THE GIST OF IT ALL 53 



"All Empires tumble, Rome and Greece, 



Their swords are rust, their altars cold." 

 You know the old and sacred saying, "At sunset, when the sky is red, you 

 know that the weather will be fine," and also, "When the fig tree putteth 

 forth her leaves, ye know that summer is nigh." And Rome and Greece fell 

 because they would not take the trouble to see that the sky was red, or that 

 th« fig tree was putting forth her leaves. And we are travelling on exactly 

 the same road. Not many people care to read about the "Buried Cities of 

 Crete." The story carries a tremendous lesson. The ancient Cretans, whose 

 women wore high-heeled shoes, and hobble skirts, and other abominations 

 of civilisation, were so strong in their sea power that they neglected the means 

 of defence on land. Ruins, buried deep beneath the soil, tell us the sad story 

 to-day. A foreign power, despised perhaps, but now grown strong, sprang 

 at their throats so suddenly that it took the Islanders completely by surprise. 

 The blackened walls, the charred rafters, thirty feet below ground, preach 

 their sermon to those who care to read. Neither 'does one ever forget what 

 took place at the great conference at Vienna between the Powers when Napo- 

 leon had at length been chained and was languishing in his little island king- 

 dom and prison of Elba. There had been much discussion, bitter wrangling, 

 but matters were at length approaching a more or less satisfactory conclusion. 

 Then, unheralded, there burst into that august assembly a messenger, "bloody 

 with spurring, fiery with hot haste." "Napoleon has escaped and has landed 

 in France." A moment's silence, and the ambassadors with one accord fell 

 a-laughing. After all their grave debates, with the waste of so many millions 

 of words, the whole edifice of their deliberations was thrown to the ground by 

 one sweep of the hand. So may it be to-morrow. A League of Nations may 

 meet and deliberate. The representatives, perhaps, will disagree. Ere they 

 can turn round, one Power, which is, may be, the best prepared, declares war. 

 Necessity, when nations are in dire distress, choking for air and starving for 

 their daily bread, knows no law. Will we never learn our lesson not to put 

 our trust in Princes, no, nor in the children of men? Therefore, let us foster 

 our horses by every means in our pow^er, and place our dependence rather 

 upon them. And let us remember that the race course, the hunting-field, and 

 the polo grounds are the nurseries and gymnasiums of the breeds both of 

 horse and man. The thoroughbred is the keystone of the arch, the corner- 

 stone of the building. 



And yet one knows so well that prophecy is all in vain, that our rulers 

 only smile and imagine a vain thing, and that no seer has any honour in his 

 own country, until the words are proven to be true, and then it is all too late. 

 Bitter was the fate of Cassandra, that ancient prophetess of Troy, whom no 

 man could believe, and bitter still the lot of anyone who tries once more to 

 read the writing on the wall, and give it voice. 



"Then like a raven on the wind of night 



The wild Cassandra flitted far and near, 

 Still crying, 'Gather, gather for the fight, 



And brace the helmet on and grasp the spear. 

 For lo, the legions of the night are here!' 



So shriek'd the dreadful prophetess divine; 

 But all men mock'd and were of merry cheer; 



Safe as the Gods they deem'd them, o'er their wine." 



But, with the tremendous importance of the end in view, the improvement 

 of the thoroughbred horse, is our sport sufficiently fulfilling that end? That is 



