THE TURF 139 



ladies faint the favourite is beat white 

 jacket with black cap wins. 



Now a phalanx of cavalry descend the 

 hill towards the grand stand, with ' Who has 

 won ? ' in each man's mouth. ' Hurrah ! ' 

 cries one, on the answer being given ; ' my 



fortune is made ! ' ' Has he, by ? ' 



says another, pulling up with a jerk ; ' 1 am 

 a ruined man ! Scoundrel that I was to risk 

 such a sum ! and I have too much reason 

 to fear I have been deceived ! Oh ! how 

 shall I face my poor wife and my children ? 

 I '11 blow out my brains.' But where is the 

 owner of the winning horse ? He is on the 

 hill, on his coach-box ; but he will not 

 believe it till twice told. * Hurrah ! ' he 

 exclaims, throwing his hat into the air. A 

 gipsy hands it to him. It is in the air 

 again, and the gipsy catches it, and half a 

 sovereign besides, as she hands it to him 

 once more. ' Heavens bless your honour,' 

 says the dark ladye; 'did I not tell your 

 honour you could not lose ? ' 



There are two meetings now at Epsom, 

 as indeed there were more than half a 

 century back ; but the October Meeting is of 

 minor importance. The grand-stand on "the 



