The Derby was contested, as usual, on Wednesday, and won
by Favonius, a horse belonging to Baron Rothschild, which previously had not been the favourite. The victory delighted the Baron, who always runs a horse, but has never before secured the "blue ribbon of the Turf,"—and the populace, who declare that "the Baron runs straight," and seem to think that kind of honesty exceptional enough to justify admiring surprise. They know the Turf better than we do, and we dare say they are right. It is a strange century, however, in which the head of the first financial house in the world, with a unique position in half-a-dozen countries, who does not bet, and has absolutely nothing to ask of fortune, is delighted because his horse wins a race, and is compli- mented by half a million of Englishmen for being so honest as always to try to win. Just reflect on the depth of suspicion about everybody which must rest in the popular mind when that is, as it was on Wednesday, felt to be a sound reason for enthusiasm.
