As soon as the month dawns, big with the catastrophe of Epsom Races, straightway from Belgrave Square to Shoreditch, from the Regent’s Park to uttermost Rotherhithe, forth the sackage goes that guts, from garret to cellar, every Pantechnicon, Bazaar, and Repository of all and singular the wheeled conveniences and inconveniences peculiar to each. Anon the horse, in all its infinite gradations, is had in requisition, from Newman’s choicest specimens of blood, that devour the Surrey highways, to the living quadrupedal skeleton redeemed from the knacker’s knife at the last Smithfield show for fifteen shillings, and a “drop o’ summut for luck.” The day arrives, and lo! a mighty chain of carriages, “in linked grumbling long drawn out,” extends from the Elephant and Castle to the merry Downs of Epsom, whitherwards we will suppose thy anxious way hath at length been achieved. The moisture of travel encumbereth thy brow: searchest thou for thy best Bandana to relieve thee of the damp? Luckless wight!-- “----That handkerchief Did an Egyptian from thy pocket prig.” Is not the tide of humanity at the flood of spring? Ten deep do vehicles of all kinds, definite and undefinable, line the course. Opposite and around the stand all is high-bred and aristocratic: lower down, leading for Tattenham’s classic corner, you haply take your curious path. What lots of pretty girls you encounter as you go!--each so lady-like and _bien mise_, you would never dream of their metropolitan whereabouts, were it not for those awful mortalities that cluster around them; brothers, cousins, lovers it may be--pale shadows that haunt the glimpses of Bow Church--horrible illusions from Ludgate Hill and the Ward of Cheap, with prickly frills to their linen, swallow tails to their coats, green velvet waistcoats, or, still more shocking, similar habiliments of black satin, whereon the indecent chain of Mosaic grins ghastly, like the gilding on a coffin!--faugh! Drawing near to the lines, hark! from glass coach, britscha, jarvey, phaeton, proceed various sounds of discontent.--“Cold chickens, veal pie, lobsters and _no_ salt.”--“Half-a-dozen bottles is all very fine, and never no corkscrew.”--“Sir, I’ll set that right if you’ll only accommodate us with the loan of a glass; really it’s too provoking.”... Ascend the hill, approach the Ring, and hear what sums are jeopardied on the coming event!--enough to purchase half-a-score of German principalities; but the warren is open, and thither you are borne by the countless thousands who throng for a glance of the coursers on whom hang the hopes and fears of all.