THE C^RAND NATIONAL. 329 



tips, in which case he would probably exclaim with 

 Hamlet, "Oh, my prophetic soul, my Uncle!" 



THE (;rand national. 



'TIS slowly descending the valley of years — 



At least, so the pessimists say ; 

 One reads in the papers and e\cry\vhere hears, 



"The National's seen its best day." 

 Though I don't confirm this to the very last letter, 

 Than this vcar's ril own, I ha\e seen many better. 



"They're mostly mere hunters," I frec|uently learn ; 



But do not, too hasty, dismiss 

 A hunter on this score. He may have a turn 



Of speed undeveloped, mind this : 

 "A mere hunter"' that stays is oft ec|ual to pumping 

 An ex-selling plater that's lately learnt jumping. 



A very sad Cathal(ic Ij's Father O'Flynn, 



Risky indeed 'tis to trust him. 

 Leybourne's another might easily win 



]!ut for his bad manners — bust him I 

 I'd plump straight out for Cathal but hardly am able, 

 He looks so much like the last hope of the stable. 



Trusty old .F.sop, if Arthur can mind him — 



(Steeplechase jockey no better) — 

 /ESOP may get home, with LEYBOURNE behind him, 



Bear out this tip to the letter. 

 And if the lapis there's a surprise on. 

 Well, what price Tom Cannon and good old Horizon 'i 



Cocktail. 



2 U 



