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which in reality has come. No dream that I might have had
more than a half century ago could have conjured up the
multitude that on last Decoration Day I saw pass through the
gates of the vastest and the best appointed race course in the
world. No fancy of the years gone by could have pictured
the popularity of the sport which has so entwined itself
about the American thoroughbred. A long cry truly from
famed old Governor Gary's Lane, where our own Washing-
ton of ever blessed memory presided and where he raced his
own horse Magnolia, to the great courses which now cater
to the scores of thousands who pay their devoirs to our noble
horse.
    Nor do I believe that we yet have reached our highest
in the sport. It is better conserved to-day, it has a more
popular patronage, it is better regulated than ever before.
It is difficult to maintain one's poise and listen to the croak-
ings of those who allege they fear disaster and already can
discern ruin. Racing has had its dark days, as what sport
or what man or what nation has not, and it may continue so
to have at uncertain periods. But I have been in it a life-
time longer than it has been the good fortune of many to
enjoy, and I have seen its good name assailed, and its patrons
criticised, and attempts made to thwart its progress; but
ever and always it has come out of its difficulties better and
stronger than it was.
    And it did so because of the love of contest which is
characteristic of the American people. The American citizen
is essentially a man who glories in struggles for supremacy;
whether it be man or horse that battles, his sympathies are
at once enlisted and aroused. The red blood that courses in
his veins-the blood that has built nations and that has made
of empires republics-the blood that to-day dominates the
wvorld-is quickened by the sight of contest. It glories in the
battles of the thoroughbred, whose blood is uncontaminated
and whose life is conquest. Tell me not that the day will
ever come when the American citizen will look with either
disfavor or indifference on a field of thoroughbreds. Tell
me not that there is anywhere a scene so inspiriting as two
horses locked in struggle, neither flinching and neither yield-
ing, their veins in tension standing out like whipcords on
their silken sides, their eyes aflame with interest, their nostrils