has a good chance they help themselves pretty liberally to a share of the money at the highest rate of odds. Fortune seemed on occasion to play into the hands of Mr. Swindell as if no one else deserved a turn. He was the first to learn from Sir Joseph Hawley that Beadsman would be his best horse for the Derby, that colt having beaten Fitzroland, who had become a prime favourite for the Blue Ribbon from having won the Two Thousand Guineas. "Put me £1,000 on Beadsman at the best odds you can obtain," said Sir Joseph, and Swindell was able the next day to tell the lucky baronet that he had obtained £18,000 to the stake authorised. "All right," was the reply; "now help yourself, it is a good thing." And so it proved, as Beadsman, beating twenty-two competitors, won the Derby of 1858, and that horse was the sire of Blue Gown, which ten years later placed another big stake to the credit of the noble baronet. The turf transaction which gave Mr. Swindell his first good "lift" as a manager of racing events was his manipulation of Chanticleer, a horse that won the Goodwood Stakes in 1848, a race on which there was at one period a great deal of betting. That being so, a heavy commission was executed at the request of Mr. Merry, and so much was the horse's chance esteemed both by owner and commissioner, despite the heavy weight he had to carry, that still more money was put on his chance; but in spite of the well-known fact that Mr. Merry had backed Chanticleer to win a big sum, his price in the market never "shortened," which being contrary to the usual state of affairs, caused Mr. Swindell a great deal of uneasiness. After thinking the matter over for a few days, he came to the conclusion that the jockey who had been engaged to ride the horse had been tampered with, and having stated the grounds of his suspicion to Mr. Merry, that gentleman assented to the changing of the jockey at the last minute. Then it became patent, from the frantic efforts of certain bookmakers to back the horse, that the suspicions of the commissioner were well founded, for ridden by C. Marlow, who had been quietly engaged by Swindell, Chanticleer won the race as had been expected by those interested he would do. When, at the ripe old age of seventy-four years, Mr. Swindell died, worth, as was carefully chronicled at the time, £146,057, there began to percolate through the columns of the sporting journals a series of anecdotes illustrative of his career. But these cannot be drawn upon here; in fact, many of the circumstances attending his work are embodied in the foregoing slight narrative.