won by a horrid spider of a man who lives up the country, and will carry the cup out of sight and reach. It was a melancholy finale to a race, for his horse dropped down dead before the jockey could dismount; so as a set-off to this disaster, we all tried to be glad he had won the cup; but I have quite returned to my original opinion of the man. Another of his racers broke its leg exercising, and he gave it over to some surgeon to try experiments on, and there was this poor high-bred thing that had lived in a hot stable, and been cockered up and taken care of like a child, standing on three legs under a tree with only a cloth over it, and looking in the greatest pain. It disgusted everybody so much, that the gentlemen began a, subscription to buy it of him to shoot it, and he was at last reduced to have it killed by mere shame. So it is a pity he has won the cup. George and I have been all three mornings to the races; they occur only every other day. Fanny has only been once, as she has been very poorly altogether for three days; and though she is much better to-day, she has not the least chance of going to the ball that is given to us on Tuesday, which is a great bore. For various reasons it has been put off two or three times,
