Here's a right and true list of all the running horses! Dorling's correct card for the Derby day!——Hollo, old un! hand us up one here, will you: and let it be a good un: there, now what's to pay?

Only sixpence. Sixpence! I never gave more than a penny at Hookem Snivey in all my days.——May be not, your honour: but Hookem Snivey aint Hepsom: and sixpence is what every gemman, as is a gemman, pays.

I can buy 'em for less than that on the course, and I'll wait till I get there. Beg your honour's pardon; they sells 'em a shillin' on the course. Give you threepence. They cost me fippence ha'p'ny farden.

Well, here then, take your list back again. Come, come; your honour shall have it at your own price:——I wouldn't sell it nob'dy else for no sitch money: but I likes the sound of your wice.

Here, then, give me the change, will you?—Oh, certainly: but your honour's honcommon ard:——Let's see: you want two-and-threepence: wait a moment, there's another gentleman calling out for a card.

Hollo, coachman, stop, stop! Coachman, do you hear? stop your horses this moment, and let me get down:——The fellow's run away behind an omnibus without giving me change out of my half-crown.

That's alvays the vay they does on these here hoccasions: they calls it catching a flat:——Sorry I can't stop. Where's the new police? Pretty police truly, to suffer such work as that!

Well, if ever I come to Epsom again! but let's look at the list: it's cost me precious dear!——Ascot, Mundig, Pelops! why, good heavens, coachman! they've sold me a list for last year!

Oh, ma! look there! what a beautiful carriage! scarlet and gold liveries, and horses with long tails.——And stodge-full of gentlemen with mustaches, and cigars, and Macintoshes, and green veils:

Whose is it, ma? Don't know, my dear; but no doubt belongs to some duke, or marquis, or other great nob.——Beg your pardon, ma'am: but that carriage as you're looking at is a party of the swell mob.

And, oh my! ma: look at that other, full of beautiful ladies, dressed like queens and princesses.——Silks and satins and velvets, and gauze sleeves and ermine tippets: I never saw such elegant dresses:

And how merry they look, laughing and smiling! they seem determined to enjoy the sport:——Who are they, ma? Don't know, dear; but no doubt they're Court ladies. Yes, ma'am, Cranbourne Court.

How do, Smith? nice sort of tit you've got there. Very nice indeed: very nice sort of mare.——Beautiful legs she's got, and nicely-turned ancles, and 'pon my word, a most elegant head of hair.

How old is she? and how high does she stand? I should like to buy her if she's for sale.——Oh, she's quite young: not above five-and-twenty or thirty; and her height exactly a yard and a half and a nail:

Price eighty guineas. She'd be just the thing for you; capital hunter as ever appeared at a fixture.——Only part with her on account of her colour; not that I mind: only Mrs. S. don't like an Oxford mixture.

Hehlo! you faylow! you person smoking the pipe, I wish you'd take your quadruped out of the way.——Quadruped, eh? you be blowed! it's no quadruped, but as good a donkey as ever was fed upon hay.

Oh, my! ma; there's the course. What lots of people, and horses, and booths, and grand stands.——And what oceans of gipsies and jugglers, and barrel organs, and military bands!

And was ever such sights of Savoyards and French women singing and E-O-tables;——And horses rode up and down by little boys, or tied together in bundles, and put up in calimanco stables;

And look at that one, they call him Boney-parte. Did you ever in all your lifetime see a leaner?——And "Royal Dinner Saloons" (for royalty the knives might have been a little brighter, and the linen a little cleaner);

And women with last-dying speeches in one hand, and in the other all the best new comic songs;——And, dear me! how funnily that gentleman sits his horse; for all the world just like a pair of tongs.

And—clear the course! clear the course! Oh, dear! now the great Derby race is going to be run.——Twelve to one! Ten to one! Six to one! Nine to two! Sixteen to three! Done, done, done, done!

Here they come! here they come! blue, green buff, yellow, black, brown, white, harlequin, and red!——Sir, I wish you'd stand off of our carriage steps: it's quite impossible to see through your head.

There, now they're gone: how many times round? Times round, eh? why, bless your innocent face!——It's all over. All over! you don't say so! I wish I'd never come: such a take in! call that a Derby race!

After being stifled with dust almost, and spoiling all our best bonnets and shawls and cloaks!——Call that a Derby race, indeed! I'm sure it's no Derby, but nothing but a right-down, regular Oaks.

But come, let's have a bit of lunch: I'm as hungry as if I hadn't had a bit all day.——Smith, what are you staring at? why don't you make haste, and hand us the hamper this way?

We shall never have anything to eat all day if you don't stir yourself, and not go on at that horrid slow rate.——Oh, Lord! the bottom's out, and every bit of meat and drink, and worse than all, the knives and forks and plate,—

Stole and gone clean away! Good heavenlies! and I told you to keep your eye on the basket, you stupid lout!——Well, so I did, on the top of it, but who'd have thought of their taking the bottom out?

Well, never mind: they'll be prettily disappointed: for you know, betwixt you and me and the wall,——Our ivory knives and forks were nothing but bone; and our plate nothing but German silver, after all.

What race is to be run next? No more, ma'am: the others were all run afore you come.——Well, then, have the horses put to, Smith: I'll never come a Derbying again; and let us be off home.

Oh, lawk! what a stodge of carriages! I'm sure we shall never get off the course alive!——Oh, dear! do knock that young drunken gentleman off the box: I'm sure he's not in a fit state to drive.

There, I told you how it would be. Oh, law! you've broke my arm, and compound-fractured my leg!——Oh! for 'eavens sake, lift them two 'orrid osses off my darter! Sir, take your hands out of my pocket-hole, I beg!

I say, the next time you crawl out of a coach window, I wish you wouldn't put your foot on a lady's chest.——Vell, if ever I seed such a purl as that (and I've seed many a good un in my time) I'll be blest.

Oh, dear! going home's worse than coming! It's ten to one if ever we get back to Tooley Street alive.——Such jostling, and pushing, and prancing of horses! and always the tipsiest gentleman of every party will drive.

I wish I was one of those ladies at the windows; or even one of the servant maids giggling behind the garden walls.——And oh! there's Kennington turnpike! what shouting and hooting, and blowing those horrid cat-calls!

Ticket, Sir? got a ticket? No, I've lost it. A shilling, then. A shilling! I've paid you once to-day.——Oh, yes, I suppose so: the old tale; but it wont do. That's what all you sporting gentlemen say.

Hinsolent feller! I'll have you up before your betters. Come, sir, you musn't stop up the way. Well, I'll pay you again; but, oh Lord! somebody's stole my purse! good gracious, what shall I do!——I suppose I must leave my watch, and call for it to-morrow. Oh, ruination! blow'd if that isn't gone too!

Get on there, will you?—Well, stop a moment. Will anybody lend me a shilling? No? Well, here then, take my hat:——But if I don't show you up in Bell's Life in London next Sunday morning, my name's not Timothy Flat.

Well, this is my last journey to Epsom, my last appearance on any course as a backer or hedger:——For I see plain enough a betting-book aint a day-book, and a Derby's a very different thing from a Ledger.

A PARALLEL CASE OF HARDSHIP.

A public subscription of several thousand pounds has been proposed to be raised towards Mr. Buckingham's losses in India; quickened by the threat that, if not sufficient to maintain him, he would be driven to the very dreadful necessity of "devoting the remainder of his days to useful and honourable labour!" To avert so dire a calamity, it will be proposed among Mr. B.'s friends to revive the old project, and send him round the world on a voyage of discovery and commerce. He is to sail on the first of next April, and will take with him passengers, emigrants, and merchandize. First exploring the British coast, he will establish a colony of tailors at Sheer-ness; then offer a consignment of saddles and bridles to the inhabitants of Ryde; afterwards call for Mr. Ole Bull off Cowes, as fiddler to the crew; from thence he will despatch a bale of blankets to Friez-land, and of gloves to the people of Pau, taking in exchange some cheap coffee for charitable purposes from Cham-berry. Proceeding through the Channel, he will receive a few distressed ladies at Brideport on an experimental voyage to Beau-maris. The late ministry will accompany him as far as the Ex, and at Ply-Mouth Sound he will take in the substance of his next parliamentary campaign. At the Scilly Islands he will try to dispose of a heavy consignment from Paternoster Row and some leading establishments at the west-end of the town. He will leave the Poor Law Commissioners at their headquarters at Flint; thence crossing the Atlantic, he will deposit the bones of Mr. Carus Wilson at Long Island, and offer a cargo of soft-soap at Washington. He will next despatch Stone masons to the Chipaway country, and Carpenters to the Chick-a-saws, and he will be commissioned to get a lot of old Joes exchanged at New-Found-Land. He will supply the natives of Chili with great coats, carry ham and beef to the Sandwich Islands, and broad cloth to Bombay. He will then reach the North Pole by taking up his ship in an air balloon, and remaining suspended, till, as the world goes round, the arctic circle is just under his feet, when he will drop into the midst of it. Coming home from the North, about next St. Swithin twelvemonths, he will bring us a little Blue from the Island of Skye, and call off the coast of Ayr-shire for another scheme to raise the wind. On his arrival, the wooden guns at Jack Straw's Castle will be fired, and the town illuminated with moonshine.

Divaricating from the beaten track of all my predecessors in the Celestial Art, whose method it hath ever been to leave the interpretation of their symbolical prefigurements to be explorated and divined by the subtlety of the ingenious reader himself,—by the which they did shroud, in a tenfold tenebrosity of Cimmerian gloom, their no-meaning mysteries, and ambiguous puzzlements;—deviating, I say, from such a course, I do herewith not only present thee, as hath been my custom, with an Hieroglyphic "adapted to the times," but lifting the veil of obscurity, wherein it is shrouded from vulgar apprehension, lay patent and exposed the hidden meaning thereof.

It hath in it the three grand postulates or requirements of a veritable Hieroglyphic, videlicet,—It is Astroscopical, Astrological, and Prophetical:—

It is Astroscopical, as it is founded on an observation of the Stars.

It is Astrological, as it is indicative of planetary potency and lunar influence; and

It is Prophetical, inasmuch as it not only presenteth the present, but futurizeth the future.

Taurus, the Bull (egregious John!), having, through a plethora of purse, fallen into a dreamy mood, yielded himself up to a somniferous influence, which becloudeth, with a misty obfuscation, his natural senses; whereupon the megrims of his crazy brain do set themselves to work, and conjure up certain airy visions of speculative aggrandizement.

Floating in nubibus before his fancy's eye, are sundry bubbles, blown by an Imp of Speculation, who ruleth the phantasies which do take John's imagination captive. Gemini (the Twins) in the similitude of a joint-stock Company proffer him wealth;—baseless castles, of unsubstantial fabric, resting on ether, do shadow forth his brick-and-mortar predilections;—and a rail-road betwixt Dover and Calais, uniting that which nature had dissevered, accomplisheth that propinquity, which John ever affecteth for good neighbourhood and fellowship; while Luna, who hath established a reciprocity rail-road with our planet, grinneth at his gullibility, and marketh him for her own.

Descending from the clouds, note we the state of his household matters, while he thus dreameth in complacent security.

Thou mayest observe, gentle Reader, certain satellites of Mercury (the planet of thieves), who, under the impersonation of rooks, by an immersion of their long beaks into the profundity of his pockets, are abstracting his treasure. At the right hand of the dreamer, a cutpurse knave of Spades, the apt symbol of rail-road diggers and miners, hath, by an undermining trick, possessed himself of his bullion; while the Demon of Gin, in the likelihood of a crafty serpent, entwined round his lower extremities, shadoweth forth the ruin with which the fiend spirit threateneth the props of the body politic,—the Industrious Classes. The rats, those rogues in grain, are devouring his corn; and his faithful Tray is gnawing at his dinner.

Surrounded as he is by wealth and plenty, shall we marvel, that when the master of the house sleepeth on his post, knaves will cheat, thieves will steal, and servants will pilfer?

A MAY-DAY LAY.

"Dearest Julia,—Since that very unpleasant affair of pa's bankruptcy, which made it so disagreeable to stop in town, I have really not had a moment to spare. I take the first opportunity to tell you that our farming goes on quite as well as might be expected; and I hope in a few years we shall be able to hold up our heads again in our dear native Tooley Street, and among our friends at dear No. 29½.

"Haymaking is just over, and such fun! Oh, how I wished for you, dear Julia! you would so have liked it!—tedding, and windrowing, and staddle-rowing, and quilling, and above all, being rolled about and tumbled to bits by the young Browns, our handsome neighbours, who kindly offered their assistance on this occasion. Young Edwin, who paid particular attention to me, and squeezed my best transparent muslin bonnet to a mummy, and tore my green silk frock all to rags, is one of the nicest young men in these parts, and a great favourite with us all. Pa and ma sat on a bank directing our proceedings out of a book pa's got, which tells you all about farming, and agriculture, and everything. I am head shepherdess, and go out every morning with my crook and Spanish guitar, and sit all day long on a bank playing to the sheep and lambs; young Edwin Brown generally coming and keeping me company with his German flute, which makes it very pleasant. Besides having the care of the flocks, I am put in charge of the eggs and poultry; but, though I have every reason to believe that our hens lay regularly, I cannot for the life of me find their nests: and I assure you I have searched over and over again in all the trees about the premises. The only eggs I have been able to get were some brought in by pa the other day, and which I immediately set under a Bantam hen; but, unfortunately, they turned out nothing but snakes. Also a second lot, picked up by brother John in one of his walks, which unluckily proving to be pheasants, poor John has been informed against by a neighbouring gamekeeper, and will have to pay goodness knows what penalty, and has got the character of a poacher into the bargain. What a fuss is here about poaching a few eggs!

"My geese also have been very disappointing, though we have had the tank in front of the house carefully covered in with invisible wire for their accommodation, where they are kept night and day, and have fresh water given them every morning. Ducks likewise don't go on very swimmingly; and as to our horned cattle, things have gone very crooked. Pa bought a lot of cows, and thereby hangs a tale, for on bringing them up to milk we couldn't get a drop; and on inquiry found that he ought to have bought milch cows, and not feeding cows, which are only used for making beef of. But he soon bought others, and we have now a very good dairy, and Lucy is quite pat at making butter, but mamma is rather green at making cheese.

"Brother John attends the markets—not that we have anything to sell—but it is considered regular; and indeed he makes a regular thing of it by getting tipsy every market day. Emily, who, you know, was always very fond of birds, bought a lot of pigeons, and a tame hawk, and a jackdaw; but, unfortunately, the hawk got one day into the dovecot, and killed every one of the pigeons; and the jackdaw has stolen all our silver forks and spoons. Brother John purchased a lot more pigeons at the market, which flew away the next morning; and pa, in his rage, wrung the jackdaw's neck, so that we are safe to see no more of our forks and spoons.

"Ma undertook to manage the bees, and has had a glass hive fixed at her bed-room window. The first night she was very unlucky; for, getting up in the dark to open the window, she forgot the bees, and smashed one of the hives, whereupon the little savages flew at her and almost stung her to death; and pa, who heard her cries and jumped out of bed to her assistance, got as roughly handled as ma. Only fancy, Julia dear, being in nothing but your chemise, and two hundred thousand bees stinging at you like mad! not pleasant, is it?

"Our pig-sties, I am sorry to say, are quite empty, the pigs having strayed and got into the parish pound (unknown to us, of course), where they were at last sold to pay their expenses. Susan, however, has been very successful in rearing a litter of Guinea pigs, and Emily has got a most delightful lot of little peacocks. Also John, who has bought a hunter and means to follow the hounds, has had wonderful luck with his foxes, for whose accommodation he has planted two of our largest fields full of gorse bushes. A singular thing occurred the other day with regard to one of these creatures: he was seen retreating to the gorse covert, closely pursued by one of the turkeys; and, more singular still, the turkey has never since been heard of, and it is generally supposed that it followed the fox into one of its holes and got suffocated. Several of the chickens have also disappeared in a very mysterious way, and we can only account for it in the same manner.

"Our health is capital—except ma, who has got the lumbago by sitting without her shawl in the hay-field—and pa, who is laid up with a cold and sore throat from standing in the draught of a winnowing machine—and Emily, who has got a face as big as two with running to fetch the young ducks out of the rain—and Abraham, who has almost cut his hand off with pruning the damson trees—and John, who, I am afraid, has lamed himself for life in trying to jump his horse over a five-barred gate with spikes on it—and your humble servant, who has put out one of her wrists, and sprained one of her ancles, and fractured one of her ribs in climbing up a tree after a hen's nest—or rather, a magpie's. My wrist is so bad at this moment that you must excuse my abruptly signing myself,

"P.S. Wrist or no wrist, I must tell you of the perfidy of that villain, Edwin Brown. Ma has just been in to say that he has run away with his father's dairymaid. A perjured wretch! and a dairymaid too! I have for-sworn love for ever, and made over my sheep to Emily. Oh, Julia!

"P.S. I open this sheet to tell you of the shocking fire that happened here last night. We might have all been burnt to death in our beds. The barns, stables, and other out-buildings are reduced to cinders; and all owing to William's fine rick of hay, which it seems was put up too green, and took fire of its own accord. Very odd—pa's book never said a word about it. We are all very miserable.