men present that, unless he paid the ransom demanded, they would take it from him and kill it. Upon this Mr. Rabnett proceeded to identify the dog as his own, by the peculiar formation of some of its teeth; but how great was his surprise and disgust when he discovered that, to destroy its identity, the teeth had been entirely extracted!

We have an old proverb that "the receiver is worse than the thief." In this case, as in most others, were it not for the receiver, the thief would not exist. Whilst we punish, slightly though it be, the poor devil, urged on by hunger and a bribe, backed with the knowledge that his employer would get him "out of trouble" if necessary, we have no law to visit on the promoter of a crime which otherwise would rarely be committed. The receivers, or rather the restorers, of stolen dogs are a set of villains, most richly meriting the severest sentence of the law. They are well known to be intimately connected with the most notorious cracksmen in London, and to have been the instruments by which innumerable robberies have been "put up,' as the term is, by gaining admittance into the houses of the wealthy, under pretence of negociating the restoration of a stolen dog. The manner in which these fellows work upon the unfortunate owners of lost dogs is beyond belief: the first time that "the negociator" calls upon you to effect the restitution, he sounds you, to see if you will "bleed" freely upon the occasion. A second time you are called upon and told that, if a sum of money-in all probability double the amount first offered-is paid down, and no questions asked, your dog will be sent home to you; but, if any demur is made at the exorbitance of the demand, you are coolly told that your dog will fetch the sum required in the market, or else that it will be immediately destroyed. Major Nugent, of Nottingham-place, had his dog stolen three different times; and upon the third occasion, when inquiry was made of the before-mentioned Jonathan Wild to try and effect its

restitution, he was coolly informed that nothing could be done this time, as the major was not a "right man," not having "come down strong enough" on the two former occasions of the dog being stolen; if not, therefore, sold to a better market, it would immediately be destroyed.

I might multiply instances to all eternity, but enough has been said to shew the fearful extent to which this system has been carried, and the utter absurdity and uselessness of the law as it now stands. We are compelled thus, for the restoration of our property, to admit into our confidence the most notorious thieves in the metropolis, who, by adventitious circumstances, gain an entrance at all times into the houses of the wealthy, rendering their victims perfectly defenceless and subservient to their will; whilst they practise the most glaring extortion and cruelty, over which the police, the protectors of the public, declare they have no control.

The text I have selected for my present discourse strikes me as peculiarly apposite, not only in relation to the physical but the moral economy of the Turf. Its interest is not confined to the changes and chances of the course, "imminent deadly," as they are upon occasion, but it embraces the varieties of schemes annually devised, as well by the licenced to kill game as by the poachers on the great social manor. Byron, who was a sound practical philosopher of the fine gentleman and fancy gentleman school, whatever may be objected against his other moralities, lays down the maxim, that "to cheat" is a verb significant of pleasure, both in the active and passive moods. But, even in this instance, bizarre as the taste is, toujours perdrix won't go down. Every man, that is to say, every man with a soul above buttons, and a nominative case beyond" a gent.," has been done at the thimble and pea craft, but very few continue to be turned inside out at it every season. So with racing-one year there is £12,000 to be paid in advance, for the expenses of sending a Leger winner to Doncaster: another, the best horse don't win, "at the request of several families of distinction:" on another occasion, the

steed that ought to win the Cup at Ascot, accidentally "happens with a leg;" or, at Goodwood, with sixteen hundred weight of tallow on his ribs. By these "variegated tulips," "fine by defect," as the bard of Twickenham fancifully describes them, a charm is given to the turf, and people submit politely to be done "by way of a change." It will so fall out this year of course. At present the ruse is but in the chrysalis-the moment it ceases to be an "unreal mockery," and, if possible, before it sets a sting, we will announce "the varmint; for the present we must confine ourselves to the portents by which its coming was preceded.

The most brilliant weather that ever did observance to a Craven week, waited on its recent anniversary. Although there had not been a drop of rain for a fortnight, the heath was verdant and elastic; and, as the touts told ye, "there wasn't a stable coughing in the town." Newmarket has rarely been so populous with horses as it is just now; and there they have built a new subscription-room, where everybody with one pound one and a good character is welcome; and, altogether, things are socially better than they were wont to be. Moreover, there appears a probability of the jockey club being restored to the public consideration that it once enjoyed. We have had our evil out of which, peradventure, shall come our good.

MONDAY, the 8th ult., with a burning sunshine and a good share of patronage, opened the season's racing at head-quarters, as usual, with the Craven Stakes. A good field of eight went, and the winner was Coranna-or Jim Robinson, who rode him-the latter, in my opinion. The second was a colt claimed last year, by lawyer Ford, of Col. Peel, by Ion out of Mary Ann-since called "The Odd Mixture." He is a capital sort, and matched against Ratan, in October next, for £500, receiving 21 lbs.-he'll beat him. Voltri, an item of Scott's Derby lot, cut up a cur, and went to the dogs in the odds. This Voltri can run if he will-so that he is a dangerous customer to touch, a bad loser, and a worse winner. After a couple of handicaps, of no account, and a match between Larry M'Hale and Deerslayer, a couple of horrid rips, for a mint of money, as they said, and which, of course, Lord Glasgow (the Deerslayer) lost. We had a 50 sovs. sweepstakes, all forfeit, for which eight coursers came to the post, including Ratan-the crack of the Derby. He won-very cleverly, no doubt; the second being Delapre, who had a splent on his leg, and a general tendency to the slows. This victory left the favourite where it found him; or, indeed, somewhat worse: one can't guess wherefore, and therefore one don't attempt to tell. Elemi walked over for the Riddlesworth-it was almost infra dig. for Mr. Thornhill to pocket a Riddlesworth in so inglorious a manner. This ended the first day's sport.

TUESDAY began with the Oatlands-a certainty for I-am-not-aware (I am not aware of the reason), backed at 5 to 4 on him, which Maria Diaz won: a capital run with all but the pet of the fancy. The Tuesday's Riddlesworth got up a start; and that was all, for Orlando won in a canter, and, truth compels me to say, the ugliest canter I ever saw in my life perpetrated by a race-horse. This was succeeded by a 200 sovs. sweepstakes, for which three went, and two

that came in as here written. Example and The Boarding School Miss gave us a capital race: both these fillies are in the Oaks, and the former ought to be backed. According to the bills of the day the performances were to be wound up by a match between Bramble and the Caster, 6st. 71b. each, B. C.!!! for £60. For two miserables coudemned to do such a distance at the price, the pace was 66 too convincing," though the figure seemed not dangerously dear. Bramble won, and they did say the loser disgorged some of Lord Glasgow's "mint" of the preceding day.

WEDNESDAY. It was surprising where an April sun found all the caloric he lavished on Cambridgeshire on this day-it was scorching. Vattel (known among the Derby outsiders as the Vat colt) began by winning the Burghley Stakes, and being laid against for Epsom at 75 to 1. I liked him a hundred per cent. better than Orlando, but I know not the intrinsic merit of his pretensions. The Column Stakes was as fine a race as I have seen for years-won by the Duke of Rutland's clever filly Crenoline, brilliantly ridden by William Boyce; this young man has the elements of good jockeyship in him, and too much stress has been laid on his having left the Cambridgeshire Stakes over-fine last year. I've seen greater mistakes than that made, with less palaver.

THURSDAY.-In a small sweepstakes which opened the day's racing, Delapré beat Father Mathew, giving 9lb., which "the Ratans" insisted was a great feature: it was a wretched affair, at all events. The £50 subscription plate Cataract won in a good form: this horse must, however, win more than fifty pound plates to bring back the money he caused to be wasted last year. Orlando having won a 100 sovs. sweepstakes, six subscribers, and walked over for another of 200 sovs., also six subscribers, the list was brought to a close. If all the world made as good a thing of the turf as Col. Peel, ploughs would be at a discount-what "Clod" would take the trouble of turning it up?

On FRIDAY, as there were seven races to be disposed of, and time to be allowed for reaching the last train from Hockerill to London, which starts (as it ought not to start) at a quarter past six, business began, at half past eleven, with a match, which the Duke of Bedford won; and then a ditto, which also came off ditto. Passing the chicken handicap, which Canton could have won, but which Garry Owen did, because they declared to win with him, we arrive at the Port-that is to say, at the Port stakes-for which we had another brilliant struggle. Five went, but it was between two for the last mile, namely, Lothario and Phlegon, the former winning; for, as I think, the rider of the latter was more beaten than his horse. Gaper could not run even as far as he could at three years old: he is a very bad style of steed for my taste. The most generally talked of match in the meeting now was on the carpet-one in which Ma Mie gave Extempore 9lbs. Ditch In. These two mares started nose and nose, ran stride for stride, never lost an inch of their respective distances till on the post, when the latter won by a head: such a match, over that course, was probably never before seen at Newmarket. This, to all intents and purposes of interest, brought the Craven week to a close; and if it

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was, in importance, below the average of many of its predecessors, in point of sport it has rarely had a rival. All the accessories of pleasure for out-of-doors recreation abounded to prodigality. There was no lack of quantity as regarded the issues of each day-nor any want of spirit in making temporary engagements. The turf season has begun gloriously-may its shadow never be less!!

FIRST SPRING MEETING.

"And doth not a meeting like this make amends
For all the dull year?"

MOORE.

For the six sad months that came between the autumnal and the vernal equinox, two horses represented the effective force of the British racing cavalry. Those who were ill-content with such a state of things cast longing glances towards the tardy Craven week, which, when it did arrive, brought little consolation with it. Bath, Epsom, and the other early "little goes," left them in a similar category, and the book-makers turned to the Two Thousand as a forlorn hope. Therefore was the first middle meeting an affair of interest beyond ordinary, and we hasten succinctly to relate its history and all that it did, or rather all that was done in it. A series of unexampled weather, all sunshine and zephyrs, sent forth the various training stables in a force heretofore unknown at this period of the year; and the touts furnished clean bills of health, and sanatory bulletins which outstripped all precedent. In our account of its predecessor so much as seemed prudent was said touching the pretensions of the only animal of obvious merit that it produced. Ratan is, no doubt, a smart nag; but not another Plenipo or Bay Middleton, as his admirers insist. He must be a dangerous horse for those who stand against him, because there never can be a chance of hedging—and it's nervous work going the whole hog of a heavy stake. However, thus it must be as regards him; how it has since happened as relates to his companion in popular favour will be presently seen.

On Monday, the 22nd ultimo, the First Spring Meeting opened with brilliant weather, and company in a concatenation accordingly. The racing began at half-past one with a £50 plate, three last miles of B.C., won by the Brewer, who fainted at the finish; it was an awful journey so early in the year, under a broiling July sun. Fol lowing this we had a sweepstakes of 100 sovs. each (4 subscribers), left a match to the most amiable and unfortunate brace of Olympians under the stars-the Duke of Beaufort and Lord Glasgow. Well, they ran a dead heat-an indication that Fortune did not know which to treat the worst; but she soon made up her mind, for she broke down the earl's horse before he could even come to the post, and thus deprived the duke of the probable possibility of winning a race-he scorned the dirty dross without the glory. Lord Exeter's Meropé beat Example and a filly of Lord Glasgow's (of course), for a filly stakes of 100 sovs. each (5 subscribers); and Minatour, Esop, for a four-year-old