from the White Horse.
Mixed in with these, swearing, conjecturing, and betting, were some to
surprise me, whose names were connected with every track in England: the
Duke of Grafton and my Lords Sandwich and March and Bolingbroke, and Sir
Charles Bunbury, and young Lords Derby and Foley, who, after establishing
separate names for folly on the tracks, went into partnership. My Lord
Baltimore descended listlessly from his cabriolet to join the group.
They all sang out when they caught sight of our party, and greeted me
with a zeal to carry me off my feet. And my Lord Sandwich, having done
me the honour to lay something very handsome upon me, had his chief
jockey on hand to give me some final advice. I believe I was the coolest
of any of them. And at that time of all others the fact came up to me
with irresistible humour that I, a young colonial Whig, who had grown up
to detest these people, should be rubbing noses with them.

The duke put in an appearance five minutes before the hour, upon a bay
gelding, and attended by Lewis and Sir John Brooke, both mounted. As a
most particular evidence of the detestation in which Chartersea was held,
he could find nothing in common with such notorious rakes as March and
Sandwich. And it fell to me to champion these. After some discussion
between Fox and Captain Lewis, March was chosen umpire. His Lordship
took his post in the middle of the Row, drew forth an enamelled repeater
from his waistcoat, and mouthed out the conditions of the match,--the
terms, as he said, being private.

"Are you ready, Mr. Carvel?" he asked.

"I am, my Lord," I answered. The bells were pealing noon.

"Then mount, sir," said he.

The voices of the people dropped to a hum that brought to mind the long
forgotten sound of the bees swarming in the garden by the Chesapeake. My
breath began to come quickly. Through the sunny haze I saw the cows and
deer grazing by the Serpentine, and out of the back of my eye
handkerchiefs floated from the carriages banked at the gate. They took
the blanket off the stallion. Stall-fed, and excited by the crowd, he
looked brutal indeed. The faithful Banks, in a new suit of the Carvel
livery, held the stirrup, and whispered a husky "God keep you, sir!"
Suddenly I was up. The murmur was hushed, and the Park became still as a
peaceful farm in Devonshire. The grooms let go of the stallion's head.

He stood trembling like the throes of death. I gripped my knees as
Captain Daniel h