THE TURF EXTRAORDINARY. NO. IV. [From the same, April 11.] FOURTH DAY. HUNTERS' Stakes, of ten guineas each, for horses, bona fide the property of the subscribers at the time of naming, which shall have never started, received, nor paid forfeit, nor had a sweat, before the time of naming. Mares and geldings allowed 3lb.Ditch In. [Seven subscribers.] Mr. Gordon's ch. c. Colonel,.. I 2 dr. This race did not afford much sport, the mare having been proved to be the bona fide property of Mr. Dowler, and not the property of His Royal Highness. It also appeared from the certificate of Doctor Donovan, that she had had several sweats before the day of naming. Upon reference, therefore, to the Jockey Club, she was disqualified, and drawn accordingly. Handicap plate of 50l. best of three heats. Across the Flat Eight subscribers. Mr. Whitbread's br. h. Brewer Capt. Sandon's b. b. Waggoner ... Mr. Town's piebald gelding, Velvet Painter 2 2 3 3 O O Brewer is a strong bony horse, in excellent condition, and with a good deal of hard meat in his belly. He is rather headstrong and difficult to manage, but his bottom is unquestionable, and he is upon the whole a good sound horse-won easy. Capt. Sandon's Waggoner ran on the wrong side of the post, and at the moment the bell for rang starting, it was discovered that Mr. Clavering's General was in pound, the animal having strayed, and been found trespassing. The contest, of course, lay between Velvet Painter Painter and Brewer; but the former, although showy, and a good figure, is a horse of no performance. General, we understand, is matched to run against Mi. Dundas's Melville, at the ensuing Bogside races, in Scotland. Second Class of the Oatlands.-Best of three heats. Two miles. Ten subscribers. Mr. Dowler's b m. Mother Clarke. Mr. Perceval's b. h. Premier Mr. Burton's Counsellor Mr. Grant's Raker, formerly Master of the Rolls I I 2 2 3 3 5 5 Sir Wm. Curtis's b. h. Contractor, aged; Sir Charles Price's bh. Courtier; and Alderman Shaw's Scotch Galloway Boo,-forfeited. Two to one upon the mare, before starting; three to one upon her after the first heat. We have often had occasion to notice the performance of the mare; but upon the present occasion she more than answered the expectation of those who backed her, and they were not a few.-Although stinted to Dowler, and with a foal at her foot, she went off in style, and nothing could catch her. It was originally intended to start the noted mare Mother Carey for this plate, but she did not answer in her sweats. With the exception of Mother Clarke, no mare, horse, or gelding, ever won so much upon the York course, as Mather Carey. Subscription purse of 1500 guineas, for fillies rising four years old. Mr John Buli's f. Miss Tailor, walked over. Magna Charta stakes. Best of three heats. Mr. Wardle's bl. h. Impeacher. Mr. Whitbread's br. h. Brewer Mr. Radnor's b. c. Folkstone .... ... I 2 2 Two dead heats between Brewer and Folkstone.-Betting, before starting, ten to one against Impeacher. His Royal Highness the Duke of York's bright bay horse Oatlands, having violated the King's plate ar ticles, THE FLOWER OF THE CITY. 69 ticles, was declared by the Jockey Club incapable of ever running for any of the King's plates hereafter; and his rider having crossed Mother Clarke, and having been weighed and found light, was also declared incapable of ever riding any more for this or any other of His Majesty's plates. The match, Mother Carey against the field-Off by consent. Miss Favourite, own sister to Mother Clarke, was also declared incapable of running for a King's plate, having been entered as a filly, and proving, upon examination, to be past mark of mouth. An objection was taken to Mr. Wardle's Impeacher, the winner of the Magna Charta stakes, upon the ground that he had been figged, but it was overruled. THE FLOWER OF THE CITY: A PARODY. [From the Morning Chronicle, April 6.] 'HE Flow'r of the city, so gaudy and fine, THE 'Midst proud ones the proudest, was erst known to shine! It spread its gay leaves, and it show'd its rich clothes, And to all (less in consequence) turn'd up its nose! Till a blight, a sad blight, from a Democrat wind, Struck the sensitive plant both before and behind. It felt the keen blast; all its arrogance fled, And the Flow'r of the city hung, hung down its head! The Flow'r of the city, thus doom❜d to despair, Droops, pines, and with wailing impregnates the air! Tells its pride and its folly (the cause of its grief), While the tears of repentance encumber each leaf! But vain are its tears, or the fate it bemoans, The world, the base world, gives but hisses and groans! For ever! for ever! its proud hopes are fled, And the Flow'r of the city hangs, hangs down its head! WOWSKY WINKLES. THE THE RAGE OF THE DAY. [From the Morning Post, April 13.] WHITHER, Jack, are your running," cries Ned, “in this heat?" "To Town Hall," replies Jack, "there to-day we all meet, (As you know, perhaps,) by requisition. Votes of censure we chiefly intend there to pass, Rant about a reform, and perform the old farce, Of deploring our mournful condition." "But why, pray, thus eager to censure and whine?" Exclaims Ned. "In your heart you've no cause to repine; Why, then, this ridiculous passion?" "You talk like a fool, Ned; zounds, man, don't you know, Votes of censure on members are now all the go? So, dn it, let's be in the fashion." TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. SIR, TH HE following Impromptu, written by the ingenious author of the New Bath Guide, in the year 1779, may, with your permission, with great propriety be republished in 1809. You say, my friend, that every day, In quest of news, I haste away, But if nor news nor sense it boast, CHARADE. CHARADE. [From the Morning Post, April 14.] MY Y first is a word I believe will be found Not a whit of more use than an ass in a pound. Of Saxon descent, as sage Johnson lays down; Though its use I ne'er yet could find out, I must own: My second in every one's mouth will be found, Though its origin 's low, as it springs from the ground; 'T was call'd by our grandams the staff of our life, And my whole, you'll agree, is a brewer of strife. AN ODE, À LA SHENSTONE. [From the Oracle, April 15.] « Poeta nascitur, non fit." HORACE. "Oh! the joys of the country, my jewel, for me." к. CAPT. MORRIS. MY dogs itch and scratch with the mange; My hogs through the bedchambers range, My beds are supplied well with fleas, And they're of the true Shakspeare strain; For they bite and they suck as they please, And they "murder sleep" worse than the Thane. 'Tis cool to live under damp thatch; And my neighbours so honest all feel, My garden's a sweet little spot, From art and refinement quite clear; In my kitchen there's nought to desire, Which is useless-because I've no meat. Of |