breathlessly call us " My Lord," and now,
"your Honor." Now, we pass the outer
settlements of tents where pots and kettles are —
where gipsy children are—where airy stabling
is— where tares for horses may be bought—
where water, water, water, is proclaimed—
where the Tumbler in an old pea-coat, with a
spangled fillet round his head, eats oysters,
while his wife takes care of the golden globes,
and the knives, and also of the starry little
boy, their son, who lives principally
upside-down. Now, we pay our one pound at the
barrier, and go faster on, still Juggernaut-wise,
attended by our devotees, until at last
we are drawn, and rounded, and backed, and
sidled, and cursed, and complimented, and
vociferated into a station on the hill opposite
the Grand Stand, where we presently find
ourselves on foot, much bewildered, waited on by
five respectful persons, who will brush us all
at once.

Well, to be sure, there never was such a
Derby Day, as this present Derby Day!
Never, to be sure, were there so many
carriages, so many fours, so many twos, so many
ones, so many horsemen, so many people who
have come down by " rail," so many fine ladies
in so many broughams, so many of Fortnum
and Mason's hampers, so much ice and
champagne! If I were on the turf, and had
a horse to enter for the Derby, I would call
that horse Fortnum and Mason, convinced
that with that name he would beat the field.
Public opinion would bring him in somehow.
Look where I will—in some connexion with
the carriages— made fast upon the top, or
occupying the box, or tied up behind, or
dangling below, or peeping out of window—I
see Fortnum and Mason. And now, Heavens!
all the hampers fly wide open, and the green
Downs burst into a blossom of lobster-salad!

As if the great Trafalgar signal had been
suddenly displayed from the top of the Grand
Stand, every man proceeds to " do his duty."
The weaker spirits, who were ashamed to set
the great example, follow it instantly, and all
around me there are table-cloths, pies, chickens,
hams, tongues, rolls, lettuces, radishes,
shell-fish, broad-bottomed bottles, clinking glasses,
and carriages turned inside out. Amidst the
hum of voices a bell rings. What's that?
What's the matter ? They are clearing the
course. Never mind. Try the pigeon-pie.
A roar. What's the matter? It's only the
dog upon the course. Is that all? Glass of
wine. Another roar. What's that ? It's
only the man who wants to cross the course,
and is intercepted, and brought back. Is that
all ? I wonder whether it is always the same
dog and the same man, year after year!
A great roar. What's the matter ? By
Jupiter, they are going to start.

A deeper hum and a louder roar. Every-
body standing on Fortnum and Mason. Now
they're off'! No. Now they're off! No.
Now they 're off. No. Now they are! Yes!

There they go ! Here they come ! Where ?
Keep your eye on Tattenham Corner, and
you 'll see 'em coming round in half a minute.
Good gracious, look at the Grand Stand, piled
up with human beings to the top, and at the
wonderful effect of changing light as all their
faces and uncovered heads turn suddenly this
way! Here they are! Who is ? The
horses! Where ? Here they come! Green
first. No: Red first. No: Blue first. No:
the Favorite first. Who says so ? Look!
Hurrah! Hurrah! All over. Glorious race.
Favorite wins! Two hundred thousand
pounds lost and won. You don't say so?
Pass the pie!

Now, the pigeons fly away with the news.
Now, every one dismounts from the top of
Fortnum and Mason, and falls to work with
greater earnestness than before, on carriage
boxes, sides, tops, wheels, steps, roofs, and
rumbles. Now, the living stream upon the
course, dammed for a little while at one point,
is released, and spreads like parti-colored
grain. Now, the roof of the Grand Stand is
deserted. Now, rings are formed upon the
course, where strong men stand in pyramids
on one another's heads; where the Highland
lady dances; where the Devonshire Lad sets-to
with the Bantam; where the Tumbler
throws the golden globes about, vith the
starry little boy tied round him in a knot.

Now, all the variety of human riddles who
propound themselves on race-courses, come
about the carriages, to be guessed. Now, the
gipsy woman, with the flashing red or yellow
handkerchief about her head, and the strange
silvery-hoarse voice, appears, " My pretty
gentleman, to tell your fortin, Sir; for you have
a merry eye, my gentleman, and surprises is
in store; for you 're connected with a dark
lady as loves you better than you love a kiss
in a dark corner when the moon's a-shining;
for you have a lively 'art, my gentleman, and
you shall know her secret thoughts, and the
first and last letters of her name, my pretty
gentleman, if you will cross your poor gipsy's
hand with a little bit of silver, for the luck of
the fortin as the gipsy will read true, from
the lines of your hand, my gentleman, both
as to what is past, and present, and to
come." Now, the Ethiopians, looking
unutterably hideous in the sunlight, play old
banjoes and bones, on which no man could
perform ten years ago, but which, it seems,
any man may play now, if he will only
blacken his face, put on a crisp wig, a white
waistcoat and wristbands, a large white tie,
and give his mind to it. Now, the
sickly-looking ventriloquist, with an anxious face
(and always with a wife in a shawl) teaches
the alphabet to the puppet pupil, whom he
takes out of his pocket. Now, my sporting
gentlemen, you may ring the Bull, the Bull,
the Bull; you may ring the Bull! Now, try
your luck at the knock-em-downs, my Noble
Swells—twelve heaves for sixpence, and a
pincushion in the centre, worth ten times the
money! Now the Noble Swells take five