300 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
At the close of the first mile, ‘“‘ Boots” was two hun- 
dred yards ahead, and pegging away as if the devil was 
behind him, and a phantom corn heap in front. 
Blannerhassett’s jockey now used whip and spur to 
overtake the flying imp—but it was in vain. His horse 
responded to the steel and lash for a few strides, and 
then gave out; fatigued,—lamed,—and broken down. 
Meanwhile “ Boots,” not having the reputation of 
Blannerhassett before his eyes, but the dread of the 
cudgel behind him, was rattling it off at a merry pace. 
Upon entering the third mile of the heat Jesse came in 
view of his antagonist, pretty near the spot where he 
was overtaken himself, in the beginning of the day. The 
boy could not for a time comprehend how “ Blan” got 
before him, and was evidently becoming bewildered with 
the phenomenon, when the Hon. J. L told him to 
push on, and beat the blooded stock, as far as he had 
been beaten. 
The darkey understanding now that he had gained a 

mile, showed his ivory to the spectators and his cudgel 
to “ Boots,” and swept by the done-up nag, like a ball 
fired out of a cannon charged with slow matches. 
I will make no attempt to describe the shouts of the 
people at the issue, until I can dip my pen in electricity 
to write in thunder drops,—or in the prism, to depict 
the eye of beauty as it flashed applause, to the unher- 
alded champion. 
This feat achieved,—there was no competitor for 
