foot, quickness of eye, dexterity of hand, and a nice discrimination in boots, it is made yet more arduous by the exertions of the stewards, who mix the boots of the competitors with all the care of a croupier shuffling a pack of cards. At last the operation is completed, the bootless antagonists withdraw to the starting-place, and toe the line with their stocking-soled feet. The word is given, and they are off. The fifty yards are soon cleared and in another moment they fall headlong, hands and knees, upon the heap, a pushing, jostling, hustling mass, while the dust rises in a dense cloud, shoulder high, around them, and, above their heads—since the next best thing to finding your own boots is to throw those of your rivals to as great a distance as possible—the upper air is black with boots. After a minute or two of wild confusion, some half-dozen of the competitors burst breathless from the struggling crowd, each with a pair of boots, his own or another's, held high in air. One flings himself down at
