་ the veins of the newly-born venture. As time went on, it was seen everywhere. Newsvendors could not supply copies in pace with the demand, and its fearless exposé of city frauds and Israelitish usury confirmed the first impressions it had made. Its brief history has in fact been one success; so no wonder that its promoters and proprietors should wish to gather its staff together around the dinner-table, to review the pleasant past and rejoice in the prospect of a brilliant future. It was, from what we hear, a gathering unique in the history of journalism. A certain amount of mystery had shrouded many of the writers, and it is more than probable that some of them met face to face for the first time. This, of course, added a zest to the banquet. The Artist in Oils and One of the Hands must have gazed at each other with mutual admiration, and the Member for London listened in wonderment to the stores of knowledge that Atlas disclosed. If some round the board were ''prentice hands,' they were, we feel sure, kindly and warmly encouraged by their masters in the art, and that the genial host shed the light of his favour equally on all need not, we suppose, be told. Goodwood, the great,' the ducal,' the glorious,'-under which name Bezonian-is upon us as we are finishing these pages, and though it hardly deserves in these latter years all the high-flown adjectives applied to it, yet it is still Goodwood, which means everything that is charming and excellent, save and except in the way of sport, which is certainly not always up to the high mark of old days when Lord George was king. Royalty was there of course, for it would not be Goodwood without the Prince and Princess of Wales, and there were other royalties and serenities, while society was fairly represented. The faithful Commons were not present in any great numbers, Mr. Disraeli keeping his bad boys so hard at work that they were not allowed a holiday even to see the Stewards' Cup run for. The race itself was one of those spread-eagling affairs we so often see for this event, and the great favourite Killiecrankie ran so badly, that there were ugly rumours of his having been got at. He tried to run away with Hunt in the morning, and at the post for the Cup he could scarcely be got to move, Major Dixon, who was assisting Mr. McGeorge, having to take the whip to him to get him to join his horses. He was one of the first beaten, and Trappist and Coomassie, being quickest on their legs, had the race to themselves, the former winning in a canter, about as good a performance as there is on record. The Stakes gave us a very fine race from the distance between the three placed, and Fordham had another opportunity of displaying his jockeyship, for waiting for one ruse he caught Bertram opposite the Stand, and beat him by a length. Mr. Barclay's horse getting where he did was rather a surprise, and Freeman has shown himself something more than a handicap horse. The weather was everything that was delightful, the luncheons on the usual liberal scale, the toilettes, with few exceptions, not striking, and the pretty faces, we grieve to say, might have been counted on the fingers of your hand. |