," says the divine.
"Have you horse-races in Virginia, Mr. Warrington?"

"Haven't we!" cries Harry; "but oh! I long to see a good English race!"

"Do you--do you--bet a little?" continues his reverence.

"I have done such a thing," replies Harry with a smile.

"I'll take Brilliant even against the field, for ponies with you,
cousin!" shouts out Mr. William.

"I'll give or take three to one against Jason!" says the clergyman.

"I don't bet on horses I don't know," said Harry, wondering to hear the
chaplain now, and remembering his sermon half an hour before.

"Hadn't you better write home, and ask your mother?" says Mr. William,
with a sneer.

"Will, Will!" calls out my lord, "our cousin Warrington is free to bet,
or not, as he likes. Have a care how you venture on either of them,
Harry Warrington. Will is an old file, in spite of his smooth face, and
as for Parson Sampson, I defy our ghostly enemy to get the better of
him."

"Him and all his works, my lord!" said Mr. Sampson, with a bow.

Harry was highly indignant at this allusion to his mother. "I'll tell
you what, cousin Will," he said, "I am in the habit of managing my own
affairs in my own way, without asking any lady to arrange them for me.
And I'm used to make my own bets upon my own judgment, and don't need
any relations to select them for me, thank you. But as I am your
guest, and, no doubt, you want to show me hospitality, I'll take your
bet--there. And so Done and Done."

"Done," says Will, looking askance.

"Of course it is the regular odds that's in the paper which you give me,
cousin?"

"Well, no, it isn't," growled Will. "The odds are five to four, that's
the fact, and you may have 'em, if you like."

"Nay, cousin, a bet is a bet; and I take you, too, Mr. Sampson."

"Three to one against Jason. I lay it. Very good," says Mr. Sampson.

"Is it to be ponies too, Mr. Chaplain?" asks Harry with a superb air, as
if he had Lombard Street in his pocket.

"No, no. Thirty to ten. It is enough for a poor priest to win."

"Here goes a great slice out of my quarter's hundred," thinks Harry.
"Well, I shan't let these Englishmen fancy that I am afraid of them. I
didn't begin, but for the honour of Old Virginia I won't go back."

These pecuniary transactions arranged, William Esmond went away scowling
towards the stables, where he loved to take his pipe with the grooms;
the brisk parson went off to pay his court to the ladies, and partake of
the Su