him, with an even and machine-like stroke, and
if it were half a mile he would probably win;
but a mile and a half, and that choking hill,
is too much to ask of the youngster. The
collector heaves a gratified sigh as he watches him,
and on his way to the post reiterates his
instructions to the jock. But what is the
cause of that hum of admiration along the line
of native spectators? It is the rajah's horse
Nusseeb. He is a dark iron grey, with very
powerful arms and loins, and stands over a deal
of ground; he has rather a nervous and timid
look, as he walks between the line of spectators.
He knows what is in store for him, for it is not
his first race by a good many. Captain Hawk
rides him. The start takes place a mile and a
half from the stand, at the commencement of
the straight run in, and all eyes and glasses are
turned that way. Now they are turning; here
they come! No; it's a false start; that fool of
a fellow didn't drop his flag. There! they'll go
this time. Yes, they're off!

The Marquis keeps the lead for more than
a mile, when Nusseeb is seen to come through
his horses and take it up. Black Diamond's
jockey sees that it's all up with the Marquis,
and giving Black Diamond, who has been going
well within himself, a shake, draws a little
closer to the rajah's horse. The rest are out of
the race; as they sweep round the turn into
the straight, Nusseeb is two lengths ahead,
and Hawk is sitting as still as a mouse. As
they approach the distance-post, Black
Diamond's jockey sits down and gives his horse
a strong pull, then raising his hands a little,
gives him a shake, pricks him with the spur,
and the brave little animal jumps forward,
overhauling the grey at every stride. Hawk
turns his head round anxiously two or three
times, but otherwise does not move an inch; he
knows that, if he does, his horse will shut up.
The Black's nose is now level with his horse's
quarter; but there is only fifty yards more, and
the Black begins to wobble. His jockey makes
a last effort, but can only reach the grey's neck,
who, as he passes the judge's chair, is greeted
with a burst of applause.

The next race is the St. Leger, for all horses;
additional weight to that carried by Arabs being
imposed on English, Australian, Cape, and
country-bred horses, according to the scale laid down
in the Calcutta Turf Club rules. The rajah
has a large and magnificent Arab horse, called
Hussar, engaged in it. He is so large for an
Arab, that many declare him to be a Persian;
but be his breed what it may, he is a fine powerful
horse and good performer. The collector
has two. The Emperor, an Australian, whose
sire and dam were thorough-breds, imported into
Australia from England. He has already earned
a reputation and paid his expenses, and a little
over; but, like all Australians, he is very uncertain,
and is as likely to turn rusty at the start
as not. His other horse has not found favour
with the public. He certainly does look as if he
had just come from the shafts of a London
Hansom cab. His near fore leg has a
herring-bone-stitch-like appearance, indicative of the
stringent measures that have been adopted to
keep his sinews in their place. He is so finely
drawn, that the breastplate he wears seems a
wise precaution. His ragged hips and angular
frame, without a particle of extra flesh on it, do
not add to his appearance, and the spectator
thinks that he has been most appropriately
named the Screw. The young officer who rode
Black Diamond is riding him quietly up the
course, and as he goes with his ewe-neck stretched
out and his nose poked forward, one can scarcely
imagine the collector in his senses to attempt
to compete with the rajah's beautiful horse.

The Screw was originally a troop horse, but
was cast for running away:—some say, because
an officer, who knew his value as a racer,
recommended his being dismissed, and bought
him in at the sale; but this statement is doubted
by those who know the immense quantity
of red tape required in such proceedings; and
the fact that he was bought by a griffin (whom
he nearly killed) for twenty rupees some few
months after he was cast, together with his
being excessively hard-mouthed, and, when once
set agoing, impossible to stop until he chooses
to think he has won a race, tend to give the lie
to this statement.

The judge is convoying to the post a very
powerful-looking Australian that he thinks will
do wonders. The superintendent of police, a
capital rider, but a bit of a dandy, and who
cares much more about the cut of his boots,
breeches, and jacket, than the cut of his
horse, is also en route for the starting-post,
accompanied by three more horses, whose owners,
apparently, have more money than brains. This
race is two miles; and the start takes place just
at the foot of the hill, which almost prevents
the horses being seen from the stand. Those
people who have brought glasses are
constantly appealed to for information, and the
stand grows very impatient. The collector is
almost white with anxiety; especially when he
sees one, two, three, and does not know how
many more false starts. But, thank goodness, the
Screw is behaving himself for a wonder; indeed,
if it were otherwise, he would long ago have
made his appearance in front of the stand.
As much cannot be said for the Emperor, who
dances in anything but an imperial manner
on his hind legs; and the rajah's horse seems
to be so taken with his performances, that
he is trying his best to imitate him, but it
is all owing to that fool on the grey, that
ought to have been in the buggy and not on
a race-course. The collector's eyes ache again
with constant straining, so that he is obliged
to relieve them by taking down his glasses.

The ladies don't like sitting and seeing
nothing, and want to know why they don't begin?
The collector would very much like to relieve
himself of a little extra steam by an anathema
or two against the man on the grey, but wisely
refrains. Ah! there they go! No, it's a single
horseman, and, horror of horrors! the collector
recognises the Dumulgundy-like action of the
Screw. But, is it possible? Yes, by Jove!
he has stopped him; and the beast is shaking