Though John Porter, the Duke of West minster, and Mr Geo. Lewis are convinced ">e unfortunate Orme has bees foully Poisoned (writes our London correspond- Bn.t), Mr Loeffler and other veterinary 'Wgeon.B expross a good deal of uncertainty about the matter. The excitement the atlaiv i iag cauße( j amazes non-sporting jwdle-class folk. The fact is, every 'wber's^ assistant, every fishmongers Apprentice, and every pot-man bets novv-a ay 9- Gambling on horse-racing forms the we excitement," the one interest, the one •B«ef of tens of thousands of otherwise «rsary. hard-working lives. It is horribly 'wttoral, of course, and theoretically leads Jo pno! 8 eoxx y s damnation. Practically I ■^May I observe it brings about)

any. great harm. - There is a., respect able little fellow (Dr. Parker would call him "a limb of Satan") at the barber's the writer frequents who poses as a great sporting authority. He has never been on a racecourse in his life, and probably never will be on one. He works from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. for about £1 a week, and gives his mother 10s on Saturday. Racing makes that lad's life endurable, even happy. His spare moments between one customer and another are devoted to the "Sporting Life," and twice a week the boy dines on a saveloy, and recklessly 11 dashea down " sixpence or a shilling on some good thing. To make you under stand the enjoyment (anticipation, sus pense, realisation) " old Sassidge "—as his comrades call him—gets out of his "little flutters," would be impossible. His luck is good on the whole, but ib seldom tempts him to risk more than a shilling. The talk is tho main thing. " Sassidgo " gives many tips. The " Shifter " and other sporting celebrities patronise Henwood'a (as this'barber's is called), and when they know or think they know anything then tell Sassidge. The poisoning of Orme has been a grand sensation for Sassidge. He feels, I really believe, as acutely as Bis Grace of Westminster does about the mat ter. A grumpy customer to whom he was holding forth on Orme's condition last Monday, asked the lad, " What's that to do with you ?" Poor Sassidge was dumb founded. 