NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Werterbee! What’s that? OFF-SIDE HORSE—(impatiently).—The spine, my friend (whish! whish!) NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Ah! it is a shameful thing to dock us as they does. If the marrow in one’s backbone should melt, it would be sartin to run out at the tip of one’s tail. I say, how’s your feed? OFF-SIDE HORSE.—Very indifferent—the chaff predominates—(munch) not bene by any means. NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Beany! Lord bless your ignorance! I should be satisfied if they’d only make it oaty now and then. How long have you been in the hackney line? OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I have occupied my present degraded position about two years. Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever come to this. NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Ah! it ain’t very respectable, is it?—especially since the cabs and busses have druv over our heads. What was you put to?—you look as if you had been well brought up. OFF-SIDE HORSE.—My mama was own sister to Lottery, but unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree. I was the produce of that union. At five years old I entered the army under Ensign Dashard. NEAR-SIDE HORSE—Bless me, how odd! I was bought at Horncastle, to serve in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I’d a splint, and wouldn’t have me! I say, ain’t that stout woman with a fat family looking at us? OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I’m afraid she is. People of her grade in society are always partial to a dilatory shillingworth. NEAR-SIDE HORSE—Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or Mutton-hill, or a hill somewhere. WOMAN.—Coach! NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—She’s ahailing us! I wonder whether she’s narvous? I’ll let out with my hind leg a bit—(kick)—O Lord! the rheumatiz! OFF-SIDE HORSE.—Pray don’t. I abjure subterfuges; they are unworthy of a thoroughbred. NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Thoroughbred? I like that! Haven’t you just acknowledged that you were a cocktail? Thank God! she’s moving on. Hallo! there’s old Readypenny!—a willanous Tory. OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I beg to remark that my principles are Conservative. NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—And I beg to remark that mine isn’t. I sarved Readypenny out at Westminster ‘lection the other day. He got into our coach to go to the poll, and I wouldn’t draw an inch. I warn’t agoing to take up a plumper for Rous. OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I declare the obese female returns. WOMAN.—Coach! Hallo! Coach! WATERMAN.—Here you is, ma’am. Kuck! kuck! kuck!—Come along!—(Pulling the coach and horses). OFF-SIDE HORSE.—O heavens! I am too stiff to move, and this brute will pull my head off. NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Keep it on one side, and you spiles his purchase. WATERMAN—Come up, you old brute! OFF-SIDE HORSE.—Old brute! What evidence of a low mind!—[The stout woman and fat family ascend the steps of the coach]. COACH.—O law! oh, law! Week! week! O law!—O law! Week! week!