THE RACER. 49 



were formerly fewer in number, and their performances created greater 

 wonder. The breed has now increased twenty-fold, and supjeriority is not 

 so easily obtained among so many competitors. If one circnmstance could, 

 more than any other, produce this degeneracy, it would be our absurd ant^ 

 cruel habit of bringing out horses too soon, and the frequent failure of 

 their legs before they have come to their full power. Childers and 

 Eclipse did not appear until they were five years old ; but many of 

 our best horses, and those, perhaps, who would have shown equal excel- 

 lence with the most celebrated racers, are foundered and destroyed before 

 that period. 



Whether the introduction of short races, and so young horses, be ad- 

 vantageous, and whether stoutness and usefulness may not thus be some- 

 what too much sacrificed to speed — whether there may be danger that an 

 animal designed for service may, in process of time, be frittered away 

 almost to a shadow of what he was, in order that at two years old, over 

 the one-mile course, he may astonish the crowd by his fleetness — are 

 questions that more concern the sporting man than the agriculturist ; and 

 yet they concern the agriculturist too, for racing is principally valuable as 

 connected with breeding, and as the test of breeding. 



The horse enters into the spirit of the race as thoroughly as does his 

 rider, and, without whip or spur, will generally exert his energies to the 

 utmost to beat his opponent. It is beautiful to see him advancing to the 

 starting-post, every motion evincing his eagerness. The signal is given, 

 and he springs away — he settles himself in his stride — the jockey becomes 

 a part and portion of him, every motion of the arms and body corre- 

 sponding with, and assisting the action of the horse. On he goes, eager, 

 yet husbanding his powers. At length, when he arrives at that distance 

 from which the rider knows that he will live home at the top of his speed, 

 the hint is given, and on he rushes. Then the race in reality begins, and 

 every nerve is strained to head his competitor. Then, too, comes the art 

 of the rider, to keep the horse within his pace, and with admirable give 

 and talce, add to the length of every stride. Then, perhaps, the spur, 

 skilfully applied, may be necessary to rouse every dormant energy. A 

 sluggish lurching horse may need more punishment than the humane 

 observer would think justifiable. But the natural ardour of the race-horse, 

 roused at the moment of the grand struggle, by the moderate application 

 of the whip and spur, will bring him through if he can win. 



Forrester will afford suflacient illustration of the natural emulation of 

 the courser. — He had won many a hardly contested race ; at length, over- 

 weighted and over-matched, the rally had commenced. His opponent, 

 who had been waiting behind, was gaining upon him ; he overtook him, 

 and they continued quite close to within the distance. It was a point that 

 could scarcely be decided. But Forrester's strength was failing. He 

 made one desperate plunge — seized his antagonist by the jaw to hold him 

 back, and could scarcely be forced to quit his hold. In like manner, a horse 

 belonging to Mr. Quin, in 1753, finding his adversary gradually passing 

 him, seized him by the leg, and both riders were obliged to dismount, in 

 order to separate the animals. Let us here pause and ask, would the 

 butcherly whipping and cutting which seems so often to form the expected 

 and necessary conclusion of the race — the supposed display of the skill of 

 the rider — the exultation of the thoughtless or unfeeling spectator — would 

 these have carried such horses over one additional inch of ground ? They 

 would have been thrown abroad — they would have shortened their stroke 

 —and perhaps Mould have become enraged, and suspended every exertion. 



