For the first time, Sir Tatton has this year contrived to rear twins, although scarcely a season has passed without a presentation of this kind. Last season, Snarry contrived to get a mare to take to a foal after she had lost her own, by carefully skinning the dead one, and sewing on the skin, which quite satisfied her, after she had smelt it. From the fact of their having no names, it is almost impossible to remember the mares, and to see them cluster thirty strong round Sir Tatton, near the Park House, is one of the sweetest stud tableaux we know. Sleight of Hand, Wollaton, and Hampton are strongly represented, but the Comus mares have nearly all died out. Sir Tatton generally exchanges with Mr. Cookson, and this year three of that gentleman's mares have come to Rifleman; and three from Sledmere, all we think by Sleight of Hand, have passed over to Fandango. The Andover yearlings we did not particularly like. They had a good deal of quality, and Bay Middleton forehands, but did not look like stayers. Bay Middleton has not left his mark for good on English stud farms, through his sons; but his daughters are of a much better stamp. not forget the grey-heeled Libel, whom Sir Tatton got in exchange, but he is too high on the leg to please, and in fact, Daniel spoils one's eye for the day, and if he had only another inch and a-half, he would be almost perfection. Sir Tatton, however, likes him better as he is.

We must

We

Poor Mr. Drinkald always swore by this stud, from whence he drew his Grey Tommies, Monges, and so on; and he got Sir Tatton to take his Mathematician for a season, but still, in spite of his high breeding, they scarcely liked to use him. Racing troubles produced but little outward effect on "poor Drinky," as they were wont to call him; but no man really chafed more under them. He stuck to particular lines of blood and pet mares year after year, and then complained that the turfites had got all his money. remember once hearing old Joe Rogers read him a lecture when he repeated the sentiment in public, and, to do him justice, he took the repartee in very good part. The two Newmarket misses with The Nabob were enough to try his temper; and then, again, having the Derby goblet just dashed from his lips by Blink Bonny. Rodney some years ago was a lad he very much liked; but he never hung to any particular jockey, except Alfred Day. In fact, suspicion seemed to warp his judgment in everything. He considered that the turf had wrecked his life-hopes; and yet he went on and on, losing more and more in a quiet way, desperately hoping that he would some day make the ring disgorge. Shooting was a favourite amusement with him, and he invariably spent two or three months of the year with General Wyndham amid his Cumberland preserves.

This month has also taken away from us, in the Marquis of Queensberry, not exactly a turfite, but one of the most universal sportsmen, as far as his small means permitted, that the three kingdoms possessed. Nothing came amiss to him-hunting, shooting, the gloves, horse racing, deer-stalking, fishing, &c. Only the week before he left for Goodwood, he had had Mr. Gallon of Durham's otter hounds at Kinmount, and hunted the Annan water for two days, swimming along with them nearly all the day. At this art he was a great adept; and a very few days before he quitted London for the last time, he swam the Thames below Greenwich. No exposure ever seemed to affect his fine hardy frame, and fatigue could not touch it. He

was a capital shot, but known to be one of the most careless men that ever handled a gun. He was a pounding rider; and when his chesnut Conrad was not in one of his sulky fits, no two ever went better over his somewhat wild country. Such a musical cheer to hounds will not be heard in Scotland or England again for many a long day; but he was far too wild in the field, and often when they were making it nicely out for themselves, he would go right through the body of them, get two hundred yards a-head, and blow them away without even the excuse of a holloa. In fact, sport when he was out was always rather critical; as at times he and his huntsman were at different sides of a field, blowing their horns against each other. Still they continued, in their rough-and-ready way, to have some capital fun; and one run will never be forgotten. In the field he was always good-natured, but not very talkative, and fond of his pipe. Many of the regulars always carried "the Marquis's pipe" with them, as he was sure to ask for it some part of the day, and they never gave him a very good one, as he was sure to bite a piece off it. No one has ever been more popular in Scotland, and, his neighbours may well say, "he will be a missed man." It is strange that Scotland's sportsmen should be taken so young. First, Sir Frederick Johnstone died, flung from his horse in his very hey-day. Mr. Ramsay, the light of coaching, racing, and hunting combined, died when he was barely forty, and here another is borne to his grave at the same age. Along with Mr. Carruthers, of Dormont, he was the principal subscriber to the hounds whose country was bounded by Moffatt, Mossknow, Annan, and Dumfries, which were hunted by Joe Graham. Joe was originally a weaver, and then in Major Colomb's service, when he had the Inglewood hounds. After that he hunted Mr. Salkeld's Cumberland staghounds, and went from him to the Marquis, when the "velvet horns" disappeared from Holme Hill, and Mr. Lawson began foxhounds at Brayton.

Shows have been all the rage this month; and we cannot pass over the strange decision at Grantham, where a prize was announced for "the best thorough-bred stallion for hunters," and the prize was awarded to a half-bred horse. Unexplained, such a decision is open to the charge of great impropriety, to use the mildest term. It is defeating the very object of these shows; and in Lincolnshire especially it ought not to occur, as we are quite convinced that to get hunters to be relied on, no cock-tail stallion should be used. If The Danube's curb is what we remember it, we can quite fancy his having a prize refused him; but why not withhold it altogether? No wonder the entries for this handsome £15 prize sunk down to two, if the management of the show is so eccentric. The mares for breeding hunters were a fine class, whereas they have been wretched everywhere else. At Driffield the great attraction were Mr. Hall's (of Scorbro') young hunters; for one, if not two of which, very long prices were offered by Mr. Welfitt, of Louth. At Penrith they made the twelve hunters, four of them such as would disgrace no field, jump thirteen hurdles. All of them (save one ridden by a wonderful little lad bare-backed) refused the first, but warmed well to their work afterwards. The lad was the popular candidate, and they rayther stretched a point to give him the prize.

Northallerton was all excitement when we reached it on the second

day of the Yorkshire Show; but the townspeople said that no money was left in it, and that visitors either brought their own things, or bought in the show-yard. We did not care to look at the caravan ram outside, with the horn growing out of his ribs, but pushed forward through the machine-yard to the spot where the stallions were. They do not box them up here, as at the Royal Show, but marched them round and round for three hours, amid the admiring tykes. Fobert was there, and "Sim" was there, and, of course, Dick Stockdale, full, as usual, of his beloved Maroon, of whom he may well be proud. A Yorkshire show would not be complete without Dick to lead something into the ring, and here he had General Williams.

Barnton and Hospitality did not come; but the other eleven all stood to their colours: and it was quite evident that "Kit" and his Canute had the Yorkshireman's best wishes. The youthful General Williams was not a small favourite, and so was Dr. Sangrado; and, taking the class as a whole, it was far before Chester. Sir Harry Martin resembled his sire Lanercost not a little in the head; but he was rather doubtful about the loins, and small in the knee. Amalgamation failed to catch any one point from William le Gros or The Era; and Bondholder, who was a true Flatcatcher, stood over rather too much ground, and had excessively large lop-ears. General Williams had fine length and great liberty about him; but he was ordinary in his head, and his croup was not only plain, but his tail was badly set-on: still, in a couple of years, he will take a great deal of beating. He is of Sir Tatton Sykes's blood on both sides, and was trained last season by John Osborne. St. Andrew had a light middle, and was also far too high on the leg; and Farnham was a little chesnut cocktail, with three medals, and all the varmint cut of the Ratcatchers, and with a patch over his blind eye. His legs bore awful testimony to long service; but you forgot those when you looked at the little wiry frame they bore. Lack of size was his great drawback. Mr. Stiggins looked, as usual, the showy charger-nothing more; and if Dr. Sangrado had not been a little high and queer on the leg, there were few more perfect horses in the yard. His barrel, neck, and head are beautifully turned; and he reminded us not a little of what Kingston has grown into. He scarcely walked about at all, but stood in a hollow under the hedge, and attracted many a levée. Greatheart was a very catching chesnut horse, with the beautiful Castrel style of forehand and top; but his loins were defective, and he had completely pumiced hoofs, in addition to an old fracture of one of the pasterns; and, except for giving colour and spirit to the scene by his handsome and playful presence, it was difficult to see why he came at all. Spencer did not look well at all— dull in his eye, loaded in his points: in fact, we could hardly have told the elegant, fiery Chester winner, in the lazy, listless bay, whom we did not absolutely remember again. We could have fancied that he had been put on oilcake since Chester, and fed himself stupid. In the ring he grew a little more animated; but we never, except for one instant, saw him look really himself; and his action is poor at the best of times. Canute improved very much when stripped, and went before his judges with thrice as much gaiety. His back and limbs are unexceptionable for a hunter sire; but his forehand is very ordinary, and he shows especially badly in his walk. He was always a

pheasant on the turf; and now there is no light in his eye, and he requires a good deal of judicious showing off; and that was well done. In fact, his owner thrust up the ginger in the most uncompromising style, in the face of all creation, and followed him to the very edge of the ring with his coach-whip. Although they also called up Greatheart, General Williams, and Sir Harry Martin a second time, it was soon pretty evident, from watching the judges, that they had only Spencer and Canute in their eye; and, after a long discussion, the victorious white ribbons were handed to Canute, and, as in 1857, Spencer had once more to be content with the green. Why cannot the Royal Agricultural Society hand out its rosettes as promptly, instead of adhering to their system of leaving the decision to ooze out on the Wednesday, and depriving their five-shilling visitors of twothirds of their pleasure and instruction? In spite of Spencer's dull state, we think the decision was wrong; as his colour and his expression of head are dead points against Canute. We should have thought it impossible for a horse to look so different as Spencer did at these different times. Nothing could get him on to the fret here; whereas, at Chester, like the beautiful Theon the year before (who has had a wondrous season in Lincolnshire), he was never quiet for an instant, and his veins stood out all over his body, like vinetendrils. Our surprise is, that the judges ever looked at Greatheart twice; but it seems that his man was told to take him to the rejected side of the yard, and would not go. He is a horse, as the tykes phrase it, who seems "made at thrice."

A Magpie hunting-mare, with a very mean foal by Daniel O'Rourke, was the best in her class, which was decidedly weak. Ball was rather coaching, with plain ears, and not great back-ribs. Marigold had a good foal, but lacked liberty herself; and The Yore, who was at Chester, looked very ragged-like and unsatisfactory. Blink Bouny, the winner in the coaching-mare and foal class, had no style whatever about her head and neck, and was, to our minds, far below the Lord of the Manor mare next her, who was very good in front, but short in the croup, with a most remarkably "flush"-set tail, and a capital foal by Farnham. The decision in the three-yearold hunting-gelding class amazed every one; and we believe that the judges themselves defended their fancy on the score of action. Mr. B. Johnson's commended chesnut, by Young Galaor, was a little gaudy, but a hunter all over; and a celebrated master of foxhounds, who stands at no price, and sauntered up to share in the general astonishment, declared that he himself would give £150 more for him than the winner. Orion was rather short and high on the leg at present, but will make up into a great slapping horse; and the Bay President was up to great weight, but rather coarse in his forehand. Don John was represented by a well-grown and rather coaching animal; one of the Cures was neat, but small, while the other had all his sire's fine character about the head, and was a particularly nice horse to stand behind; and the Sweetmeat had rare quarters, but was rather dipped in the back. Those wonderful legs and feet which Maroon communicates to all his stock, were seen to great perfection in the pure three-year-old hunting filly of Mr. Gofton's; and the prize coaching-gelding, Young Aide-de-Camp, was also remarkably true and even-made.

The fifteen in the four-year-old hunter class seemed to give the judges immense trouble; and we thought that they would never have got through them. It was certainly a grand sight to see them all in a row, with such a ring of tykes round them; but they did not do the latter much credit. Would that they had more of the Shropshire spirit of old days, when every breeder would have character and style. Here, with one or two exceptions, the horse and mare would seem to have been put together hap-hazard, on the chance of a coacher or anything. Too often, it would seem that, if the produce is not big enough for the former, they cut its tail, and call it a hunter. We were most bitterly disappointed, as we expected very different things; and we wonder that the judges dwelt so much as they did, and did not put back all but three or four in this class, at the first look. As it was, they kept dawdling, threading in and out, and smoking their cigars, both in this and the other classes, till we and scores more were fairly weary of watching them. Vaulter, by Voltigeur, who won in the three-year-old class last year, followed in his stable-mate Jeweller's steps; and, although a promising horse, he is hardly so good as we expected the winner of such a prize and the special silver cup to be. The Politician bay had a great deal of compactness and finish about him; and Impudence, although he rather lacks character, especially in his forehand, did much credit to Auctioneer. The extra stock entry was rather great in hunters; and the best of them, to our mind, was Sultan, by the British Yeoman, though he wants to grow down a little.

We had a look at this rare hunter sire in a green meadow by the Eden side a few days afterwards, the first time we had seen him on the turf since "Sim" "weighed in" with him, after his splendid Twoyear-old finish against Maria Day, at Doncaster. Eighteen years have told very slightly on his frame generally, and he is hardly beginning to dip. He is a trifle leggy and upright in the pasterns; but his top is splendid, and fairly hung on wires. It seems a sad pity that he should linger so many seasons in Cumberland, with 170 mares last season, and 200 the one before, instead of going into the midland counties, and being stinted for blood and hunting mares. Highland Laddie teazed for him all last season, and had thirty mares on his own account. This little fellow was bought by Mr. Moffatt for £25, after doing a great deal of hard gig and saddle work, in the course of which he was sold by this calculation-" 62st. at 6d. per lb. £21 14s." He was bred at Caldbeck, in Cumberland, and not in Scotland; and is, we believe, eight years old. The Yeoman's great rival, Royal Ravenhill, is getting some rare stock, which are greedily snapped up by the foreigners and southern dealers. They are nearly all dark-browns, of rare substance; and if a chesnut mare comes to him, a light bay foal is the invariable result. The Newmarket people would not know him again now, and his Arab-like crest and dish nose give his stock no little style.

Mr. White, late of the Cheltenham Staghounds, takes the Essex and Suffolk; a country which, with the exception of two short intervals, Mr. Carrington Nunn's family has held for half a century. There have been no new huntsman appointments, save that of Will Cox, who was with Lord Doneraile last season, to hunt Mr. Theobald's. Whips have been very bad to get; and, as a great