A new British sport has arisen, or rather has, after a seven years' interval, been revived within the last week or so, and the British sporting reporter, so well-known for his ready supply of vivid and picturesque metaphor, has, as usual, risen to the occasion. That large and growing class of sedentary "sportsmen," whose athletic proclivities are confined to the perusal of betting news, have now a fresh item of interest to discuss in the performances of favourite and rival locomotives. More power has been added to the elbows of the charming and vociferous youths, who push their way through the London streets with the too familiar cry of "Win-nerr!" (which, by the way, has quite superseded that of "Evening Piper!"). And the laborious persons who assiduously compile "records" have enough work to do to keep pace with their daily growing collection. Even the mere "Man in the Street" knows the amount of rise in the Shap Fell and Potter's Bar gradients, though possibly, if you cross-question him, he could not tell you where they are. However, the great daily and evening papers are fully alive to the occasion, and the various sporting "Majors" and "Prophets" are well to the fore with such "pars" as the following:—
Flying Buster, that smart and rakish yearling from the Crewe stud, was out at exercise last evening with a light load of eighty tons, and did some very satisfactory trials.
Invicta, the remarkably speedy East Coast seven-year-old, made a very good show in her run from Grantham to York yesterday. She covered the 80½ miles in 78 minutes with Driver Tomkins up, and a weight of some 120 tons, without turning a hair. She looked extremely well-trained, and I compliment her owners on her appearance.
Really something ought to be done with certain of the Southern starters. I will name no names, but I noticed one the other day whose pace was more like thirty hours a mile than thirty miles an hour. I have heard of donkey-engines, and this one would certainly win a donkey race.
These long-distance races are, no doubt, excellent tests for the strength and stamina of our leading cross-country "flyers," but I must enter a protest against the abnormally early hours at which the chief events are now being pulled off. A sporting reporter undergoes many hardships for the good of the public, but not the least is the disagreable duty of being in at the finish at Aberdeen, say at 4.55 A.M. The famous midnight steeple-chase was nothing to it.
There was some very heavy booking last night at Euston, and Puffing Billy the Second was greatly fancied. He has much finer action and bigger barrel than his famous sire, not to mention being several hands higher. It is to be hoped that he will not turn out a roarer, like the latter.