A variety of this last style of Gent, whom we may call the Driving Gent, has lately come up about town. We were in the Strand the other afternoon, and suddenly heard some notes from a post-horn, very badly blown; upon which we looked round, and saw a dog-cart approaching, with two horses to it, driven tandem fashion, with ferret-bells on their bearing reins. On this dog-cart were four Gents—not two gentlemen and two servants, as might have been expected. They were all dressed nearly alike; hats with narrow brims, coats with large buttons, staring shawls, and trowsers of the most prominent style—very _loud_ patterns, as a friend appropriately called them. Three had cigars, and the other had the horn; and it was evident that they thought they were “doing the fast thing, and no mistake.” We saw them afterwards in the Park, and chanced to follow them for some distance. The whole time they were there they never exchanged a salute with a soul—evidently they were out of their sphere; but went round and round, looked at by every body with something between a stare and a sneer, until they drove off again. The last time we saw them, they were shaking hands with a fighting man at the door of a gin-shop. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII. OF THE GENT WHO GOES TO THE RACES. THE Gent who goes to the races must not be confounded with the Sporting Gent, of whom we may speak by-and-by. He knows nothing in the world about the running, nor indeed does he care much about it, beyond the manner in which it may affect a chance he has in a “Derby Sweep.” But he thinks the fact of being seen there gives him a position in society, and he would not miss the races for any thing. As the Gent who goes to the races is closely allied to the Gent we saw at the night taverns, we will describe him in the same fashion.