Prince Foote was a great three-year-old. But his nine victories at that age left their effects upon him, and he only started three times as a four-year-old, winning the Chelmsford and running second in the A.J.C. Spring Stakes to Comedy King, beating Trafalgar, Pendil, etc. The Chelmsford came early in the spring, and here, with the exception of Maltine, he had not much to beat. As a three-year-old, however, he won the Chelmsford again, against a large field, including that great miler, Malt King; the A.J.C. Derby, from Patronatus and Danilo; the V.R.C. Derby, the Melbourne Cup, carrying two pounds over weight-for-age; the V.R.C. Leger; the Champion Stakes from Pendil; the A.J.C. Leger; the A.J.C. Plate, from Pendil and Trafalgar; and the Cumberland Stakes, two miles, from the same couple. Yes, he was a “great” three-year-old. Between Trafalgar and Comedy King it was a case of “pull devil, pull baker,” so long as they were running at a distance not beyond a mile and a half. After that Trafalgar was the master. For, although Comedy King beat the chestnut in the Cup, the latter was giving weight, and I do not think that many people, with the exception of Comedy King’s backers, were altogether satisfied that Trafalgar had had a clear run. The black horse, at three years, won the Futurity at Caulfield, with a twenty-one pound allowance; as a four-year-old he took the Cup, the St. George’s Stakes, the Essendon Stakes, the All-Aged Stakes, and the Autumn Stakes. And at five years the Eclipse again fell to him, after which he retired. But Trafalgar, his arch enemy, secured twenty-four high-class races, and raced on until he was seven years old. He won at distances varying between nine furlongs and three miles, but the farther he went the better he liked it, and, strangely enough, he appeared to be gaining in speed as he grew older. And he never left an oat in his manger, and would clean up everything that was offered him, even when undergoing a course of physic, while his legs were of iron. I would not have liked to go into his box by myself, nor without his boy at his head. He was a sour old dog, and did not like to be disturbed in his castle. I have seen him “round” on his trainer and eject him without much ceremony from his box when in an ill humour. But I have no doubt that after he went out of training, and had liberty, and not too much strapping, he became the mildest mannered horse that ever won a race or cut a rival’s throat. I fear, however, that he is not a success at the stud, although a sure foal-getter. Comedy King, on the other hand, sires innumerable gallopers, from hurdle jumpers up to the winners of the greatest prizes to be gained on the turf to-day. And I think you would have anticipated the destiny of the pair had you seen them often in their daily lives.