laced shoes. Their backers are with them, and a crowd watches with
curious eyes. At length the course is cleared, a bell is rung, and they
are off. Six times round the course is a mile--six times ten are sixty.
Sixty times must they pass and repass that excited mob. The favourite
takes the lead at a steady running; he maintains it some time; he is
longer than his opponent, but the latter is younger, and looks more
muscular in his thighs. Both men, with the exception of a cloth round
the loins, are naked as when born; and as they run they scatter the mud,
which mud thus scattered descends upon them in a by no means refreshing
shower. As round after round is run the excitement deepens; the
favourite is greeted with cheers; but when at the end of the third mile
he is passed by his competitor excites an enthusiasm which is intense.
Now the bettors tremble; the favourite attempts to get his old position;
he gains on his foe--they are now neck and neck--cheer, boys, cheer--"Go
it, Jem!" is the cry on many sides. Jem the winner does go it; but,
alas! Jem the loser cannot. It is in vain he seeks the lead. Fortune
has declared against him, and in a little while he gives up--no longer
the swiftest and fleetest of England's sons--no longer the holder of the
Champion's Cup. One involuntarily feels for fallen greatness, and as
Pudney was led away utterly beaten, I could not find it in my heart to
rejoice. I left a crowd still on the grounds. I left Rowan still
running, as he was bound to do, till he had completed his ten miles: and
I left the White Lion, in-doors and out, doing a very considerable
business. It seemed to me the White Lion was not such a fool as he
looked, and that he felt, let who will win or lose, he with his beer and
brandy would not come off second best. This, undoubtedly, was the worst
part of the business. The race over, for further excitement, the
multitude would rush to the White Lion--the losers to drown their sorrow,
the winners to spend their gains; the many, who were neither winners nor
losers, merely because others did so; and thus, as the hours pass, would
come intoxication, anger, follies, and, perhaps, bitterness of heart for
life.

May I here enumerate the heroes of pedestrianism? Let me name Robert
Skipper, who walked a thousand miles in a thousand successive
half-hours--let me not forget Captain Barclay, who walked a thousand
miles in a thousand successive hours--let me record the fam