Hats Club at Ealing was a celebrated resort of pigeon shooters. The first verse of the Club song reads quaintly to-day:

Who has e'er been at Ealing must needs know the Hats,
There's a club of good fellows without any flats,
With their great guns and pigeons so blue;
To kill Venus's bird it is all their delight,

And worship the charms of her sisters at night;
For medals and sweepstakes they try all their skill,
And when they miss fire 'tis plain they don't kill,
With their great guns, etc.

Whilst a good many original wagers harmed no one, some were of a dangerous nature.

One of the most singular and hazardous of these was a bet laid by a well-known sporting resident of Kensington, in 1811. This gentleman undertook, for a wager of one hundred and fifty guineas, to drive his tandem at full speed against the wheels of the first seven vehicles he might meet on the road, so that his wheels should absolutely graze the others without becoming locked, or the tandem upset, in either of which cases the wager was to be lost. Precisely at one he started from the Greyhound Inn, a vast number of equestrians accompanying him. The first object that presented itself was a Brentford coach, the wheels of which the intrepid charioteer grazed in a neat style, much to the surprise of the coachman, who, pulling aside as usual, and finding himself, as it were, pursued, poured forth a volley of abuse at what he considered lack of coachmanship. In this manner three more coaches, one coal wagon,

and two gigs were passed, and their respective wheels touched without the least accident. The whole was accomplished in twenty-five minutes from the time of starting. Never, in the opinion of all present, was life or limb in greater danger than in this singular and hazardous attempt. The odds, at starting, were as high as five to two on the tandem driver.

Amongst the curious wagers of the past, that made by the Duchesse de Berri (whose determined disposition caused her to be called the only man in her family) should not be forgotten.

At the time when a public company had first been formed in Paris to run the then newly invented omnibuses, the innovation did not meet with satisfactory support from the French public. The Princess, however, expressed her approval of the vehicles in question, and made a bet of 10,000 francs with the King that she would ride in one-which she did do. The result was that the omnibuses became popular, being for a long time after known as "Carolines" out of compliment to the sporting Duchess.

A highly whimsical wager was one made about smoking at the end of the eighteenth century. Sir Henry Liddle had a black servant, a regular glutton at his pipe; and mentioning this propensity to Mr. Baker, of Elemore Hall, near Durham, a wellknown sporting character, expressed his conviction that Sambo could smoke a whole pound of the weed in the short space of an hour. This Mr. Baker disputed, and bet Sir Henry a hundred guineas he could not perform it. In order to create some fun over the

feat, it was appointed that Sambo should exhibit in the market-place at Durham; and there a stage was fixed near the Water Fountain, with the tobacco and a quantity of pipes, together with a table and seat, all in readiness. At the hour of twelve o'clock at noon, on a market-day, the man of colour mounted, with an attendant to fill his bowls, and by the hour of one, incredible as it may seem, "Othello" had finished the work of "his occupation," to the cost of Mr. Baker. Sambo was allowed as much drink as he chose to partake of, and was honoured by an immense audience, who loudly cheered him at the conclusion of his task.

The loser of the bet, Mr. Baker, died, aged eightythree, on May 15th, 1807. He was a typical oldfashioned English sportsman, and was descended from a very ancient family, who for centuries have held considerable estates in the county of Durham, one of his direct ancestors being Sir George Baker, Knight, who was one of the loyal defenders of Newcastleupon-Tyne during the Civil Wars. As a schoolboy of fifteen he was placed at a school some sixteen miles distant from Epsom, and the tempting announcement of "the Races," with the celebrated Eclipse enrolled among the engaged, induced young Baker to propose to his fellow-playmates a visit (without leave) to the Downs, which met with a very hearty response; and at early morn on the day of running, all took their departure, and reached Epsom in good time. "Here,” Mr. Baker said, "I first saw Eclipse, very like the prints which are published of his portrait; but the

figure of his jock I was then most amused at. There," said he, " was old John Oakley on his back in a pair of quarter boots, or rather shoes to the ankle, coarse, blue worsted stockings, leather breeches, and an immense profusion of strings at the knee!”

Mr. Baker was buried in his family burial ground at Hall Garth, near his residence, the only inscription on his monument being, by his own request:

THE LAST OF THE GEORGE BAKERS,

OF ELEMORE HALL,
DURHAM."

His ancestors had borne the name of George Baker for some centuries, and he was the last male descendant of his race.

Sporting exaggeration probably reached its highest pitch at provincial mess tables in Ireland on guest nights, when the rage for speculation had been generated by the removal of the cloth. The six-feet walls,

66

coped and dashed," that were to be jumped next morning, "without laying a toe to them"; the hecatombs of the feathered world to be brought to bag ere another sunset; the fish to be hooked; and the punch to be swallowed, made the hair of most newjoined subalterns fairly stand on end.

On one such occasion an Irish squire bound himself either to forfeit fifty pounds or produce alive in the messroom that day month a fox, a badger, a hawk, and an eagle, all the capture of his own proper hands. Exactly a month later as the day, to quote an Irish expression, had just "gone iligant," the town of

Newry was thrown into an uproar by an extraordinary sight. Preceded by a band, who were most zealously extracting sounds from villainously discordant instruments, and surrounded by a body-guard of bare-headed, bare-legged tatterdemalions, approached the squire, bestriding the skeleton of an antique grey mare. On either side of his steed were suspended two large wicker creels, one containing a wild mountain fox, the other a fierce-looking hirsute badger, that grinned as amiably as a Cheshire cat ; upon his head was perched a hawk, manacled by the legs, the chains passing under the captor's chin and fastening around his neck; while the triumphant entry was closed with an eagle which he drew after him as Achilles drew the body of Hector. The triumphant squire and his unique collection were given a royal reception, the captives being paraded and the fifty pounds duly paid

over.

The eagle, it appeared, had been captured in an eyrie in an almost inaccessible cliff in the Mourne Mountains, the squire having been lowered by a rope over the face of a precipice.