horse's neck, and led him quietly to the post. The work "off" was given, when the rascally "leg," instead of letting the rein go, held fast by it, and, clinging to the horse's neck, set him plunging. "Let go,' "shouted Samuel." Doucement, doucement," responded the Belgian. "Leave him alone, or I'll break your foreign head," exclaimed the now irate jockey. "Gently, sare, gently," rejoined the "leg.” Styles, now losing his temper, suited the action to the word, and, raising his whip, applied it so severely over the shoulders of the rascally horsedealer, that he let go his hold, and was nearly trampled upon for his pains. This transaction, which was the affair of a few seconds, took less time, in reality, than we have taken to narrate it; and, although the young jockey had lost his start, he waited patiently to make it up by degrees, which he finally accomplished just as he reached the distance-post; and then, holding his horse fast by the head, waited till within ten yards from home, when he eased his hands, and won cleverly. In the meantime the Belgian had, fortunately for himself, "made himself scarce," or he would have run a good chance of having had his courage cooled in a neighbouring horse-pond.

Styles had now an opportunity of looking about him, and was greatly amused at the heterogeneous mass that were assembled on the course. The King and Queen of the Belgians, attended by a numerous suite, were present, and the latter seemed to take the deepest interest in the sport. A party of our own countrymen had formed a betting-ring, and were loud in their offers of taking and betting the odds. La crême de la crême of Brussels society, foreign and English, were also present, attended by Poles, Russians, Austrians, Germans, with names that would spoil any good pen to write, and which sounded very much like the word used by Hoffman, the German poet,

"Steuerverweigerungsverfassungsmassig berechtig."

which, for the benefit of country gentlemen, we translate-a man who is exempt by the constitution from the payment of taxes. To resume. There might be seen your genuine cockney horse-dealer, with his green cut-away coat, neatly tied coloured neckcloth, drab trowsers, with gaiter continuation, talking to a French maquignon, or, as he is now called, "marchand des chevaux," who has come across the French border to purchase English horses. This dealer is, however, none of your fashionable Parisian dealers, but a mere rural adventurer, who preserves the glazed hat, the short and broad nankeen trowsers, the red waistcoat, with its numerous buttons, and a horrible lower Normandy patois: he is embellished with an ozier whip and a short pipe. At another part of the course may be seen some young larking emeralders, setting some of the Brave Belges at a ditch that any moderate horse would take in his stride. Around the stand may be traced some familiar faces, well known in Englandex-guardsmen, hussars, lancers, heavy's, younger brothers, et cætera, et cætera, who, having gone too fast at first, have proved the truth of the saying, "It is the pace that kills," and have been compelled to seek protection in a foreign land. Independent of these, might be seen others who have migrated from England, over-taxed England, and who enjoy, or fancy they enjoy, luxuries and advan

tages that they could not procure in their vaterland. Poor deluded people! 'Tis true they get wine at a few francs a bottle, and go out in a rickety old calèche, with a pair of miserable horses, and a coachman with a huge cocked hat, which they call keeping a carriage; and can dine at a table d'hôte at the rate of two shillings English, upon soup meagre, overdone meat, stale fish, and tasteless pastry, and can have a box or stall at the opera cheap; and yet, with all these luxuries, where are they? A pot of Barclay, Perkins, and Co.'s "heavy wet," a Hansom's patent cab, a chop or steak, beat all the above-mentioned dainties "by a long chalk." Half the gratification our countrymen and women find in living abroad is, to write and astonish their friends and country cousins at home by the display of their magnificence. Upon paper all these sound remarkably well, but come to stern reality, and you will find that, despite of taxation, smoke, fogs, change of climate, and other little ills that our islanders are heirs to, every true-born Briton ought, with the poet, to exclaim

'England, with all thy faults I love thee still."

Add to these a sprinkling of Belgian officers à pied et à cheval, some country louts in their blouse dresses, a few seedy-looking English grooms and helpers, and you have before you the company assembled upon this memorable occasion. Of course, among other lions, our young hero visited the plains of Waterloo, and, after listening for some time with patience to the account of that ever-to-be-remembered well-fought battle, replied, in the language of the turf-"I understand Napoleon got a good start, and made the first running; Wellington, having some pounds in hand, and a second horse, Blucher, in the race, waited patiently. Just as the shine was taken out of Napoleon, Wellington makes a rush, à la Chifney, and wins in gallant style; Blucher is placed second, Nap. nowhere." After a week's sojourn in Brussels, the baron, attended by his new ally, left for Boulogne, where the summer meeting was to take place; the course is situated on the downs, above the small village of Ambleteux, famed only as the spot where, upon January the 5th, 1689, James II. disembarked. "Taking it as a race-course," as the saying is, it is not bad, and, with some expense, might be made a very good one; the road to it is none of the best, and reminds one of that between Dover and Folkstone; the equipages quite in character with the road, consisting of old and rickety vehicles of every form, shape, and size, from the lumbering coach down to the heavy one-horse cab, lots of Omnibii (as the classical cad on the Turnham Green "bus" pluralized his conveyances) filled with the mercantile classes, some dozen English turns out, including buggies, whiskies, dog-carts, and tandems, driven by absentees, decked out in huge mustachios and seedy apparel; no end to young ladies and children mounted on baudets, Anglice jack-asses. Here and there, however, might be seen a handsome turn out of some of our travelling countrymen, whose wills, not poverty, had tempted them to roam in foreign lands. We pass over the racing, as there was no feature in it worth delineating; suffice it to say, our hero rode the winners for the crack races, the Pas-de-Calais stakes, and gold cup, both of which he won in a canter. There were sundry hurdle races and matches ridden by gentlemen,

and, without wishing to be invidious, I cannot omit mentioning the name of one of the gentlemen jocks, who acquitted himself admirably, I allude to Mr. Mackenzie Grieve, an old brother officer of mine; and few men there are who, across the country or upon the race-course, can come up to him: with great strength, judgment, nerve, an excellent hand, and centaur-looking seat, he possesses such patience, that to break a young hunter I know no one like him. I have myself, in Warwickshire, seen him do wonders. Never shall I forget him when, upon one occasion, during a check, his horse, a four-year-old, refused a stiff fence into a field where we, the field, were assembled; Grieve would take no denial, and, after sundry falls, succeeded in getting him over in the most sportsman-like manner. Those days in Wariwickshire-hunting in the morning, the merry meetings at 7 o'clock dn the evening, the balls, private plays, and concerts-were jovial days, and no one contributed more to their hilarity than the inBividual to whom I have just offered my tribute of esteem. From onoulogne, Styles was to visit Paris, the city of frivolities, as some e (I forget who at the present moment) calls it.

au

ni On the first morning after their arrival, our young hero accompamed the Baron to a fashionable Parisian horse-dealer; and here we (nust give a sketch of a veritable French marchand des chevaux C.ot in our own words, but in those of one of their own countrymen), be de Boigne. "In order to prosper a marchand des chevaux must a deep diplomatist and a great philosopher. He must be perfectly fait with the weaknesses of bipeds and the qualities of quadrupeds. His fortune depends upon the knowledge of the human heart. Let him have the finest stud in the world, if he does not flatter his customers, his stables will remain full. Just see how gently he caresses and picks the feathers of a young pigeon just emancipated from college, and to whom are transiently vouchsafed the good graces of some Palais Royale actress.

"That horse, Monsieur de Comte (for every buyer, to the dealer, is a count), has carried a lady, quiet as a lamb-perfect action. Mademoiselle Josephine, of the Palais Royale Theatre, admires him greatly; indeed, I cannot dispose of him without giving her the refusal."

"Really," replies the infatuated victim, "if Mademoiselle Josephine declines, you may send him to me; but I cannot give more than five thousand francs."

Need we add, the horse that the previous day had been purchased for fifteen hundred francs, is upon the next morning transferred to the count's stables. The marchand has not always to deal with such easy folks, but nothing daunts him; he has an irresistible argument and a piece of flattery in store for every character. To sportsmen he says, "If you buy that hunter, you will beat the whole field." To the exquisite he remarks, "That iron-grey mare is a perfect ladykiller there's nothing in Paris that can come up to her." To the Colonel of Hussars he recommends an English charger, that was the admiration of the Court of St. James's.

The daily routine of one of these marchands is as follows:-- Of a morning they go out to receive their money, but are patterns of creditors, as they never dun; they run to their bankers, discount bills that

are to fall due, fly about in quest of unknown horses, bargain for them, bring them back to their stables; when, as if touched by the wand of a magician, they become worth more than ten times what was paid for them an hour before. At two, the crowd arrive; and, to receive these fashionable visitors, the dealer is curled, pommaded, dressed out in the neatest order, spurred and booted, like a lion de pur sang; amidst the exquisites who explore the stables, they smoke, laugh, chat, and flatter. They are called by their Christian names, and "good-fellowed" to a great degree. But this intimacy is no bar to "a deal" being carried on. The horses are walked and trotted out, puffed, and usually disposed of. To listen to the marchand's rhetoric you would imagine the horses were actually given away. When "a string" arrive from England the marchand apprizes a few chosen favourites, only those with cœurs bien nés, easy minds, and full purses. To be admitted to a first inspection of these "terrible high-bred cattle" is a favour not easily forgotten. How well this preference is turned to account! "Vous ne dites pas, Monsieur le Comte, que je refais mes chevaux, que je les pare; vous les voyez en robe de chambre; ils ont ni blancs, ni rouge. Avec tout autre je n'ôserais pas jouer si gras jeu cartes sur table; mais vous, Monsieur le Comte vous êtes un connoisseur." The horses are at Bourget; the darkness of the stables prevent your distinguishing anything; the weary horses can scarcely stand, much less walk, trot, or gallop; some cough, some go lame, some look blind. You have your suspicions, make your remarks, express your apprehensions, and to every word there is but one and the same answer-"It's the journey, Monsieur le Comte." "The horse coughs?" "It's the journey." legs are bad?" "It's the journey." "He's Roman-nosed?" "It's the journey." "His hind-quarters are bad?" "It's the journey. It's the journey-its the journey. In ten days, Monsieur le Comte, that horse will be perfect." To conclude-in these times of general cozenage, the marchand des ehevaux is a splendid specimen of the cozening tribe; you reproach him with his knavery-he ever continues polite and respectful. What a superiority the present race boast over the past! Formerly, horse-dealers robbed and insulted you; now, they are well-bred, give long credit, never dun, often sell you a bargain, and sometimes a good horse.

"His

From the stables of the marchand des chevaux, our hero was driven about to see the lions of Paris, and visited all the celebrated studs in the neighbourhood. At the period of which we write, the late lamented Duke of Orleans was in existence, and by his liberal support gave great encouragement to the turf. The royal stud farm at Meudon was admirably kept up, and great credit was due to that truly popular nobleman, the Count de Gambis, for the spirit with which he conducted it. The Count, during his sojourn in England, lost no opportunity of informing himself upon every subject connected with sport, and we wish him nothing worse than a stud full of flyers at Newmarket and a stable of ditto at Melton. The stables of Lord Henry Seymour, those of Monsieur Auguste Lupin, with William Butler as a trainer, Messieurs Guastalla, Fosquel, Achille Fould, and Palmer, the public trainer, at the Bois de Boulogne, were all visited; and certainly Samuel Styles, bred and born an Englishman, and im

bibing certain prejudices that his father had early instilled into his mind, was bound to admit that breeding was making a most gigantic stride in La belle France. Sam could scarcely believe his eyes when, upon being introduced to the Weatherby of France, Mr. Palmer, the spirited proprietor of the New Betting Rooms, he found that our continental neighbours really encouraged racing to the extent they did, and that the passion for the turf was daily and rapidly increasing. From this moment, our young jockey's feeling towards a "foreigneer" received a considerable revolution, and in a letter addressed to a friend at Newmarket, he expressed himself delighted with French "good breeding" (we hope he meant no pun), French studs, and French sportsmen. The "crack" meeting was to take place upon the following day, in the Champ de Mars, an account of which we must defer until our next chapter.

(To be continued.)

FISHING IN IRELAND.

BY N. S.

No. II.

THE SHANNON.

"Haste, haste to the lake away,

Haste, haste thro' the flow'ry meads;

Hope, hope for a cloudy day,

Hie away to where pleasure leads."

Above Killaloe, which is twelve miles from Limerick, the Shannon forms itself into a lake that extends to Portumna, a distance of 25 miles; its width varies from one to four miles, and is called Lough Derg, or "Dharrig." The Irish saying-" You will be sent on a pilgrimage to Lough Dharrig," originated from the numbers of persons from all parts of the country who formerly visited Holy Island (the most interesting of the numerous islands with which this lake abounds); it is situated in Scariff Bay, near Mountshannon Daley, and is perhaps one of the most picturesque and beautiful spots to be seen any where; winter and summer it is clothed with perpetual green; on its surface appear the ruins of seven churches, and a round tower about 80 feet high, in good preservation, although the entire island does not contain more than about 50 or 55 acres. It is calcu lated, from its aspect of quiet repose, to stir up in the mind of the moralist and the antiquary thoughts of singular interest as connected with times long gone by, never to return.

I challenge the world to produce a decided fisherman who is not a moralist; he cannot help it-in pursuing his amusement along the banks of his favourite river, from the wild rocky ravine which marks its first progress through its parent district to the lovely valley and woodland which generally accompany it when about to loose itself in the sea-from the noisy career at its commencement to its quiet and smooth appearance at the end; he cannot but compare his own life