Meanwhile Imperial John having emancipated himself from his Mackintosh, and had his horse placed becomingly at the step of the dog-cart, so as to transfer himself without alighting, and let everybody see the magnificence of the establishment, now souces himself into the saddle of a fairish young grey, and turns round to confront the united field; feeling by no means the smallest man in the scene. “Hybrid!” exclaims Sir Moses, seeing him approach the still dismounted Monsieur, “Hybrid! let me introduce my friend Rougier, Monsieur Rougier, Mr. Hybrid! of Barley Hill Hall, a great friend of Lord Ladythorne’s,” whereupon off went the faded sugar-loaf-shaped cap, and down came the Imperial hat, Sir Moses interlarding the ceremony with, “great friend of Louis Nap’s, great friend of Louis Nap’s,” by way of balancing the Ladythorne recommendation of John. The two then struck up a most energetic conversation, each being uncommonly taken with the other. John almost fancied he saw his way to the Tuileries, and wondered what Miss “somebody” would say if he got there. The conversation was at length interrupted by Dribbler’s grinning groom touching Jack behind as he came up with a chestnut horse, and saying, “Please, Sir, here’s your screw.” “Ah, my screw, is it!” replied Jack, turning round, “dat is a queer name for a horse—screw—hopes he’s a good ‘un.” “A good ‘un, and nothin’ but a good ‘un,” replied the groom, giving him a punch in the ribs, to make him form up to Jack, an operation that produced an ominous grunt. “Vell” said Jack, proceeding to dive at the stirrup with his foot without taking hold of the reins; “if Screw is a good ‘un I sall make you handsome present—tuppence a penny, p’raps—if he’s a bad ‘un, I sall give you good crack on the skoll,” Jack flourishing his thick whipstick as he spoke. “Will you!” replied the man, leaving go of the rein, whereupon down went the horse’s head, up went his heels, and Jack was presently on his shoulder. “Oh, de devil!” roared Jack, “he vill distribute me! he vill distribute me! I vill be killed! Nobody sall save me! here, garçon, grum!” roared he amid the mirth of the company. “Lay ‘old of his ‘ead! lay ‘old of his ‘ocks! lay ‘old of ‘eels! Oh, murder! murder!” continued he in well-feigned dismay, throwing out his supplicating arms. Off jumped Imperial John to the rescue of his friend, and seizing the dangling rein, chucked up the horse’s head with a resolute jerk that restored Jack to his seat. “Ah, my friend, I see you are not much used to the saddle,” observed His Highness, proceeding to console the friend of an Emperor.