'Was it the fault of the jock?' said one man.

'It was not,' said another, 'for Michael (the owner) didn't strike
him, and if it had been his fault, wouldn't he have broken his bones?'

'He was striving to spare a young girl had run out in his way,' said
another. 'It was for that he twisted him.'

'Little slut!' said a woman; 'what did she want beyond on the sand?'

Many remedies were suggested that did not sound reassuring, and in
the end the horse was led off in a hopeless condition. A little
later the race ended with an easy win for the wildest of the young
horses. Afterwards I wandered up among the people, and looked at the
sports. At one place a man, with his face heavily blackened, except
one cheek and eye--an extraordinary effect--was standing shots of
a wooden ball behind a board with a large hole in the middle, at
three shots a penny. When I came past half an hour afterwards he had
been hit in the mouth--by a girl some one told me--but seemed as
cheerful as ever.

On the road, some little distance away, a party of girls and young
men were dancing polkas to the music of a melodeon, in a cloud of
dust. When I had looked on for a little while I met some girls I
knew, and asked them how they were getting on.

'We're not getting on at all,' said one of them, 'for we've been at
the races for two hours, and we've found no beaux to go along with
us.'