succeeds, and of course the adversary loses much ground by pulling up
into a trot again.

On the present occasion there was no false start; the echo of the second
whack was still in the car as they reached the winning-post neck and
neck. "Off" was the word, and away they went. It certainly was
marvellous to see how dear old Lady Suffolk and her stiff legs flew
round the course; one might have fancied she had been fed on lightning,
so quick did she move them, but with wonderfully short steps. Tack, on
the contrary, looked as if he had been dieted on India-rubber balls:
every time he raised a hind leg it seemed to shoot his own length a-head
of himself; if he could have made his steps as quick as the old lady, he
might have done a mile in a minute nearly. Presently, Tacony breaks up,
and, ere he pulls into a trot, a long gap is left. Shouts of "Lady
Suffolk, Lady Suffolk wins!" rend the air; a few seconds more, and the
giant strides of Tacony lessen the gap at every step: they reach the
distance-post neck and neck; "Tacony wins!" is the cry, and true enough
it is--by a length. Young blood beats old blood--India-rubber balls
"whip" lightning. Time, five minutes.

The usual excitement and disputing follow, the usual time elapses--whack
number one is heard, all ready--whack number two, on they come, snaffle
bridles, pulling at their horses' mouths as though they would pull the
bit right through to the tips of their tails. "Off" is the cry: away
they go again; Tacony breaks up--again a gap, which huge strides
speedily close up--again Tacony wins. Time, five minutes five seconds.
All is over, rush to the cars, &c. Remarks:--first, the pace is at the
rate of twenty-four miles an hour; second, the clear old lady, who was
only beaten by a length, is long out of her teens; is it not wonderful,
and is she not glorious in her defeat? Fancy Dowager Lady L---- taking a
pedestrian fit, and running a race along Rotten Row with some "fast
young man;" what would you say, if she clutched his coat-tail as he
touched the winning-post? Truly, that dear old Lady Suffolk is a
marvellous quadruped. Reader, as you do not care to go back again with
the Rowdies and Co., we will suppose ourselves returned to New York, and
I can only hope you have not been bored with your day's amusement.

Among the extraordinary fancies of this extraordinary race--who are ever
panting for something new, even if it be a new territory--the most
strange is the metal