. Now, Baby!--now Major--the horse!--the
mare!--Best race I ever saw in my life--a dead heat--Ha! ha! ha!" The
latter explosion of mirth is due to the procrastinated arrival of the
long cornet, who flogs and works as religiously home as if he had a
hundred more behind him, and who reaches the weighing enclosure in
time to ascertain with his own eyes that Ganymede has won, the lame
plater who rejoices in that classical appellation having struggled
home first by a head, "notwithstanding," as the sporting papers
afterwards expressed themselves, "the judicious riding and beautiful
finish of that promising young jockey, Mr. B. Larkins." The Baby
himself, however, is unmoved as usual, nodding to Parachute's
disappointed owner without moving a muscle of his countenance. He
merely remarks, "Short of work, Frank. Told you so afore I got up,"
and putting on a tiny white overcoat like a plaything, disappears, and
is seen no more.

What a confusion there is in getting away! Sir Guy Scapegrace has a
yearly bet with young Phaethon, who wanted to invite me on his box, as
to which shall get first to Kensington on their way back to town. You
would suppose Sir Guy was very happy at home by his anxiety to be off.
The two drags are soon bumping and rolling and rattling along the
sward. The narrow lane through which they must make their way is
completely blocked up with spring-vans, and tax-carts, and open
carriages, and shut carriages, and broughams, and landaus, and every
description of vehicle that ever came out of Long Acre; whilst more
four-horse coaches, with fast teams and still faster loads, are
thundering in the rear. Slang reigns supreme; and John Gilpin's
friend, who had a "ready wit," would here meet with his match. Nor are
jest and repartee (what John calls "chaff") the only missiles bandied
about. Toys, knocked off "the sticks" for the purpose, darken the air
as they fly from one vehicle to another, and the broadside from a
well-supplied coach is like that of a seventy-four. Fun and
good-humour abound, but confusion gets worse confounded. Young
Phaethon's wheel is locked with a market-gardener's, who is
accompanied by two sisters-in-law and the suitors of those nowise
disconcerted damsels, all more or less intoxicated. Thriftless has his
near leader in the back-seat of a pony-carriage, and Sir Guy's
off-wheeler is over the pole. John and I agree to make a detour, have
a pleasant ride in the country, never mind about dinner, a