SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



may not have been a perfect type of the " honest 

 dealer." Yet he had good points. 



The star of my fortunes rose with remarkable 

 rapidity. Everything ahnost in racing that I touched 

 turned to, or, rather, turned in, gold. My invest- 

 ments may have been on a minor scale, but they 

 were pleasurably profitable. Sweeps and lotteries 

 were then as common in public-houses as cards pro- 

 hibiting betting are to-day. They were a powerful 

 attraction to the people, and, so far as my experience 

 goes, were honestly conducted. Whether the ex- 

 citement engendered by the holding of them was 

 unhealthy or not I leave the learned in ethics to 

 decide. But life without a sweep in the " brave 

 days" of Forty-eight would have, to most, seemed 

 as terribly dull an aifair as one of Mr. Gilbert's 

 characters declared existence to be when all went 

 right and nothing went wrong. Of course, I speak 

 in this case interestedly. I was that year borne on 

 the full tide of success. " Big " Willis, who kept the 

 "Kings Head," in Newgate Street, ran two sub- 

 stantial sweeps on the Cesarewitch. It was a heavy 

 betting house, and hence there was a plentiful crop 

 of subscribers. One sweep was for four thousand at 

 a shilling a head, and the other for forty at ten 

 pounds a piece. I joined in both, and drew The Cur 

 for each. This was an extraordinary stroke of 



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