Scarcely a cloud flecked the blue heaven yesterday afternoon, and a dazzling sky burnished the Stamford Bridge grounds into an acre of reflected sunshine. What a pleasant spot the tryst of the premier athletic club on which to hold athletic revels! It was not to be expected that the people would show a front at the carnival. So much to do nowadays, what with cycling at Hurlingham, and the Beauty wheel show on the Row in Battersea Park. Equal to the occasion though proved many English girls, and it was pleasing indeed to note their presence in the pavilion and enclosures. Bold as Britannia as a rule in this, the nineteenth century. And don't forget this, innocent as a posy all the while.... Think of this now. W. MENDLESON (C.U.A.C.), but by birth a New Zealander, figuratively speaking, gazed on the ruins (long jump ruins, of course) of Britishers at Stamford Bridge. It was with a quickened pulse that one watched the Hurdle Race. 'Pon our soul 'twas a difficult problem to solve a few steps from home to tell which would win, PILKINGTON or LOWE. The flag went up for the visitor from the banks of the Cam. Nevertheless, no one can assert but that the medical banner remained hoisted at the truck in honour of their representatives. Gallant seconds!... Of course H. A. MUNRO gave us a taste of his quality in the Three Miles. Verily he ran as though able to keep up pacing from sunrise to sunset. 'Twas a glorious victory that he gained. Neither must the plucky bid made by HORAN be forgotten. Ah! if he had only been MUNRO! But he wasn't, so there was no use in thinking about that. How melancholy are these might-have-beens. If NAPOLEON had only been WELLINGTON. But he wasn't. So there was no use in thinking about that. * * *