The Curate (in agony). Here, I say, somebody! do help me! Miss STELLA, do speak to your monkey, please! It's jumped on my back, and it's pulling my hair—'ow!
[Most of the Competitors abandon their animals and rush to the rescue.
Dick Gatling (coming up later). Why on earth did you all jack up like that? You've missed a splendid finish! My Mutton was forging ahead like fun, when FANSHAWE's Peacock hoisted his sail, and drew alongside, and it was neck and neck. Only, as he had more neck than the Mutton, and stuck it out, he won by a beak. Look here, let's have it all over again!
[But the Monkey being up a tree, and the Colonel having surreptitiously got rid of his Rabbit among the bracken, and the Tortoise having retired within his shell and firmly declined to come out again, sport is abandoned for the afternoon, to the scarcely disguised relief of the Curate, who is prevented from remaining to tea by the pressure of parish-work.
THE ONLY MAN IN ROTTEN ROW.
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
Mount Street, Grosvenor Square.