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Updated: May 20, 2025
But then Epsom down is too unwieldy; the crowd is too great, and it does not cohere, save for the few seconds when gay jackets are streaming towards the winning-post. The Prologue to the "Canterbury Tales," in which we make the acquaintance of the pilgrims, is the ripest, most genial and humourous, altogether the most masterly thing which Chaucer has left us.
It crossed a clear open country towards the forest, where it terminated, and, sweeping round in an abrupt curve, formed, as it were, a loop; so that competitors, after passing over the course, swept round the loop, and, re-entering the original course again, came back towards the fort, where a long pole formed the winning-post.
You must know I felt so interested in the splendid roan horse, with his elegant little rider, so tastefully dressed in a pink satin jacket and cap, that I could not help praying for their success with as much earnestness as though the half of my fortune were at stake; and when I saw them outstrip all the others, and come to the winning-post in such gallant style, I actually clapped my hands with joy.
Before the beginner can understand the beginning of the game he must surely understand the end; how can he commence playing until he knows what he is playing for? It is like starting athletes on a race, and leaving them to find out where the winning-post is hidden.
Instead of stopping, when they have reached it, they keep running forward and the monotony of their efforts, coupled with the fever-heat engendered by their exertions, very soon causes them to view the objects that they keep passing and passing under a deformed and distorted aspect. The man of reason, on the other hand, runs with the single purpose in his mind of reaching the winning-post.
I can see a mass of people ahead on the banks, and know that they are gathered opposite the winning-post. It can't be a quarter of a mile off now! Again that shout from the bank. Ah, yes, our bow oar is level with their stroke. "Now you have it!" shout our fellows. Blades turns his head for half a second, and cries to his men as he quickens up to his final spurt. What a shout then rent the air!
"Why do you speak of others? No others are interested in what I do? Why should they be? Why should you be? There is no need!" Mr. Dyceworthy grew slightly excited. He felt like a runner nearing the winning-post. "Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Froeken," he murmured softly, with a sickly attempt at tenderness in his tone. "You really wrong yourself!
He pulled the horse in sharply, and within a few yards of the winning-post wheeled and went back, amid the jeers and howls of the crowd, who thought he must be drunk. 'You've given me a long enough chase, he said, leaning towards her. 'Where the devil do you live? 'Oh, dunna stop! He's coming. 'Who? 'Mr. Marston, the minister. 'What do I care if he's a dozen ministers?
Edward loathed bees in or out of boxes, but he was too kind-hearted to refuse. Abel was so unperceptive that he touched pathos. Hazel found a place some distance down the course where she could look along the straight to the winning-post; she loved to hear them thunder past.
The winning-post was a little further this way. "Where do they start?" said Sarah. "Over yonder, where you see that clump. They run through the furze right up to Tattenham Corner." A vast crowd swarmed over the opposite hill, and beyond the crowd the women saw a piece of open downland dotted with bushes, and rising in gentle incline to a belt of trees which closed the horizon.
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