their amazing gravity, their conciseness of speech, and careworn and
moody air. In the smoking-room at the 'Regent,' when Joe Millerson
will be setting the whole room in a roar with laughter, you hear young
Messrs. Spavin and Cockspur grumbling together in a corner. 'I'll take
your five-and-twenty to one about Brother to Bluenose,' whispers Spavin.
'Can't do it at the price,' Cockspur says, wagging his head ominously.
The betting-book is always present in the minds of those unfortunate
youngsters. I think I hate that work even more than the 'Peerage.' There
is some good in the latter--though, generally speaking, a vain record:
though De Mogyns is not descended from the giant Hogyn Mogyn; though
half the other genealogies are equally false and foolish; yet the
mottoes are good reading--some of them; and the book itself a sort of
gold-laced and livened lackey to History, and in so far serviceable. But
what good ever came out of, or went into, a betting-book? If I could
be Caliph Omar for a week, I would pitch every one of those despicable
manuscripts into the flames; from my Lord's, who is 'in' with Jack
Snaffle's stable, and is over-reaching worse-informed rogues and
swindling greenhorns, down to Sam's, the butcher-boy's, who books
eighteenpenny odds in the tap-room, and 'stands to win five-and-twenty
bob.'

In a turf transaction, either Spavin or Cockspur would try to get the
better of his father, and, to gain a point in the odds, victimise his
best friends. One day we shall hear of one or other levanting; an
event at which, not being sporting men, we shall not break our hearts.
See--Mr. Spavin is settling his toilette previous to departure; giving a
curl in the glass to his side-wisps of hair. Look at him! It is only
at the hulks, or among turf-men, that you ever see a face so mean, so
knowing, and so gloomy.

A much more humane being among the youthful Clubbists is the
Lady-killing Snob. I saw Wiggle just now in the dressing-room, talking
to Waggle, his inseparable.

WAGGLE.--'Pon my honour, Wiggle, she did.'

WIGGLE.--'Well, Waggle, as you say--I own I think she DID look at me
rather kindly. We'll see to-night at the French play.'

And having arrayed their little persons, these two harmless young bucks
go upstairs to dinner.

CHAPTER XL--CLUB SNOBS

Both sorts of young men, mentioned in my last under the flippant names
of Wiggle and Waggle, may be found in tolerable plenty, I think, in
Clubs. Wiggle and