loo THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 



spurring, and screaming in the rear, like a Eed 

 Indian in his war-paint, with as much chance of 

 coming up with us as he has of flying. The second 

 hurdle is taken, my horse going well under me, and 

 I am making but little use of him as yefc. The 

 third, and last, is close by us. I hear shouts from 

 the crowd : " Blue wins, Blue wins ! " " My God, 

 he is killed ! " " Sacre ! " &c. I have no time to 

 look to see what is the matter ; Debenham is on rny 

 whip-hand. 



" Send him along, old fellow," he says, " and 

 make a race of it." 



' I do so catch my horse well by the head, sit 

 back, and send the Latchfords home. Crack ! crack ! 

 goes my whip ; and I land Saltfish winner by a 

 head. 



6 On returning to scale I ask what is the matter, 

 and am told my poor French friend of the scarlet 

 stockings is killed. This, however, happily is not 

 the case; he had entirely pumped his horse, who 

 swerved at the cords, and pitched his rider head- 

 long amongst some carts. It was a wonder he 

 was not killed on the spot ; but he got off with a 

 broken arm, and was quite senseless when taken 



up 



' In the evening, from the ball-room we wandered 

 into that set apart for play, and there sat facing 

 us, with a pile of gold pieces before him, no less a 

 person than our American friend, Captain Willum, 



