Young-Milton:  Issu de Milton et de Betzi.  Mouna:  Issu de Rainbow et de Mouna.  Pamela:  Issue de Candid et Geane Egle:  Issue de Rainbow and Young-Urganda.  Cederic:  Issue de Candid et Prestesse.  Young-Tandem:  Issu de Multum-in-Parvo et d’Oida.  Oubiou:  Issu d’Oubiou et d’une fille de Stradlamlad.  Coradin:  Issu de Candid et de Prestesse. =============
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“Moderate sport,” said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, curling his mustachios and jingling a handful of five-franc pieces in the pocket of his leathers—­“moderate sport indeed,” and therefore he turned his back to the course and walked the Countess off towards the cab.

From beneath a low tenth-rate-looking booth, called “The Cottage of Content,” supported by poles placed on the stunted trees of the avenue, and exhibiting on a blue board, “John Jones, dealer in British beer,” in gilt letters, there issued the sound of voices clamouring about odds, and weights and scales, and on looking in, a score of ragamuffin-looking grooms, imitation jockeys, and the usual hangers-on of the racehorses and livery-stables, were seen drinking beer, smoking, playing at cards, dice, and chuck-farthing.  Before the well-patched canvas curtain that flapped before the entrance, a crowd had collected round one of the horses which was in the care of five or six fellows, one to hold him, another to whistle to him, a third to whisk the flies away with a horse’s tail, a fourth to scrape him, a fifth to rinse his mouth out,—­while the stud-groom, a tall, gaunt, hairy-looking fellow, in his shirt sleeves, with ear-rings, a blue apron and trousers (more like a gardener than a groom), walked round and round with mystified dignity, sacreing and muttering, “Ne parlez pas, ne parlez pas,” as anyone approached who seemed likely to ask questions.  Mr. Jorrocks, having well ascertained the importance of his hat and feather, pushed his way with the greatest coolness into the ring, just to cast his eye over the horse and see whether he was fit to go with the Surrey, and the stud-groom immediately took off his lavender-coloured foraging cap, and made two profound salaams, one to the Colonel, the other to the Countess.  Mr. Jorrocks, all politeness, took off his chapeau, and no sooner was it in the air, than with a wild exclamation of surprise and delight, the groom screamed, “Oh, Monsieur Shorrock, mon ami, comment vous portez vous?” threw his arms round the Colonel’s neck, and kissed him on each cheek.

“Hold!” roared the Colonel, half smothered in the embrace, and disengaging himself he drew back a few paces, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, when in the training groom of Paris he recognised his friend the Baron of Newmarket.  The abruptness of the incident disarmed Mr. Jorrocks of reflection, and being a man of impulse and warm affections, he at once forgave the novelty of the embrace, and most cordially joined hands with those of his friend.