ON SUCH CONTINGENCIES DO FORTUNES HANG. 281 



appalling doubt, will those generous efforts be per- 

 mitted to avail ? or have they not been rendered all 

 but nugatory by rascality? Oh, it is a fearful thing 

 to know we lean but on a fragile reed when we are 

 aware the yawning gulf of despair awaits if that 

 one feeble support deceives us ! Watch but the 

 countenances of those so deeply interested on seeing 

 the object of their every hope stripped for the impor- 

 tant, the all-engrossing contest : how rise or fall their 

 hopes on seeing him pass in his preliminary canter ! 

 That face flushed and fevered by anxiety and hope, 

 and that pallid with fear and fast receding con- 

 fidence, show the internal struggle is doing its fearful 

 work within. 



They are at the starting-post waiting the dropping 

 flag : hundreds scarcely feel they breathe : they wait 

 with the same feeling of apprehension they would ex- 

 perience if expecting some great convulsion of nature. 

 They're off : thousands of eyes take one and the same 

 direction : every change in the race causes the blood 

 to rush tumultuously to the heart, or scarcely to creep 

 on its wonted course. The eventful turn is made : 

 " Here they come !" "By George it's a fast race!" 

 " The crack is beat! the Duke, the Duke wins all 

 the way!" " No, no, the mare, the mare!" " By 

 Heavens ! Lord George has taken up the running. 

 Robinson is shaking his mare ; Day is setting to with 

 his horse; both are whipping!" "The mare, the 

 mare!" "No, no, the colt for a thousand." " A 

 dead heat." " No, the mare wins by G d ! Hurrah ! " 

 Ay, hurrah to the fortunate ; but mark that man 

 that hurrah has struck the dagger to his heart : 

 each muscle of that face is working with despair : its 

 death-like hue tells the sad tale ; its wretched owner 



