University of Virginia Library

PEEP IN THE MORNING.

At four o'clock this morning (think of it, lazy reader!), I
left Congress Hall and rode out to the track with Gen. Buford
to see the last working of the horses before the races to-morrow.
Though early in the morning, all the horsemen were on hand.

with their horses, and the professional betters with
their stop-watches, taking down the exact time of
each horse to within a quarter of a second.

The first on the track, a little after daylight, was
Belmont, in person, with Kingfisher and his trainer.
The agent of the Rothschilds was preparing for the grandest race
which has ever or will ever take place on this continent, and a
race on which will be staked untold thousands. That white-haired
old wizzard, half concealed behind a post, and holding an
old black silver stop-watch, is John Harper, the owner of Longfellow,
who has $80,000 staked upon the race. This is the first
time he has seen “the Fisher,” as he calls him, and, almost
breathlessly, he stands estimating his antagonist.

“Too much belly on `the Fisher' to-day,” remarks General
Buford.

“I'll be dog-on if that little short cuss can beat Longfellow,”
continues a lank, red-haired Kentuckian.

“Moves like he could run some,” said old John, and when “the
Fisher” came along he quietly got up and went down to the
track.

“How do you like him, old man?” asked John Hunter.

“Putty dog-on full of muscle, Hunter, and he branches off like
he had hell in him, sure, but I guess old Longfellow will have
his `run,”' and then shrewd old Harper stopped his old silver
watch to get Kingfisher's time, which was 1:50.

Old John remarked, “I reckon he kin do 1:41.”

Kingfisher is a light bay horse, full of muscles, and with terrible
action. He looks like a racer every inch of him.