liberality, divided the bet between them, Peasant receiving fifteen napoleons, and poor Pug the remaining ten. After cooling themselves and their tempers, several other bouts at the same game took place, almost all of which were in favour of our countryman, which greatly consoled him for the first loss; the truth is he had got "fly" to the move.

The weather being drizzly and the fun growing wet and warm, the next proposition was a challenge for billiards; Colonel Frazer offering to take seventy-five points out of a hundred, and play Lord Henry on horseback, for a "pony" a game. The novelty of such a match was irresistible; Lord Henry, delighted at the originality of the idea, at once accepted the offer, agreeing to give the odds demanded, Colonel Frazer merely stipulating that it should be played on the Jockey Club tables, which were there situated on the ground-floor, and easy of access. Consequently without further delay we all adjourned from his lordship's house on the Boulevards, to the Club, then facing the Rue Richelieu, the Colonel hurrying off to mount his equine partner. In a few minutes in he rode on his favourite barb, a beautiful little park hack, as docile as a lamb, and not much bigger than an ordinary sized pony.

Colonel Fraser was decidedly a light weight; a spare, thin, weatherbeaten countenance denoted his having done much service, and the red riband in his breast button-hole pointed to his having done it with honour; he was a first-rate sportsman, and excelled in riding, shooting, billiards, and all amusements and pastimes requiring personal skill and adroitness.

The news of such a curious match, as may be imagined, spread quickly, and messengers were despatched to all the leading members of the club, so that the saloon became crowded to excess, many being glad to find even standing room; this was by no means in favour of the man and horse, the latter showing symptoms of becoming fidgety before the first stroke had been made. The betting was extremely lively, and considering how trivial the affair very heavy.

A very knowing fellow, the Baron Lotzbec, gave us what in modernised slang is now called the "straight tip," and said it was pounds to pence on Lord Henry, as it was impossible for the Colonel to make a bridge. Once more we had the "bad luck" to get hold of the wrong "griffin," for the little Colonel, what with twisting and turning, and half throwing himself off his horse, who had regained his confidence and good humour, managed to win the first game in two breaks, his lordship, who was a very fine player, only managing to score fortythree.

Again and again did the Colonel have the best of it, until at last, Lord Henry finding the affair was "no catch," threw down his cue in disgust and walked out.

"Ah, come along," said Jemmy, rather vexed at losing, "human nature is never worth backing for anything; we ought to have stood' the animal."

In this state of special sporting excitement we usually passed our early mornings, unless prevented by inability, through nursing a recovery from the effects of a royal orgie. I will not here attempt to draw up the veil, the nocturnal veil which shrouds, or ought to shroud

the mysterious doings of the small and later, or earlier hours of the twenty-four, but the old saying of "may the evening's diversion bear the morning's reflection" was frequently bandied from one to the other with a grim painful laugh, perceptible on the wrong side of our mouths. Jemmy, formed by nature and constitution fresh in the fields of uncurbed liberty, entered heart and soul into the very essence of pleasure. Perfect health, buoyant spirits, and of a sanguine temperament, without a care, or a thought for the morrow, to him all was coleur de rose, and the charms of deceit, and the transitory happiness of life appeared before him tout au naturel, and everlasting.

But what can I say of myself, the miserable, heart-broken, hardened remains of a pure and sanctified sacrifice? I placed my hand upon that region where once all was warmth, affection, and true love-it beat no longer-cold, cold, my heart. Oh, cease said I, this vain and empty struggle, it is but a forced and fruitless attempt, a hopeless effort at re-action.

By a most unthought of and unforeseen occurrence our career in thoughtlessness was cut short, the relation of which event forms the subject of the following chapter.

VESPASIAN;

WINNER OF THE CHESTERFIELD CUP, AT 10ST. 4LB.

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

BY CASTOR.

Vespasian, bred by the Rawcliffe Company at the York Paddocks, is by Newminster, out of Vesta, by Stockwell, her dam Garland, by Langar-Cast Steel, by Whisker-The Twinkle,by Walton-OrvilleLisette, by Hambletonian.

Newminster, foaled in 1848, and bred by the late Mr. Orde, was by Touchstone, out of the equally famous Beeswing, by Dr. Syntax, as he was a long way the best of the old mare's produce, the others, beyond Nunnykirk, including nothing of much repute. Beautifully bred, Newminster had the further recommendation of personal appearance in his favour, as he was one of the neatest horses ever stripped; long and low, with very true symmetry. He was particularly bloodlike, in which respect his stock very frequently take after him. Newminster's great, and indeed only, performance of any mark was winning the St. Leger, when he beat one or two of Sir Joseph's formidable team of that season, such as Aphrodite and The Ban. At the stud he has proved himself signally successful, being the sire of more winners than any other stallion of the day, two hundred and twenty-two being now credited to him. These include the Derby winners Musjid and The Hermit, and the St. Leger winner Lord Clifden; with, amongst other notabilities, Aurora, Contadina, Joey Jones, Imaus, Kildonan, Cerintha, Limosina, Onesander, Adventurer, Cambuscan, Oldminster, Oscar, Saragossa, Dr. Syntax, Archimedes, Cathedral, Strathconan, Vespasian,

Tespasian:

Winner of the Eshcoterfield Cup, at Wot it.

Beeswing, Crown Prince, Léonie, Ines, Pericles, Ulphus, The Peer, Kidderminster, Chanoinesse, Mysotis, and Cestus. Newminster was also the sire of the highest-priced yearling ever sold, Angus, that made £2,500 guineas at the hammer. Many of his stock have proved that they can both gallop and stay, but they are generally supposed to be a little tender, and not to like being brought out too often. As we have said, they often take after his good looks, and Lord Clifden is now pronounced to be the handsomest horse at the stud, as he was a long way the grandest nag of his time when in work. Newminster, who had been declining for the last few years, and was very infirm in his feet, died at Rawcliffe in October, 1868, so that there are a few of his two-year-olds and yearlings still to come out.

Vesta, as her belongings out of that stout bit of stuff, Garland, would imply, was bred by the late Sir Charles Monck in 1857. She ran very creditably as a two-year-old; but, after starting for both the Derby and Oaks, suddenly dropt down to the lowest leather plating, and went to the stud in her fourth year. Her first foal, in 1862, was a filly called Zephyr, by Windhound; after which the mare became the property of the Rawcliffe Company, since when her produce has been thus registered: 1863, Vespasian; 1864, Lochaber, by Newminster, (died on his passage to New York); 1865, Violation, by Voltigeur; 1867, Sabrinus, by Newminster; and in 1869, a filly by Adventurer. Vesta, still in the Rawcliffe stud, was barren in 1866 and 1868.

Vespasian is a rich blood bay horse with black points, standing over fifteen-three but under sixteen hands high. He has a lean, bony, but not coarse head, with a wonderfully intelligent eye, and an altogether sagacious expression. He has a strong neck and good shoulders, but is light in his girth and 'in at his elbows. He has a round barrel and a strong back and quarters, while his thighs are not proportionately powerful, but his hocks are well shaped. He has not very large arms or knees, and his pasterns are long and weak; as, in fact, the way in which he twisted his ankles about when walking in the paddock previous to running for the Derby was, as we said at the time, quite "a caution" to witness. To look on, indeed, he is, with such a pair of forelegs, just about the last horse in the world to have gone through all the work he has done. Otherwise, when in action, what with arching his neck, throwing his ears back, and twitching his nose-with all his style and carriage, backed by his magnificent colour, Vespasian is a horse that is sure to command attention, taking as he does much after the smart blood-like character of his sire. His temper, however, is none of the sweetest, and when pressed upon he is apt to be very "handy" with his heels.

At the Rawcliffe yearling sale in 1864 Vespasian was knocked down to Mr. "Henry" for 420 gs., and went into Goater's stable.

In 1865, being then two years old, he came out at Bath in Mr. W. G. Craven's colours, when, ridden by J. Goater at 8st. 7lb., he won the Western Stakes for two-year-olds-half a mile-beating Mr. W. Day's c. by St. Alban's out of Doralice, 8st. 12lb. (2); Mr. Merry's Student, 8st. 5lb. (3); Lord Portsmouth's Lady Audley, 8s. 71b.; Lord St. Vincent's Redan, 8st. 10lb.; Count F. de Lagrange's Fleurette, 8st. 71b.; Sir F. Johnstone's Loaf Sugar, 8st. 7lb.; Mr. E. Edwyn's br. f. Elegance, 8st. 4lb.; Mr, Meredyth's Mother of Pearl, 8st. 71b.;