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other, or giving some laggard a mischiev- 

 ous nip or kick. What fire, what grace, 

 what spirit, in these creatures, " by spur or 

 bridle undefiled," and fine as silk in their 

 glossy new coats ! Now they have swung 

 into a dead run. It is a race where the 

 best horse is sure to win. Round and round 

 they go, the rhythmic hoof-beats falling on 

 the turf with the sound of summer surf. 

 Watch that black fellow far outside. My 

 word for it, he is winner. He was lengths 

 behind at the start, but see how he runs, 

 with head low to earth, as though the great 

 leaping bounds were but play for his mag- 

 nificent muscle. Mark the ease of his 

 stride, the lightning quickness of stretch 

 and gather. In the field's round he has 

 locked the leader ; now he passes him, and 

 runs far ahead. See him stop short, fling 

 up his tapering muzzle, and neigh defiance 

 to those so far behind ! It is time to stop. 

 Rain is moving in from the woodland a 

 gray, falling wall. Well may the young 

 racers scamper for the big oak's shelter. 

 They had better, though, choose that wide, 

 low-spread mulberry a hundred yards away. 

 The air is vibrant with thunder; and look! 

 that blinding white glare means that some 

 bolt has struck less than a mile away. Ah ! 



