companion, Mr. Snaffle. It was easy, therefore, for the Captain to
renew his acquaintance with that individual. So, hanging on the arm
of my Lord Vauxhall, Captain Walker next day made his appearance at
Snaffle's livery-stables, and looked at the various horses there for
sale or at bait, and soon managed, by putting some facetious
questions to Mr. Snaffle regarding the "Kidney Club," etc. to place
himself on a friendly footing with that gentleman, and to learn from
him what horse Mr. Eglantine was to ride on Sunday.

The monster Walker had fully determined in his mind that Eglantine
should FALL off that horse in the course of his Sunday's ride.

"That sing'lar hanimal," said Mr. Snaffle, pointing to the old
horse, "is the celebrated Hemperor that was the wonder of Hastley's
some years back, and was parted with by Mr. Ducrow honly because his
feelin's wouldn't allow him to keep him no longer after the death of
the first Mrs. D., who invariably rode him. I bought him, thinking
that p'raps ladies and Cockney bucks might like to ride him (for his
haction is wonderful, and he canters like a harm-chair); but he's
not safe on any day except Sundays."

"And why's that?" asked Captain Walker. "Why is he safer on Sundays
than other days?"

"BECAUSE THERE'S NO MUSIC in the streets on Sundays. The first gent
that rode him found himself dancing a quadrille in Hupper Brook
Street to an 'urdy-gurdy that was playing 'Cherry Ripe,' such is the
natur of the hanimal. And if you reklect the play of the 'Battle of
Hoysterlitz,' in which Mrs. D. hacted 'the female hussar,' you may
remember how she and the horse died in the third act to the toon of