The revived Races were held every year on the 14th May, whereas the old Odsey Race meeting was in September. Among the stewards appear the names of Lord Hardwicke, Mr. Brand, Mr. Delme Radcliffe and Mr. Barnett, while Mr. George Smith was the treasurer and clerk of the course. In 1836, when Lord Hardwicke and Mr. Brand were stewards, it is stated that there were from five to six thousand persons present, and as to the character of the gathering, we are told that-- "The usual attendants at all amusements of this kind were there, and succeeded in victimizing a few who were green enough to fancy they had a _chance of increasing_ their funds on the race-course." Genteel at first, with a grand-stand erected on the course and numerous booths for refreshments, these Races became in less repute as time went on and were associated with many disagreeable incidents. Of the general characteristics of the scene of these Races in their best days during the present century, Mr. Butler's poem gives us a vivid picture. The preparations for the event are shown, where Many a pole stripp'd of its native rind, Bears a pink flag, that rattles in the wind; And all the rustic villagers around Behold with wond'rous eyes the hallow'd ground, And often pause to view the massive roll, Bear down the turf, and level round the goal. Of the morning of the Races and the concourse of people coming in from all points of the compass, we get a glimpse For ten miles round, each village yields Its bumpkin swains, and labour quits the fields. * * * * * * {134} Full many a smock shines white as driven snow, With pea-green smalls, whose polished buttons glow. * * * * * * Nor they alone the glorious sight to share, Their master's family will sure be there. Lo! the old wagon, lumb'ring on the road, Bears on its pond'rous sides the noisy load. Lopp'd is the vig'rous tree, its spreading boughs Cling to the sides, and shade their vacant brows. Other characters, too, of the dandy type are coming in For many a sprightly Cantab springs to view, Borne swiftly on upon his licens'd steed, That all the day ne'er knows what 'tis to feed; Cantabs and bumpkins, blacklegs wend along, And squires and country nobles join the throng! * * * * * * Loud sounds the knotty thong upon the backs Of poor half-starv'd and kennel-smelling hacks. In this fashion the noisy streams feed the growing crowd, as it nears the "painted landmark," where With what delight they view, the colours fly, That flap and flutter 'neath a windy sky. Then we get a glimpse of the gentleman jockey as he "quits the just machine"-- Strutting along equipp'd in vest of silk. * * * * * * Full many a hat is doff'd as he draws near, For gentlemen themselves turn jockeys here.