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 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?