110 THE LIFE OF A EACEHORSE. 



patch. Barely a fortnight had elapsed from this date when all the 

 numbers in the lottery were disposed of, and upon an appointed 

 evening a jovial, rollicking party met at the sign of the Feathers, 

 to cast the dice for one prize to an infinite number of blanks. 



The winner, I believe, expressed a strong fear of having 

 "gained a loss," and appealed, in a facetious manner, to the 

 assembled company for a suggestion as to " what he should do 

 with me V One said, "I should make a nice, quiet, easy-going 

 cob, for an old gentleman, provided my ears and tail were 

 cropped close." Another thought me "just the thing for a 

 park hack, if an act of parliament could be got, so that I might 

 have the whole of the park to myself" A third considered 

 the cat's-meat barrow my proper destination, and offered a 

 premium for the prime cuts for a litter of thriving tortoise-shell 

 kittens. A fourth, however, intimated that if he "was the 

 unlucky gent as von sich a brute, he'd get out of 'm by putting 

 'm up again at a lower figger." 



I do not know how many times I was raffled for during the 

 , night by the jovial, rollicking party met at the sign of the 

 Feathers ; but as the flame of gas flaring high above their heads 

 began to lose its brightness in the pale, sickly morning light, 

 struggling through chink and crevice, I was the acknowledged 

 property of an adventurous cabman. 



Years have fled. 



In the Haymarket I now stand alone, dwelling on the past, 

 without a friend, and without a hope. A drizzling rain is 

 being driven in my face by a bleak, whistling wind, and, droop- 

 ing my head between my fore legs, I remain spiritless and sad, 

 listening to the sounds of a winter's night. The drunken broil, 

 ribald jests, fierce oaths, loud laughter — the mere mockery of 

 mirth — salute my ears, and while I listen my driver approaches, 

 accompanied by two very young and noisy men. They are 

 talking of Bob somebody as I am driven from the rank to the 

 pavement, and seem to be questioning the quality of the cham- 

 pagne they have been drinking. 



" Is this the old screw you have been lying about ? " inquires 

 one, jerking his wide-awake hat to an acute angle, and coming 



