“Here is a true, correct, and particular account, of the noblemen, gentlemen, and yeomen’s horses, that is to run this day over the course of Musselburgh, with the names, weights, and liveries of the riders, and the same of the horses themselves!”
Such were the cries that saluted me, as next day I rode up to the race-course of Musselburgh. I purchased a card, which, among other entries, contained the following:—
Edinburgh Squadron Cup, 12 Stone.
Mr A. Chaffinch’s br. g. Groggyboy—Green and White Cap.
Mr Randolph ns. b. g. Capsicum—Geranium and French Grey.
Mr M’Whirter’s bl. g. Masaniello—Peach-blossom and Scarlet.
Mr Hargate ns. ch. m. Loupowerher—Fawn and Black Cap.
Mr Pounset’s b. m. Miss Frolic—Orange and Blue.
Mr Shakerley ns. b. g. Spontaneous Combustion—White body
and Liver-coloured Sleeves.
I made my way to the stand. Miss Bogle and Mary Muggerland were there, but so also was the eternal Roper.
“Ah, M’Whirter!” said the latter. “How do you feel yourself this morning? None the worse of your tumble yesterday, I hope? Mere accident, you know. Spiwited cweature Masaniello, it must be confessed. ’Gad, if you can make him go the pace as well to-day, you’ll distance the whole of the rest of them.”
“Oh, Mr M’Whirter! I’m so glad to see you!” said Edith. “How funny you looked yesterday when you were running away! Do you know that I waved my handkerchief to you as you passed, but you were not polite enough to take any notice?”
“Indeed, Miss Bogle, I had something else to think of at that particular moment.”
“You were not thinking about me, then?” said Edith. “Well, I can’t call that a very gallant speech.”