What greatly interested me on one occasion was my visit to a ratting match. The wager was laid on a terrier for £25 that he would kill 300 rats in fifteen minutes. The rats were taken out of traps and counted into a square pit, and as they fell in they rushed to one corner of it. When the 300 were all in, it was a wonderful sight to see them in a heap in one corner of the pit. The dog, Peter was his name, was put in the middle of the pit and when the referee called time, he was let go and the killing began with a vengeance. The bet was won with a minute to spare, and I can safely say I never spent fourteen minutes amid greater tension and excitement. In these times, on Good Friday, there was always wrestling at the Agricultural Hall. I usually went and well remember the splendid contest between the Cornish and Cumberland wrestlers. It was great sport, and for a few minutes during the surging back and forward before a firm grip had been obtained by one of the giants, the spectators almost held their breath in the excitement. I often wonder whether this particular sport of wrestling has, like many other things, become almost a thing of the past, or is it that our lives have so changed that we now take little notice of such matters. Although somewhat indirectly connected with sport, I have always derived a great deal of fun and enjoyment from watching the return of the visitors of the Epsom Races to see the Derby run. From Clapham Common to the Elephant and Castle, and on to the City there was for many hours one continuous stream of people and conveyances, some in good style, while others rode in donkey carts or any conveyance obtainable. These race-goers mostly sang comic songs, were all bent upon enjoyment, and in many cases the race appeared to be a secondary consideration. These enjoyments have now mostly passed away, a better tone prevails with the people, and the means of conveyance to Epsom Downs have been greatly accelerated. I once had the pleasure of seeing the Derby ran; it was in 1896, when the race was won by Persimmon, King Edward VII's (then Prince of Wales) horse. It was a splendid race, and never could there have been a greater reception than was given when the Prince came from the Stand after the race to lead his horse back to the weighing machine. My experience on that occasion must have been almost a record. I left business at one o'clock, went by cab to London Bridge, caught a train to Epsom, arrived at my arranged stand on the race-course, and saw each race run until the Derby was over and the Prince had led his horse off the course; then to the station and back to town and was in business again at four o'clock--in all, three hours. This was a good record.