It was a fine October
morning, and the sun shed a mellow radiance on all around, when people
began to throng the race-course. Some came with magnificent equipages,
attended by their numerous train of black servants, dressed in livery,
--some in less splendid array,--and others on foot, all hurrying on to the
exciting scene. There the noblest blood of Old Virginia, of which many are
wont to boast, was fully represented, as was also the wealth and fashion
of the country for many miles around.
All were in high spirits, and none seemed to fear that they would be the
losers in the amount of money about to change hands. And for what, pray,
is all this grand outlay--this vast expenditure? Merely the pleasure and
gratification of witnessing the speed of a fine horse, and the vanity of
prejudging concerning it.
The arrangements were at length completed,--the horses regularly entered,
Mark Anthony among the rest,--and then the word "go!" was given, when each
horse sprang as if for his life, each striving to take the lead. Away they
go, sweeping round the course with lightning speed, while every
spectator's eye is strained, and every countenance flushed with intense
anxiety.
Some of the noble animals were distanced the first heat, and others were
taken away by their owners.
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