back.

Then rose "White-headed BOB," and foined and smote,

Setting his slashing steel against the throat

Of his old friends, and wrung from them applause.

The champion was valiant, though the cause

Was doomed to failure, and betrayal. Yes!

The subtle Chief thus aided in the press

By an ally so stalwart, turned and rent

The flag he fought for, and the valour spent

In its defence by thee, was wasted all.

Yet 'twas a sight when, back against the wall,

White-headed BOB would wield that flashing blade,

That BRIGHT scarce parried, and that GLADSTONE stayed

Only with utmost effort.

Yes, 'twill live

In record, that fierce fight, and radiance give

Through Time's dense mist, when lesser stars grow dim,

And though the untimely ermine silenced him,

The clear and caustic critic, though no more,

That rhetoric, like the Greek's, now "fulmined o'er"

Democracy's low flats, but silent sank

In those dull precincts dedicate to Rank;

Still its remembered echoes shall resound,

For he with honour, if not love, was crowned,

Whom those he served, and "slated," like to know,

Less as Lord SHERBROOKE than as "BOBBY LOWE."

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

"The Yacht" Jersey.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

You will see par mon adresse that I am encore une fois on my travels! At present, in fact, the Channel Islands "claim me for their own," as Lord Marmion says in BULWER LYTTON. Pardonnez-moi, if I occasionally lapse into French, for vraiment il y a such a mixture of tongues that we might almost rename them the Babel Islands—even my noted Parisian accent is scarcely understood. C'est étonnant! and were it not for EULALIE, I should quelquefois be in a fix agaçant.

I told you in my last letter that I should be unable to brighten Goodwood with the sunshine of my smile. But what is Goodwood compared to racing at Jersey? Indeed, it was unfortunate for Goodwood that the meetings clashed, and it should be avoided in future.

It has been blowing hard for some few days, and we had rather a rough passage, and though the yacht was not a wreck, I was I am afraid, in spite of the compliment paid me by Mr. SPOOPENDYKE K. SIDNEY, the well-known American Four Millionnaire, who said he thought me "a real smart sailor!"—and he was very near the truth, too, for the salt water got in my eyes and they did smart; but I resolutely declined to go "below," and hung on to "the shrouds," I think they called them—a most unpleasantly suggestive name, when you are dreading a watery grave every moment. However, we got to our "moorings" at last (as Othello would call them), and having chartered the inevitable "sharry-bang" started for the course.

By the way, en passant (I have not dropped into French for a long time), what a strange thing it is, that the moment you land at one of these islands you are immediately advised to proceed to another.

I was told at Guernsey that I must on no account miss seeing "Sark." so I didn't—but was careful to observe it from a distance—for really, in these days of eruptions one doesn't know what might happen on such a volcanic-looking island!—and besides, I always carry a pocket "Ætna" in my dressing-bag, so that I can have a flare-up whenever I like. But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes! sharry-banging out to the races at Jersey. Well, really now, judging from some of the lovely toilettes worn by the Jersey "Daughters of Eve" (an old-established journalistic expression, and to my mind, most idiotic and insulting—we are not all tempting!)—they are in front of a good many of their Main-land sisters!—and the Hospitality—(always a capital H, I believe)—shown by the 1st South Lancashire Regiment is not to be beaten anywhere! The Lawn was well patronised, and the enthusiasm was tremendous—seven events—all over two miles, and two over hurdles, where one came down! What more could you want—together with a glorious day, "and all the fun for the Fair!"

The great event of the day was "Her Majesty's Cup," for three years' old and upwards—(one went downwards)—and it was won, for the —th time in succession by Jersey Lily (I won't tell the exact number of times, as it is rude to hint at a lady's age)—amid a scene of excitement almost as big as the Eclipse at Sandown!—she was "followed home"—(racing expression—patented)—by Lady Westhill and Lady Steephill—so you see we were quite among the haut-ton—though some of us had never heard of these aristocratic thorough-breds before!

And so the Jersey Goodwood is once more over!—and we have again from the springy turf of the Solent—(a most insecure footing)—caught in the flush of the sunlight the gleaming white sails of the vessels on the Goodwood Downs!—(this may sound a little wrong—but I prefer it to using a more stereotyped and matter-of-fact description).

As to the racing of next week—I have not the faintest idea where it is, what it is, or why it is!—but such trifles do not disturb me, and I will proceed to my usual prophetic utterance on the event of the week!

Yours devotedly,
LADY GAY.

The Bank Holiday Stakes Selection.