On the 25th ult. we received, for insertion, or extract, a pamphlet, consisting of thirty-five pages of correspondence and statements, relating almost exclusively to the private family concerns of Colonel George Wyndham, of Petworth. The dispute between General and Colonel Wyndham has no interest for the readers of this Work, save as it affects fox-hunting generally, or in that particular instance. Our opinion is, that Colonel Wyndham has adopted a course inimical to the interests of the chase in both those relations: we see nothing in the pamphlet before us to alter that impression. If Colonel Wyndham will authorize us to contradict the report, that he has caused the slaughter of foxes in the districts of West Sussex-where fox-hunting is, and has long been, a popular sport, a bond of social union-we shall be too happy to make public the refutation. If, however, he cannot gainsay that he has caused, or sanctioned, such a course, from a personal quarrel with his brother, we charge him with an indecorous and indefensible outrage upon neighbourly courtesy, and with setting an example likely to work most mischievously for the cause of fox-hunting.

A Subscriber, who has sent us the sketch of an undeniable "plant," by a "Horse Chaunter," should advise his friend to purchase the "Adventures in Search of a Horse :" he can get them at Ackermann's, in Regent-street. We regret we cannot make use of his communication, the subject is so awfully stale. Sinners that they are, the poor devils of "Chaunters" have undergone a terrible persecution. During the last half century they have been hunted to death and burial, by packs of remorseless professionals; and at this moment are being "resurrected, dissected, and hung upon wires," by "an Amateur," in the Old Sporting Magazine.'

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The Correspondent who draws our attention to the comparative speed of Harkaway, for the Goodwood Cup in 1839, and Lucetta for the Jockey Club Plate in 1832, starts with singularly faulty premises. "The Goodwood Cup," he says, 66 was this year run in three minutes fifty-eight seconds-being two miles and three quarters." And then goes on to argue thus: Harkaway's two miles and three quarters were done at the rate of 108 seconds the mile."-Now, two miles and three quarters, done at the rate of 108 seconds the mile, would have occupied the space of 297 seconds, or four minutes and fifty seven seconds, instead of three minutes and fifty-eight seconds. We are requested, by the popular writer known as "Wildrake' the author of the admirable "Scenes with Uncle Sam," now in progress through this work-to state, that the article which appeared in the last Number of the Old Sporting Magazine,' under his signature, was not written by him.

The American Sporting Magazine, for which we are much obliged, has been received; but the postage is ruinous in our next Number we will suggest a channel for future transmission.

Proof Impressions of all the Plates that have appeared in this Work, are on sale at the Publishers, at 2s. each: or beautifully coloured at 2s. 6d.

Vol. I. of THE SPORTING REVIEW, bound in fancy cloth boards, lettered, may now be had at all Booksellers, price 16s. 6d.

RACING.

NEWMARKET FIRST AND SECOND OCTOBER MEETINGS.

FIRST OCTOBER MEETING.

To him who loveth racing for its own sake, after the junketings of Epsom, Ascot, Goodwood, Doncaster, and the like, there is something peculiarly grateful in revisiting the glimpses of the Dike, and "returning to his muttons." In the instance with which we have now to do, this sense of satisfaction addressed itself to me, almost while yet Shoreditch Church loomed in our wake; certainly with the first sparkling glance at "the pleasant waters of the river Lea." The summer's racing was but now over, and fresh in memory were the many changes that had revealed themselves during its progress. There, scarce a trace was left of old familiar scenes and places-there, the hand of improvement was fast obliterating many a spot, many a memorial, hallowed by tints of "lang syne." Little more than a brief year ago, and how much of the pleasure, the interest, with which the Ascot Meeting was wont to be invested, were involved in the adventure, the rural anticipations of the excursion! From Hyde-park Corner to the Heath, every fathom of road was certain to afford some point of concern, something to admire or excite. The chestnut trees, at Sion House were, to me, as friends, that annually arrayed themselves in their richest and choicest attire to greet my passage. The rose-garlanded cottages, the smiling villages, were, to the denizen of the great metropolis, so many oases in that desert of humanity whereon Fate had cast him to work out a weary pilgrimage. But the fiend of innovation hath been stirring; and these things, for all future time, shall but belong to memory. Instead of the fragrance of flower and shrub, that regaled the traveller through sunny fields and waving woodlands, he shall henceforth inhale, fiftyfold, accursed fumes, belched from a locomotive: for a flight, free as a bird, through the fresh zephyr cleft by four generous coursers, he shall be dragged at the tail of a stinking engine, in an eight-inside "bus," locked up as fast and undeniably as a felon in a prison van.

"Then, why not still stick to the turnpike?" may be asked. The reply is of fatal facility. Already the conveniences of public transit on the highways are all but annihilated; the difficulties, when a "run" takes place, amount to almost certain disappointment. When the millennium arrives-and "a Universal-Benevolent-Four-in-HandGratis-supply Association" shall furnish the means and appliancesthen (should there still be roads to work upon) will we be found with the eleemosynary ribbons ever betwixt our fingers. Till then must Epsom, Ascot, Goodwood, Doncaster, be sought by rail, as in the present season.

But the fair descent to Newmarket, as yet, knoweth not such pollution; and the box of the Norwich Telegraph, as it swept over the sunlit forest of Epping, seemed like stepping from Pandemonium into Paradise. Nature wore a new aspect; and small marvel, when com

parison lay between skimming the fresh and joyous champaign, and burrowing the bowels of Primrose-hill. All hail! Epping-place. There no caitiff insults your intercostals with solicitations to break your fast upon Irish porter and Banbury-cakes; but rational, humane waiters rush to the rescue of the hungry, laden with pigeon-pies, broiled ham, eggs, scarce conscious of the light, and sausages-blessed condiments! that would create an appetite "in articulo mortis.” Having done justice to these, re-ascend the box of the aforesaid Telegraph (taking the precaution to light your weed, a proper Havannah, that has reached years of discretion), fill your cheeks with aromatic inhalations, your soul with Olympic anticipations; and if you find not yourself a happy man, the Lord have mercy on you, for your case is hopeless.

It is a vulgar old saw, that, of "one man's meat being another man's poison;" but it is true, malgré the coarseness. The First October Meeting at Newmarket whilom was accustomed to be emphatically flat and unprofitable: no sooner, however, were the races at Heaton Park snuffed out, than, lo! an illumination in Cambridgeshire goodly to behold! Tuesday, the 1st ult., dawned brilliantly on the modern Elis: the attendance was unusually good and select; and the weather the ideal of a golden autumn. Of the sport I do not feel justified in saying quite so much it was fair; certainly not devoid of interest-but no more. The leading events were, for the most part, regarded as foregone conclusions; and bore out the opinion. Little in the economy of the "three days" occurred, beyond that of which the Turf Register bears record. The dead heat between Euclid and Æther, for the Grand Duke Michael Stakes, throws much suspicion on the character of the great northern race. The Great St. Leger horses certainly appear from it not to have been flyers-good as the running of Charles the Twelfth was for the Cup. The Hopeful,

short, sharp, and decisive," shewed Crucifix in a form, with nine pounds extra on her, that has rarely been matched in the annals of two-year-old racing: we have yet to see more unequivocal testimony of her excellence. Of the other Two-year-old Stakes-the Buckenham Produce, and the Rutland-Mr. Wreford's Glencoe colt, out of Margellina, was the winner: no very distinguished performances, nor tending to give much eclat to the victor. The "walks over" operated seriously against the quantity of sport; the quality was, to say the least of it, a good average. Without any decided feature, the meeting was a most gratifying one; not the most unsatisfactory item being a sum of £250 subscribed by the inhabitants of the town, and placed to the account of the racing fund. A better spirit, or a wiser, has grown up amongst them: it is to be trusted that such token of promise may not be broken to the hope. Before I close this brief notice of the First October Meeting, I must be allowed a word of explanation as to my apparent regret that the sport was not more abundant. The character of it was unequivocally to my taste. Men who, by their skill, perseverance—say good luck-had good horses in their stables, reaped the harvest of a fair return. Thus would I ever have it; leaving to those who regard the race-course but as a green surface, appropriated to a game of hazard, the inglorious victories-the unhonoured honours of the handicap.

SECOND OCTOBER MEETING.

Monday, the 14th ult., ushered in as goodly a week as Newmarket has seen for many a year. Everything promised auspiciously; it had been preceded by a run of fine weather: the list, both in value and character, was very far over the common average; and the attendance was good in every sense of the word. Among the most prominent features, as novelties, were the debûts of the Cesarewitch Stakes and the Irish sporting peer, my Lord Miltown. There was something odd about both events-first, it was "by ordinar," that a Russian Prince should present a considerable stake, as an annuity, to the English Turf; and, second, it was no every-day occurrence to see an individual, physically deprived of the power of motion, throwing himself, or rather causing himself to be thrown, into a vortex, that has, ere now, proved too much for the most active of mind and body. The taste, however strange it seems to us, has been long familiar to Irish turfites. For many years the Curragh had not a more spirited or devoted patron (that devoted was an ominous epithet) than poor Fitzmaurice Caldwell, who had nothing left of him for years, that he could lay under voluntary contribution, save his head and trunk, (that is to say, body). Your playwrights and novelists run to fiction when they desire to place a "character" on the scene, or the page. Did they look around them, and apply to Nature, she would furnish shoals of eccentrics more grotesque than any that imagination would venture to conceive. Let him who reads this allusion to "the Captain" (and many will, I doubt not, who knew him well), ask themselves, if the Pickwicks, Nicklebys, or any of the literary caricatures of the day. have presented them with anything having a title of the richness and flavour of the owner of Tom Pipes? Let them call to mind what time the wicked rabble clapped him to see the finish of a race (on which he stood, perchance, his last guinea, and many more), with his face to his poney's tail-and say, did Fielding, Smollet, Hogarth, come within hemispheres of that! But this digression may be held out of season: let us return to Newmarket, or rather the Heath, where we arrive just in time to see the opening handicap won by the Irish Lord's Irish mare and Irish jock -the latter glad in the singular cognomina of Neptune Stagg. This, of course, put the party up in their stirrups for the Cesarewitch, and they did wager away like trumps. The Garden Stakes brought out as a winner Flambeau (Flamboy, as the lads" have him), whose early cry produced so little wool; and then for the Fifty-pound Plate, A. F., Æther, receiving only a stone for his year, beat Ion in a canter. The Tuesday's Fifty-pound Plate for two-year-olds, at Derby weights, was won in a canter by Wardan (Mr. Wreford's Margellina colt, winner of the Buckenham and Rutland Stakes in the last meeting), a nag likely to come prominently into notice for the next year: this was certainly such a trial as ought to entitle him to public consideration. Passing a small Sweepstakes, for which Remnant and Caracole ran a dead heat-the fashion of the present season-we come to the Cleawell, and, once more, Crucifix. She won it, as it was settled she should; but how? seemed to be a question on which there were two opinions. The mare certainly did not go off pleasantly; and there is reason to suppose that her temper, before she started, adhered to her

in the running it was a close thing, whatever might have been the cause, and by no means an easy victory to the eye, at all events.

Wednesday (the great day) put on her best looks, as became her, for the occasion. Some very spirited traffic in Russian stock took place in the town, and nothing else was thought of on the Heath. The way in which Lord Miltown went about business, shewed him to be a financier of no mean pretension. Monday introduced him negotiating largely on double events, and to-day he came out upon velvet-it report might be credited. The two "little goes," with which the racing opened, had comparatively no interest: every body looked for the event; and when it did arrive, was it in guise worthy such 'consideration? Let the reader turn to the list, in the Turf Register, and thus answer the question for himself: Was there a first-a second-rate racer, named for it, that came to the post? What was it won by ?— A five-year-old, weighted at six stone! My patience leaves me when I muse, and sometimes,-absolutely in doubt of the possibility-inquire of my common sense, can such things be?" "If I had a donkey wot wouldn't go," how would I deal with him?-Send him for a handicap, and no mistake. If it appeared to the handicapper that he had no chance in any other way, how do I know but he might award him Hancock's steam-coach it would hardly be more monstrous than six stone upon a five-year-old reputed race-horse!

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There was nothing in the Thursday's running worth a notice; the Stakes were insignificant, and the events without interest: and almost the same may be said of Friday, save that the Prendergast redeemed it from the odium of being without a good race-upon paper. But the issue demands small attention, where, in a field of twenty-one nominations, but three shewed at the post; one of the trio being backed outright at six to one. Here, again, we have Crucifix victorious, in something like a canter! Would that I could meet dame Fortune in the mood wherein Lord George Bentinck must have encountered her, when she put into his hands the ticket for such a capital prize. Crucifix and her dam for a dirty half hundred! it was next to the gift of Bacchus to the Phrygian.

Here finishes the material of the racing at the two meetings; but not the matter with which they had to do. A question, looked forward to with no little concern, was to be decided during the latter of them; and was disposed of by the authorities, but certainly not settled. It is not possible for me to close this notice without going into the details 'of that issue; involving, as it did, one of the most singular decisions probably ever pronounced by a court of honour. It will be in the memory of the reader that a "flare up" took place at the late Goodwood races, between Mr. Somers, a member of parliament, and a Mr. Wakefield; the latter stating, that he had been induced by the former to lay him 600 to 200 against Harkaway for the Cup, in order to secure a start by the Irish horse, on whom he (Wakefield) stood heavily! The statement, that Harkaway would not be permitted to go, unless such odds were wagered, was made by Mr. M'Donough (the gentleman jock) in the public betting-room at the Swan, in Chichester, the evening preceding the race. The next day, Mr. Ferguson, being questioned as to that fact, at once flatly denied that he had ever contemplated such a thing, or had ever given any authority to M'Donough