Capt.  Helm had a race-course on his plantation, on which he trained young horses for the fall races.  One very fine horse he owned, called Mark Anthony, which he trained in the most careful manner for several months previous to the races.  He would put him on the course every morning, sometimes covering him with a blanket, and then put him to his utmost speed, which he called “sweating him.”  Mark Anthony was to be put on the race-course in October following, as a competitor for the purse of ten thousand dollars, which was the amount to be lost or gained on the first day of the fall races.  Capt.  H. had also another young horse, called Buffer, under a course of training, which he designed to enter the lists for the second day.  His course of training had been about the same as Mark Anthony’s, but being a year or two younger, it was thought that he had not sufficient “bottom” to risk so much money on, as was at stake on the first day.

[Illustration:  “Away they go, sweeping round the course with lightning speed, while every spectator’s eye is strained, and every countenance flushed with intense anxiety.”]

When the time for the races to commence came, all was bustle and excitement in the house and on the plantation.  It was a fine October morning, and the sun shed a mellow radiance on all around, when people began to throng the race-course.  Some came with magnificent equipages, attended by their numerous train of black servants, dressed in livery, —­some in less splendid array,—­and others on foot, all hurrying on to the exciting scene.  There the noblest blood of Old Virginia, of which many are wont to boast, was fully represented, as was also the wealth and fashion of the country for many miles around.

All were in high spirits, and none seemed to fear that they would be the losers in the amount of money about to change hands.  And for what, pray, is all this grand outlay—­this vast expenditure?  Merely the pleasure and gratification of witnessing the speed of a fine horse, and the vanity of prejudging concerning it.

The arrangements were at length completed,—­the horses regularly entered, Mark Anthony among the rest,—­and then the word “go!” was given, when each horse sprang as if for his life, each striving to take the lead.  Away they go, sweeping round the course with lightning speed, while every spectator’s eye is strained, and every countenance flushed with intense anxiety.

Some of the noble animals were distanced the first heat, and others were taken away by their owners.

The judges allowed twenty minutes to prepare the horses for the second trial of their speed—­a trial which must enrich or empoverish many of the thousands present.  Already there were sad countenances to be seen in the crowd.

The horses were again in readiness, and the word given,—­away they flew with the fleetness of the wind, to come in the second time.