received L1,500 for transferring the little fellow’s services, and he is now a celebrity who probably earns a great deal more than Professor Owen or Mr. Walter Besant.  The tiny boy who won the Cesarevitch on Don Juan received L1,000 after the race, and it must be remembered that this child had not left school.  Mr. Herbert Spencer has not earned L1,000 by the works that have altered the course of modern thought; the child Martin picked up the amount in a lump, after he had scurried for less than five minutes on the back of a feather-weighted thoroughbred.  As the jockey grows older and is freed from his apprenticeship he becomes a more and more important personage; if his weight keeps well within limits he can ride four or five races every day during the season; he draws five guineas for a win, and three for the mount, and he picks up an infinite number of unconsidered trifles in the way of presents, since the turfite, bad or good, is invariably a cheerful giver.  The popular jockey soon has his carriages, his horses, his valet, and his sumptuous house; noblemen, millionaires, great dames, and men and women of all degrees conspire to pamper him:  for jockey-worship, when it is once started, increases in intensity by a sort of geometrical progression.  A shrewd man of the world may smile grimly when he hears that a popular rider was actually received with royal honours and installed in the royal box when he went to the theatre during his honeymoon, but there are the facts.  It was so, and the best people of the fine town in which this deplorable piece of toadyism was perpetrated were tolerably angry at the time.  If the sporting journalists perform their work of puffery with skill and care, the worship of the jockey reaches a pitch that borders on insanity.  If General Gordon had returned and visited such a place as Liverpool or Doncaster during a race-meeting, he would not have been noticed by the discriminating crowd if Archer had passed along the street.  If the Prime Minister were to visit any place of public resort while Watts or Webb happened to be there, it is probable that his lordship would learn something useful concerning the relative importance of Her Majesty’s subjects.  I know for a fact that a cleverly executed cartoon of Archer, Fordham, Wood, or Barrett will have at least six times as many buyers as a similar portrait of Professor Tyndall, Mr. James Payn, M. Pasteur, Lord Salisbury, Mr. Chamberlain, or any one in Britain excepting Mr. Gladstone.  I do not know how many times the Vanity Fair cartoon of Archer has been reprinted, but I learn on good authority that, for years, not a single day has been known to pass on which the caricature was not asked for.  And now let us bring to mind the plain truth that these jockeys are only uneducated and promoted stable-boys after all.  Is it not a wonder that we can pick out a single honest man from their midst?  Vast sums depend on their exertions, and they are surrounded by a huge crowd of moneyed men who will stand at nothing