'The enthusiastic approval with which the play was received by a large audience on Monday showed that the excellence of the production has by no means been exaggerated. It contains all the elements of a great play and one that is likely to live long in the affections of playgoers, especially those of a sporting turn of mind, for, as the title of the play indicates, it deals largely with sporting incidents and realistic representations of phases of London life, as well as several leading features of the world of sport. There are, for instance, representations of the training stables at Newmarket, the meet of the hounds, a boxing match at the National Sporting Club between two skilful exponents of the art of self-defence, scenes of Epsom racecourse among the crowd and in the paddock, and many other interesting views. The scenery is as elaborate and picturesque as any yet seen at our Opera House and the introduction of racehorses in the racecourse scene gives it a touch of realism that is highly effective. The drama has progressed since the days of Dion Boucicault and his contemporaries, who in depicting a horse race adopted the rudimentary expedient of jerking cardboard horses across the middle of the scene. Now, however, real racehorses are brought galloping by the winning post in full view of the audience.'
'In the last act Epsom Downs both by day and night are graphically illustrated, the last scene revealing the Grand Stand, alive with humanity. My Lady Love wins the great race and the heroine is in due course reconciled to the man of her choice, after he has narrowly escaped being done to death on Epsom Downs, where he, bound and gagged, is imprisoned for some time in a gipsy van.'
'Rupert Haverford sat down in the other seat and looked at her with the sincerest pleasure; she was so delightful to look at. The tone of her garb was a rich brown; she had on a long coat of some rough fur, but round her throat and shoulders she wore a stole of the softest sables; there was a small cap of sables on her brown hair, and she had tied the brown gauze veil she wore in a cunning bow under her chin. A knot of white flowers that Rupert Haverford had given her at luncheon was tucked in among the fur at her breast, and was the only break in the harmonious whole. She turned to him as she spoke lightly; she had a bird-like trick of moving her small head that was very characteristic and very pretty.'