8 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



no other refuge, turned to the turf, and engaged myself deeply 

 in the Derby. 



That event is over, and I shall write the man et mine enemy" 

 who ever recalls it to my recollection but as this is a con- 

 fession to thee, George, I must make a clean breast. I was 

 as well acquainted with the mysteries of a betting-book, as I 

 was with the financial department of Timbuctoo ; when luckily 



" a d d good-natured friend*' came to my aid, and with his 



experience, why should I not get on cleverly ? A horse was 

 going for nothing, my friend was on the alert, made the dis- 

 covery, and I bought him for five hundred. He was a dead 

 bargain, quite a dark one, and in proof of the same, the odds 

 against him were thirty-five to one ; but, as I was informed, 

 there lay the beauty of the thing. 



As the races drew near, I discovered that my book was what 

 the leys call a queer concern. I had picked up the halt and 

 blind as first favourites and betted accordingly. My dark one 

 proved a roarer, and my faithful friend recommended me to 

 hedge immediately, and I did so, as the result will tell. 



Off went the horses ; Phenomenon, my courser, in the 

 chance medley got a splendid start, but from his pace the 

 spectators alleged that he was hamstrung. In three hundred 

 yards he was passed by the slowest of the bad ones, and before 

 the leading horses reached the distance, every thing I was 

 interested in was beaten fairly off. All I had left for con- 

 solation under this accumulation of disappointment was the 

 smart hedge that I had so prudently effected before starting. 



The settling-day came ; I was at Tattersall's and so were 

 my winners to a man ; I disbursed five thousand to divers 

 legs with and without titles, and furthermore disposed of the 

 celebrated horse Phenomenon for fifty pounds. But where was 

 the worthy gentleman with whom I had hedged half my losses ? 

 Till four o'clock I waited in painful expectation, and at that 

 hour, he being still invisible, I ventured to hazard an inquiry, 

 and was favoured with the comfortable tidings, that my absent 

 friend was a broken wine-merchant, and that he had levanted 

 the evening of the race. 



This wind up of the season, united to sultry weather and a 

 tender persecution, determined me to fly " east, west, or north, 

 I care not whither/' This, however, was more easily decided 

 on than effected, for to retreat is the difficulty, as I find myself 

 hemmed in by my enemies on every side. The widow cuts 



