THE EXCITEMENT OF RACIXG. 67 



more resolute purpose, till the daylight showed be- 

 tween his white nose and the flashing eye of the mare, 

 and he passed the score just a head and neck in 

 advance. 



" The buzz and hum and flutter on the grand-stand as 

 the horses were sweeping over the far side of the course 

 had died away into profound silence when the leaders 

 whirled into the home-stretch. Every figure was on 

 tip-toe, every eye was strained to its utmost tension of 

 vision, and every heart was hushed to the faintest 

 throbbing, till the magnificent finish of Smuggler had 

 landed him the winner of the heat ; and then ten 

 thousand white handkerchiefs waved to his victory, 

 and more than ten thousand throats shouted wild, 

 deafening hurrahs to his well-earned triumph. The 

 trotting world seemed to be on the eve of a change of 

 dynasty. The heat was won in 2:16|^, and he trotted 

 the last half of the mile, b}" the writer's watch, in 

 1:07. In this vast, swaying throng of excited specta- 

 tors two attentive watchers stood exceptionally silent. 

 Behind me, elevated on her chair, stood the wife of 

 Goldsmith Maid's driver, arra3^ed like the Queen of 

 Sheba in oriental colors, richer than the brilhant hues 

 of the rainbow. But her features, in marked contrast 

 to her raiment, were pale as alabaster, and her counte- 

 nance was dejected with forebodings of the impending 

 defeat of the little mare, whose performances had ele- 

 vated her husband to the highest fame in trotting cir- 

 cles. Above her, dressed in the plain garb of re'jDubli- 

 can simplicity, rose the form of the scholarly owner 

 of Smuggler, wiping from his brow, with the broad 

 palms of his tremendous hands, the perspiration that 



