Punch: Punch (21.1851)

62

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

MORTMAIN.

THE RACES OF MAN.

We recollect a very instructive, amusing book, being published under the above title. It
contained one deplorable omission, however, which may be partly accounted for by the fact,
that at the time the book was published, Mr. Batty's Hippodrome was not in existence.
We are pleased at being able to repair that omission, and to increase the value of a clever
work with the addition of the following Races of Man, which, we must premise, have only
been recently discovered.

These important discoveries were made in a large circular building, open at the top, and
the interior scooped out, like a Stilton Cheese. In form it was not unlike a Roman Amphi-
theatre. It is situate somewhere about Kensington, and any one, by paying a small trifle
at the door—say a shilling, or a couple of shillings—will be shown with great civility over
the building.

It was inside the walls of this monster Stilton Cheese that we made our discoveries. At
one corner of the Stilton there had been nibbled a large hole, and in and out of this hole

there kept running, like so many rats and
mice, a number of horses and poneys, ostriches
and monkeys, whose principal amusement con-
sisted in running round and round the bottom
of the cheese at the very top of their speed, and
then running out again.

With our natural quickness, we soon discovered
that there was a method in these wild evolutions.
We involuntarily ejaculated "Eureka!" as we
found out that the great object in the running
was to see which horse, or poney, or ostrich, or
monkey should come in first. In short, they
formed a number of Races • and we were not a
little proud in this matter-of-fact world, in which
everything has been turned, not only inside out,
but also outside in, as in Leicester Square, to
have suddenly opened the door, in such a
strange out-of-the-way cupboard as Kensington,
upon several new Races of Man.

The following is a faithful description of these
new Races :—

First of all, there is the Chariot Race.
Several warriors in tub-like chariots gallop round
the circle. The warriors have all Roman noses,
in order to give the entertainment the most
classic feature of ancient times. Wreaths of
artificial laurel are round their brows, and silk
stockings shed over the calves that animate the
scene a beautiful couleur de rose. In each chariot
are four horses, and they have Roman noses also,
and the laurel-wreath round their brows. Twice
they gallop round the merry circle. The Race
is run, almost before it has commenced; and the
shouts of the applauding multitude proclaim that
Jones, not of the Seven Hills, but of the Seven
Dials, is the victor.

The next Race is on horseback; not as in
Rotten Row, seated quietly in the saddle, but
standing upright on the backs of two naked
horses. The warriors are again from Rome, and
their gay scarfs stream behind them, like a flying
rainbow. They shuffle backwards and forwards,
like a pack of cards in the hands of a conjuror.
At last Red is the turn-up card, and again Jones
is the trump who wins.

Again the dustman's bell is rung, and a pair of
high-mettled Ostriches plunge into the saw-dusty
arena. This Race is unquestionably the funniest
Race of Man—funnier even than the French
Race. The other Races are exciting. They
bring your heart into your mouth. But the
Ostrich Race only fills it with laughter. The
Ostriches do not run; they fly. The Bedouin,
who follows on his Arab steed, plies his spurs in
vain to catch them. Their long legs seem to
have wings to them. You might as well at-
tempt to catch Mercury by the heel as one
of them. The boy seems to sit as light as an
ostrich feather on its back. The riding, too, is
peculiar j no whip is requisite to urge them on—
no bridle is necessary to guide them—no bit
wanted to make them turn to the right or the
left. They run, like a bill, without any effort, o:
their own accord, and do not stop until taken
up at the end of their appointed running. It
must be very pleasant riding—for the Ostrich
never throws his rider. He does not kick
either, nor plunge, nor rear, nor jib, nor roar,
nor is he subject to any of the ills which horse-
flesh is heir to. We expect to see Ostrich
riding very popular. We may hear of more im-
probable things than a lady saying to her groom,
"John, bring my Ostrich to the door at six
o'clock." At all events, a Derby, with nothing
but three-year-old Ostriches in it, would be ex-
tremely amusing. We must say, that of all birds
the Ostrich affords the very best game—by a long
run!

There were several other Races, but, after the
Ostriches, they lagged a long way behind. There
was the race of Monkeys, but we have seen so
much of the same thing in the Park better done.
There was the Race of Jockeys; but they were
not so good as many young Lords whom we