EMBELLISHMENTS. THE START FOR THE ST. LEGER, 1851-(NEWMINSTER'S YEAR). ENGRAVED BY J. ENGLEHEART, FROM A PAINTING BY H. ALKEN. AND DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED BY WEBB. CONTENTS. THE "TWA SAFT CUSHIONS;" OR, MY FIRST INKLING OF A ROYAL TIGER.-BY AN OLD INDIAN OFFICER THE BATTLE OF BALLYOONAN.-BY THE LATE CAPTAIN MAX- THE FARMER'S STORY.-BY 66 A SECOND-CLASS TRAVELLER 429 THE UNSUCCESSFUL MAN; OR, PASSAGES IN THE TURF REGISTER:-LEAMINGTON SPA-CURRAGH APRIL MEET- 16 W Hampton R.; Newton Races. 18 F 19 S 07 30 0 8 30 59.40 r 3 4523 1 26 9 s 8 18 r 3 44 r3 45 6 afternoon. 20 Second Sunday after Trinity.s 8 18 21 M North v. South (Gent.) at Lord's. r 3 44 22 T Newcastle R. Curragh Races. s 8 19 23 W Bibury Races. 24 T Midsummer Day. Stockbridge R. s 8 19 7 0 4 6 35 7 5 25 F Henley Reg. Winchester Races. r 3 46 8 0 27 26 S Royal London Regatta. 27 Third Sunday after Trinity,r 3 4710 1 8 9 50 10 20 28 M England v. Kent (Gent.) at Lord's. s 8 19 11 1 33 10 5011 25 29 T Carlisle Races. r 3 4812 2 111 55 No tide 7 35 8 5 s 8 19 9 0 48 8 40 9 20 30 W Ludlow R.; Chelmsford Races. s 8 1813 2 37 0 25 0 55 Dean ........... 4 & 5 Macclesfield.... .21, 22, & 23 Ascot.. 9 & 10 Newcastle........ 22, 23, & 24 29, 30, &c. Knighton ...... 25 Ludlow.... .................... 30, &c. 8, 9, 10 & 11 Curragh...... 22, 23, 24, & 25 Chelmsford........... 30, &c. ... 9 Bibury 11 15 & 16 16 & 17 Monkstown REGATTAS IN JUNE. Royal Mersey Y.C......... 12 | Chelsea Watermen's....... 21 | Royal London Y.C. (Erith). 26 Royal Thames Y.C........ 12 Royal Henley... ...................... 25 & 26 Imperial Y.C. St. Petersburg 28 THE RACING IN MAY. BY CRAVEN. "O! rose of May." HAMLET. This is not the age of brilliant spirits, of natures such as those whereof our own Shakspeare is the immortal type. That etherial genius of whose grace and glory the marble of Greece is the monument; the page of Milton, the epitaph; the song of Mozart, the requiem, has set -it may be but for a season, or it may be its earthly mission is accomplished. This is, at all events, the abstract and especial time of prac tical process and progress. The world, apparently, is in the chrysalis of that prose utilitarianism of which Jeremy Bentham was the prophet, when he instituted his memorable comparison between poetry and pushpin, and awarded the laurel to the latter. These are days eminently calculated to contradict the sophism whereby it is asserted that "there is nothing new under the sun. Is it no novelty to receive one's letters in geometrical time, which have not been written by our correspondents in the mean time? Was it customary for our forefathers to discharge pieces of ordnance on the French coasts by means of triggers pulled upon the cliffs of Dover? Did Doctor Johnson, who acknowledged that he had a penchant for pace, ever breakfast in Bolt Court, Fleet Street, and dine on the same day with his friend Boswell in Auld Reekie? Was Sir Roger de Coverley the representative of a school of social philosophy, whose doctrine it was, that "a point which yesterday was invisible, is our goal to-day, and will be our starting-post to-morrow"? The community has run racing rampant. The turf, heretofore, was a class amusement-those who could afford it, and it must be confessed a few who could not, kept studs, and occupied their pleasure upon the course. Now this was obnoxious to the legitimate policy of utilitarianism, whose system advocates "the greatest happiness of the greatest number." Thus, a much larger proportion of the human family can enjoy push-pin, than can relish Homer or Euripedes. Therefore, argues Bentham, poetry is less popular, "and if utilitarianism, admitted to be true, despises poetry, poetry must be false. It is no defence of poetry to say that it is divine, and the delight and solace of divine natures; for the object of utilitarianism is not happiness, but the happiness of the greatest number."... Let it not be supposed that I am blundering into a prepense dilemma of logic only to exhibit my agility by a jump at some conventional conclusion. I have to prove how it was consistent with the march of utilitarianism that fifty thousand persons should "assist" at the Chester races on one day, in the year immediately succeeding that of the Great Exhibition. "Bentham," we are told, "admits that poetry has some merit, as a substitute for the amusement of drinking :" upon the same principle the Chester Cup must not be despised, if it contributed to the sobriety of all, or a tithe, of the fifty thousand souls that resorted to it, under the auspices of utilitarianism... "If the present were the final age of the world," says the authority quoted above, "and society had reached its culminating point, it would be very proper to place poetry low down in a system which sought the greatest happiness of the greatest number. It would be mere waste of time to preach of the divineness of poetry to an audience ninety-nine-hundredths of whom are for ever incapable of rising beyond the enjoyments of sense." Now it is in this "sense," morally as well as physically, that we are to look for the true reading-the natural exposition of our proposition. The people, for once since the Golden Age and the evaporation of war prices, are prosperous-that is to say the general population. In this the mechanical classes are paramount, for we have ceased to be a pastoral people. The handicrafts command a scale of wages equivalent at the least to that which was current a dozen years ago, and the cost of life during that interval has been reduced considerably more than onehalf, especially in reference to the productive representatives. So the motto of the million is "eat, drink, and be merry." This is said without any intentional offence to the "Committee of Gentlemen" spoken of in the newspapers as associated for the benevolent purpose of quenching a thirst for the Pierian spring said to have broken out in every rookery of modern Babylon, beneath groves of orange trees, and avenues of azaleas, in a pavilion to be provided for the purpose. My experience of your whipper of coals exhibits him still with a propensity for stout, stronger than any inclination for sculpture, and a relish for gin considerably in advance of his taste for geology or bias for botany. Moreover, it is the fashion, decidedly from the "gent " downwards, to be "fast." Here a difficulty that must be got over, occurs on the threshold. Business hours, for three-fourths of the year, extend into the twilight, and there is no pigeon shooting-meaning the feathered songsters-no cricket, no" doing a bit of boat," or that sort of thing, after 'tis dark: as to hunting, it would be out of the question even with sunshine from night till morning. But isn't there something faster" than the chase-than a royal deer at the Magpies, or an afternoon fox from Barkby? What say you to the turf? 66 But how is a man (milliner), a young blood rivetted to an office stool, or a "swell" nailed to a counter, to affect Goodwood and Doncaster ? That is the question. "It's not to be done, nohow you fix it," said Kutitphat, who does the bowing for the ruination shop in Regent-street. It was when this cruel perplexity most prevailed, that coming events loomed through the horizon in the shape of "sweeps and lotteries," as substitutes for ocular racing. This was the premier pas, soon to be accounted "slow." The successors of these were "betting lists "-entire and perfect personifications of foregone conclusions. They involved no hope deferred-" that maketh the heart sick." Theirs was a momentary process, which accomplished in the twinkling of an eye what, by the old method, would have cost half-a-dozen trips to Tattersall's. The "list" was none of your antique calculating complications, but a simple manual movement: down with the dust-and you were done while yet the preliminaries were in progress. It was a refinement on the enjoyments of sense-an anticipation of the catastrophe-the second sight of emotion-the rendering of Jonathan's "go-ahead "in the præterpluper fect tense. This contrivance is the utilitarianism of the turf-it is not happiness, but the happiness of the greatest number. It is the triumphant solution of the problem" what's the odds so long as you're happy?" The odds are the poetry of Olympus, understood by the one in a hundred-the ends are their effects on the ninety-nine, without their knowing wherefore. Why will not mankind condescend to make use of reason as a social test? What should we say of the tailor who, receiving orders for a pair of trousers, suggested that the legs might be made to fit them? Just as wisely do they counsel who are insisting on the abandonment of "cakes and ale." Wait awhile-occasion will bring the remedy when the crisis is ripe. To-day for push-pin-to-morrow for poetry: prosperity is proverbially on bad terms with the Muses. The World's Fair of 1851 was not the millennium after all-perhaps the actual epoch of that commemoration is postponed to the Greek Calends. Peradventure the globe is but in its chrysalis-we shall grow wiser, may be, as we grow older. Considering the accession of customers on the utilitarian system, we may consistently account for the popularity of the race-course -in the way of business. Practical process is the order of the day; here, in the ring, by grace of a coup de main; elsewhere, in more important matters by favour of a coup d'etat-so far, at all events, we have the best of it. What will historians call the nineteenth century ?-the age of beggar my neighbour.......? Sheer courtesy would demand a notice of the First Spring Meeting at Newmarket, albeit somewhat out of date, even if it did not furnish materials for interesting retrospect. One cannot see the complexion to which the old familiar aspect of that pleasant place has come, without falling back upon memories of lang syne. I have already seen it in two generations, and as yet my days are not in the sear and yellow leaf. To me its peerless plains and emerald uplands are as a household landscape-a scene that I had never looked off. And then, with what a chivalrous company I can people it-in my mind's eye-the fairest daughters and the noblest sons of merry England! Aye! by my faith, it is a good phrase......they laugh the best who laugh the longest. It is with such a spirit as that which induced Suetonius to retain the villa where he was born without alteration or embellishment, that I see or hear of changes at Newmarket-" ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudine deperiret " "Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; Each, as the various avenues of sense As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. At once illumined, when the clould is past." Thus Rogers apostrophises memory: woe is me! that I sympathise more with Byron's version..... |