he little children who sobbed so
violently in court this morning, and to whom you made such pathetic
reference, were playing on an ash-heap near their cottage; and they
had a poor cat with a string round its neck, swinging backwards and
forwards, and as they did so they sang,--

This is the way poor daddy will go!
This is the way poor daddy will go!'

Such, Mr. Hawkins, was their excessive grief!"

Yes, but it got the verdict.

CHAPTER VI.

AN INCIDENT ON THE ROAD TO NEWMARKET.

My first visit to Newmarket Heath had one or two little incidents
which may be interesting, although of no great importance. The
Newmarket of to-day is not quite the same Newmarket that it was then:
many things connected with it have changed, and, above all, its
frequenters have changed; and if "things are not what they seem," they
do not seem to me, at all events, to be what they were "in my day."

Sixty years is a long space of time to traverse, but I do so with a
very vivid recollection of my old friend Charley Wright.

It was on a bright October morning when we set out, and glad enough
was I to leave the courts at Westminster and the courts of the
Temple--glad enough to break loose from the thraldom of nothing to do
and get away into the beautiful country.

Charley and I were always great friends; we had seen so much together,
especially of what is called "the world," which I use in a different
sense from that in which we were now to seek adventures. We had seen
so much of its good and evil, its lights and shades, and had so many
memories in common, that they formed the groundwork of a lasting
friendship.

He was the only son of an almost too indulgent father, who was the
very best example of an old English gentleman of his day you could
ever meet. He also had seen a good deal of life, and was not
unfamiliar with any of its varied aspects. He was intellectual and
genial, and dispensed his hospitality with the most winning courtesy.
To me he was all kindness, and I have a grateful feeling of delight in
being able in these few words to record my affectionate reverence for
his memory. It was at his house in Pall Mall that I met John Leech and
Percival Leigh.

But I digress as my mind goes back to these early dates, and unless
I break away, Charley and I will not reach Newmarket in time for the
first race. It happened that when we made this memorable visit I
had an uncle living at The Priory at Royston, which was some