ans-Atlantis, but it has
always been usual in England, to mark the fete day with a festive dress,
to wear gay ribbons, and to indulge the very harmless instinct of youth
to be gallant and gay.

I had started one morning on a walk by the Thames, when I met a friend,
who asked,--

"Aren't you going to-day to the Hampton races?"

"How far is it?"

"Just six miles. On Molesy Hurst."

Six miles, and I had only six shillings in my pocket. I had some
curiosity to see this race, which is run on the Molesy Hurst, famous as
the great place for prize-fighting in the olden time, and which has never
been able to raise itself to respectability, inasmuch as the local
chronicler says that "the course attracts considerable and not very
reputable gatherings." In fact, it is generally spoken of as the
Costermonger's race, at which a mere welsher is a comparatively
respectable character, and every man in a good coat a swell. I was
nicely attired, by chance, for the occasion, for I had come out, thinking
of a ride, in a white hat, new corduroy pantaloons and waistcoat, and a
velveteen coat, which dress is so greatly admired by the gypsies that it
may almost be regarded as their "national costume."

There was certainly, to say the least, a rather _bourgeois_ tone at the
race, and gentility was conspicuous by its absence; but I did not find it
so outrageously low as I had been led to expect. I confess that I was
not encouraged to attempt to increase my little hoard of silver by
betting, and the certainty that if I lost I could not lunch made me
timid. But the good are never alone in this world, and I found friends
whom I dreamed not of. Leaving the crowd, I sought the gypsy vans, and
by one of these was old Liz Buckland.

"_Sarishan rye_! And glad I am to see you. Why didn't you come down
into Kent to see the hoppin'? Many a time the Romanys says they expected
to see their _rye_ there. Just the other night, your Coopers was a-lyin'
round their fire, every one of 'em in a new red blanket, lookin' so
beautiful as the light shone on 'em, and I says, 'If our _rye_ was to see
you, he'd just have that book of his out, and take all your pictures.'"

After much gossip over absent friends, I said,--

"Well, _dye_, I stand a shilling for beer, and that's all I can do
to-day, for I've come out with only _shove trin-grushi_."

Liz took the shilling, looked at it and at me with an earnest air, and
shook her head.

"It'll never do,