profitless, as a rider, in his own "father-land," was considered a firstrate jockey on the other side of the Atlantic. The Governor-General being my first master, I had the gratification of winning every prize we started for, on two thorough-bred English nags, Wellington and Douro,― invincible names! On the afternoon of the first day's races, I was returning home, when a little man, with bright, twinkling, black eyes, on a good brown horse, somewhat out of condition, overtook me, and, drawing up, said, in a dialect too rich to be mistaken as genuine Yankee, "I estimate you're a Britisher; you come from abroad,- from the old country?" "I do, sir," I replied. 66 Well," continued the stranger, "I guess that's a pretty considerable smart horse,- that Wellington:" I assented by a slight bow; "and I reckon that you think there is not so spry a critter on the course." "I should be happy," replied I, " to put it to the test." "Hang me! but that's like your pride; you flatter yourself, you Britishers, that you can stump the univarsal world for going' a-head.' "Sir!" I exclaimed, with a sufficient degree of dignity. "Oh! yes," continued my persevering friend, "we have whipped you, wherever we have met; and we'll whip you agin,-to all eternity." I was getting, I own, rather angry, when the genuine Yankee said, "Don't look so wicked ugly; I know it goes against the grain to admit our superiority." Here I smiled. "But to the point: I've a horse, reared in Kentucky, and, if you've a mind for a lick of a mile or two, here's at you. I'll run you, next spring, for a heap of dollars, I will, by Gosh!" At first I hesitated; but, not wishing to knock under to a citizen " of the freest country on the face of the earth, and you can't ditto it nowhere," I made the match. "Name your horse to the clerk of the course," said I; "weight for age; one mile, or two; and we'll deposit the stakes at the same time,-100 or 200 dollars, as you please." "Well, you are a considerable 'cute chap, I allot; you can see as far into a mill-stone as them that picks the hole in it. Weight for age,you forget the allowances; I must have them." "What allowances do you claim?" I replied, with a saccharine smile. Taking out of his pocket a dirty, greasy-looking English racing calendar, he proceeded: "Well, you English are pretty considerable tarnation sharp you warn't born yesterday, I tell you. Let's see :'Mares and geldings allowed 3 b;' Eagle's a gelding: maiden horses allowed 3 b;' Eagle has never won : 'those got by stallions or mares that never bred a winner, allowed 3 b;' Eagle's dam and sire never bred a winner :- that's 9 b." I was bound to admit the justice of this calculation, though I rather doubted the accuracy of the statement. Being, however, not in a situation to disprove it, I made the match; and it appeared in an appendix to the "card and the sheet lists" on the following day :— FIRST SPRING MEETING, 1819. Match, 500 dollars, p.p.; one mile and a half; gentlemen riders. Our winter passed cheerfully. We established private theatricals, and a Q. D. C. (Quebec Driving Club) on sledges. The wags interpreted the initials, "Quam Deus conservat." Here we cannot refrain from giving Sam Slick the clockmaker's graphic "humours of sledging :"-" When the ground is covered with snow, what grand times they have a slayin' with the gals; or playin' ball on the ice; or goin' to quiltin' frolics of nice, long winter evenings, and then a drivin' home like mad by moonlight. Natur' meant that season on purpose for courtin'. A little, tidy, scrumptious-lookin' slay; a real clipper of a horse; a string of bells, as long as a string of inions, round his neck; and a sprig on his back, lookin' for all the world like a bunch of apples broke off at gatherin' time; and a sweetheart alongside, all muffled up but her eyes and lips,—the one lookin' right into you, and the other talkin' right at you,-is e'en amost enough to drive one ravin' tarin' distracted mad with pleasure, -aint it? And then the dear critters say the bells make such a din there's no hearin' one's-self speak; so they put their pretty little mugs close up to your face, and talk, talk, talk, till one can't help lookin' right at them, instead of the horse; and then whop you both go, capsized into a snow-drift together,--skins, cushions, and all. And then, to see the little critter shake herself, when she gets up, like a duck landing from a pond, a chatterin' away all the time like a canary bird, and you a-haw-hawing with pleasure, is fun alive, you may depend." As the spring approached, the snow and ice began to yield to the influences of a mild breeze and a warm sun. The highways lost their shining coats of beaten snow, and were deserted by the gay travellers who, in sleighs, had, during the winter, glided along their windings: the fields looked green with the springing grass; for in Canada vegetation is so rapid, that the valleys are often clothed with verdure before the snow has wholly disappeared from the forest. The gardens were gay with the primrose, honeysuckle, crocus, and mezereon: the orchards displayed their highest beauty, in the delicate blush of the apple blossoms; the peach and the nectarine, the almond, the cherry, and apricot trees were coming into bud: the lakes and meadows sent forth the music of their thousand tenants; the mellow note of the thrush, the coo of the ringdove, was heard. "Wellington," under the management of an English trainer, was getting into excellent condition. The morning at last arrived, "big with the fate of England and America." The greatest sensation was excited: " heaps of dollars" depended upon the issue of the race. Ever since the dawn of day, the highways and bye-ways had been thronged with equestrians and pedestrians. With Walter Scott, one might have said, "I guess, by all this quaint array, The burghers hold their sports to-day." By twelve o'clock the race-course was filled with busy faces. High life and low life, the thorough-bred team, the barouche and four, the light tilbury, the neat dennet, the lumbering Canadian caleche, the gaudy van, and the tilted wagon. The gambling and drinking booths gave the course the appearance of a great fair; a betting ring was formed, and a deal of business done. England had its backers; so had the dark horse from the "finest country atween the Poles." 66 As we were weighing, my competitor proposed that we should put "helps (Anglice, jockeys,) on ;" this I declined. I then requested the stewards to read over the articles against "crossing and jostling." "That's a good one, I swan," said the Yankee. Why, my critter, Eagle, will go off rayther faster than lightning; catch him who can; and the old gentleman may take the hindmost. Cross and jostle! Do it if you can." "Eagle" was now led down the course; he was a nasty ewe-necked, cat-hammed, flat-eared, crooked-shanked, long-legged, narrow-chested, good-for-nothing-looking brute, though whispered to be a miracle of speed. "Wellington" now rose to two to one. Mr. Cunár, in a pair of double-milled kerseymere trousers, a light-blue jacket made of Canton crape, with a yellow silk handkerchief tied round his head, "prepared to mount." And now, hark! the bell rings for that great event which was to decide the point so often mooted, the knotty question of superiority between English and American horses. "Gist stop while I light my cigar," exclaimed the owner of Eagle. A red-hot cinder was brought from a neighbouring booth, and in less than a minute Mr. Cunár, with a "weed" in his mouth, was in his seat. It was then that Eagle's temper began to shew itself. The brute began to kick, sulk, back, bite, and refused to move. Three to one on "Wellington," and no takers. After sundry attempts, a cart-whip was brought, and, under a severe castigation, away the Eagle flew, in the "pride of place," making most tremendous running. In less than three-quarters of a mile he began to shew symptoms of distress. I then took up the running, and had the race in hand; the pace killed the American, and Wellington won easy. Had it been a slow-run race, the event might have been different, "and the Eagle Might have still soared, with eyes fixed on Victory's sun." I must do the beaten jockey the justice to say, he bore his defeat with great temper, owning that "the English crittur was a perfect pictur of a horse; a genuine clipper-ginger to the back-bone." the following day, Eagle won a handicap for the beaten horses, three quarters of a mile; thanks to the liberality of the stewards, who did not wish to bear too heavily on the American horse. A circumstance occurred at these races, which may, perhaps, be worth mentioning, as it gave rise to a "wrangle," and which ended, as wrangles usually do, in all parties thinking themselves right "A man convinced against his will, Is of the same opinion still." In the Quebec handicap stakes, a three-year-old, called Entre nous, after his sire, Confederate, and, also, from his being the property of two individuals, was weighted a feather. At starting he plunged, and threw his rider, but still continued the course; waiting well in front at the distance post (if I may use the expression), "he gave himself a pull," reserving his rush for the last, which he made à la Chifney, beating Wrangler by a neck. The owners claimed the race, as the horse had brought in his saddle; on the other side, it was argued that feather-weights were subject to the same rules as catch-weights; the racing laws were quoted: "Catch weights are, each party to appoint any person to ride without weighing." The same circumstance occurred at Goodwood, a few years ago, to a horse of Lord Exeter's; different, however, in one respect; as, by the conditions of the race, the horses were to carry 8 st. 4lb each. Perhaps some of the readers of the SPORTING REVIEW would answer the question, whether, in a "catch-weight," or "feather" race, it is indispensably necessary for a biped to jockey the quadruped in. In the abovementioned race, the prize was awarded to the second horse, appropriately enough named Wrangler. While on the subject of applicable names, we must mention the anecdote of a truly popular and sporting General, who owned an Asparagus colt. A match was made, and the General, to his great surprise, won. "I congratulate you," said a noble friend. "Thank you," replied the successful jockey; "I have certainly won my match, but lost my name." "Your name, how?" Why, had I not been the winner, I should undoubtedly have called the colt Beetroot." 66 This anecdote reminds me of a descendant of Milesius, whom I once asked to name a horse for me. "What is he?" "A colt, by St. Patrick the most beautiful bay." "Faith, and is it a bay, and a beautiful bay? Then call him Dublin, for that's the finest bay in the whole world." A few other similarly appropriate names, equally applicable to the sires and dams, occur to me:- -Gains-borough, by Election, out of a Rubens mare; the Prophet (profit), by Moses, out of Speculation; Blubber, by Whalebone, out of Tears.* Return we now to England, where we have witnessed a great deal of good gentleman riding, at Bibury, Cottesford, the Hoo, Hampton, and Goodwood; at the latter place, in 1824, four of the races were ridden by gentlemen; and at the last meeting, in July, we had three good gentlemen-rider races. One event, in 1824 (at least, to me), was my riding Mr. Fleming's b. h. Blandford, 12 st., and beating my brother George's b. g. Swindon, 12 st. 2b, for the Hunters' Stakes. Another event occurred, that created a great deal of betting and sport the Cocked-hat Stakes, which the present leviathan of the turf, the noble owner of Crucifix, rode, and won, on the late Mr. Poyntz's ch. m. Olive, after two dead heats with Swindon, ridden by the Hon. Capt. Berkeley. Three finer contested heats were never seen, nor could finer jockeyship have been displayed. In 1829, at Goodwood, I realized the truth of the old saying, "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good." I was riding Mr. Shelley's Charnwood, against the Hon. Augustus Berkeley's Partial; the Cup Course. At starting, Partial made great play; as we approached the distance-post, I perceived that the rope had not been taken up. I holloaed to my antagonist to stop; which he tried to do, when he saw the rope. Fortunately, it was let down in time to save him; but, by some means, the mare got entangled in it, and a scene of confusion took place. In the mean time I had got my horse quietly into a trot, and leaving the Captain to settle with the clerk of the course, as to who was to blame, slipped him, went "a-head," and was never caught. But the limit of our article reminds us to stop: we have given a faint sketch, not a full-length picture, of gentlemen riding. * Melbourne, by Emilius, out of Misrule: a Tory conceit.-ED. 190 FOX-HUNTING IN CANADA. To the Editor of the Sporting Review. SIR,-With your permission, I will now and then give you an account of the chase as carried on in this quarter of the world; which, from the unhappy notoriety Canada has lately acquired, the novelty of a regular pack of foxhounds being kept in so distant a part of England's empire, and the nature of the country hunted over, may prove acceptable to the generality of your readers. * The Montreal foxhounds have now hunted the country, in the vicinity of that populous city, for ten years past, and are the only regularlyappointed pack on the whole continent of North America. In the year 1829, some forty gentlemen associated themselves together, under the name of the "Montreal Hunt;" and although, for the first two or three years, they had many difficulties to contend against; a strange country, very closely fenced; a pack collected from both the Old and New World; horses and men wholly unused to the chase, &c. ; yet, by great spirit and perseverance, they have brought the club, and everything connected with the hounds and kennel, to a state of efficiency and good management that would bear a comparison with many provincial packs in the old country. It may be asked-how can the chase be carried on, according to English ideas of it, in a land where nearly all is wood and forest?-but this is not the case. Immense woods-there, queerly enough, termed "the bush"-certainly abound in Canada; but the island and district of Montreal is a well-cultivated and populous country, for the most part cleared of its primeval forests by the old French inhabitants, something like a century ago; and presents a very different and, assuredly, a more agreeable appearance than the less settled parts of the country. Here you find Jean Baptiste, in his comfortable, long, one-storied stone house, neatly whitewashed, with outhouses of similar material; and his opposite neighbour, an English or Scotch yeoman, alike comfortably housed, but with more attention to neatness, and his farm immeasurably superior in cultivation; the village in the distance, with its church and tin-covered spire, glittering in the sun; all giving the idea of some little civilization and attention to the amenities of life. In the Lower Province, of which Montreal is the great commercial capital, the French population (small landed proprietors) greatly preponderate; and all along there has been more or less difficulty to overcome the prejudices of these people, though sometimes, by a little tact and politesse, they are manageable enough. Many, to this day, believe that we hunt the fox for the value of his skin, and cannot comprehend why so much, to them, apparent danger and expense are incurred for amusement alone. This idea they derive from the extensive fur trade that is carried on, far in the interior of the country, among the Indians, who, of course, hunt the different wild animals of those extensive tracts, for the sake of barter with the white traders. Many French Canadians (called voyageurs) are still employed in this trade, as labourers, to man the canoes; and whenever we come across an old voyageur, in him we find a friend to the chase. A nick-name given by the English to the French Canadian. |