Besides, where some Lotteries were good and well managed, others were simple robberies, in which the public were victimized of every sixpence they contributed to its amount; so that it would not do to make fish of one, and fowl of another. We are old enough to recollect the sensation created at York, in Surplice's year, when Tommy Smelt's Lottery was in full force, giving very valuable prizes to the fortunate holders of the lucky tickets. In that year, an impudent stable-boy, who was present at the drawing of the tickets, put his hand into the wheel, and glancing at the card he had chosen, exclaimed in a loud tone, Surplice, by -!' which so astonished Smelt, that, in the excitement of the moment, he burst out with an announcement, Why, he is not in it!' This at once opened people's eyes to the character of the Lottery, which was immediately dissolved, and never revived again. We are given to understand that one of the Chifney family, being in great distress, has conceived the idea that a republication, in its original shape and form, of that curious book, called 'Genius Genuine,' by Samuel Chifney, might be the means of extricating her from the embarrassments by which she is at present surrounded. Now as this is such a racing age, and the book in question is so little known, the opportunity presents itself of combining an act of charity with the means of acquiring an amount of information which is not to be obtained elsewhere. And if our owners of racehorses, and our great Trainers, were to purchase and distribute it among their jockeys and stable-lads, great good might result from it. We perceive that the Touts still cling to the system of adopting the names of our great Jockeys, as advising upon all the important races of the year, and as, from the cost of their advertisements, the practice must be a paying one, it gives evidence of the striking necessity that exists for an increase in the number of Asylums for Idiots. The lovers of Four-in-Hand will be glad to hear, that although Steam has monopolised the greater portion of our public roads, they still have an opportunity left them of enjoying their favourite mode of travelling, as the Brighton Coach, which was so successful last year, is again on the road, doing the distance between the Great Metropolis and London-Super-Mare in as short a time as an Irish fortune-hunter would convey an heiress or a widow there. The names of the proprietors are a sufficient guarantee that the teams are composed of useful short-legged machiners, and as the air is very conducive to the exercise of the digestive organs, half an hour is allowed for lunch, while ample time is given for those who merely want a toothful of anything. The Ship, at Charing Cross, is made the starting-point, instead of Hatchett's, in order to avoid the sharp collar-work over the stones between these two places. Its days of leaving London are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, returning from Brighton on the alternate ones. And to such of our readers who would like to enjoy a mouthful of fresh air, and have a drive through a beautiful country, we would recommend a run up and down on the Brighton Coach, and feel convinced they will not grudge the time spent between the milestones. Another advantage is, that shouldering is done away with. In our last number we commented somewhat strongly on the conduct pursued by the friends of the late Mr. Stebbing towards him, and we did so on what we conceived to be sufficient authority. We have since been informed that these statements were wholly untrue, and we therefore have no hesitation in entirely withdrawing our remarks which were founded on them. |