that I had
to pay ten guineas a year subscription instead of nothing. I almost
regularly had the honour of being invited, with other members of the
club, to the entertainment given by H.R.H. the Prince of Wales on the
Derby night--a festivity continued since his Majesty's accession to
the throne. Nor shall I forget the several occasions on which I have
had the honour to be the guest of his gracious Majesty at Sandringham;
and I mention them here to record my respectful gratitude for the
kindness and hospitality of their Majesties the King and Queen
whenever it has been my good fortune to be invited.

Speaking, however, of racing men, I have always thought that the
passion for gambling is one of the strongest propensities of our
nature, and once the mind is given to it there is no restraint
possible, either from law or pulpit. Its fascination never slackens,
and time never blunts the keen desire of self-gratification which it
engenders, while the grip with which it fastens upon us is as fast in
old age as in youth. It will absorb all other pleasures and pastimes.
I will give an instance of what I mean. There was a well-known
bookmaker of my acquaintance whose whole mind was devoted to this
passion; his lifetime was a gamble; everything seemed to be created
to make a bet upon. Do what he would, go where he would, his thoughts
were upon horse-racing.

I was staying with Charley Carew, the owner and occupier of Beddington
Park, with a small party of guests invited for shooting. One morning
there was to be a rabbit-killing expedition, and after a pretty good
morning's walk, I had a rest, and then leisurely went along towards
the trysting-place for lunch. It was a large oak tree, and as I came
up there was Hodgman, the bookie, who did not see me, walking round
the rabbits, which lay in rows, counting them, and muttering,
"_Two--four--twenty_," and so on up to a hundred. He then paused, and
after a while soliloquized, "Ah! fancy a hundred! One hundred _dead
uns_! What would I give for such a lot for the Chester Cup!"

His mind was not with the rabbits except in connection with his
betting-book on the Chester Cup. He was by no means singular except in
the manner of showing his propensity. The devotees of "Bridge" are all
Hodgmans in their way.

At the Benchers' table I was speaking of Clarkson in reference to the
Old Bailey. He had been with me in consultation in a very bad case. We
had not the ghost of a chance of winning