our own government is altogether indifferent to
the importance of the matter, as a certain
encouragement has long been given to the breeding
of good horses.

It may be as well to state here that it is
for nags, hunters, hacks, and so forth, that
England has been more especially celebrated all
the world over, whilst the material of these is
assumed to be supplied to us direct from the
turf. Racing is a national sport, officially
recognised as such by the Crown, which bestows
an annual grant of upwards of five thousand
pounds towards the maintenance of the
pastime, though it may be as well to ascertain
how far the royal countenance is yet
warranted. We must, in the first instance, take it
as admitted that the excellence of the horse
has been developed by such means; and then,
curiously enough, we must proceed to trace his
deterioration to the same cause. If, with more
horses than ever; if, with the production of the
thorough-bred, as our fountain-head, multiplied
over and over again, and springing up and
cropping out in every direction; if, with more
stock we have a less available supply; there
must be clearly something wrong in our
management of the material. And, no doubt, there
is something amiss. So far as any useful
purpose is concerned there is no question but
that the modem system of racing tends to a
deal more harm than good. How can we
reasorably expect to find a fair share of stout
weight-carrying hunters, when the practice of
the turf, whence we are to obtain our hunterblood,
is going in the opposite direction? The
modern race-horse is required to be neither
stout nor strong. He is no longer valued for
any such properties. If he can carry six or
seven stones for half or three-quarters of a mile,
he is worth hundreds or thousands more than if
his great merit were the ability to run four
miles— as his forefathers did— with twelve stones
on his back.

At the present moment there are not more
than three or four such races run from one year's
end to the other, while there are not more than
three or four horses found ever capable of going
such a distance. In fact, lasting powerful
well-developed animals are no longer needed
on the turf, as there is not that money to be
made out of them which may be realised by a
smart two-year-old, or a speedy weed that can
just live over the two-year-old course. And
here, on this ground— the two-year-old course
— we meet with the root of the evil. In proclaiming
it we are making no new discovery nor
startling announcement, but simply referring to
a fact as well known to the Senior Steward of
the Jockey Club as it is to her Majesty's Master
of the Horse. It is this pernicious practice
which is surely and certainly undermining the
breed of our English horses. From the outset
we act in defiance of nature, as from his birth
the race-horse has but an artificial existence.
The law itself has been altered to suit this
monstrous system, and the colt accordingly
dates his age in modern times from the first
of January, instead of from the first of May.
There is every incentive to have the foal born as
early as possible, and he comes accordingly
on some raw nipping January morn, or just when
winter fairly sets in with February, to be coddled
and coaxed from the hour of his birth like house-
lamb, and to be sacrificed, most probably, at an
early period. Thus the young one is forced, and
pampered, and prematurely developed, either for
sale as a yearling, or to race as early as possible
in his second season. It would be unfair, though,
to shut our eyes to the fact that thorough-bred
yearlings have never realised such high prices
as of late. So grand and well-looking have
they been brought out, that the foreigners have
had little chance against our own home buyers,
and fortunately nearly all the best have 'been
kept in this country. One of these magnificent,
finely-grown yearlings, to whose extraordinary
merits the most superlative expletives could
scarcely do justice, Lord of the Hills, made
eighteen hundred guineas— and never afterwards
was worth as many shillings. Another,
the Nugget, knocked down for fifteen hundred
guineas, developed into an overgrown monster
that could never be trained, and was eventually
sold for a few pounds to a veterinary surgeon,
who must have been puzzled what to do with his
purchase. Umballah, bought as a yearling for
eleven hundred guineas, was disposed of again at
three years old for thirty-five guineas, without
ever having appeared as a race-horse; Voivode,
at a thousand and twenty guineas, ran once;
and Å’nopides, who could never be brought out,
cost one thousand guineas at one year old, and
realised twenty-five guineas at three years old.
Canto, at one thousand guineas, was not good
enough to win even a handicap; The Avenger,
at another one thousand guineas, ran but twice,
and was cast out as a cripple at three years old;
Greenfinch, at an investment of nine hundred
and ten guineas, was a wretched plater that ran
behind in selling stakes; and Automaton, whose
original value was nine hundred guineas, died
early in his third year. It is scarcely necessary
to descend any lower on this list of bargains;
but we may stop with Cellarius, an eight
hundred and fifty guineas yearling, that finished
his brilliant career during last season, when
he won the immense amount of thirty-two
sovereigns at Pontefract, and thirty sovereigns
subsequently at Northallerton— a fine return on the
original outlay?

These are, we believe, the highest priced yearling
colts ever sold by public auction, and the
majority of them amongst the worst animals,
even in this degenerate age, ever handled. There
are others, of course, yet to be tested; among
them, Archimedes, a yearling, knocked down al.
the notorious sale of Lord Stamford's stud, for
no less than three thousand guineas; but it
must be borne in mind that this took place in
December, when the yearling had, of course,
been in work and possibly tried; for at her
Majesty's sale in the spring he only fetched
hundred and twenty guineas. What does all
this prove? That young animals artificially