Romish alike, have loved to tell. The language of Germany has grown since Luther, but it has had no new creation. He who takes up Luther's Bible grasps a whole world in his hand,-a world which will perish only when this green earth itself shall pass away.

AN OLD-TIME VIRGINIA RACE-COURSE.

JOHN ESTEN COOKE.

["The Virginia Comedians," by the author here named, is as accurate and interesting a picture of aristocratic life in the colonial days of the "Old Dominion" as could well be desired. In addition to its historical value, it has much merit as a novel, and displays fine powers of characterization. Mr. Cooke is the author of several other novels, of Lives of Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee, and of a History of Virginia. The selection given below is from the "Virginia Comedians," in which the bluff soldier, Captain Waters, is a character worthy the pen of Scott. Mr. Cooke is a native of Virginia, where he was born in 1830.]

THE races!

That word always produces a strong effect upon men in the South; and when the day fixed upon for the Jamestown races comes, the country is alive for miles around with persons of all classes and descriptions.

As the hour of noon approaches, the ground swarms with every species of the genus homo; Williamsburg and the seafaring village of Jamestown turn out en masse, leave all occupations for the exciting turf.

and

As the day draws on, the crowd becomes more dense. The splendid chariots of the gentry roll up to the stand, and group themselves around it, in a position to overlook

the race-course, and through the wide windows are seen the sparkling eyes and powdered locks and diamonds and gay silk and velvet dresses of those fair dames who lent such richness and picturesque beauty to the old days dead now so long ago in the far past. The fine-looking old planters, too, are decked in their holiday suits, their powdered hair is tied into queues behind with neat black ribbon, and they descend and mingle with their neighbors and discuss the coming festival.

Gay youths, in rich brilliant dresses, caracole up to the carriages on fiery steeds, to display their horsemanship, and exchange compliments with their friends, and make pretty speeches, which are received by the bright-eyed damsels with little ogles, and flirts of their variegated fans, and rapturous delight.

Meanwhile the crowd grows each moment, as the flood pours in from the north, the south, the east, the west,— from every point of the compass, and in every species of vehicle. There are gay parties of the yeomen and their wives and daughters, in carryalls and wagons filled with straw, upon which chairs are placed; there are rollicking fast men,-if we may use the word becoming customary in our own day,-who whirl in in their curricles; there are barouches and chairs, spring-wagons and carts, all full, approaching in every way from a sober walk to a furious headlong dash, all "going to the races." There are horsemen who lean forward, horsemen who lean back; furious, excited horsemen, urging their steeds with whip and spur; cool, quiet horsemen, who ride erect and slowly; there are, besides, pedestrians of every class and appearance, old and young, male and female, black and white,—all going to the races.

These latter gather around the booths erected by the stand, and discuss the various mixtures of Jamaica there

displayed in tempting array; and, near by, all varieties of edibles are set out and attacked. Ale foams; healths (and individuals) are drunk; bets are made.

The vulgar blacklegs, if we may speak so disrespectfully of that large and influential class, congregate temporarily around the tables where a dozen games of chance are exhibited; and here they amuse themselves while awaiting the great supreme gambling of the race.

The crowd is all in a buzz, which at times rises to a shout; it undulates like a stormy sea; it rolls and murmurs, and rumbles and laughs: in a word, it has come to see the races.

The hour at last arrives, and, a horn sounding from the judges' stand, the horses are led out in their blankets and head-coverings, and walked up and down before the crowd by their trainers, who are for the most part old grayheaded negroes, born and raised, to the best of their recollection, on the turf. The riders are noble scions of the same ancient stock, and average three feet and a half in height and twenty pounds in weight. They are clad in ornamental garments, wear little close-fitting caps, and, while they are waiting, sit huddled up in the grass, sucking their thumbs, and talking confidentially about "them there hosses."

Let us look at the objects of their attention: they are well worth it.

Mr. Howard enters the bay horse Sir Archy, out of Flying Dick, by Roderick.

Mr. James enters Fair Anna, a white mare, dam Virginia, sire Belgrave.

Captain Waters enters the Arabian horse Selim, descended in a direct line, he is informed, from Al-Borak, who carried the prophet Mahomet up to heaven,-though this pedigree is not vouched for. The said pedigree is

open to the inspection of all comers.

written in Arabic.

NOTE-That it is

There are other entries, but not much attention is paid to them. The race will be between Sir Archy and Fair Anna, and perhaps the outlandish horse will not be "distanced."

The horses are stripped, and the excited spectators gather round them and commence betting. Two to one is offered on Sir Archy. He takes every eye: he is a noble animal. His training has been excessive, and the sinews web his limbs like cords of steel woven into network; he strides like a giant, his eyes blaze, he bites at his groom.

Fair Anna is a beautiful little creature, as slender and graceful as a deer, with a coat of milky whiteness; and she steps daintily, like a kitten. She is known, however, and those who have seen her run know that she has extraordinary speed and bottom.

The Arabian horse is unknown, and offers few indications of either speed or strength. The ladies say he is lovely, however, and the old jockeys scan the animal attentively and discover some unusual points.

But the ladies, for the most part, admire the white mare above all; and the young damsels and gentlemen of youthful years request their parents to furnish them with some guineas to bet upon the lovely animal. The old planters, having for the most part staked large sums on Sir Archy, decline this request with petulance. Among these juveniles seized with the gambling mania are Master Willie Effingham and Mr. Tommy Alston, who espouse different sides. Tommy admires Fair Anna; Will, Sir Archy. Having no money beyond a crown or so, they content themselves with staking that, and Kate is called upon to hold the stakes, which she does with great good nature.

"Ah! you are betting, I think, petite ma'm'selle!" says a sonorous and good-humored voice.

Kate raises her eyes, and recognizes Captain Ralph, who rides his roan. She smiles, for the kindly honest voice of the soldier pleases her, and says,

"Oh, no, sir! I was just holding stakes for Willie and Mr. Alston."

"Mr. Alston? Oh-pardonnez: I understand."

And the captain laughs, and asks how the betting goes. "Two to one on Sir Archy," says Kate, quite easily. "And on Selim ?"

"I'm sure he's the prettiest, and I know he'll win, sir," says Kate, "but the bet is on Sir Archy and Fair Anna." The captain laughs, and rides on: he draws up by Mr. Lee's chariot.

"Ah! good-day, my dear mesdames," he says. "How is the betting, pray?"

"I have bet largely against Selim, sir," says Henrietta. "I know he'll be beaten."

"Beaten, say you, my dear madam ?”

"Yes."

"By what?-rods?"

"No, sir, by Sir Archy."

"Ah, you think so?" says the captain, pleasantly. "Well, I do not agree with you, morbleu!"

"He's found his match," says Henrietta, with a mischievous sparkle of her brilliant eye.

"So have I," replies the captain, with a look which makes Miss Henrietta blush.

She endeavors to rally.

"What will you bet, sir?"

"I? I will bet you a thousand pounds to a penny that Selim wins the race. See how infatuated I am! What say you, morbleu! madam ?”