happen, you, perhaps, having a likely dark one as you want to get
light into a high-class autumn handicap. The days is long past
since Nicholas was nuts on the game little Lecturer, but still has
the interests of the Turf at heart; and, my dear young friend, if
horses never ran in and out, where would be "the glorious
uncertainty of the sport"? On the whole, then, if asked my opinion
on this affair, the Prophet would say--putting it ambiguous-like--
"Gentlemen, when there's so much dirty linen to wash, can't you
remember that we're all pretty much tarred with the same brush?" A
great politician--which a lot of his family is here, Coningsby, and
the Young Duke, and many other sportsmen--used to say as what the
Turf was "a gigantic engine of national demoralisation;" which
Nicholas is not quite sure but what he was right for him, though
his language on rather a large scale. Horses running in and out is
inexplicable! Why, gents all, which of us WOULDN'T do it, if he
had the chance to put the pot on handsome, human nature being what
it is, especially considering the lowness of the market odds as you
have often and often to be content with. In short, the more you
stir it the more it won't exactly remind you of gales from Araby
the Blest; than which a more delightful country, only not to be
found on any atlas as Nicholas ever cast a glance at the map,
however large.

But enough of a subject than which perhaps one more painful to me;
the Prophet having often and often, in early days, been warned off
Newmarket Heath himself, and called a "disreputable old tout,"
though only labouring in his vocation.

(Make a new beginning here, please, Printer.)