ish. Besides being spavined and having three of his hoofs injured by
sand-crack, he had poll-evil, fistulas, malanders, ring-bone, capped
hock, curb, splint, and several other maladies which made him a very
suitable horse for the general public to bet against.

But Mr. P.'s courage never quailed!

When he made his appearance on the track (for he drove his horse
himself) he was the object of general attention. The following view
(from a photograph by ROCKWOOD) gives an excellent idea of the horse and
driver.

[Illustration]

Nearly everybody on the ground advised Mr. P. to leave his cloth in the
stable, for it would certainly interfere with the speed of his horse and
probably get wrapped up in the wheels and cause an accident. But Mr. P.
would listen to nothing of the sort. He told everybody that he wasn't
going to catch cold in his knees, even if he lost the race, and that he
was perfectly willing to run the risk of accidents.

For the benefit of his readers, however, Mr. P. will lift up this
heavily shotted lap-cloth and show what was under it.

[Illustration]

Here is arranged a steam-engine, which drives the wheels of the vehicle,
and which will of course propel the whole turnout, horse and all, at a
great rate of speed.

It will now be easily perceived why Mr. P. persisted in keeping his
lap-cloth over his knees.

The entries were as follows:

ROBERT BONNER'S b. h. Dexter.
DEREN O. SUE'S b. m. Lady Thorn.
PUNCHINELLO'S y. h. Creeping Peter.

When the word was given, the horses all got off well and Dexter
immediately took the lead,--buzzing through the air like a
humming-top,--followed closely by Lady Thorn, her nose just lapping his
off jaw. For the first few seconds Mr. P. fell behind, owing to his
fires not yet being properly under way, but the water soon bubbled
merrily in his boiler, and his wheels began to revolve with great
rapidity. And now he sped merrily. Never did the war trumpet inspire the
fiery charger, or hounds and horn excite the mettled hunter, as the
steam-engine in his rear woke all the energies of Creeping Peter.

Swift as revolving pin-wheels or rapid peg-top, those spavins, those
ring-bones, those bulbous hocks, those sand-cracked hoofs and those
rattling ribs went whistling o'er the track. Mid the shouts and yells of
the excited multitude he passed Lady Thorn, overtook Dexter and shot
ahead of him! But he cannot stand that tremendous pa