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In 1848, Surplice, ridden by Templeman, won the Derby stakes at Epsom, of 50 sovs. each, h. ft. (215 subs.) ; one mile and a half over the new Derby Course ; beating Mr. Bowes's Springy Jack (2), Mr. Green's Shylock (3), Mr. Payne's Glendower (4), and the following not placed :-Mr. Day's Nil Desperandum, Mr. Nunn's The Fowler, Mr. E. Peel's Great Western, Lord Clifton's Loadstone, Mr. Baker's Oscar, Duke of Rutland's The Fiddler, Mr. E. R. Clarke's Weathercock, Mr. Parr's Sponge, Sir, J. B. Mill's Deerstalker, Mr. Rolt's Comet, Lord Eglinton's Eagle's Plume, Major Pitt's Fern, and Mr. Osbaldeston's Fugleman. Even on Surplice, who won by a neck.
SUMMARY OF SURPLICE'S PERFORMANCES,
The Buckenham Stakes (forfeit) at Newmarket, ditto 250
The Derby Stakes at Epsom ........................... 5,500
£11,000 Surplice's present engagements are in the Gratwicke, Drawing Room, Richmond, and Racing Stakes at Goodwood ; the Great Yorkshire Stakes at York; and the St. Leger and North of England Stakes at Doncaster. As his Epsom achievement will carry with it heavy penalties in nearly all these stakes, we doubt very much as to seeing Surplice again brought out before Doncaster-more particularly as the stable has a good representative in Loadstone, and such horses as Springy Jack and Glendower are hardly to be reckoned safe at seven or eight pounds the best of the deal. For the Leger anything over six to four against Surplice is now taken instanter ; though considering the Derby was only just won by a neck, and that nearly every thing in precedent shows the improbability of the double event, we would repeat to the high party the propriety of remembering that “no race is won till it's over.”
ENGRAVED BY J. SCOTT, FROM A PAINTING BY DAVIS
A full-grown, well-conditioned foxhound has been pronounced by acknowledged authorities one of the most perfect animals in creation; as, however, the good of a horse goes chiefly in at his mouth, so the excellence of the hound depends no little on the way in which he is reared. See our litter or two of “ Future Hopes," now so full of playful promise ; and, moreover, so even-looking to the eye that, unless you were a “houndsman” outright, it would puzzle you sorely to draft out any couple as superior or inferior to their fellows. Observe them well now, as “ before," and then look in on us again “after” they come back from their “walks,” and if it was not for that innate dash which so thoroughly characterises the foxhound in action only, you would have little trouble in selecting first favourites. The grand epoch, perhaps, or great trial in the life of a foxhound, is the lot he gets cast to him at walk. At home in kennel, all of course fare alike ; and those who have got the heart to work and the appetite to eat have ample opportunities for serving themselves. But at walk—while Crafty and Caroline are being petted and watched and exercised at worthy farmer Flamborough's, at the Abbey ; promenaded with the daughters, fed by the boys, and shown to every visitor as regularly and with as much pride as the Devons, the Leicesters, or even Old Plough-boy, the winner of the Hunter's Stake, himself—while this happy pair, we say, are being thus served out at their quarters, what becomes of their own brother, Pillager, sent up solus to one of the wood-farms that the feeder for some time despaired of ever finding? How his term of transportation is passed we are only able to guess at by the gaunt, mangy, wild-eyed, hungry-looking wretch, that greets brother and sister once more at the kennel doors. And yetấno thanks to the style in which the half-yeoman, half-woodman has done" him-poor Pillager may not turn out the worst of his year even now, that is if he can imprimis be kept from eating everything he sees, and then, when once out, from running every thing he crosses.
People talk about four or five last year's ricks, four or five-and-twenty of this year's turkeys, a patent clod-crusher, or a nice clean blooming serving girl as good signs to see about the premises of the man you are going to call on. Perhaps they are—we won't for a moment attempt to deny it—but we really question whether we should not feel more certain of a hearty welcome from seeing a young healthy foxhound playing about the gate, than even from the smile of Betsey herself—and that's a bold word too. Let us catch one peep at “ Gameboy," and confirm the fact by a view of the flying fox at the top of the barn in the way of a weathercock, and then—why if the old fellow does ask us to stop another week, by Jove! we will, for we are sure he means it, and we shall enjoy it.
His Grace the Duke of Beaufort has a capital custom with the Badminton for bringing on their “ Future Hopes" into real excellence. To the two tenants, or other residents in his hunt, who have done the best by the puppies they have taken to walk, silver cups with appropriate inscriptions are awarded, after a careful consideration of the various cases. We have rather an idea, with His Grace's permission, of making the plan a little more general, and of offering annually, from the immense profits of this work, a couple of prizes--say about the size and value of the Emperor's vase at Ascot-to the shewers of the two best-walked hounds in England, Scotland, Ireland, or Wales. We give thus early intimation of an intention, scarcely yet fully developed, in order that no reader or subscriber may henceforth refuse anything sent to him for nursewhether coming either from his Grace's kennel, or as a memento from that extraordinary man, Mr. Makeshift, who contrives to keep fifteen couple of hounds and five couple of children on an annual income of not over eight hundred a year.
TWO YEARS IN THE FAR WEST.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “ STORIES OF WATERLOO," &c., &c.
No. II. Visitors of a mixed order-Our domestic life — The herring fishery-An evening row
to it- Piscatory ignorance-Hints how to eat a herring-Approach of winter in Ballycroy-Murder of a peddler-Notice to quit-A false alarm-A butler in peril -A kitchen occurrence--The deserter-The loan of a gun-A barnacle shooterColonel —'s visit-Farewell to Ballycroy.
Whether from its wild locale, or the freshness of life that a wilderness is associated with, I found no difficulty in obtaining a fast succession of visitors ; and the cave of Abdullum was not more prolific in its variety of company than the lodge of Aughniss. I had occasionally gentlemen who were in debt, and gentlemen who were in danger; but they formed a small sprinkling of the guests, who
“ Claimed kindred there, and had their claim allowed.” My visitors by invitation were generally brethren of the sword; but clerks and laymen—persons learned in the law, and persons who held it in mortal detestation-missionaries to enlighten the heathens inside “the Mullet,” as the divisional river is called ; and travelling friars, to lery from the said heathens an annual donation of corn, in return for which, a very rapid evasion from purgatory was promised-peddlers and fiddlers ladies who told fortunes—in short, of the human race, a most extensive assortment in turn found shelter beneath the lowly roof-tree of a habitation, that, as I said before, could lay no claim to architectural regularity.
At times, to entertain our multifarious guests when the day was stormy, or the rain came down, as it does in the “ far West,” not in showers, but in pailfulls, was rather puzzling. Men tire after they have examined a fishing-book for an hour ; and the most elaborate attention to a gun-case will not consume a morning. Distant, as we were (five and twenty miles from the post-office), we had our Times and letters punctually, and to these we added two or three periodicals and as many Sunday newspapers. Our library comprised Shakespere, Scott, and Byron, with a few novels occasionally exchanged from a country circulating library. These were, for the most part, emanations from * the Minerva Press.” I recollect only a couple of the titles “ The Red-handed Monk, or Horrific Disclosures ;' “ Delicate Distress, or the Mysterious Pregnancy.” There are men, were they placed in the Bodleian library for a wet morning, who could find nothing to while away five minutes with—and not unfrequently I had such visitors. I never stood upon ceremony with them-left them anateriel to play backgammon, or blind hookey-retired to a little den, six feet wide by ten in length—and in that crib amused myself in writing “ The Stories of Waterloo."
Our customary dinner hour was early-four o'clock ; and at twilight, were the weather favourable, and the herring fishery, as it was generally, in our own immediate neighbourhood, we would order a large rowboat, and take what Cockneys call, “ a little air upon the water.”
The herring fishery, of a fine night, would afford a descriptive field equally to the author or the artist, and the recollection of one of our visits to the little fleet comes back to our memory now. Sir Charles C- and some ladies were our guests ; and on a mild and placid, but dark evening in September, we started for the fishery that was being carried on in the next estuary, about a mile's distance from the lodge. The water was unruffled, and the only object that in the haze of evening caught the eye was the huge outline of Slievemore standing out in bold relief, while all the lesser heights were lost in sombre mist. Around, there was profound tranquillity; and the noise our oars made, as they sprang at every stroke in the rullocks, might have been heard a mile off. Abluff headland divided the estuaries from each other—and until we rounded it, the silence was so unbroken that our immediate vicinity to six or eight hundred men in active operation could never have been suspected. There, however, were the whole fleet; a hundred dark objects were seen like spots upon the watersome traceable only through the twilight, some more distinctly seen from the few lighted turfs placed on a flat stone upon the bottom of the boat, to enable the fishers to light their dudheeins* when they wished it. Each boat dodged quietly beside its long expanse of net-work, or flitted with an easy oar-stroke along the back ropes, picking out the herrings as they were meshed.
That evening the take had been large; and as we came round the outer buoys, and passed slowly from boat to boat, the phosphoric brilliancy of the captured herrings, as they lay loosely upon the floorings, was singularly beautiful. The natural kindliness of Irish character evinced itself strongly. Every boat we ranged alongside pressed a cast of herrings on us for acceptance. We received the offering from two or three, and from being fully supplied, we declined it from others as we visited them in succession; the refusal seemed generally a disappointment and some would not take a denial, but flung a double handful on board. The ceremony of the presentation and acceptance was very simple.
“ Arrah! y'er Honor! ye would'nt be after taking our luck away! Peter-bad luck to ye-pick out a nate cast, pitch it in, and ask no questions !”
“ More luck to you, boys !" was the response. “God bless y'er Honor for the wish."
And we parted mutually satisfied ; we richer by half a dozen scuddawns (herrings), and Pat highly flattered with the interest we expressed for his " luck,”-an article to which an Irishman attaches the highest value.
We fear we will never attain the freedom of the city, and that of course presented in a gold box, when we assure the corporation that they are profoundly ignorant on piscatory matters in general. The Billingsgate representative of a salmon, except in shape, bears no affinity to the reality. A London mackarel can only be tolerated by a coal-whipper. A her
* Anglice-A cutty pipe.