Mr Bhosh was of an exceptionally mild, just disposition, but such a piece of cheeky chicanery as this aroused his fiercest indignation and rendered him cross as two sticks. "O contemptible trickster!" he said, in terrific tones, "my promise (as thou knowest well) was on condition that I was first past the winning-pole. Whereas--owing to thy perfidy--I was only the bad second. Do not attempt to hunt with the hare and run with hounds. Depart to lower regions!" [Illustration: THE NOTORIOUS BLUE RIBBON WAS PINNED BY THE JUDGE UPON HIS PROUD AND HEAVING BOSOM (Illustration VIII)] And Juggins slinked into obscurity with fallen chops. Benevolent and forbearing readers, this unassuming tale is near its _finis_. Owing to his brilliant success at the Derby, Mr Bhosh was now rolling on cash, and, as the prediction of the Astrologer-Royal was fulfilled, there was no longer any objection to his union with the Princess Jones, with whom he accordingly contracted holy matrimony, and now lives in great splendour at Shepherd's Bush, since all his friends earnestly besought him that he was not to return to India. He therefore naturalised himself as a full-blooded British, and further adopted a coat-of-arms from the Family Herald, with a splendidly lofty crest, and the motto "_Sans Peur et Sans Reproche_." ("Not being funky myself, I do not reproach others with said failing"--_free translation_.) But what of the wicked Duchess? I have to record that, being unable to pay the welsher her bet of a million pounds, she was solemnly pronounced a bankruptess and incarcerated (by a striking instance of the tit-for-tat of Fate) in the identical Old Bailey cell to which she had consigned Chunder Bindabun! And in her case the gaoler's fair daughter, Miss Caroline, did not exhibit the same softheartedness. Mr Bhosh and his Princess-bride, being both of highly magnanimous idiosyncrasies, for some time visited their relentless foe in her captivity, carrying her fruit and flowers and sweets of inexpensive qualities, but were received in such a cold, standoffish style that they soon discontinued such thankless civilities. As for _Milky Way_, she is still hale and flourishing, though she has never since displayed the phenomenal speed of her first (and probably her last) Derby race. She may often be seen in the vicinity of Shepherd's Bush, harnessed to a small basketchaise, in which are Mr and Mrs Bhosh and some of their blooming progenies. Here, with the Public's kind permission, we will leave them, and although this trivial and unpretentious romance can claim no merit except its undeviating fidelity to nature, I still venture to think that, for sheer excitement and brilliancy of composition, &c, it will be found, by all candid judges, to compare rather favourably with more showy and meretricious fictions by overrated English novelists. END OF A BAYARD FROM BENGAL.