Among other “lions” to be seen, my curiosity was excited by the news of a trotting match, to come off at Long Island:  some friend was ever ready, so off we started for Brooklyn Ferry, whence we went by railway.  In the olden time these races were as fashionable at New York as Ascot or Epsom are in England; all the elite of both sexes filled the stand, and the whole scene was lively and gay.  Various circumstances, which all who know the turf are aware it is liable to, rendered gentlemen so disgusted with it at Long Island, that they discontinued sending horses to run, and gradually gave up going themselves, and it is now left all but entirely to the “rowdies,”—­alias mob.

The railway carriage into which we got contained about forty of these worthies, all with cigars in their mouths, and exhibiting many strange varieties of features and costume.  In the passage up and down the middle of the carriage; ragged juvenile vendors of lollipops and peanuts kept patrolling and crying out their respective goods, for which they found a ready market; suddenly another youth entered, and, dispensing a fly-leaf right and left as he passed along to each passenger, disappeared at the other door.  At first, I took him for an itinerant advertiser of some Yankee “Moses and Son,” or of some of those medicinal quacks who strive to rob youth by lies calculated to excite their fears.  Judge my astonishment, then, when on looking at the paper, I found it was hymns he was distributing.  A short ride brought us close to the course, and, as I alighted, there was the active distributor freely dispensing on every side, everybody accepting, many reading, but all hurrying on to the ground.

Having paid a good round sum as entrance to the stand, I was rather disappointed at nearly breaking my neck, when endeavouring to take advantage of my privilege, for my foot well-nigh went through a hole in the flooring.  Never was anything more wretched-looking in this world.  It was difficult to believe, that a few years back, this stand had been filled with magnates of the “upper ten thousand” and stars of beauty:  there it was before me, with its broken benches, scarce a whole plank in the floor, and wherever there was one, it was covered with old cigar stumps, shells of peanuts, orange-peel, &c.  When, however, I found that seven people constituted the number of spectators in the stand, its dilapidation was more easily explained, especially when I discovered that access, with a little activity, was easily obtainable at the sides gratis—­a fact soon proved by the inroad of a few “rowdies,” and the ubiquitous vendors of lollipops and peanuts, headed by the persevering distributor of hymns.

Let us turn now from the dreary stand to the scene below.  The race-course is a two-mile distance, perfectly level, on a smooth and stoneless road, and forming a complete circle—­light trotting waggons are driving about in the centre, taking it easy at sixteen miles an hour; outside are groups of “rowdies.” making their hooks and looking out for greenhorns—­an article not so readily found at Long Island as at Epsom.