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dding against myself, not perceiving that I had spoken last. 'Thank you, Mr. Moriarty,' said Dycer, turning towards an invisible purchaser supposed to be in the crowd. 'Thank you, sir, you'll not let a good one go that way.' Every one here turned to find out the very knowing gentleman; but he could no where be seen. "Dycer resumed, 'Seven ten for Mr. Moriarty. Going for seven ten--a cruel sacrifice--there's action for you--playful beast.' Here the devil had stumbled and nearly killed a basket-woman with two children. "'Eight,' said I, with a loud voice. "'Eight pounds, quite absurd,' said Dycer, almost rudely; 'a charger like that for eight pounds--going for eight pounds--going--nothing above eight pounds--no reserve, gentlemen, you are aware of that. They are all as it were, his majesty's stud--no reserve whatever--last time, eight pounds --gone.' "Amid a very hearty cheer from the mob--God knows why--but a Dublin mob always cheer--I returned, accompanied by a ragged fellow, leading my new purchase after me with a bay halter. 'What is the meaning of those letters,' said I, pointing to a very conspicuous G.R. with sundry other enigmatical signs, burned upon the animal's hind quarter. "'That's to show he was a po-lice,' said the fellow with a grin; 'and whin ye ride with ladies, ye must turn the decoy side.' "The auspicious morning at last arrived; and strange to say that the first waking thought was of the unlucky day that ushered in my yachting excursion, four years before. Why this was so, I cannot pretend to guess; there was but little analogy in the circumstances, at least so far as any thing had then gone. 'How is Marius?' said I to my servant, as he opened my shutters. Here let me mention that a friend of the Kildare-street club had suggested this name from the remarkably classic character of my steed's countenance; his nose, he assured me, was perfectly Roman. "'Marius is doing finely, sir, barring his cough, and the thrifle that ails his hind legs.' "'He'll carry me quietly, Simon, eh?' "'Quietly. I'll warrant he'll carry you quietly, if that's all.' "Here was comfort. Certainly Simon had lived forty years as pantry boy with my mother, and knew a great deal about horses. I dressed myself, therefore, in high spirits; and if my pilot jacket and oil-skin cap in former days had half persuaded me that I was born for marine achievements, certainly my cords and tops, that morning, went
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