ON RACING.

You will hardly expect, notwithstanding the title of my present paper, to obtain much information from me about Ascot, Epsom, or Newmarket. If at present you know but little about the affairs of the "Turf," my remarks are not likely to add much to your slender stock of information. He who has aught of ambition to be classed among "the knowing ones," must qualify himself under a much more able instructor than he would find in Old Humphrey.

In my youthful days I was swift of foot, and few, of my own age, among my playmates, could pass me in the race. My schoolfellows gave me the name of "Greyhound" for my speed, and that of "Squirrel" for my skill in climbing. It is not, however, to boast of my victories, but rather to acknowledge my defeats, that I have now taken up my pen.

I do not remember to have enumerated, in the long list of my infirmities, the error of putting of to the last moment necessary duties, and yet this

is an error which, to my shame be it spoken, has subjected me to much inconvenience. Often and often do I delay till the morrow, what should be done to-day; and continually do I find myself engaged in fanciful projects referring to future times, when I ought to be occupied in those things which demand immediate attention.

To speak in the mildest language, it is unwise not to secure those objects which have the first claim upon us, and equally so to defer to the last moment a duty that must needs be performed. He who allows himself but five minutes to put a letter in the post, merely because he can walk the distance in the time, is inconvenienced by the loss of a moment-he is all hurry, turbulence, and confusion, and is very likely, by some unexpected hindrance, to be too late; whereas, if he allows himself ten minutes, he runs no risk, but secures his object with ease, tranquillity, and good humour.

Continually am I racing against old father Time, and continually is the stalworth old boy too much for me; he is too long in the stride, excellent in his breath-and then, look at his huge, long wings! As for stopping a moment, he never thinks of it. On he goes, turning aside for nothing, making way at a fearful rate, never looking behind him, and keeping up the same pace

to the end of his course.

Somehow or other he always gets the start; and though, now and then, I come up with him, I never can pass him. With all these advantages he adds another-he tries me hard at the beginning of the race, whereas I am too apt to depend on beating him at the last push. Again I say, Old Hourglass is too much for me.

Many a hard turn have I had with Time; but whether it has been up hill or down, for a short distance or a long one, on horseback or on foot, by land or by water, he has always been more than a match for me. As often as he has beaten me, so often have I laid down some new plan to beat him the next time, but I might just as well run a race with the wind. One would think, when looking at his picture, and judging from his aged brow and ancient figure, that, of necessity, he was growing a little infirm, but no, not he! he has the constitution of a horse; had he a frame of cast iron and sinews of wire, I question if they would wear half so well as his own.

One of my manifold races with old Time was on a late occasion; the affair was not much to my credit, but, at all hazards, you shall be made acquainted with the matter. I had to breakfast with a friend at eight o'clock, and had rather committed myself than otherwise by intimating,

that as the clock struck, my shadow would be tolerably sure to darken his doorway. My friend was no lie-a-bed, but, on the contrary, an early riser, and accustomed, unfortunately for me, to be punctual at his meals.

It was a glorious summer morning, and I was up by times, so that, after attending to many things, by half-past seven, or a little more, shaven and shorn, and habited in my best black coat, I was ready to start in the direction of the dwelling-house to which I was invited. My watch I knew, or thought that I knew, was a quarter too fast: this allowed me almost three quarters of an hour for the performance of my walk.

The sun was blazing in the east as I closed the door after me, and stepped on at a nimble pace, well knowing that, though I had time enough for my purpose, I had not a minute to spare. Unluckily I had forgotten a paper, which required me to return, and this occasioned me no small inconvenience, for papers on which you can lay your hand at once, in a season of leisure, are often difficult to be found in a moment of haste. Full ten minutes were lost by this untoward occurrence.

Resolutely bent on making up for the delay thus occasioned, by increased speed, I walked hastily, and soon came to the church, when, to my

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astonishment and confusion, I found out that my watch, instead of being, as I supposed, a quarter of an hour too fast, was absolutely a quarter of an hour too slow. Here was a pretty piece of business! A broiling hot day, a distance of a mile and a half good measure before me, breakfast, too, ready at eight precisely; and the church clock within three minutes of striking What was to be done? To alter my watch would only hinder me, without mending the matter. With a sort of desperate resolution I hurried on.

Long before I reached the second church on my road, the clock clamorously announced the hour of eight, every stroke thrilling through my brain and making my back ache. In my imagination I saw my meek-minded friend with his book, by the breakfast-table, now and then turning his eyes to the window. There was the uncut loaf and the fresh butter, and the frizzled bacon and the marmalade pot; the cocoa was already made, and the tea-chest stood open; and then rushed upon me the remembrance that, as the clock struck, my shadow would be tolerably sure to darken the door-way."

You may smile at this event, and certainly I deserve to be smiled at, and laughed at, too, for my folly; but had you witnessed my distress, I hope you would rather have pitied than derided