"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 chin with the race card--he'll be a
lord too, I suppose?" "No,--that's Mr. Gully, as honest a man as ever
came here,--that's Crockford before him. The man on the right is
Mr. C----, who they call the 'cracksman,' because formerly he was a
professional housebreaker, but he has given up that trade, and turned
gentleman, bets, and keeps a gaming-table. This little ugly black-faced
chap, that looks for all the world like a bilious Scotch terrier,
has lately come among us. He was a tramping pedlar--sold worsted
stockings--attended country courses, and occasionally bet a pair. Now he
bets thousands of pounds, and keeps racehorses. The chaps about him
all covered with chains and rings and brooches, were in the duffing