TROTTING RACES. 107 
heat. “The evening shadows had now thickened, 
and, as the great crowd had shouted itself weak and 
hoarse, it passed slowly through the gates, and drove 
in a subdued manner home.” 
There is one other race of which I cannot forbear 
giving a brief account, because the winner displayed 
the same admirable qualities as Smuggler, and tri- 
umphed where his defeat was supposed to be inev- 
itable. There were eight contestants, but the real 
competitors were three, namely, Nobby, Felix, and 
Florence. 
Nobby was a very peculiar horse: a dark bay 
gelding, with a long neck and body, a fine head, and 
altogether a thoroughbred and even greyhound appear- 
ance. His gait was long, low, and smooth. He was 
however a wild breaker, and extremely nervous. “The 
twitter of a canary bird on a limb,” said John Splan, 
his driver, “would have more effect on Nobby than 
a full brass band on an ordinary horse.” Both his 
mouth and feet were in bad condition, but Splan, 
who took the horse for the first time on the day of 
the race, poulticed his feet, and relieved his mouth 
by driving him with an easy bit and nose-band at- 
tachment. He also stuffed the horse’s ears with 
cotton, so that he should not be scared or worried to 
a break by the shouting and whipping of the other 
drivers. “Nobby,” said the contemporary report in 
the Spirit of the Times, “impresses you with the 
idea that he is constantly trying to lose the race by 
making a mistake. Splan drove him as carefully as 
if he were handling eggs.” Felix was a bay gelding, 
and a horse of speed,— much speedier, in fact, than 
Nobby; but, as a reporter of the race remarked, “he 
