The breathless, anxious mass glare with straining eyeballs at the struggling horses. In an instant one is seen to shoot out-the black and scarlet; he stole away some two or three lengths ahead of the others. Crack, crack, crack, go the whips; the blue is creeping up, hugging the cords; then, and then only, does Ned slightly turn his head, but for a single instant, to take stock; 'Now then,' he exclaimed; win or die!'

'Oats wins in a canter!' 'No, no, Gameboy wins!' 'Blue for ever!' But Oats had shaken the others off. No whip, no spur touched him, no scored or lacerated sides, no mark across his satin skin. He came striding along with even, clock-like action: he seemed slightly frightened at the unearthly roar; but the steady hand that never let his head go kept him straight; another instant, and it was over. Wild Oats had won the Derby, hard held, by half-adozen lengths.

Long before the riders returned to scale the numbers were hoisted. Gameboy run a game horse, and was sixth.

Look at Sir Frederick's carriage now; no more anxious faces— the countenances were beaming with delight.

One man alone of that party, under pretence of looking for things in the hampers, is sobbing aloud-it is Sir Frederick's old butler. Oats is returning, and walked past the winning-post. At his head is a flushed, handsome, happy-looking young man-it is his owner. Close behind him is Sir Frederick and the Captain.

'God bless you, Stockman!' exclaimed the Baronet. 'I'll not 'forget you, my boy! this is the best day's work you have ever done ( or ever will do.' And so it was.

'Never in doubt, was it, Ned?' asked the Captain.

'Well, sir,' replied the delighted jockey; 'I did not know rightly 'I had got them till I was round the Corner; and though my horses hugged me a bit, once clear I was all safe. I could have won as far again if I had liked. I never touched him from beginning ' to end.'

Now the shouts are commencing again. The wild huzzas are deafening. The saddle is taken from the still panting steed, and even whilst it is being done the result is already known hundreds of miles away. The wires are flashing the news.

The sky is darkened by a cloud of pigeons; the banjo and bones are at it again; ceaseless popping of corks announce that the champagne tap is turned on in earnest.

Another wild huzza as the lucky rider of Wild Oats comes forth in his light overcoat, accompanied by Sir Frederick, his son, and Captain Portman.

The gallant horse is clothed and led away, followed by his game companion. Shouts again rend the air as he leaves the enclosure.

There!' said Captain Portman, to a noted bookmaker; 'I told you that you would know more about Ned Stockman after the race. It does not follow that to win a Derby, or any other great race, 'you must have a well-known fashionable light-weight-a fellow

'that travels about in his brougham, with a valet to attend on him, and is a great deal bigger man than his employer. Bosh! I think 'we have shown the public to-day that there are men-unknown 'men-who, if they had the chance, can ride just as well as your 'cracked-up jocks. Not that I wish to depreciate them in any way. Hunting is the school to give a fellow a knowledge of pace. Ned has shown you all that he not only possesses that knowledge, but is patient, can ride, knows how to save his horse, and when to 'come.'

Horses are now being put-to; cabs are already on their way to the little village; hundreds are wending their way to the stations, and leaving the ground. The grand excitement is at an end; the great race for the year is over. Few care for the other races on the Derby Day; those who stop are bent on enjoyment-if eating and drinking under every sort of difficulty can be called enjoyment.

On a clear grey day, years after Wild Oats had won the blue 'ribbon of the Turf,' a pack of foxhounds might be seen drawn up on the edge of a common. A fine-looking lot of dogs they were; the men, too, were well appointed and well mounted.

None had as yet arrived, though several pink coats in the distance were wending their way to the meet. Presently a gentleman on a weight-carrying blood horse trotted up, and, touching his hat courteously to the huntsman, said, 'Sir Fwedewick Blake's hounds, I believe?'

'Yes, sir, yes,' said the huntsman, raising his cap; 'but hunted by his son, Mr. John; he will be here directly. Sir Frederick comes out to-day, and when he does Mr. John always drives the Baronet.' 'Indeed,' said the stranger, for stranger he was. 'Does Sir 'Fwedewick hunt now?'

'Hunt, sir! yes, indeed he does; he is as keen as his son at it, though he cannot go quite so often at it as he would like-four 'days a-week is too much for him now. Very few men can beat him now, when on Grey Hercules-a horse now, sir, nearly twenty 'years old, but as fresh as a four-year old. Sir Frederick is wonderful 'fond of this meet. The young gentlemen, Mr. John's boys, will be 'out to-day; rare young gentlemen to ride they are, to be sure.' 'Mr. John's boys?' said the stranger, musingly; 'I did not know 'he had any old enough for that.'

one ten, and the Then they have a country-no one Sir Frederick are

"Oh yes, sir,' replied the cheery huntsman; 'other eight. Entered very well, sir, they did. good hand to show them the way to cross a can beat Captain, Portman even now; he and 'always in the first flight; rare men, both of them, but then they 'know the country so well.'

'Ah,' murmured the stranger, such is life! His children! and hunting, too! It seems but yesterday 'they were married. And 'Wild Oats, huntsman, and Tearaway, what of them?'

'They, sir,' replied the man, his eyes glistening as he spoke, ' are

'in velvet, and have been ever since they ran for the Derby-stud'horses, sir; and such stock as they get, to be sure! Their sub'scriptions are always full. I rode Oats for the Derby, sir: the Baronet gave me a thousand pounds and a cottage for winning it; 'Mr. John a thousand, and Captain Portman the same. I was stud'groom for some years, but when the first whip died I took his 'place. I am not the huntsman, sir; Mr. John carries his own horn-and well he hunts them too. There comes Sir Frederick, 'sir, in the mail phaeton, and the young gentlemen riding beside 'him.'

'And Miss Blake, where is she?' continued the stranger.

'She married years ago, sir, and is now on a visit with her 'husband and children at Sir Frederick's.'

'Changes, indeed!' said the stranger, as he moved slowly away. 'Thank God they are all right, and that I was rendered powerless to 'do the injury I intended. I made my own bed, and a deuced hard 'one it was to lie on for some years; however, thanks to Portman ' and my wife, I am yet well off.'

"Well, Stockman, well,' said Sir Frederick, as he drove up; 'hounds all right? Who is the gentleman you were talking to?' 'I don't know, sir,' replied the first whip. He is quite a stranger to me.'

'Ah,' said the old gentleman, some one come to see our hounds. They will not disgrace us. Well, we must show him sport. This is the best meet. We have a flying country. I am glad he picked 'out to-day. It is a difficult country, though, to one not used to it. You had better tell him, Stockman,' said the Baronet, clambering into his saddle, 'that if he wishes to see the finish, he had better keep near you, instead of taking a line of his own.'

How goes the time, Jack?' asked Captain Portman of the young

master.

Twenty minutes good, Portman. I wonder who the stranger is. 'But here comes my father. He has been talking to Stockman ; 'perhaps he knows.'

As Sir Frederick rode towards his son and Captain Portman, the stranger did so likewise. Coming up, he said

Sir Fwedewick, Jack, Portman, will you 'shake hands, and forgive an erring, but repentant man?'

Good God!' exlaimed the Baronet. 'Lord Lavender! Of course I will shake hands with you. I am right glad to see you in 'the old land again. I know you have suffered long and deeply. Jack is glad to see you; so is Portman.'

'Indeed we are,' answered both, grasping him by the hand.

And Lady Lavender,' intercepted the Baronet, how is she? 'Where are you located? You must come and stay with us.'

And so it was arranged that Lord and Lady Lavender and their two children should come to Sir Frederick's the next day on a visit. 'Tell me,' continued the Baronet, as the hounds were drawing the cover, 'what became of Crafty.'

'Oh, he and the Nobbler drank themselves to death in about a year. The widow married a Frenchman. But, see! the fox has broken,' pointing to the wily varmint, as he stole away, whisking his brush, as if in defiance.

It's the old stager!' exclaimed the Baronet. He has beaten us three times before; we are in for a stinger.'

The hunt was still continued, but the shades of evening were falling apace; yet five men might be seen struggling along, following the hounds. These were the Baronet, Lord Lavender, Jack Blake, Captain Portman, and Ned Stockman.

Gad!' exclaimed the Baronet, as his horse, from fatigue, nearly floundered on to his nose. It is a good thing we all nicked in for our second horses. I can't go another field.'

'Or I either,' answered the others.

'The fox will never live to reach the covert,' said the huntsman, as he viewed the wet and beaten animal dragging himself along, with his brush trailing behind him, very different from the defiant-manner he whisked it over his back when he broke covert. The huntsman's prediction was verified; the gallant animal was pulled down one field from the covert.

No one save the five horsemen heard the who-op that was given; the large field had tailed off long ago. The famous Berrow Coppice Run was talked of for years after.

Our tale is now done. Since I began it many changes have taken place in the hunting world. There is one evil gaining ground apace. Many letters have been written, but to no effect. The noble sport of fox-hunting will soon exist no longer if WIRE is to ruin dogs, horses, and men. No one will be able to go a yard. Let us hope that the erring in this way will see the wickedness and folly Let us hope that racing will soon be on a better footing, that betting will be abolished, that two-year-old stakes will be done away with. The Turf wants many changes. My readers may think Jack Blake and his racing transactions overdrawn. They actually occurred to a friend of mine. He had a fearful sum depending on a ~ horse he really knew nothing about, belonging to a worthy Baronet. I was stupified when he told me of the magnitude of the sum. said to him, 'What on earth would you have done if it had not 'come off right?'

He answered, 'I should not have been here to tell you the tale.' There was terrible significance in his words. 'However, old 'fellow,' he continued, I never bet a farthing again. I have been at it for years; but I am landed at last.

MY FIRST LION-HUNT.

FROM my very boyhood I have been devoted to th sports of the field and flood, and I can remember well the delight with which I dropped my first brace of birds on a 1st of September-now, alas! many years ago. Since that eventful day I have carried my gun in pretty nearly every part of the world where sport is to be had; and the adventure I am about to relate is but one of many in the pursuit of my favourite pastime.

It is now some twenty years since I was at a place on the south coast of Africa, called Elephant Bay. We had heard that lions were to be found, so a party of natives were employed to discover their whereabouts for us; and early one morning a hunter came off to the ship, and told us that the night before they had tracked a lioness to her lair, and that for a consideration' they would conduct a party of us to the spot. This was, as my readers will easily imagine, glorious news; so at noon a party of four of us, neither of whom had ever shot anything wilder than a hare, landed, and after a sweltering walk of about five miles through dense bush and scrub, arrived at the scene of action.

On coming in sight of the natives who had been left to watch the animal, I at once saw that it would be a case of close quarters, as the men only made signs, and would not speak; and on our quietly asking where our expected foe was hanging out, they pointed to a large tree, certainly not more than forty yards distant from us. Taking a good look at the caps of my rifle, and feeling with the rod that both balls were close down, I took up a position in front of the tree just in the line of road the natives said the beast was in the habit of taking when going abroad, and placed a native with my second gun close behind me; the rest of our party and the native hunters distributing themselves in a circle round the tree, so as to be ready for her whichever side she broke cover. All being ready, a signal was made to a number of natives stationed in the adjacent trees, and they began to shout at the top of their voices; and in an instant we heard a noise like the growling of a mastiff, increasing in sound and intensity. My readers must not fancy that the noise they hear from the kingly beast in captivity is anything like that which he makes when in his native wilds. Placing his mouth near the ground, the monster gives a prolonged growl, which reverberates around in a volume of sound which can be heard for miles, striking every living thing with terror. was the sound which now broke the stillness of the air. native behind me pressed my arm, and told me she was very 'angry.' Immediately after this she got up, and we saw her for the first time, as she began walking up and down under the tree, as you see the animals in the Zoo do in their cages, lashing her sides with her tail, and sometimes throwing it right over her back.

Such

The

All at once she saw me, rather stooped the fore part of her body,