at me again, I shall fetch you a cut over the costard!"

"Soor dook!" shouted the varlet. "Eh! see till the man that's been
coupit ower in the glaur!"

I rode home as rapidly as possible. I throw a veil over the triumphant
ejaculations of Nelly at the sight of my ruined uniform, and the
personal allusions she made to the retreat and discomfiture of the
Philistines. That evening I avoided mess, and courted a sound sleep to
prepare me for the fatigues of the ensuing day.

CHAPTER V.

"Here is a true, correct, and particular account, of the noblemen,
gentlemen, and yeomen's horses, that is to run this day over the course
of Musselburgh, with the names, weights, and liveries of the riders, and
the same of the horses themselves!"

Such were the cries that saluted me, as next day I rode up to the
race-course of Musselburgh. I purchased a card, which, among other
entries, contained the following:--

EDINBURGH SQUADRON CUP, 12 STONE.

Mr A. CHAFFINCH'S br. g. GROGGYBOY--_Green and White Cap_.
Mr RANDOLPH ns. b. g. CAPSICUM--_Geranium and French Grey_.
Mr M'WHIRTER'S bl. g. MASANIELLO--_Peach-blossom and Scarlet_.
Mr HARGATE ns. ch. m. LOUPOWERHER--_Fawn and Black Cap_.
Mr POUNSET'S b. m. MISS FROLIC--_Orange and Blue_.
Mr SHAKERLEY ns. b. g. SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION--_White body
and Liver-coloured Sleeves_.

I made my way to the stand. Miss Bogle and Mary Muggerland were there,
but so also was the eternal Roper.

"Ah, M'Whirter!" said the latter. "How do you feel yourself this
morning? None the worse of your tumble yesterday, I hope? Mere accident,
you know. Spiwited cweature Masaniello, it must be confessed. 'Gad, if
you can make him go the pace as well to-day, you'll distance the whole
of the rest of them."

"Oh, Mr M'Whirter! I'm _so_ glad to see you!" said Edith. "How funny you
looked yesterday when you were running away! Do you know that I waved my
handkerchief to you as you passed, but you were not polite enough to
take any notice?"

"Indeed, Miss Bogle, I had something else to think of at that particular
moment."

"You were _not_ thinking about me, then?" said Edith. "Well, I can't
call that a very gallant speech."

"I'll lay an even bet," said Roper, "that you were thinking more about
the surgeon."

"Were you ever wounded, Mr Roper?" said I.

"Once--in the heart, and incurably," replied the coxcomb, with a glance
at Edith.

"Pshaw! because, if you had been, you would scarce have vent