A Mirror of the Turf; Or, The Machinery of Horse-Racing Revealed, Showing the Sport of Kings as It Is To-Day

WITH THE PROPHETS.

"The ingenuity and industry expended on what is called 'tipping' in connection with horse-racing ought to bring good fortune in no halting measure to the professors of the art, who appear to spend their lives in trying to enrich everybody but themselves."

So wrote, some four or five years ago, an essayist in the pages of one of the "superior" magazines.

That the business of tipping goes on as briskly as ever, the experts in that line of turf illusion being still busily occupied in benevolent endeavours to confer benefit on their fellow-men, can be ascertained by all who will take the trouble to glance over the advertising columns of the numerous sporting journals of the time.

A point worthy of notice in connection with these announcements is the style now adopted in fashioning them. New and improved methods of communicating with the public are constantly being devised. Tipping nowadays is a "business" of importance requiring large dealings with the telegraph; but long ago—say about the close of the "thirties," and in the "forties" of the present century, when the writer became interested in horse-racing, consequent on having won a few sovereigns by the victory of Merry Monarch in the Derby—tipping was much less obtrusive than it is to-day, and was carried on chiefly by means of what may be called "disguises." Such announcements as were made public usually bore that the advertiser was in exclusive possession of information about a horse which was certain to win the Derby or some other important race; but, as a rule, the great event decided at Epsom was, in the beginning of tipping, the race most favoured, and the person advertising not seldom posed as "a gentleman's valet out of a place," or as "a stableman dying of consumption," or "an old military man," or as some person very remote from the being he really was.

"Who, then," it will be asked, "were those persons?" Well, as there were not so many of them as there are to-day, when "tipping," as was said a few months ago to a magistrate, is a "profession," it will not prove a difficult task to give information about their ways of working, as I happen to be able to speak with some degree of knowledge of two or three of the number who were among the first to advertise in days when the mediums for such announcements were anything but numerous, and advertising was somewhat costly, there being then an advertisement duty of one shilling and sixpence exigible on each announcement, whilst postage was also expensive.

In the beginning of race tipping the Queen's head had not been invented. The outside prophets had at first only a local audience, but even during the "thirties" London was occupied by a vast population, and there was always a sufficient percentage of its inhabitants so interested in racing as to find employment for half-a-dozen tipsters, in addition to those engaged on such newspapers of the time as kept prophets, some of whom were "verse-jinglers" of no mean capacity, as a selection from their poetic prognostications would prove, were a collection of the best of them to be made and published with the necessary notes of explanation.

The first of the prophets to whom I will refer were a man and a woman, both persons of ability, able to assume a variety of characters, and by doing so carry on their little game industriously from season to season. There was no collusion between them, however; they were in no way connected.

The man, before he began work as a tipster, had been for several years under butler in one of the big Pall Mall clubs, and having drawn the winner of the Chester Cup in a plethoric "sweep"—many of which used to be, and I believe still are, organised in London in connection with the more important races—he found himself in possession of sufficient funds, including the money he had saved in service, to become lessee of a public-house in a little street off Fetter Lane, in which for a time he did well, so well that he took courage and married, his wife being able to assist him in his business.

It is almost needless to say, with a landlord possessed of a taste for the turf, his house came in time to be much frequented by the smaller fry of sporting men having tastes in common and being fond of betting, although the sums risked seldom exceeded half-a-crown, or at most double that amount.

One evil day a constant frequenter of the house introduced a friend of his, who was anxious to start a betting list, and as Wingrave, the landlord, thought a list in the house would improve his business, he gave consent, and Bill Holmes commenced business at the "Caxton Arms." For a period of a little over twelve months all went well, customers increased, money was made, and claims punctually met.

At length there came a frowning of Fortune. The list-keeper was himself a keen bettor, and more than once "perilled his purse" by having all his money on an animal he thought "sure to win." Having backed a horse on his own account to win a particular Chester Cup—in those days the "Tradesmen's Plate" was a most pronounced betting race—and the animal having failed to do what was expected. Holmes was unfortunately unable to come to "the scratch" over the animal which did win, and knowing he could not meet the claims which would be made against him on behalf of the winner, which had been heavily backed at his list, he at once left London, to the great consternation of Wingrave, who dreaded he would in some way be held responsible for the misdeeds of the runaway list-keeper. His foreboding was more than realised; an incensed mob of the creditors of Holmes, taking the law into their own hands, all but wrecked the house. It was in vain the landlord told the crowd he had no concern with the defalcations of the list-keeper; the people would not be pacified. Out of the affair there arose a police case, and although Wingrave was able to convince the magistrate that he had himself been a victim, and had been more sinned against than sinning, he was deprived of his license at the first opportunity, and was unable to obtain possession of another house. Luckily, although two days' drawings had been confiscated by the enraged punters, the ill-used landlord, after paying all claims, had still a few pounds at his banker's, when he was compelled to shut shop.

Nothing in the public-house line of business being likely to turn up, Wingrave, by the advice of his shrewd wife (her father had been a pugilist, and afterwards lessee of a gin-shop in the region of Lambeth), turned tipster, and under the designation of "a retired club steward," offered to give all who pleased to forward half-a-crown to his house in Pemberton Row the name of a horse which would win the Derby; or to those who entrusted him with double that amount, he promised, in addition, to give the name of a filly that would be first in the Oaks, and so ensure a remunerative double event. His Derby prophecy proved a true one, the horse he gave being Voltigeur. The filly prophesied for the Oaks, however, only attained the rather barren honour of a place; still, the tip was considered a good one, fair odds being attainable, which led to much business being done in respect of the next two or three tips. Voltigeurs, however, do not run and win every day, and in time Wingrave came to know by the falling off which took place in the remittances that he would require to make a new departure, which he at once did.

His next move was made in the disguise of "Henry Buckstone, late valet to a sporting nobleman, who, being in possession of several important racing secrets, will send the winners of Two Thousand Guineas and Chester Cup to a select number of gentlemen on receiving a remittance of five shillings." Communications were to be addressed to a stationer's shop in Holborn, and for a time letters came in abundance, as many on some days as fifteen. Once again, as may be said, the ex-publican "struck ile," and a flow of fortune resulted which, happily for Wingrave, was kept up by the consecutive selection of some six or eight good winners. But in time this tipster, like others before and after him, dropped out of notice, although it is certain that he flourished, like the proverbial green bay-tree, for several years.

During the period which Wingrave carried on business, tipsters had much in their favour, the big events of the season being betted upon for months before the day set for their decision.

Fifty years ago, for instance, quotations on the Chester Cup were numerous in the December of the year previous to its being run. Such arrangements, of course, helped the tipsters of the outer school, as people were early in the field to back their fancies or the selections of the adventurers who sent prophecies. For these men the fact of being occasionally successful in naming the winner of a great race, at what was thought a "long price," was just so much capital gained. Two or three successful tips enabled a man to play "the game" to a remunerative tune for at east six months; every time he advertised he obtained numerous replies on the strength of his previous successes.

Before the advent of the "retired club steward" there was a person at work whose success as a tipster was the subject of much gossip among needy bettors; this was the lady tipster already referred to. Yes, a veritable woman, and clever at the work! I first heard about her in "Jessop's," a night house in Catherine Street, among the frequenters of which her tips seemed to have made an impression. The little badly-printed circular containing her prophecies was signed "A. M. Weather." The name of this female foreteller of turf events was said to be Adelaide Merryweather; she was, so I was told by some of the "knowing ones" who frequented "Jessop's," the widow of an actor who had been engaged for a time in one of the then transpontine theatres as a delineator of small parts. The woman's own name was Weather, her husband's name being Merry, and the nom de plume she adopted as a prophetess was a combination of the two; but she traded in tips under other names as well, one of them being John Screwman. Her house, or at least one of the places to which her letters were sent, was in Chapel Street, Soho Square, and, as the postman of the period would have been able to testify, she carried on a thriving business.

Another of the names assumed by Mrs. Merryweather when she put on her prophetic mantle was, if my memory is not proving treacherous, "Arthur Lancefield, late of Middleham." I am writing only what I know, or what I believe from trustworthy information to be true, and my belief is that Mrs. Merryweather was, if not the "inventor" of the method of sending the names of different horses to different batches of applicants, one of the earliest tipsters to adopt and systematise the plan. Trading as she did under three or four noms de plume, she speedily accumulated a long list of names of persons who backed horses; so that when she adopted another name and changed her address, she could send circulars to former customers stating that, from private information which she had received, she believed Mr. Brown Jones (or any other person) was anxious to find out the winner of the Derby (or whatever race might be on the tapis), and that, on receiving half-a-crown, a rare double event would be forwarded to his address.

One of this woman's most successful hits was reported to have been made in the character of an invalid jockey's wife, her circular on that occasion being worded as follows: "A jockey's wife, her husband being unable to ride now in consequence of having sustained a paralytic shock of the lower limbs, does not ask for charity; but being anxious for the sake of her young children to earn a living, will be glad to hear from gentlemen who take an interest in racing. Her husband, having been a noted trial-rider, knows well the form of all the horses now running. Address, Sarah Chiffman, 94A, Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square." This advertisement, I was told, was looked upon as being genuine, and also that half-sovereigns, to cover letters from the date of its issue to the day of the Cambridgeshire, were liberally contributed to the wife of the unfortunate horseman; many people connected with racing affairs fancied by subscribing that they would obtain "something good," whilst the fact of three winners of three races, and a second and third in two more being given to start with, was thought sufficient evidence of the bona fides of the advertiser.

For three or four years Mrs. Merryweather experienced a prosperous time, customers being numerous, as, by means of her system of sending different horses to different persons one or more batches of them were certain to have had winners sent to them, and these fortunate ones were not slow to sound the trumpet of her fame among their friends, so that on some occasions she enjoyed a run of success. How her career ended I cannot say from personal knowledge. Fred Booth, a frequent visitor to "Jessop's," and afterwards a bookmaker in a considerable way of business, used to relate that she married one of her clients, a wholesale grain merchant in the North of England, who had found his way to her house intent on giving the prophet a very handsome present in return for a double event which she had been lucky enough to send him. The gentleman was greatly surprised on discovering that his tipster was a woman, and a good-looking one, possessed of refined manners; and according to Booth, who spoke as if he knew the gentleman, the story came to a conclusion in the neighbouring church in the most orthodox fashion.

I can from personal knowledge describe the doings of one of the tipping fraternity. About the year 1842 or 1843 (I am not sure which of these years it was), I went one evening to Sadler's Wells Theatre to witness the play of King John, and after the tragedy I supped with one of the actors in his lodgings in Arlington Street, near the theatre. We were joined at table by a fellow-lodger of my friend, who seemed to know nothing but what savoured of the turf, and he was so complaisant as to tell me the names of several horses which were pretty certain to win, and, as I know, did win some of the coming events. Being invited, we shared a bottle of capital claret along with him in his "den," as he called his parlour, in which I noted, scattered about, some dozens of newspapers and especially several copies of Bell's Life.

When opportunity offered I asked my friend who his fellow-lodger was. "Well," he replied, "he is, or rather has been, on the press, having some three or four years ago been connected with one or other of the minor weekly publications; but he is now, he tells me, playing a far more profitable part; he has become a racing tipster and makes a good income at that business. His plan is to select about ten or a dozen of the most likely horses and send a different one to win the race and another, or perhaps two others, to get places, to each of his customers, taking care, of course, to keep a record of what he does, and the names and addresses of those who correspond with him.

"Two or three years ago he made quite a hit with a horse called Little Wonder, which, as I dare say you know, won a Derby. That event, my dear boy, set him on his legs; the landlord of the big gin-palace not far from here, who won a good round sum by means of his tip, gave him a present of fifty pounds, and judging from his correspondence and the many persons who evidently call to consult him he must be making money, but whether or not he may be taking care of it is another matter. I suspect, however, it is with him as it often is with others similarly circumstanced, a case of 'lightly come, lightly go.'"

This plan, often since adopted, of sending different horses for wins and places to the different applicants for tips, was in my opinion quite a stroke of genius; the "fine art" of tipping indeed.

Such reminiscences might be multiplied. I was at one time brought into contact with several adventurers of similar kidney to those described, and there are no doubt aged turfites who could supplement what I have said. Previous even to the period I have been attempting to illustrate there was being published a regular racing circular, the precursor of the Lockets, Judexes, and Walmsleys of a later period, whilst newspaper tipping, especially in the columns of certain of the London weekly newspapers, was greatly extended; in not a few of them a "real poet" gushed forth his prophetic lore, and, as has been stated already, not a few of the poetic predictions perpetrated some fifty years ago were exceedingly felicitous in their diction, considering the sometimes very uncouth matter that had of necessity to be dealt with. I remember reading upon one occasion a collection of such poems in a Bow Street tavern (it was kept, I think, by Baron Nicholson), and of being struck with the halting lines and bald phraseology of three or four of the Seven Dials sort, that used at one time to be hawked round the public-houses at which sporting men were wont to congregate. One sample of the doggerel—I am not speaking now of the graceful contributions published by Bell's Life or The Sunday Times, but of the Cattnach kind, written for recital in public-houses, one of which I well remember—proved a fortunate tip, as it wound up with an excellent prophecy:

Another of the kind, after dealing with all the animals likely to start for the race (more than a dozen), pronounced boldly in favour of the horse that won, winding up his narrative with the following rather clumsy lines:

I am quoting these lines from memory, and another concluding couplet dwells in my remembrance:

afterwards altered by "the poet" to:

In respect of the art of really "poetical" tipping, there are few who know how very difficult it is to render the matter presentable; the names to be introduced are sometimes not amenable to the treatment of the poet, no matter how heartily he enters on his task. As one gentleman said to the writer, "to work all these probable starters into readable rhymes, far less to clothe them with some degree of poetic fancy, would need a couple of Tennysons, four Brownings, and half a score each of Swinburnes and Buchanans rolled into one, and even then the product of the lot united might not seem to the editor all it ought to be."

Nowadays every newspaper of importance has to furnish a daily modicum of sporting intelligence, which proprietors find to be a costly item in the ever increasing sum of their expenditure. But it is a circumstance that cannot be helped; there is in reality more interest taken in the handicaps for the Cesarewitch and Cambridgeshire by five-sixths of the readers of the daily papers than there is in all the other items of news added together; indeed, it is not going too far to affirm that two or three of the daily newspapers are indebted for the larger portion of their sales to the fact of their giving every morning a detailed programme for the races of the day, as well as other sporting intelligence. Excellent information of its kind is purveyed by the members of the sporting press, who contribute to these journals; but the tips given are, except to the merest novices, of little use, as veteran bettors can, by the aid of their Ruff or McCall, select horses for themselves.

In addition to the racing news contained in the ordinary run of newspapers, there are three daily journals published all the year round which are solely devoted to sporting news, and these papers deal of course in "tips," and some of them afford a place in their columns to a full score of the daily increasing army of vaticinators; and yet, as must be patent to those who devote time and attention to the study of such matters, no betting man could possibly make a fortune, or even earn a living, by abjectly following either or all of the honest newspaper tipsters referred to.

It is amusing to note how some of the more "screeching" of the newspapers comport themselves. When one of them, for instance, after a period of six or seven weeks, becomes some day so fortunate as to select three or four horses that win as many races, it shouts out next day in loud tones so that all may have news of its prescience—a supremely Irish mode of telling readers that to follow its tips would be ruinous. One day's luck out of twenty or thirty simply means to backers "fell despair," and much of it. There is (or was lately) a tipster who is never done sounding his own praises; "as I predicted, Chance did the trick easily," "my selection Accident in a walk," "I gave two for such and such a race, and my first selection Happy-go-lucky literally romped in."

But what of that, when backers of the two lost their money, the romping in horse starting at odds of 3 to 1 on him! Let us suppose that some sanguine speculator had risked a five-pound note on each selection (because when two horses are selected it is necessary to back both in case of missing the winner), the result would have been a loss of £5 on No. 2 and a gain of £1 13s. on No. 1, showing a balance to the bad of £3 7s. But, notwithstanding, the tipster in question crowed over this feat of tipping, just as a bantam cock does when he is surveying the half-dozen inmates of his harem.

These details will not probably be pleasant to the gentlemen of the sporting press; but there are among them several who have no occasion to assume that my remarks are personal, because they are persons possessed of knowledge, who announce their selections in a modest manner, and give good reasons for their faith; but for the kind of tipster who told his readers not only that Pioneer would win the race for the City and Suburban Handicap, but would do easily, I have but scanty respect. That tipster must surely be a green hand at the business! Why did he not add that if the horse did not win easily he would eat him? "Will win," instead of "may win," is a mistake in tipping often committed by some even of the veteran press tipsters.

Pressmen who review past races and prophesy on future events are compelled, like jockeys, "to ride to order"; in plain language, they must found their tips on the public form of the horses commented upon. It is not any part of their work to "guess" that any particular horse will win a race; hence it is that the professional prophets are now and again completely "floored" by the victory of an animal they dared not even assume to have been possessed of a chance. It is always on the cards that an outsider may win.

There are every day busily at work at the present time an army of over two hundred and fifty advertising tipsters—pure adventurers, recruited from all sorts and conditions of men. The writer took pains, three or four years ago, to ascertain, by personally interviewing a number of them, what manner of men they were. His idea of the kind of persons he had supposed them to be was at once corroborated, as the first of them with whom he could obtain an interview he immediately recognised as a bookmaker who had welshed him at Ascot two years before; another of the fraternity was identified by a friend as a "swell cabman," who used to have a lucrative connection in the City, his customers being chiefly stockbrokers and bankers' clerks; but more surprising than either of these was the discovery that among the motley crowd, and evidently, from the fact of two clerks in an outer office being busily engaged in filling up telegraphic forms, doing a roaring trade, there was a younger son of a very well known and wealthy London citizen, who, having failed at the University, and "gone to the bad" in business, had taken to tipping.

Well do I remember reading one morning in The Standard that Bill Jones, one of "the ruins" bookmakers, had been sent for ten days to prison as a rogue and vagabond for betting, the alderman who passed the sentence being the uncle of the tipster to whom I have been alluding!

Could a census be taken of these prophets, embracing their antecedents, it would be found that not a few of them were persons who had lost money in backing horses or in laying the odds against their chances, reminding us of the celebrated definition of the critics being "men who have failed in literature and art."

As has been remarked in the course of the foregoing observations, the art of tipping is now a business over which no disguise is thrown, although an occasional advertisement still crops up in the old style. One or two of the present-day tipsters correspond with "gentlemen only," but on being communicated with, these persons do not seem particularly anxious to restrict the number of their clients; what they really want is "a remittance." At the present time there are tipsters who carry on business in different fashions; some ask for a fee that will cover a week's work, others seek an all-day remittance, whilst not a few deal in single-horse wires or "paddock snips," as they designate their information. There are also tipsters who ask only to be paid by results. "Put one shilling on each of the horses I select for you to back, and if one wins, remit me the odds obtained," indicates the mode of doing business adopted by such prophets.

As a matter of course, the tipsters of the time are ever varying their names and addresses. When they make a series of hits under one designation they trade on that as long as they can, but when business begins to decrease because their tips fail to disclose winners, then a change of locality and another name gives chances of renewed good fortune. Thus the man who was "A. 1." a month ago is now figuring as "X. Y. 3.," whose tips, "privately given," made the fortunes of several gentlemen two years ago, "so that I" (that is "X. Y. 3.") "am induced to allow the general public to participate in my information." About the period of the Derby in each year I take stock of the tipsters' advertisements, and have found, as a general rule, that only about thirty per cent. of those who advertised in the previous year remain in the field—the others having either retired or changed their names and addresses.

The class of tipsters of whom I have been writing earn a great deal of money, but many of them spend it recklessly, never thinking that they may be overtaken by the proverbial rainy day. Judging from the vast number of telegrams which are despatched on busy race-days, two or three thousand pounds a week must reach these tipsters, the majority of whom make it a rule, I fancy, to incur no expense for information, although some among them are always boasting of their staff of highly-paid assistants. These men take the tips given in the morning newspapers and retail them to the fools who trust them for a shilling, or perhaps half-a-crown, whilst the simpletons who purchase the information could obtain it for one penny, and all the news, political and social, as well!

Of the fools who are born in every minute of the day and night, a very great number deal with the advertising tipsters to their ultimate loss. It is only right, however, to let it be known that there are a few honourable men among the blacklegs who take much personal trouble and incur considerable expense in obtaining information of a reliable kind for those who trust them. But these men fail to make backing pay; they no doubt experience runs of luck, but even with runs of luck the balance at the close of the year is sure to be on the wrong side of the account.

The proprietors of several weekly racing periodicals at present published, not satisfied seemingly with the sales of fifty or sixty thousand copies which they say their papers attain, send out daily tips by telegraph, or pen nightly letters to all who will pay the requisite fee, and according to their own accounts of what they achieve their success as tipsters is enormous; but it may be fairly stated on behalf of the gentlemen who cater sporting news for the daily press, that considering the difficulties incidental to the formulating of their prophetic work, they do wonderfully well, although it has been often stated against them, as a matter of reproach, that they "follow the money"—in other words, tip those horses which are being or are likely to be heavily backed.

MODERN BETTING ILLUSTRATED AND EXPLAINED.

I.

Having received the selection of his tipster, or having become enamoured of a horse selected by himself, the bettor proceeds to his club or other rendezvous where he knows he will find a bookmaker ready to lay the odds against the horse of his choice.

In this he finds no difficulty. In large towns and cities, and in smaller seats of population also, there are persons whose business it is to accommodate such customers. Bookmakers and backers have many ways of coming together; they meet at divers times and seasons and in divers places as a matter of course, and during those months when there is little or no horse-racing they keep up acquaintance with each other at billiard matches and in their clubs; indeed, sporting events of some kind on which "a nice little bit of betting" may crop up are always on the tapis, whilst during the winter season there are usually a score or so of steeple-chase meetings which are provocative of speculation in bookmaking and betting circles. The great coursing meetings which take place in the season when racing is pretty much at a standstill also give rise to a vast amount of betting, of which very little is known, because it is not published from day to day.

The enormous extent to which betting on horse-racing goes on all the year round is known to those only who make the matter a special study. It has been computed by persons who should know that not less than five thousand bookmakers are daily engaged throughout the United Kingdom in laying the odds against horses to stakes ranging from sixpence to perhaps, on some occasions, as much as five hundred or even a thousand pounds. Taking it, for illustrative purposes, that each layer of the odds deals only with a hundred customers, it becomes obvious that there must be at least five hundred thousand persons engaged in betting. The exact number, however, could it be ascertained, would doubtless prove much in excess of these figures. Were it said that at present there are over a million persons who take an interest in horse-racing or in some of the other sports and pastimes of the period to the extent of backing their opinions by a bet, it would not probably be an exaggeration.

In one Scottish city there is, it has been calculated, a hundred bookmakers at work every day on the streets or in clubs or offices, doing business with all comers at market rates, and to stakes varying in amount from shillings and half-crowns to "tenners and ponies" (£25). As that city contains a population of over half a million individuals, it affords data for calculating that there may be two hundred bookmakers for each million of the population congregated in the great cities and larger towns of the kingdom, which for London alone would give more than one thousand layers of the odds, whilst Manchester, Liverpool, Bradford, Leeds, and Birmingham, will undoubtedly have a number correspondent to their population. "Here, every one bets," said a London club steward one evening to the writer, whilst busy entering names for the annual Derby sweep, "every one from the City to the West End; the cabman who brought you from the railway station, the porter who took your hat, the man who sold you that copy of the special Standard, all bet, and in hundreds of our public-houses and tobacconists' shops you can find a bookmaker if you want him."

A glance at what takes place in large cities and big provincial towns every day, but more particularly on days set apart for the decision of important races, shows hundreds of people rushing about to interchange their tips and opinions and to learn what is being done. On such days telegraphic messages rain into the more important clubs, of which there are from six to twenty in each of the towns named, and in these places from three to thirty bookmakers will be found ready to bet with all comers.

In these clubs may be seen groups of bettors each with an eye on "the tape," which winds out its automatic lists of the running horses, their jockeys, and the odds at which they are being backed in the ring, followed in due course by the name of the winning and placed horses and that important item of information, the "starting price," so much valued by bettors. As race follows race the same routine is repeated, so that a flutter of excitement is kept up till the programme is exhausted. Winners over the first race take heart and go on speculating, while men who have lost make an effort to retrieve their bad fortune by extending their investments, and thus the game continues till the last race of the day has been decided.

There are men constantly engaged in betting who in their own circles are not suspected of doing so. Some of them do so by the aid of friends who possess a knowledge of the business, others steal into the bookmakers' offices, and looking about them fearful of being observed, whisper their business to the layer of the odds or his clerk. The lame and halt, the blind and dumb, the rich and the ragged, daily rub shoulders in quest of fortune in the betting arena. Men with well-ventilated boots and guiltless of linen under-garments pass their shillings or half-crowns into the jewelled hand of the bookmaker, who at once rattles off an entry to his clerk: "6 to 1 Gold for the Fortunatus Stakes."

A score, perhaps, of such poverty-stricken gamblers could not among them muster clothes of the value of the albert chain and pendant hung from the watch of the bookmaker's penciller.

Racing to-day spreads itself over a wide field, and to witness the decision of such races as the Derby or St. Leger Stakes, the Chester Cup, the City and Suburban Handicap, or the Royal Hunt Cup at Ascot, tens of thousands will assemble between the classes and the masses, each person seemingly more interested than the other. Some are on the scene from pure love of sport, others from their desire to bet, and when a race is decided, especially one of the great handicaps which give rise to so much betting, tens, nay, hundreds of thousands of pounds will have been lost and won, the sum total being of course made up by a vast number of small and many large transactions.

Varied estimates have been formed of the amount annually expended in betting or horse-racing. At the Doncaster St. Leger Meeting, which lasts four days, there will probably be thirty races run, from four to fifteen horses competing in each. To accommodate the persons who bet on these races there will be on the ground not less, all told, than five hundred bookmakers, and assuming that only £20 are drawn by each of them over every race, that would represent a total amount of £300,000 risked on the thirty races run during the four days. An exponent of racing finance said some years ago, in an article contributed to The Edinburgh Review: "Taking it for granted that £1,500 only is risked by bettors on each of the small races run during the season, and that there are say 2,600 such contests, the total will amount to nearly four millions sterling! To that sum must be added the money risked on the larger races. On the popular betting handicaps, such as that run at Lincoln, the City and Suburban, the Royal Hunt Cup, the Northumberland Plate, and several other important racing events, not forgetting the two great Newmarket handicaps of October, quite a million sterling will be represented."

To affirm that a sum of from four to five million pounds is annually risked in bets on horse-races looks like wishing to play on the credulity of the public, but good reasons exist for believing that the amount named is about right, and under rather than over the real total, could it be ascertained. It is still possible to back a horse running in a big handicap to win from twenty to fifty thousand pounds. Roseberry, the property of Mr. James Smith, won both the Cesarewitch and Cambridgeshire in the same year; Mr. Smith taking, it was stated at the time, a sum of over a hundred thousand pounds out of the ring by the victory of his horse. The event was remarkable as being the first occasion on which these two races were won by the same animal. The public benefited largely by the victory of Roseberry; it would be no exaggeration perhaps to say that two hundred thousand pounds would fall to be paid in all, but the bookmakers had of course the sums betted against all the other horses that ran to pay with. There were twenty-nine running in that year's Cesarewitch, all of which were backed at some price or other, the favourite, Woodlands, which started at the odds of 4½ to 1 against its chance, being heavily supported.

There are writers on turf matters who maintain that there is not now so much betting as there used to be, but that contention can only apply to particular races; for, as a matter of fact, there is in reality five times the amount of turf speculation to-day that there was forty or fifty years since. Take Scotland as an example; half a century ago there was no person earning a living by "bookmaking" alone. True, the "lists" have been "put down," but clubs have arisen, where betting, as has been stated, is going on every day and all day long. Races to which the lists applied were, comparatively speaking, seldom on the tapis, although betting on them, it is right to say, began long before the day fixed for the event to be decided, so that bettors were afforded ample opportunities to "back their fancy." Even at present there are books open on the Cesarewitch and the Cambridgeshire months before the horses are entered for them.

The English betting men lately carrying on business in the French towns of Boulogne and Calais betted on these handicaps, as may be said, all the year round. These bookmakers betted with all comers chiefly for ready money, and have been known to lay from five to fifteen thousand pounds against each of two or three of the horses engaged in a popular race. With the daily betting now prevalent, and the occasional spurts which take place over important races held at Manchester, Derby, Leicester, Sandown and Kempton Parks, it may be taken for granted that the amounts involved, so far as totals are concerned, are greatly in excess of what they have ever previously been estimated as being.

Those who maintain that "the betting of to-day is nothing to that of forty years ago," usually cite in proof of their assertion the large sums which were wont to change hands over the Derby, such as the £50,000 won over St. Giles, or the £150,000 that Teddington's victory cost the ring, one of the members of which paid one of his customers a sum of £15,000 the morning after the race. Many reminiscences of big sums lost and won over the Blue Ribbon of the Turf have appeared in print, and also of the amounts won at the lists. These were large, no doubt, but the money as a rule went into few hands. When the big bettors, who had the entrée of Tattersall's, were paid their twos and threes or ten thousand pounds the money was exhausted; but not fewer than twelve or fifteen thousand individuals would probably draw from five to fifty pounds each over Bluegown's victory in London, whilst quite as many persons scattered over the United Kingdom would pocket lesser sums.

That the "small money" expended to-day in betting soon accumulates can be easily proved. Here is one way, for instance, of arriving at an illustration: there are at the present time about twelve thousand public-houses in London, nearly all the frequenters of which take some degree of interest in the Derby or other race, and assuming that each house on the average has two hundred and fifty regular customers, of which one hundred will have a bet on some race of the season, that gives a big figure. Should each person back a horse by even the outlay of a modest half-crown, the total money so invested would sum up to the very handsome amount of something like £150,000, and certainly quite as much would be risked by more daring backers.

In this view of the case it is in vain to tell us that betting is declining, either on the Derby or any other event of turf speculation. The great obstacle to big bets being made is the miserly rate of odds now offered by bookmakers. In the case of Surefoot, that did not win the Derby of 1890, the odds laid on that horse at the start required the investment of £90 to win £40, a luxury that only people with more money than brains were able to afford.

In the turf market the bettors—the backers are here meant—have, of course, the worst of the deal throughout, the money risked finding its way into a very few hands at the end of the chapter. Backers come and backers go day by day, but the bookmaker, who plays a prudent part, holds his place and strengthens his position more and more. Those familiar with the incidents of betting know full well that not one backer of horses in every hundred can live at "the game." Most bookmakers see ninety-nine of their clients go down, many of them with great rapidity, the kind, for example, that come on Tuesday morning and are squeezed out by Friday afternoon. Others prolong the struggle for a time by being able to fight a stronger battle, being, perhaps, more prudent or better provided with capital. Few of those who in any one year begin to back horses with the running of the Lincolnshire Handicap are able to live at the business to the date of the Cambridgeshire, which is the last "great" race of the season.

Every now and again "plungers," as they are called in the slang of the period, make their appearance in the betting rings and carry on their betting with an enormous flourish of trumpets. The financial feats which they perform in backing horses are frequently chronicled by the sporting press, and thus it is we learn that "Mr. Blank" ("the famous plunger" of the period) "had another series of fortune-yielding innings yesterday, having landed over sixteen hundred pounds on the day's racing."

Such good fortune is, however, phenomenal and seldom lasts long; besides, no one takes the trouble to chronicle the many bad days which Mr. Blank is fated to encounter, the outcome of which leads, as a matter of course, to the usual finale. Beginning on the plan of dealing for ready money dealings only, the plunger ultimately does a large business on the usual credit terms of settlement every Monday, and in the course of a few months the racing public learn that the great man has come to grief, and is offering a composition of five shillings in the pound, in order to lighten his liabilities. So it is in time with all who tread the same path, even with those of them who come from the other side of the Atlantic to break the English betting ring, and who for a season look as if they would prove successful.

Many schemes are resorted to by the bigger class of betting men to obtain information. Jockeys are pumped, trainers are interviewed, stablemen are bribed with the view of enabling the plunger to land a big bet or two at every meeting. There are men, of course, who would scorn to take a vulgar money bribe, but who do not scruple to receive a case or two of champagne, or a ten-gallon cask of whisky, nor are they very angry when some energetic person sends their wife a diamond ring or their daughter a gold watch. Upon one occasion while visiting a training establishment, the writer was struck with the display of jewellery which adorned the person of a trainer's wife; probably enough, none of the ladies of those owners who had horses in that man's stables possessed such a valuable collection of gems as she wore on her fingers and bosom, nor did the lady evince much reluctance about giving their history—she was not reticent.

It has from time to time been hinted that the money lost by backers of horses finds its way to a good amount into the coffers of a few turf sharks who are banded together in "a ring," and who have dealings with not a few of the training fraternity as well as with a number of the jockeys. There may be a degree of truth in what has been said by certain newspapers with regard to this mode of conspiracy, but much of this kind of gossip which percolates through the columns of the press is only gossip—not gospel. Even if it were founded on fact it would be difficult to find proof of such misdeeds. Those persons who have the best chances of making money by means of horse-racing are the men who act as go-betweens for jockeys, or for trainers, or for such owners of horses as are also keen betting men. Of late years one or two of this fraternity have come to the front, having proved wonderfully successful at the business and put money in their purses, honestly it is to be hoped. At any rate they have become wealthy, and from being helpers or touts on the training-grounds have "risen," as one gushing writer said about them. In other words, they have now a bank account and enjoy the luxury of clean linen and water-tight boots, which hundreds of men who back their "fancy" cannot hope for.

When the tide of "luck" favours those men who court the smiles of Fortune in racing circles, she seems to lavish her treasures on them with an unsparing hand. There are men now living at Newmarket worth thousands of pounds that ten or twelve years since would have found it difficult to scrape together ten shillings. These are among the men who have "risen," and so dazzled the eyes of some of the gentlemen of the sporting press. When they own a horse or two, as several now do, and one of their animals proves successful in winning a race, they are at once elevated another step, and spoken of by some writers as "the astute Mr. So-and-So," or as Mr. This-and-That, "the clever and intelligent owner" of Cheek and other well-known horses.

During recent years much has been written and said against the system of betting for ready money. Of all the "fads" (the reader is asked to excuse this vulgarism) connected with gambling on the turf that have become prominent during recent years the denunciation of ready money betting is certainly the most extraordinary—the most abused of them all. Ready money betting has been declared illegal. But why should betting in ready money be wrong if betting on credit be right? If any kind of betting be proper it most assuredly should be betting for ready money, than which there ought to be no other kind of betting. The rules of logic were never surely so much set at naught as when it was decreed that betting by means of the payment of ready money—that is to say the depositing of the stakes—should be stigmatised as being illegal. Probably by an interpretation of the law there is no such thing as legal betting; it has hitherto been held that betting of any kind is illegal. Bets are not recoverable at law; but bets made by one party who acts as agent for another party can be sued for, and may be recovered; at any rate the person who instructs an agent to make a bet on his behalf can be sued in a court of law for the amount of the stake. It surely is reasonable to argue that if betting for ready money be bad, betting on credit is worse. Everything points to the probability of betting when it began being for ready money only, and that as a rule stakes on both sides were deposited pending the event to be decided. Why should it not be so to-day?

With the advent of credit betting began the reign of the "blacklegs," the nefarious frauds and swindles, the poisonings and pullings, the watering and watching of horses, with which men who interest themselves in the sport of kings are now so familiar. Judging from the tone of recent legislation, what our parliamentarians are wroth about is, that betting has become a business requiring the intervention of that middle man, the obnoxious "bookmaker," but it is really better that it should be so, if betting on horse-racing is to be allowed to be continued in any shape. Why should men who will never cease to bet so long as horse-racing goes on be driven to bet one with another, which is the worst form of speculation? Who can mention any more humiliating spectacle than that furnished by a "noble" sportsman "doing" his friend over the Derby, or some other race? In reality that is the kind of betting pointed at by some of our turf big-wigs as being the best form of speculation of the kind; to these men the bookmaker is a disgust.

It is earnestly to be hoped, if horse-racing is to endure, in which event there must be betting, that the bookmaker will be permitted to ply his pencil, as also that he will be licensed by the Jockey Club and be authorised to bet for ready money only. The writer of the article in The Edinburgh Review, already referred to, puts the case in favour of ready money in a forcible fashion: "If a man were compelled to deposit his stake every time he made a bet, he would be more cautious in betting. Put me down the odds to a monkey is easy to say, but the monkey (£500) is not so easy to pay if the bet is lost, and were it to pay at the moment the chances are that no monkey would be put down."

Betting between private friends is a horror of the worst description. Think of Major Bobadil laying Ensign Simple 100 to 25 against a horse which he knows will never be started for the race it is being backed to win. In such circumstances what would be a proper designation for Major Bobadil, blackguard or blackleg? It will of course be said, if you go to a bookmaker he possesses the same knowledge, and so he may; but then the bookmaker is neither your mess-fellow nor your private friend. Persons who are determined to bet ought never to bet with a friend, but should invariably resort to the professional bookmaker.

It is not necessary to say much more about this phase of betting, because the arguments against credit and in favour of ready money are so obvious and so strong as not to require voluminous illustration. It is quite certain that if a man were required to table his five, ten, or twenty sovereigns every time he made a bet, betting would speedily diminish, and far less would then be heard of "turf iniquities" and crimes of the turf. When, for instance, a man has betted for a week at Epsom, Ascot, or Newmarket, and fortune has gone against him, he will stick at nothing in order to be able to settle his account, as he may have interests at stake which demand imperatively that Monday shall see his account in process of liquidation. A man would not perhaps deliberately forge or steal to obtain a sum with which to make a ready money bet, but there are circumstances in which he would do so in order to settle his account when he has been betting on what is called "the nod" (credit).

The following is a case in point. A few years ago a man lost a heavy sum. He knew well that on the following Monday he must pay or a fine bet he had of £5,000 to £50 would be at once scratched; the horse backed having in the interval become a great favourite for the race. In such case to settle was imperative, and a settlement was accomplished; how the sum necessary to pay what was due was obtained was never made public, but it became known to several persons that a robbery of jewels, of a suspicious kind, took place at that gentleman's residence on the Saturday night following the decision of the race. A footman was apprehended on suspicion, but his master, saying it could not possibly be he who stole the jewels, declined to prosecute. Happily for the lady whose gems had been purloined, her husband won his big bet, and she was able to shine in a newly bought suite of diamonds.

A history of the rise and progress of betting would be full of interest. It takes two, and occasionally more than two, persons to make a bet, and, as has been indicated in a previous page, in the earlier days of horse-racing the amounts betted on both sides were usually deposited, or in racing argot the money in dispute was "staked," in the hands of a third party till the event betted upon could be decided. No data exists to show when the professional bookmaker as we know him came upon the scene; but it may be taken for granted that the "penciller" was not evolved at once, but that the system grew by means of what it fed on, originating, doubtless, in the practice adopted by certain gentlemen who, having made a series of bets, were anxious in consequence to get "round," as the process of hedging is called, or, in other words, to be in a position not to lose their money, or, to put the matter still more explicitly, to possess a fair chance of winning something and losing nothing. At the beginning of racing, and for a considerable time thereafter, what little betting occurred took place chiefly on the racecourses; but as time elapsed several men distinguished themselves, or, at least, became notorious, as "betting men," both giving and taking the odds all round, and accepting the odium of sometimes being called "legs" (blacklegs) by such persons as only made single bets, and objected to the wholesale modes of betting which were coming into fashion. Before Tattersall's was established as a betting centre, many gentlemen made their bets in the way indicated, namely, among themselves and with one another on the racecourse, or at their clubs and in their houses, and in the more primitive days of sport nearly always staking the amounts betted with a third party. As betting on horse-racing increased in magnitude, both in the number of bets made and the amounts betted, the bookmaker, or professional betting man, became a necessity, and, as usual, demand soon created supply.

Since it originated, the incidence of betting has undergone several changes. About the end of last century it was greatly the fashion to bet on one horse against the field, and that mode of turf speculation was long prevalent, and did not change into the present more extended way of doing business till the present century was well begun. Such betting was indulged in by the owners of race-horses, their humour finding a vent chiefly in arranging matches between their respective animals for sums of money, ranging perhaps from £50 to £5,000 as might be arranged.

The professional bookmakers who first took the field in opposition to the "gentlemen legs," as a few of the layers of the odds were designated, were not, so far as education and manners were concerned, particularly bright; but in consideration of their being prompt to pay when they lost, their defective education and lack of manners were overlooked. Several of the gentlemen who owned race-horses soon discovered that the mere winning of a stake by means of any particular race, however large the sum run for might be, did not reimburse them for the outlays which they had to make by keeping a stud of horses; hence the horse became an instrument of gambling, and remains so at the present time.

II.

Betting on greyhound coursing, especially in connection with the struggle for the Waterloo Cup, run for amid the distraction and ditches of Altcar, is assumed to be gambling in excelsis. When a person backs a horse for a race, the event is decided, so to speak, in an instant; there may of course be a dead heat, but dead heats are sufficiently rare, and need not be calculated upon. When a man bets on the Derby, he is delivered from all suspense within three or four minutes after the fall of the starter's flag. But it is not so in the case of the dogs. On the average of the courses decided at Altcar, a brace of greyhounds will keep the bettor in suspense for six minutes or so, and when it is considered, in the case of a stake in which sixty-four dogs take part, six races must be run before the backer of a dog to win the Cup can receive his money, it will be sufficiently obvious that very long odds ought to be obtained against those dogs which take part in the struggle. Such, however, as a rule, is not the case, and sanguine men have been known to accept odds against a dog which had six races to run, which they would have indignantly refused against a horse which had only to run once to win or lose them their money. In the case of one Waterloo Cup the winning dog actually ran eight times before it was declared to be entitled to the Blue Ribbon of the leash. What, then, it will be asked, by those who are unfamiliar with the incidents of coursing, are the rate of odds given and taken on such occasions? And if the odds offered are false, what are the figures which would really represent the true chances of the animals competing in a Waterloo Cup sixty-four?

Some questions, as all the world is aware, are much easier to ask than to answer, and the question just formulated is one of them. If the form of the sixty-four dogs which are nominated for the Waterloo Cup was utterly unknown, the price of each could only, of course, be represented at what may be called a very long figure—say, for the sake of even counting, 100 to 1—and when the first round of the struggle was finished, and thirty-two of the dogs defeated, the odds, even in that case, against the thirty-two survivors of the first act of the battle should still be considerable, five rounds of the battle having yet to be contested. But as the form of the dogs had become known from what they had accomplished in the first course, it is vain to expect that 40 to 1 will be offered by any of the bookmakers—although it is fully that sum, and much more, against half the number—because as the event proceeds sixteen of the dogs must be beaten, and so on to the end of the stake; the sixteen victors will in time be reduced to eight, four, two, and one. The task which is originally set before the bettor on the Waterloo Cup is, as a matter of fact, to select out of a pack of sixty-four dogs that one which will in the end be declared victor, and it is assuredly no easy task even to persons who are familiar with the previous performances of the animals. In dog races as in horse races, the favourite sometimes wins—and the Waterloo Cup has been taken more than once by the same animal—the winner on the second occasion starting at pretty short odds. Master McGrath, a dog belonging to the late Lord Lurgan, won the Cup three times, whilst the successes of Fullerton have been recently chronicled.

It is impossible to tell what may happen to dogs in such a struggle as the Waterloo Cup. Some which have previously shown good form in other coursing matches, even on the same ground, prove worthless while the battle of Waterloo is being fought, going down before, perhaps, a foe of no fame in the very first round. Even the very best greyhound must have good fortune on its side to achieve such a victory; it must, too, be in the best of health, it must get well away from slips, and be slipped against a lively hare, and then it must do all it knows to beat its opponent. A judge is appointed at all coursing meetings in order to decide which is the best dog in every pair that is slipped. He judges after a given fashion by awarding to the runners the "points" which they make, the dog which makes the greatest number being declared the winner of the course.

To those who are not "up" in the mysteries of coursing a brief explanation of the mode of judging may be given. Great powers are invested in the judge; what he says is law, and from his decision there is no appeal. The brace of dogs being in the slips are let loose by the slipper "at" a hare, which he runs them on to, so that they may see it. The speediest dog from the slips will receive one, two, or three marks, as the judge may determine, the number given being dependent on the opinion he may form of the race. For a "go-bye," the judge may award two or even three points. A "go-bye" is when a greyhound starts a clear length behind his companion, then passes him and gets a length in front. For turning the hare one point is given; for a "wrench," which means diverting the hare from its course at less than a right angle, half a point is awarded. For a "trip"—a trip is an unsuccessful effort to kill the hare on the part of the dog—one point is given by the judge. The killing of the hare obtains two points if it prove a very meritorious one. To the dog which, in its course, is awarded a majority of these marks the victory is given.

Critics and tipsters who attempt a week or ten days before the battle begins to point out the victor have a rather hard task set them, but on some occasions the winner is "spotted" with wonderful precision. As a matter of course, in dog prophecy as in predicting winners of horse-races, the tipsters either "follow the money" or depend on "public form" to pull them through.

Great complaints have been made in various quarters about the chicanery which in some years has been associated with the Waterloo Cup. Certain members of the committee are very jealous of the honour of this great coursing match being kept as free from any stain as possible; but those who have carefully studied the incidents of the great Altcar gathering are perfectly convinced that there is in connection with it, to designate it mildly, a good deal of "finessing": and a large amount of the gambling element has long been a most prominent feature of the meeting. In some years plenty of wagering takes place. The Waterloo Cup being set for decision at a season of the year when much horse-racing cannot take place, and when betting on horse-racing is not at all brisk, commands the speculation of the moment, and gives rise in consequence to a vast amount of gambling. As a popular writer on the turf says, the dogs give occasion for "one of the biggest gambles of the season."

So long as the Cup is constituted as at present, this game of speculation will continue. The gentlemen who have subscribed to the stake do not require to nominate the dog they intend to run till the evening preceding the first day of contest. It is obvious, therefore, that by this plan of procedure there is room for any amount of "manœuvring," and that a nomination may be backed to win perhaps £20,000 at pretty long odds, while in the end a dog may be named to fill it which, had its name been known, would have caused the nomination in which it was to run to become first favourite. This will be better explained by imagining that the present year's winner will be able to run again next year; if so, and the nomination in which it is to run be made public, it will assuredly be backed at a very short price, say 7 or 8 to 1, long before the night of the draw; indeed, the moment betting begins, which is usually about the middle of January or earlier, it will figure in all the lists as "first favourite." But supposing the dog were next year to belong to a gambling owner, he would never be a party to its running at any such odds as has been indicated; he would want most likely, for the benefit of himself and friends, to back the animal to win some £20,000, and the longer the odds he could obtain the less risk he would have of losing money; therefore, he looks about him to find some gentleman possessed of a nomination but without a dog good enough to run in such an important stake as the Waterloo Cup. That gentleman's nomination may be quoted in the public betting at 50 or 66 to 1, so that if it can be arranged that he shall run the dog, a large sum of money may be won (in the event of victory) at excellent odds as prices are now arranged.

This sort of thing has occasionally taken place, some of the tactics employed being scandalous enough; but where there is gambling there must in time be scandal. Large sums change hands over this great dog contest, because, in addition to the "long odds" against a dog winning the stake right out, there is an immensity of speculation on every separate course, when the "short odds" are taken against one dog beating the one which goes to slips with it. Probably there will be five or six thousand persons present at the contest busy betting on every course, and in this way, in the course of the three days during which the battle wages, many thousand pounds will certainly change hands.

Prizes are provided for the thirty-two dogs which are beaten in the first round of the Cup; these are the Purse and Plate, on which (locally) a vast amount of betting also takes place. No calculation of the amount of money which changes hands or is betted on the great Altcar contest has ever been made. It has, however, been more than once publicly stated that a Waterloo dog can be, and has been, backed to win a sum of £40,000 for behoof of its owner and his friends and followers, while it is often enough the case that dogs hailing from some populous locality, dogs which have a name, are entrusted with the sovereigns of four or five thousand persons. It would be no exaggeration to say, generally, of the Waterloo Cup that probably a dozen out of the sixty-four dogs nominated will be backed on the average to win (at the long odds) £25,000 each, whilst ten may be entrusted with the odds to win some £10,000, making for these dogs a sum of £400,000, which has been laid at various rates of odds, and it may be taken that the other forty-two dogs will be backed before the contest is over to win £100,000. Only one dog, of course, can win, so that as a rule bookmakers should be largely in pocket, especially when most of the favourites are beaten in the first round—no improbable event; other animals then come into prominence and are heavily backed. A provincial bookmaker, who never betted to more than pound stakes, told the writer that on the first two days of Snowflight's year (1882) he gained a clear profit of £279, and being quite pleased, stopped business and contented himself the last day with looking on at the gambling of others, and so making his visit to Altcar a profitable and pleasant holiday.

Two thousand people, it is averred, will each bet, on the average, £1 over every course which is run at Altcar, which, on the Cup alone, would represent in stakes alone a sum of over £125,000. These figures—they are but rough calculations at their best—may be taken for what they are worth, as affording an index of the gambling which is incidental to the modern "Battle of Waterloo."

Apropos to the name "Waterloo" Cup, it may be mentioned that it is not at all of heroic origin; as a matter of fact, the stake originated in the Waterloo Hotel, at Liverpool, which has long since disappeared, its site being included in the buildings of the central station. This hotel was in its day a hostelry of some degree of fame and a choice resort of the coursing fraternity. In that house, then, in the year 1835 the stake was originated, and run for in the following spring for the first time, eight dogs only taking part in the contest, the winner being Melanie, a dog belonging to Mr. Lynn, the landlord of the house. Such was the origin of the present great Altcar contest. At first an eight dog stake, it speedily became one for sixteen and then for thirty-two greyhounds. In 1857 the Waterloo Cup reached its present dimensions, and has ever since continued a sixty-four dog stake.