THE FRAUD OF A DERBY 



Sixty years ago a group of horsemen might 

 have been seen on the Heath — the Admiral on 

 his well-known hack. Lord Glasgow, blunt of 

 speech and quaint in dress, and Lord Exeter. 

 They are joined by General Peel, an erect figure 

 without the lightest overcoat, although the air 

 bites shrewdly as the wind whistles over the Flat. 

 It is the season when the votaries of the Turf 

 come to great decisions and commit great mis- 

 takes. Absorbed in the passionate pursuit of the 

 moment, they watch the issue of a trial from a 

 spot where the roll of the famous plain swells 

 like a wave into the distance — 



Quam Ditis nomine dicta 

 Fossa secat. 



The scene is strangely changed since those days, 

 and Newmarket, with its stands and crowds, can 

 hardly be recalled as Peel knew it. 



Peel's name stands high on the record of winning 

 owners ; but it is found in a better list — in the 

 list of those honest and straightforward men who 

 have proved by their example of honour and 

 integrity that racing is not necessarily a doubtful 

 trade nor the race-course the exclusive haunt of 

 the professional gambler. 



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