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living, or greatly adds to his means of living by acting professionally, he may, in many cases, be very appropriately termed a professional, for he does for pay that which professionals do.

We will come, by degrees, to sporting avocations, wherein the professional is employed. Mr. Benjamin Marshall, the animal painter (deceased), though at the top of his profession, or at all events in its first rank in his day, was never (as he has told me) professionally instructed; yet he established a new style of painting, as regards light and shade, that at the time perfectly astonished the public. Hypercriticism could not call him otherwise than professional, though not professionally taught.

I know a lady who has studied drawing from childhood, under professors, and great credit she does to her instructors; she did not study with a view to making drawing a profession; circumstances have since rendered it convenient, though not necessary, to turn her acquirement to account; at times she does so, both as regards the sale of drawings, and also in instructing. Not being publicly a professor, she may by some be still held as an amateur. I must consider her professional, as I do all who perform any professional calling for pay.

I will now touch on authors, and very ticklish gentlemen they mostly are to touch, be their usual themes what they may. Their being professionals or not, I consider, in the strict sense of the word, depends on circumstances. Lord Byron was a very voluminous author; he was paid, no doubt; but, at the same time, he was a literary nobleman of unrivalled imaginative and poetic powers, who chose to write. His afterwards selling what he had written, I do not consider made him professional. If a man is regularly engaged to write as an author, be it in what way or on what subject it may, he is a professional author; if not, he is an individual who at times avails himself of such talent as he may possess, and makes money by it when he can. I should say, it is being in the habit of engaging to do a thing for pay, that makes it a profession, and the man a professional.

Now comes the tug of war-" define what is a gentleman jockey." Good reader, I shrink from such a task; for wherever and whenever we touch on the definition of a gentleman, as it affects any particular individual, or indeed class of individuals, we are pretty sure to get into a scrape, and render ourselves liable to be charged with ignorance, prejudice, partiality, or malevolence, or perhaps all together; unless in a case where, in applying the term "gentleman," or "plebeian," its appropriateness is so unequivocal as to prevent the possibility of a diversity of opinion. But though I will" touch not " either "the lords" or gentlemen "anointed," I will venture a few remarks on professional and non-professional riders as jockeys, leaving the pretensions of any and all as gentlemen, to pass the ordeal of what would be considered as authority, which what I might say perhaps would not.

I have often heard much outcry against races expressly arranged for gentlemen riders, with, I must say, I think, no clause in favour of such objection; but on the contrary, with no little probability of producing a bad effect, or, at all events, tending to prevent the progress of a good one. Such outery as I have mentioned, I have only found


raised by a certain clique, or persons entertaining similar views and wishes. Why do such so virulently abuse races ridden by gentlemen? Is it from the only objectionable feature I should bring against them, namely, that horses do certainly often get much abused from the want of skill and judgment of many such riders? Is it this consideration that produces the wholesale anathmas brought forward against nonprofessional jockeys? Not a bit; the set loudest in their deprecations would see a horse cut up piecemeal, if it could promote their interest that he should be thus treated. The secret, or rather fact (for I should think it could be no secret), is where gentlemen ride in gentlemen's races: they mostly do so from a love of sport, and, no doubt, a little harmless vanity. That vanity is gratified by the dress in itself; is more gratified by the preliminary canter in sight of their friends; but immeasurably more gratified, if their horse is proclaimed a winner; which, in most cases leads, deservedly or not, to a compliment-nay, sundry compliments to his jockey.

Aware that the desire to win is in such a man so strong, quite satisfies certain parties that the influence of money would here succumb to that of vanity, and more than all, any rascally offer made would probably ensure a kicking or horsewhipping, and consequent exposure; and as a further guarantee of the fairness of intention in such races, they are not often for sums, nor is the betting on them heavy enough to warrant a moderate independence being offered, as an inducement to risk character. Therefore, should there be a black sheep among the lot, he would not be weak enough to bleat here. Such races are therefore lost time to the "leg," who takes the time the running them occupies, as the proper one in which to take his creature comforts.

There is a further circumstance attending races to be ridden by gentlemen, which would always render betting in such events more complex than when taking place on others. This is, the quality of the riders, as to skill, judgment, and horsemanship, which varies quite as much-indeed, a vast deal more than do the pretensions of the horses as racers; so here must come in no little handicapping of the riders. We will suppose a Welter Cup on the eve of being run for. "What will win the Cup?" says a country gentleman, who likes to have a trifle on, be the event what it may, just to keep his mind a little on the qui vive. "Why," replies the friend addressed, "it will be between three of them-Tom Leadem, Contest, & Lucy Laglast." "What on earth do you mean, my good fellow," cries the first speaker; "why, when the three ran together in the spring, for the Hunters' Stakes, at Early, Lucy was not even placed." "Well! what odds will you bet me she don't win?" "Why anything you like to name in reason. "I'll take twenty to one, and give you the field, including the two favourites." "You shall have it, my victim, with pleasure," cries our country friend, laughing. "Well!" replies the other, laughing in his turn, "as I am a victim, I will make up my mind to be victimized. Will you make it fivers instead of sovs. ?" "I will; and now, my good fellow, do tell me what induces you to make the bet?" "Did not you see the mare run in the last race?" "I did, and saw Mr. Choke'em ride her head off." "Do you know who steers her tomorrow?" "No," says the other, "I do not." "Well then, I'll

tell you. Captain Eagle-eye will be up; and now I'll turn prophet, and tell you how the race will come off: If I'm not much mistaken, Tom Leadem and Contest are to be ridden by their owners, both fine horsemen across country; but this has not much to do with race riding. Still, their horses will be well ridden, and will make a close thing of it for second place; but I know the mare is seven pounds better than either, and I'd give away seven more for the Captain to steer her; and now I'll give you a bit of advice worth the hundred I think you may book as lost to me: Never in an amateur race attempt to judge of the merits of horses by their running, unless you well know the merits of the riders. Good-bye till to-morrow." How our prophet sped, those who can handicap amateur jockeys will judge.

There is one circumstance, and but one, that I know or can conceive, that ever has prevented gentlemen jockeys riding as well as professionals, and that is want of practice. This want arises from three prominent causes-want of leisure; disliking the privations necessary to keep down weight and keep up condition; and, lastly, the few amateur races there are to ride for; and, of course, the less such races are encouraged, the less opportunity for practice gentlemen have.

It will not, I trust, be supposed that I in any way would wish to see amateur races preponderate in point of number over others. Far otherwise; I only consider that a sprinkling of them among others at a race meeting has a beneficial effect, in giving meetings, where such is the case, a peculiar interest among sportsmen, quite independent of mere gambling with race-horses in lieu of dice, which is pretty much the feature of most races. It conduces to making a race-course a place of sport, and not a mere "Hell" in the open air.

We call Ascot "par excellence," a royal and aristocratic course. It very properly holds this prestige from its being usually distinguished by the presence of Majesty; but, in point of aristocracy, I should give that merit far more to Croxton Park, where I should say that in proportion to the different numbers assembled at the two different meetiugs, the aristocracy preponderate by far at the latter named meeting. I should say, more legs, sharpers, and blackguards are to be found in one day at Ascot, than in two or three years' meetings at Croxton, solely because "locusts" will not darken by their numbers a spot where they find a scarcity of that they feed on.

Nor need gentlemen disposed to race-riding be deterred from doing so, under the supposition that to ride a race well, it is necessary they should have passed the ordeal of several years as exercise boy. Riding exercise alone would never make a jockey; riding trials is the practice that renders a lad capable of riding a race. I hold it quite necessary that to make a man a perfect general horseman, he should begin at a very early age; a very short time gives such a younker a sufficiently good racing seat. It is trials that teach pace and the capabilities of the race-horse; these teach him when distress begins: riding exercise will not; for at such work a horse should not feel distress, however strong the work. It is the quickness of perception when a horse is in a state to be made use of, or when he must be eased (and this sometimes occurs more than once or twice in a race), that constitutes one of the great niceties of riding a race; and riding trials


and races will alone and only do this; and as I have no hesitation in saying, a cultivated mind will learn this much quicker than ignorance: the gentleman needs not the long practice of the exercise lad, to become a very fair jockey; and I am quite clear that a certain portion of the plain part of the education of the gentleman would greatly accelerate the progress of the boy in becoming a reflective, intelligent, and accomplished jockey. People talk a great deal of the qualities of jockeys, as to their style of riding, and each has his admirers. There can be no doubt that a jockey, to be perfect, should be a fine horseman ; but I must observe that we have no jockey among those who are worthy the name, that cannot as a horseman ride well enough to win races; but it is the faculty of combining circumstances, calculating their effects-quickness of discernment, presence of mind in difficulty, and promptness of decision and action in availing himself of casualties in the race he rides for, that makes the perfect master of his profession. These qualities emanate from the head. Very long practice acts as a substitute for the want of early information; but where the qualities of the head gives one man a decided advantage over another in any craft, the earlier and the better furnished the head is, the sooner and the most decidedly will one man become superior to the other in whatever the two may undertake. Poor Arthur Pavis was a very successful jockey, no doubt; for this he was greatly indebted to the weight he could ride. No one will accuse Pavis of great powers of reflection, or of possessing great sense; yet it may be said he could ride, and ride to win. He could so; but though he rode well enough for any man as a horseman, he would have been a far better jockey if he had had a head, or one with anything in it. Had not circumstances, more than his actual merits, afforded him opportunity to be a successful jockey, he would have been only considered a very coxcombical, self-sufficient simpleton. We laughed at, but could not help admiring poor little Arthur. We never laughed at, but always did and always must, so long as the recollection of a jockey remains, respect and admire Jim Robinson. With Pavis up, with boys to ride against (an advantage he so frequently got), we could reasonably calculate on the result. Put him against veterans, that result became very doubtful. With Robinson up, we were pretty sure, if the race was in his horse's powers, the race would be his. All jockeys have heels-Robinson, and a few others, have heads; and such are the only men that, in the long run, are to be depended on. May I hope the reader will take this in support of my hypothesisthat to make a perfect jockey, we should begin by making a wellinformed man. A very old jockey has happened to call on me while concluding this portion of these sheets; I have read them to him. "You are quite right, master," says the veteran. So with the suffrage of my old acquaintance, I will quit amateurs and professionals as jocks, and turn to them in other guise.


"Ah!" cries the fox-hunter, "here seems something more in my 'line of country,' than Pavises, Robinsons, and men of whom I know nothing, and for whom I care less." So be it, good reader; chacun à son goût, soit-il bon, soit-il mauvais." But, good reader, it may turn

out that the line of country I shall take may be widely different from such as you have been accustomed to, and, in many particulars, far from what you may consider a good one. You may consider I am "running riot," and all I may get from you is a rate" instead of a cheer. However, I must risk it, and having "settled to my game," I must not now 66 run mute.'

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Although, as it is said in the play, in most things "much may be said on both sides,' no man can conscientiously and effectively uphold two opposite doctrines, or, in more vulgar parlance, "blow hot and blow cold;" so I hope to at least nail the opinion of my reader to one side or other of the argument.

Most persons are enthusiastic in their statements of the niceties, beauties, and difficulties of any pursuit they particularly admire. The cricketer will expatiate for an hour together on the splendid specimen of batting or bowling exhibited by somebody on a particular day-nay, will speak in all but rapture of the way in which the seventh or any other ball in such an innings was disposed of; he will tell you it takes many years' private and public practice to make a finished cricketer. So be it; he therefore admits by this, that much valuable time has been consumed in such practice. I therefore nail his admission of this fact.

The player of that still more difficult and intricate game "tennis" will tell you the same thing.

Perhaps it would take the third of a life to make such a violinist as Paganini was; and, as a professional man, that great artist did right and well in devoting all his time and energies of mind to his vocation. He wished to become the first violinist of his day, and I suppose succeeded. Now playing the violin scientifically, and in a masterly way, is an accomplishment that any nobleman, so far from being ashamed, may well be proud of, if to be achieved leaving ample time for the cultivation of other parts of education and other accomplishments fitting the position of a nobleman, and consequently man of fashion, and we will suppose, man of sense. Now comes the plain state of the case: It either does require the devotion of many years of a man's life to become an accomplished violinist, or it does not. I think this nails the fact to one side or other. If it does not require an undue proportion of time to learn the instrument, the noble would be quite right in making it a part of his studies. If it really does require as many years as enthusiastic violinists avow it does, to acquire proficiency, quære, could not the nobleman find higher pursuits to occupy so much of his time than becoming a fiddler?

Enthusiastic fox-hunters will say, that to become a perfect huntsman, a man should, figuratively, be born in a kennel. That is, a kennel should be among his first associations of ideas; that he should be conversant with all the routine of kennel management and kennel discipline; he should be entered, like the young hounds, cub-hunting; go through the gradations of riding second horse, acting as second, then first whip, and then, after many years' practice in these several vocations, he may, if an intelligent man, aspire to the situation of huntsman; which finished step attained, he will still require some years' practice to become a finished artist, in the profession in which he has spent probably the half of his allotted life.

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