llows this denunciation, at which the newly created
marquis bites his livid lips.

[Footnote 18: No judge ever gave a race as won by half a head; but we let
the whole passage stand as originally written.--EDITOR.]

The Baron, who appears to have no taste for walking, still sticks to the
punch mare, which Mr. Jorrocks steers to the newly formed ring aided by
the Baron and the furze-bush. Here they come upon Sam Spring, whose boy
has just brought his spring-cart to bear upon the ring formed by the
horsemen, and thinking it a pity a nobleman of any county should be
reduced to the necessity of riding double, very politely offers to
take one into his carriage. Jorrocks accepts the offer, and forthwith
proceeds to make himself quite at home in it. The chorus again
commences, and Jorrocks interrogates Sam as to the names of the
brawlers. "Who be that?" said he, "offering to bet a thousand to a
hundred." Spring, after eyeing him through his spectacles, with a
grin and a look of suspicion replies, "Come now--come--let's have no
nonsense--you know as well as I." "Really," replies Mr. Jorrocks most
earnestly, "I don't." "Why, where have you lived all your life?"
"First part of it with my grandmother at Lisson Grove, afterwards at
Camberwell, but now I resides in Great Coram Street, Russell Square--a
werry fashionable neighbourhood." "Oh, I see," replies Sam, "you are one
of the reg'lar city coves, then--now, what brings you here?" "Just to
say that I have been at Newmarket, for I'm blowed if ever you catch
me here again." "That's a pity," replied Sam, "for you look like a
promising man--a handsome-bodied chap in the face--don't you sport any?"
"O a vast!--'unt regularly--I'm a member of the Surrey 'unt--capital one
it is too--best in England by far." "What do you hunt?" inquired Sam.
"Foxes, to be sure." "And are they good eating?" "Come," replied
Jorrocks, "you know, as well as I do, we don't eat 'em." The dialogue
was interrupted by someone calling to Sam to know what he was backing.

"The Bedlamite colt, my lord," with a forefinger to his hat. "Who's
that?" inquired Jorrocks. "That's my Lord L----, a baron-lord--and a
very nice one--best baron-lord I know--always bets with me--that's
another baron-lord next him, and the man next him is a baron-knight, a
stage below a baron-lord--something between a nobleman and a gentleman."
"And who be that stout, good-looking man in a blue coat and velvet
collar next him, just rubbing his c