The second letter was written by Dot, at Epsom, on the 4th of May, thirty minutes after the great race had been run.  It was very short; and shall therefore be given entire.

   Epsom, Derby Day,

   Race just over.

God bless you, my dear boy—­Brien has done the trick, and done it well!  Butler rode him beautifully, but he did not want any riding; he’s the kindest beast ever had a saddle on.  The stakes are close on four thousand pounds:  your share will do well to pay the posters, &c., for yourself and my lady, on your wedding trip.  I win well—­very well; but I doubt the settling.  We shall have awful faces at the corner next week.  You’ll probably have heard all about it by express before you get this.

   In greatest haste, yours,

   W. BLAKE.

The next week, the following paragraph appeared in “Bell’s Life in London.”

It never rains but it pours.  It appears pretty certain, now, that Brien Boru is not the property of the gentleman in whose name he has run; but that he is owned by a certain noble lord, well known on the Irish turf, who has lately, however, been devoting his time to pursuits more pleasant and more profitable than the cares of the stable—­pleasant and profitable as it doubtless must be to win the best race of the year.  The pick-up on the Derby is about four thousand pounds, and Brien Boru is certainly the best horse of his year.  But Lord Ballindine’s matrimonial pick-up is, we are told, a clear quarter of a million; and those who are good judges declare that no more beautiful woman than the future Lady Ballindine will have graced the English Court for many a long year.  His lordship, on the whole, is not doing badly.

Lord Cashel, also, congratulated Frank on his success on the turf, in spite of the very decided opinion he had expressed on the subject, when he was endeavouring to throw him on one side.

“My dear Ballindine,” he said, “I wish you joy with all my heart:  a most magnificent animal, I’m told, is Brien, and still partly your own property, you say.  Well; it’s a great triumph to beat those English lads on their own ground, isn’t it?  And thorough Irish blood, too!—­thorough Irish blood!  He has the ‘Paddy Whack’ strain in him, through the dam—­the very best blood in Ireland.  You know, my mare ‘Dignity’, that won the Oaks in ’29, was by ‘Chanticleer’, out of ‘Floribel’, by ‘Paddy Whack.’  You say you mean to give up the turf, and you know I’ve done so, too.  But, if you ever do change your mind—­should you ever run horses again—­take my advice, and stick to the ‘Paddy Whack’ strain.  There’s no beating the real ‘Paddy Whack’ blood.”

On the 21st of May, 1844, Lord Ballindine and Fanny Wyndham were married.  The bishop “turned ’em off iligant,” as a wag said in the servants’ hall.  There was a long account of the affair in the “Morning Post” of the day; there were eight bridesmaids, all of whom, it was afterwards remarked, were themselves married within two years of the time; an omen which was presumed to promise much continued happiness to Lord and Lady Ballindine, and all belonging to them.