Welsh Journals

The RUTHIN Illustrated Magazine. A M0STHLY JOlOFRf AL FOR ALL CLASSES, To Inform. To Instruct. To Amuse. No. 18. Vol. II. JULY, 1880. TWO PENCE AT THE DENBIGH EACE8. (By oob Special Commissioner.)! When I retired, sir, to my virtuous couch on the Thursday night previous to the races I closed my eyes with a feeling of devout thankfulness that the barometer was rising, and that there was a prospect of us having the fourth fine day in the present summer of the year of our Lord 1880. When I awoke, sir, at 6 a.m. to my inexpressible joy the refulgent rays of the sun were gamboling on the bed-clothes, and with a loud hurrah I jumped up, feeling as high spirited as a thermometer in hot water. Having completed my toilet, and made peace with the inner-man, I proceeded, sir, like a good commissioner to put your injunctions of the previous evening into instant execution. At the liailway Station I found three-fourths of the population of this thriving town of ours trying to book third returns to Denbigh at the same time. As you know, sir, I suffer from that not-to-be-trifled- with infliction-—corns, and so I waited patiently in the rear until the madding crowd had been supplied with the neces¬ sary mediums of transit. Then I got mine, and walking on the platform met a friend who had ran three miles to catch the train. Time being up we proceeded to take our seats. I say proceeded, sir, advisedly, because all the carriages were packed like so many boxes of Philippe & Canaud's sardines. The engine driver noticing our predic¬ ament considerately invited us up on the tender, an invita¬ tion we were about to accept as a last alternative when we were seized from behind and hurried into the van before we could say the proverbial "Jack Kobinson." I don't wish to impose upon your credulity, sir, but had the journey extended half a mile further than Denbigh, and had J been compelled to do it in that van, there would have been a certain dissolution of partnership between my soul and my body. It was only the "strict sense of duty" to you and your journal that kept the flickering flame of life alive until I alighted on the platform at Denbigh, and once more found myself in a civilized atmosphere. (This last expres¬ sion is original. I think it right to say so in case I should be accused of plagiarism). Having telegraphically eased your mind (more original) of my safe arrival, my friend and myself had luncheon together, during which we ran over the li3t of running horses and marked out the winners. You remember, sir, that yon gave me a few pounds to lay out in ypur interest-^but I will deal with that presently. At two o'clock we went in search of a conveyance to take us down, or rather up, because it is up hill, to the race course. We might as well have searched for the Eipston Pippin that Isaac Newton saw fall when he discovered the centre of gravitation. Every vehicle within a radius of a mile of the town had been engaged, and so we had to pocket our dignity and walk. Two miles of pedestrianism on a hilly dusty road under a tropical sun is no joke, sir, especially when one has to plunge into the hedge every five minutes in order to let tear-away two-wheelers pass without letting one in for one'j obituary prematurely. But we did it maiJully, I under a " strict sense of duty," and my friend because necessity knows no law. On arriving on the course —which presented a gay and animated appearance—we passed a pleasant half-hour in reviewing the little beau monde which had assembled to witness the races. Of beauty in nature we saw plenty. Of beauty in dress but little. Tli6 popular costume amongst the ladies was the one dubbed "sesthetical," but he who admires it must have a decidedly deranged taste for the "love of the beautiful." For every woman that looks well in it fifty look hideous, and the odds are too much against the sex for it ever to be generally adopted. The show of parasols one could not help but admiring. They were of all shapes, sizes, and colours, and it was a most propitious day for displaying them. I noticed a few of Japanese pattern, but the bright maroon looked the gayest. Shortly after three the bell rang for the first race, and my heart began to beat tumultuously as I heard a shrill voice cry " two to one—two to one on the field, bar one." But it was not a time for hanging fire, sir. You had entrusted me with £3 of your advertisement profits with the whis})ered injunction that if I could manage, strategically or otherwise, to make it into £6 I should have a share of the gain. I looked at my card of the races. For the first event (the veteran stakes) I had marked 'Bobby " as the winner and so I laid £i of your advertise¬ ment profits on him, but alas for the frailty of animal nature " Gipsy Boy " came in first, and " Bobby "—last! " This won't do " I said to myself, and had hardly finished saying it when a brandy-faced individual, with a stump of a cigar ii. his mouth, came up to me and asked " whether I had ' hooked' anything in the last race ?" I confessed the painful truth that I had not, whereupon he whispered confidentially in my ear, " What d' you think of ' Mar-ion Gla-sha' for the Kegiment'l?" I told him. "Well then," said he, " you back 'er for 'er's as safe h'as h'eggs." And with a prophetic wink of his right eye he turned round on his heel and disappeared. I did nothing with the following three eyents, but waited for the bell to go for the Begi- mental. At last it went. " Two to one—two to one on the field, bar one" bawled the gentleman with the suicidal collar and dirty cuffs. "What do you bar?" I asked. "Mar-ion Gla-sha, sir," he shouted, adding "evens on 'er." " Here you are," I cried, "two sovereigns even money." And out came the last of the advertisement profits He gave me a check, and I took up my position to watch the race. But, sir, why go over the agoniping story again? You have heaid it from my own lips—how, when I saw "Jessy " clearing the winning post, in a fit of momentary distraction I had indulged in the irreverent wish that I had never seen you or your Journal. No, sir, I will not repeat it. Some people are driven to suicide by dwelling on the misfortunes of their past life, and as I am heavily insured this would hardly be a profitable way of severing my connection with the public. I left the course with a heavy heart, ajod so did my friend, for he too had fallen into the snares of the wily. We reached home safely, and as you know, sir, the first thing I did was to call upon yon and break the painful intelligence of my losses. Well, humanum est errare, and Shakespere has added beautifully " to forgive —divine."