They bring a fine smell of cigars into the room with them, and they growl together, in a corner, about sporting matters.They recollect the history of that short period in which they have been ornaments of the world by the names of winning horses.As political men talk about 'the Reform year,' 'the year the Whigs went out,' and so forth, these young sporting bucks speak of TARNATION'S year, or OPODELDOC'S year, or the year when CATAWAMPUS ran second for the Chester Cup.They play at billiards in the morning, they absorb pale ale for breakfast, and 'top up' with glasses of strong waters.
They read BELL'S LIFE (and a very pleasant paper too, with a great deal of erudition in the answers to correspondents).They go down to Tattersall's, and swagger in the Park, with their hands plunged in the pockets of their paletots.
What strikes me especially in the outward demeanour of sporting youth is their amazing gravity, their conciseness of speech, and careworn and moody air.In the smoking-room at the 'Regent,' when Joe Millerson will be setting the whole room in a roar with laughter, you hear young Messrs.Spavin and Cockspur grumbling together in a corner.'I'll take your five-and-twenty to one about Brother to Bluenose,' whispers Spavin.'Can't do it at the price,' Cockspur says, wagging his head ominously.The betting-book is always present in the minds of those unfortunate youngsters.I think I hate that work even more than the 'Peerage.' There is some good in the latter--though, generally speaking, a vain record: though De Mogyns is not descended from the giant Hogyn Mogyn; though half the other genealogies are equally false and foolish; yet the mottoes are good reading--some of them; and the book itself a sort of gold-laced and livened lackey to History, and in so far serviceable.But what good ever came out of, or went into, a betting-book? If I could be Caliph Omar for a week, I would pitch every one of those despicable manuscripts into the flames; from my Lord's, who is 'in'
with Jack Snaffle's stable, and is over-reaching worse-informed rogues and swindling greenhorns, down to Sam's, the butcher-boy's, who books eighteenpenny odds in the tap-room, and 'stands to win five-and-twenty bob.'
In a turf transaction, either Spavin or Cockspur would try to get the better of his father, and, to gain a point in the odds, victimise his best friends.One day we shall hear of one or other levanting; an event at which, not being sporting men, we shall not break our hearts.
See--Mr.Spavin is settling his toilette previous to departure; giving a curl in the glass to his side-wisps of hair.Look at him! It is only at the hulks, or among turf-men, that you ever see a face so mean, so knowing, and so gloomy.
A much more humane being among the youthful Clubbists is the Lady-killing Snob.I saw Wiggle just now in the dressing-room, talking to Waggle, his inseparable.
WAGGLE.-- 'Pon my honour, Wiggle, she did.'
WIGGLE.-- 'Well, Waggle, as you say--I own I think she DID look at me rather kindly.We'll see to-night at the French play.'
And having arrayed their little persons, these two harmless young bucks go upstairs to dinner.
