finally, after three miles and a half of sound
labour, by a chance that seemed almost
providential, a hard and satisfactory stone wall
presented itself, which looked as if it had been
fashioned of cold iron blocks and fragments. It
was considered that this fatal obstacle could not
have been found at a more opportune place, as
making a sort of handsome finish to the whole,
and being sure, as Mr. Madden put it, to "thin
off" a good many of those who had successfully
got round so far.

The day before, the usual unclean miscellany
poured in. The field began to spread such a
cloud of dirty dun-coloured sails that it seemed
as if a fleet of shabby fishing-boats had somehow
got in there and put out to sea. The
gipsies, the players, the menagerie keepers,
the roulette gentry, all camped there for the
night. The right of putting up a "stand"
had, on the advice of "J. Madden, Esq.,"
been farmed out to a speculator, and some
of the speculator's men were busy hammering
together some terribly raw and rude planks,
which might have been an enlarged flower-stand,
or a gigantic gallows for carrying out the
extreme penalty of the law. So open was it, and
so put together with such an economy of the
material, that it did seem to present nothing but
a succession of "drops." On the night before,
a miscellany of another order had poured into
the little town, and filled and distended it to
bursting. Betting men came from distant quarters,
who contrived to make even poor affairs such as
this bring profit; for money can be won and
lost on such " events," as drops of rain running
down a pane of glass. The betting men were so
shaven, so collarless, so tight about the limbs,
so partial to imitating a pipe with a single
straw, and so generally flavoured with the noble
animal who was their profession, that it was
hard to distinguish them from other professors
of the noble animal on the green, who came with
a tent or a "Monster Pavilion," and whose evening
existence was ushered in by a gold fillet and
web fleshings. A kind of inn, or "public," with
rooms as low as the cabin of a ship, received
temporary rank as an hotel, and charged a guinea
for a corner of a room whose walls were sadly
bent. It became like an hospital on a campaign.

The evening before, too, all the horses came,
who seemed to be regarded with far more interest
than the men who owned them, or the
miscellany who were to bet on them, or the boys
who were to ride them. As a train of them walked
in procession through the place late at night,
after the lamps had been lit, all closely swathed
in their robes, and hooded and veiled, they
seemed like brethren of a pious society who
were about to inter a brother of their order.
They were "coddled" almost like delicate
children that had mammas to wrap them
up against the night air. They had greaves
on, like a Roman soldier, and some who had
red edging to their clothing seemed to look
out through red rings round their eyes, like
clowns in a pantomime. Their symmetry and
smooth clean limbs were not then to be
admired, for they were in great-coats like prize-
fighters before the battle. But it was known
that the square tall horse, that was a hand
higher than the others, and stepped in a rude
sturdy way, was indeed "King Brian," the
famous Irish horse, who had raced here and raced
there, had beaten at Chester and Liverpool, and
was to beat at other great Games. Brent
was his owner, and was to be his rider, and
"Brent" was to arrive that night—but very
late. No one cared particularly, since "Brent's
horse" itself was present. Mr. Hanbury's horse,
"the Baron," had only a local reputation, so that
the shaven well-pumiced gentlemen who came
from a distance did not make much account
of him. He was, however, visited in a mysterious
stable by mysterious admirers, for whom it was
hoped he would win moneys, and who felt him,
and stood in a half-circle about him. Mr.
Hanbury was to ride the Baron in person. The
precautions which are taken on greater occasions
were carried out in a mimic way on the present
occasion, and a groom waited on him in his
stable all night, and was popularly supposed
never to have closed his eyes.,

Still there was a strange belief abroad that
King Brian would not run after all. It was
whispered, though no one knew who had
whispered it, that "Brent," to whom "Brent's
horse" belonged, would not appear himself, which
was a matter of small moment: but it was
currently believed that "Brent's horse" objected
to any other rider, which was a matter of far
more significance.

"J. Madden, Esq.," dined with the military
gentlemen that night, and prepared a good deal
of punch. The admiring crowd listened with
delight to his rambling periods, which flowed
from his mouth lubricated as it were with oil.
Over the fumes of his favourite liquor his face
grew into a rich lake colour. His legends of his
craft were abundant. Craftily and confidentially
ladling out his punch into a wine-glass, he "put
them up to a thing or two." He mantled into a
profuse and boundless good nature.

Hanbury and Captain Fermor were both there
listening. Hanbury was delighted with this
genial flow of counsel. The other thought him
one of those "dreadful persons" so free of
manners, whom it was a terrible trial for refined
people to encounter. From sheer ignorance
such break down all the elegant guards, the
carte and tierce, of conversational fencers.
Mr. Madden, still fluent in speech, his punch,
his lubricating oil, his lake-coloured smiles,
which spread away in great coarse waves over
his face, was not unmindful of his politics. At
intervals between his ladling, he was busy with
his book. The children about, noisily made bets
with him. "He'll be scratched. I'm fearful
of it," he kept saying, with moaning. "I
know Joe Brent. He's been at his old tricks
again." (The old tricks were tricks that led