[Illustration: 143]
“The Honourable Fitzroy Shuffleton,” I quote _The Morning Post_, “who
rode Bees-wing, came in a winner amid deafening cheers. Never was a
race better contested; and although, when passing the distance-post, the
Langar colt seemed to have the best of it, yet such was Mr. Shuffleton's
tact and jockeyship, that he shot a-head in advance of his adversary,
and came in first.” I omit the passages descriptive of the peculiar
cleverness displayed by this gifted gentleman. I omit also that glorious
outbreak of newspaper eloquence, in which the delight of his friends is
expressed--the tears of joy from his sisters--the cambric handkerchiefs
that floated in the air--the innumerable and reiterated cries of “Well
done!--he's a trump!--the right sort!” &c. &c, so profusely employed by
the crowd, because I am fully satisfied with what general approbation
such proofs of ability are witnessed.
We are a great nation, and nowhere is our greatness more conspicuous
than in the education of our youth. The young Frenchman seems to fulfil
his destiny, when, having drawn on a pair of the most tight-fitting
kid gloves, of that precise shade of colour so approved of by Madame
Laffarge, he saunters forth on the Boulevard de Gand, or lounges in the
_coulisse_ of the opera.
The German, whose contempt not only extends to glove-leather, but clean
hands, betakes himself early in life to the way he should go, and from
which, to do him justice, he never shows any inclination to depart. A
meerschaum some three feet long, and a tobacco bag like a school-boy's
satchel, supply his wants in life. The dreamy visions of the unreal
woes, and the still more unreal greatness of his country, form the
pabulum for his thoughts; and he has no other ambition, for some half
dozen years of his life, than to boast his utter indifference to kings
and clean water.
Now, we manage matters somewhat better. Our young men, from the very
outset of their career, are admirable jockeys; and if by any fatality,
like the dreadful revolution of France, our nobles should be compelled
to emigrate from their native land, instead of teaching mathematics and
music, the small sword and quadrilles, we shall have the satisfaction of
knowing that we supply stable-boys to the whole of Europe.
Whatever other people may say or think, I put a great value on this
equestrian taste. I speak not here of the manly nature of horse
exercise--of the noble and vigorous pursuits of the hunting field. No;
I direct my observations solely to the heroes of Ascot and Epsom--of
Doncaster and Goodwood. I only speak of those whose pleasure it is
to read no book save the Racing Calendar, and frequent no lounge but
Tattersalls; who esteem the stripes of a racing-jacket more honourable
than the ribbon of the Bath, and look to a well-timed “hustle” or “a
shake” as the climax of human ability. These are fine fellows, and I
prize them. But if it be not only praiseworthy, but pleasant, to ride
for the Duke's cup at Goodwood, or the Corinthian's at the Curragh, why
not extend the sphere of the utility, and become as amiable in private
as they are conspicuous in public life?
We have seen them in silk jackets of various hues, with leathers and
tops of most accurate fitting, turn out amid the pelting of a most
pitiless storm, to ride some three miles of spongy turf, at the hazard
of their necks, and the almost certainty of a rheumatic fever; and
why, donning the same or some similar costume, will they not perform
the office of postillion, when their fathers, or mayhap, some venerated
aunt, is returning by the north road to an antiquated mansion in
Yorkshire? The pace, to be sure, is not so fast--but it compensates in
safety what it loses in speed--the assemblage around is not so numerous,
or the excitement so great; but filial tenderness is a nobler motive
than the acclamations of a mob. In fact, the parallel presents all the
advantages on one side: and the jockey is as inferior to the postillion
as the fitful glare of an _ignis-fatuus_ is to the steady brilliancy of
a gas-lamp.
An Englishman has a natural pride in the navy of his country--our wooden
walls are a glorious boast; but, perhaps, after all, there is nothing
more captivating in the whole detail of the service, than the fact that
even the highest and the noblest in the land has no royal road to its
promotion, but, beginning at the very humblest step, he must work his
way through every grade and every rank, like his comrades around
him. Many there are now living who remember Prince William, as he was
called--late William the Fourth, of glorious memory--sitting in the
stern seats of a gig, his worn jacket and weather-beaten hat attesting
that even the son of a king had no immunity from the hardships of the
sea. This is a proud thought for Englishmen, and well suited to gratify
their inherent loyalty and their sturdy independence. Now, might we not
advantageously extend the influence of such examples, by the suggestion
I have thrown out above? If a foreigner be now struck by hearing, as
he walks through the dockyard at Plymouth, that the little middy who
touches his hat with such obsequious politeness, is the Marquis of
--------, or the Earl of--------, with some fifty thousand per annum,
how much more astonished will he be on learning that he owes the
rapidity with which he traversed the last stage to his having been
driven by Lord Wilton--or that the lengthy proportions, so dexterously
gathered up in the saddle, belong to an ex-ambassador from St.
Petersburgh. How surprised would he feel, too, that instead of the low
habits and coarse tastes he would look for in that condition in life,
he would now see elegant and accomplished gentlemen, sipping a glass
of curaçoa at the end of a stage; or, mayhap, offering a pinch of snuff
from a box worth five hundred guineas. What a fascinating conception
would he form of our country from such examples as this! and how
insensibly would not only the polished taste and the high-bred depravity
of the better classes be disseminated through the country; but, by
an admirable reciprocity, the coarsest vices of the lowest would be
introduced among the highest in the land. The racecourse has done much
for this, but the road would do far more. Slang is now but the language
of the _elite_--it would then become the vulgar tongue; and, in fact,
there is no predicting the amount of national benefit likely to arise
from an amalgamation of all ranks in society, where-the bond of union
is so honourable in its nature. Cultivate, then, ye youth of England--ye
scions of the Tudors and the Plantagenets--with all the blood of all the
Howards in your veins--cultivate the race-course--study the stable--read
the Racing Calendar. What are the precepts of Bacon or the learning of
Boyle compared to the pedigree of Grey Momus, or the reason that Tramp
“is wrong?” “A dark horse” is a far more interesting subject of inquiry
than an eclipse of the moon, and a judge of pace a much more exalted
individual than a judge of assize.