Next week takes us to Gatwick and Sandown--(or rather the _train_ takes us--another absurd expression)--the last day of the latter Meeting being devoted to "Jumping Races," which is the contemptuous way some people speak of the winter branch of our National Sport!--forgetting that it demands the two most desirable qualities in a horse, _speed and endurance_--whereas the modern flat-racing has degenerated, for the most part, into scrambles and gambles, where _speed_ is the only requisite!--but more of this anon--but _not_ anonymous, as I believe in signed articles, as the apprentice said! (_Not_ BRADFORD!) The most important race at Gatwick--(_delightful_ place to go racing--lots of room to move about in)--is the Thousand Pound Handicap, in which race _Brandy_ is worth keeping an eye on, as she ought to beat _Burnaby_ at the difference in the weights--other horses that might make their mark during the week--(especially now the ground is soft)--are, _Pilot, Golden Garter_--(_I_ never was guilty of such extravagance as that)--_Queen of Navarre_--(_she_ might have been)--_Meadow Brown_, _Terror_, and _Seawall_, the last three in the "Jumping Races"--and, in conclusion, the inevitable rhythmical winner, from Yours devotedly, LADY GAY. ORLEANS NURSERY SELECTION. The man who would back any other Appears but a gander to be, For the horse that all comers will smother Is certainly _Tanderagee_! * * * * * [Illustration: DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE. "I SAY, GUV'NER! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO BE TOOK DOWN FOR HALTERATIONS AND REPAIRS?"] * * * * * MY SEASON TICKET. Ever against my breast, Safe in my pocket pressed, Ready at my behest, Daintily pretty Gilt-printed piece of leather, Though fair or foul the weather, Daily we go together Up to the City. Yet, as I ride at ease, Papers strewn on my knees, And I hear "Seasons, please!" Shouted in warning: Pockets I search in vain All through and through again; "Pray do not stop the train-- Lost it this morning. No, I have not a card, Nor can I pay you, Guard-- Truly my lot is hard, This is the reason, Now I recall to mind Changing my clothes, I find I left them all behind,-- Money, cards, 'Season.'" * * * * * WRITTEN A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE. (_FROM A COLLECTION OF COMMUNICATIONS SUPPLIED BY OUR PROPHETIC COMPILER._)