“Come, sportsmen all, give ear to me, I’ll tell you what occurred,
    But of course you won’t repeat it when I’ve told you;
  For with honourable gentlemen I hope that mum’s the word,
    When a horse you’ve laid your money on has sold you. 
  I presume you lost your shekels, and you think it rather low,
    Since you’re none of you as rich as NORTH or BARING. 
  But another time you’ll get them back by being ‘in the know,’
    When a favourite is started for an airing.

“That’s an odd sort of song,” said Mr. Punch.

“Not so odd as the subject,” replied the singer.  “But you have only heard the first verse; wait till you know the second.”

  “‘But they didn’t tell the public; it’s a precious, jolly shame;’
    (Such behaviour to the public seems to shock it)—­
  Now if you’d been placed behind the scenes you wouldn’t think the same,
    But put principles and winnings in your pocket. 
  A gent who owns a stable doesn’t always think of you,
    And he doesn’t seem to fancy profit-sharing. 
  And you really shouldn’t curse him when he manages a ‘do.’ 
    With a favourite who’s only on an airing.”

Before the singer could proceed any farther, a frightful hubbub arose.  A pale, gasping wretch, rushed past, pursued by a howling, cursing mob of ruffians.  As he fled, he tripped, and fell, and in a moment they were on the top of him, buffeting, and beating the very life out of him.

“That’s murder,” said Mr. Punch.  “Where are the police?”

And he was on the point of stepping down, to render assistance, when his friend laid a hand upon his arm.

“Oh, that’s only a welsher,” he said; “he’s bolting with other people’s money.”

“Is it the owner of the chestnut?” inquired Father TIME.

“Bless your heart, no,” was the reply.  “It’s only a low-class cheat.  The owner of the chestnut is—­”

But Mr. Punch had no wish to hear or see more.

He took TIME’s arm, and together they floated away into space, to land shortly afterwards in another sphere.

* * * * *

VISIT TO POLLUX.

The street in which they had descended was situated in the heart of a great city.  The roar of traffic sounded in their ears from the larger thoroughfares close by.  Most of the houses were small and mean—­a remarkable contrast to one large building, brilliantly lighted, in front of which a mob was gathered together.  A more ruffianly-looking assemblage it would have been hard to discover.  The rest of the street was filled with hansoms, the long line of which was constantly being augmented by fresh arrivals, whose occupants sprang out and swiftly mounted a flight of steps leading up to the entrance of the large building mentioned, and passed through swing-doors of glass, which gave admission to a broad passage.  In front of this house the Sage paused, and addressed his companion.