516 A SHORT HISTORY OF THE 



good stuff. The riders have no distinctive dress; a pair of Wel- 

 lington boots are pulled on outside the trousers ; sharp spurs are on 

 the heels — rough-and-ready looking prads these. The winning post 

 is opposite the stand ; the umpire is there with a deal board in his 

 hand ; a whack on the side of the stand, ' summons to horse ;' and 

 another, ' summons to start.' The start is from the distance-post, 

 so as to let the horses get into the full swing of their pace by the 

 time they reach the winning-post, when, if they are fairly up to- 

 gether, the cry *off' is given; if it be not given they try again. 

 When speaking of the time in which the mile is completed, the fact 

 of its commencing at full speed should always be borne in mind. 

 Sometimes false starts are made by one party, on purpose to try and 

 irritate the temper of the adversary's horse; and, in the same way, 

 if a man feels he has full command of his own horse, he will yell 

 like a wild Indian, as he nears his adversary, to make him ' break 

 up,' or go into a gallop ; and, as they are all trained to speed more 

 by voice than by spur, he very often succeeds, and of course the 

 adversary loses much ground by pulling up into a trot again. On 

 the present occasion there was no i'alse start; the echo of the 

 second whack was still in the ear as they reached the winning-post 

 neck-and-ueck. 'Off' was the word, and away they went. It 

 certainly was marvellous to see how dear old Lady Suffolk and her 

 stiff legs flew round the course; one might have foncicd she had 

 been fed on lightning, so quick did she move them, but with won- 

 derfully short steps. Tack, on the contrary, looked as if he had 

 been dieted on India-rubber balls. Every time he raised a hind- 

 leg it seemed to shoot to his own length ahead of himself; if he 

 could have made his steps as quick as the old Lady, he might have 

 done a mile in a minute nearly. Presently Tacony breaks up, and 

 ere he pulls into a trot a long gap is left ; shouts of ' Lady Suffolk ! 

 Lady Suffolk wins !' rend the air; a few seconds more and the 

 giant strides of Tacony lesuen the gap at every step ; they reach the 

 distance-post neck-and-neck : ' Tacony wins !' is the cry; and true 

 enough it is, by a length. Young blood beats old blood ; India- 

 rubber balls ' whip' lightning. Time, 5 m. The usual excitement 

 and disputes follow; the usual time elapses, whack number one is 

 heard — all ready — whack number two ; on they come ; snafile- 

 bridles — pulling at their horses' mouths as though they would pull 

 the bit right through to the tips of their tails. ' Off!' is the cry; 

 away they go again. Tacony breaks up; again a gap, which huge 

 strides speedily close up again — Tacony wins. Time, 5 m. 5 s." 

 In another part of his travels in America, the same gentleman 

 alludes to another locality: — "The race-course at Philadelphia is a 

 road on a perfect level, and a circle of one mile ; every stone is 

 carefully removed, and it looks as smooth and clean as a swept 



