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ROYAL ASCOTS "GOOD OLD DAYS." Even todav. when life is so differently arranged and so obviously changed, there is no race meeting in th*. world that makes such an irresistible appeal a" Itoval Ascot-delightful, brilliant Ascot, tlwugh in these times it is hedged round with police precautions and regulations of a most extraordinary and elaborate kind. Ascot, as always, introduces us to the best of all racing: the greatest thoroughbreds in training are to be seen there, the richest prizes are to be won, and, as a society function, it has no counterpart. It often has been said that the Ascot week is more of a society function than a racing event of 1111-equaled importance. It is not. The racing comes liefore everything else: it always did; it must always do. for the reason that the best liorses are to be seen in opposition. And it is wrong to attempt to strike a comparison between .-scot and Epsom on Derby Day. The two have little in common, save that they stand out as the events of the racing year. Derby Day tells of a national holiday; it has we3 lcJ :t--if t. all C-asses; it is a mighty institution, if v may say so, in that it allows of a gigantic pici.ic. wholly different from Ascot, for ; on the royal heath we see the best possible racing under the best possible conditions for four days; we get a long series of big races there, and no man who is enamored of the sport would miss Ascot. When one looks back. Ascot, one is bound to say, has shed much of its romance and much of its tragic side, too. There was a time when Ascot and fortunes won and lost were synonymous terms. It used to bring bulging opulence or something perilously near bankruptcy. The man who did not bet hard at Ascot was out of fashion, a strange person indeed. The future of vast estates used to depend upon Ascot: a wild, headlong plunge Ascot meant to , the rich young men in other days. To set out determined that it should be all or nothing was the proper tiling to do: nothing mattered, a fortune made or a fortune lost meant very much the same thing. It is on record that in Ormondes year a certain noble lord offered to lay 00,000 to $.100,000, and that if Admiral Rous had not stepped in the wager would have been made. I have before me a steel engraving of the late Sir John Astley "The Mate", whose "Fifty Years of My Life in the World of Sport at Home and Abroad" is a wonderful piece of philosophy. The inscription under it reads: "Clean broke; thinking it out." It is a striking and fascinating picture, representing Sir John with a far-off. dreamy, puzzled look, with his hands deep in iioekets obviously empty, smoking furiously a cigar, and shariioning up his wits in readiness for settling day. It was in his day that "the young blinds" burned holes, so to speak, in Ascot week aud lopped off great slices of their fortunes, if they were not irretrievably ruined. That was the time when liook-inakers did not speak of "these bad times." I always think of the bookmaker in Ascots bad, degenerate days as something strikingly different from the modern penciler. Then he was more of a whole hogger; like "my lord," he would bet to any amount. As some one put it. he was not fovever "hedging and ditching:" he took his chances, whatever they might be. He had more character aliout him: he would bet on the "nod" to the tune of thousands, and whether settling day was likely to be good or bad he looked forward to it without wincing. And aliout betting, let me give a little quotation from Sir John Astleys book. Writing in the early eighties after many amazing ups and downs, he says: "Now we approach the end of my racing career; at all events, of my owning liorses "and betting monkeys. I hardly bet this year till Ascot, and though I won some 0,000 between this and the end of the season. I was fairly settled, and in my betting ledger, which I kept carefully up to December, 1883. I see the following somewhat peculiar note: Am dead broke: shall have to live entirely like a blooming maggot in a nut. Shall I ever bet a monkey on a race again? I should like to. but its naughty, nous verrons. What do you think I Iu twenty-six years I had won 38,000 by betting. Some of my readers may want to know how I managed to get broke if I won $."i,000 a year. Now. young men that happen to read this effusion, mark and learn. For the first three years I bet only in small sums, but lost each vear half my then small income. I had. of course, to borrow money to jiay my way. This I did legitimately by insuring niy life at three and a half per cent, and lior-rowiug money on the policy at five — i. e.. I had to pay *40o a year for every thousand. I tiorrowed. As my income decreased, I thought it advisable to increase my investments, and at one time my luck seemed to "turn, as I began winning handsomely. For instance, in 1S02 I won 5,000; iu 1803, though I won 0,000 in the Sussex fortnight, I only won 0,000 on the year: so you may judge I was fairly on the job. When I won I ought, of course, to have stored the chins for a rainy day. but I was goose enough to spend it. and when I lost I had to liorrow, voila tout. The wonder is not that I got broke, bnt how I lusted so long as I did — viz., twenty -five years." That Sir John was rich in philosophy is clear when, despite the fact that he had dissipated his fortune, he was able to write in the following strain: "Yon, my readers, may have noticed that sudden changes of this sort affect some men differently. Some hibernate the year round, like the grizzly bear and the dormouse do iu winter: others turn into fossils. and are seen no more by their compeers; others take an inordinate amount of alcohol, which promptly lands them in the cremating pot; others doze away their existence in foreign parts; while some glorious examples may be found who, made of sterner stuff, attempt to Increase their pensions by their wits, and though not suited for the lofty calling of authors, become authors! I aint the liear or the dormouse, nor the fossil, nor the alcoholic sponge, nor the gourmand who lives on frogs and macaroni far away from his native shore; so I must be the elevated and. may I add. the instructive author, who hopes by his confessions to dissuade young men from getting into debt and then trying to get clear by gambling." Heavy aud even reckless betting still goes on, but nothing like to the same extent as in Sir John Astleys time. There are, and will always be, I suppose, many what I may call freak bets, such as one I saw made some two years ago — ,000 to , and lost. There are, of course, men who still bet 111 thousands, but they are few in number. As most people know, one of the greatest gamblers was the Marquis of Hastings, who lost 00,000 over Her-niits Derby, and then went on to Ascot to win Gambling in all manner of form will, of course, go on for all time, but gambling in such fabuous sums as in the "old days" at Ascot will not occur again. I think. And we are all glad to fe. that a great aud permament change of this kind has come about. That huge sums will be won and lost at Ascot I have no doubt, but the dav when young men betted away their estates has gone, I hope for ever. — London Telegraph.
