SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



almost publicly said when the horses went out, I 

 don't see how you can be surprised." That certainly 

 was not the accepted way to engineer an "s.-p. " 

 ooup. 



In the lively days of elections, when verbal ex- 

 pressions of dissent were considered tame, there were, 

 according to reports, such signs as the following to 

 be discerned in shops : " New-laid eggs. Fresh eggs. 

 Eggs, Election eggs." Many as were then the 

 varieties of the hen's produce, they are exceeded 

 these times by the different sorts of Scotch whisky 

 that appeal to the popular palate. There is your 

 plain Scotch, your special Scotch, your extra 

 special Scotch, your ten-year-old Vatted, your 

 fifteen-year old Nectar ; and, I expect, your Am- 

 brosial Liquid that floated with the Ark what time 

 it glided over the waters that covered the earth. 

 That much of the virtues of these separate and 

 distinct *' Scotches " exists only in the advertisements 

 is, I hope, not an uncharitable thing to imagine ; and 

 ss so many are puzzled which sort to purchase, It 

 may not be out of place to put on record the opinion 

 on whisky of my dear and lamented friend, the late 

 Lord Russell of Killowen. Both before and after he 

 was raised to tlie peerage it was his annual custom 

 to meet me In the paddock at Ascot, on the Tuesday, 



28.5 



