for the aristocracy, who knowing his graceful infirmity patronized him with condescending dexterity, acknowledged his existence in Pall Mall as well as at Tattersalls, and thus occasionally got a point more than the betting out of him. Hump Chippendale had none of these gentle failings; he was a democratic leg, who loved to fleece a noble, and thought all men were born equal—a consoling creed that was a hedge for his hump.

"Seven to four against the favourite; seven to two against Caravan; eleven to two against Mango. What about Benedict? Will any one do anything about Pocket Hercules? Thirty to one against Dardanelles."

"Done."

"Five and thirty ponies to one against Phosphorus," shouted a little man vociferously and repeatedly.

"T will give forty," said Lord Milford. No answer,—nothing done.

"Forty to one!" murmured Egremont who stood against Phosphorus. A little nervous, he said to the peer in the white great coat, "Don't