up the list and wetting his pencil in his mouth.  “Four, five and ten! ten, four, five! five, four, ten! are the only numbers now vacant for this werry genteel and magnificent rosewood perfume-box, lined with red velvet, cut-steel clasps, a silver plate for the name, best patent Bramah lock, and six beautiful rich cut-glass bottles, with a plate glass mirror in the lid—­and only four, five, and ten now vacant!” “I’ll take ten,” said Green, laying down a shilling.  “Thank you, sir—­only four and five now wanting, ladies and gentlemen—­pray, be in time—­pray, be in time!  This is without exception the most brilliant prize ever offered for public competition.  There were only two of these werry elegant boxes made,—­the unfortunate mechanic who executed them being carried off by that terrible malady, the cholera morbus,—­and the other is now in the possession of his most Christian Majesty the King of the French.  Only four and five wanting to commence throwing for this really perfect specimen of human ingenuity—­only four and five!” “I’ll take them,” cried Green, throwing down two shillings more—­and then the table was cleared—­the dice box produced, and the crowd drew round.  “Number one!—­who holds number one?” inquired the keeper, arranging the paper, and sucking the end of his pencil.  A young gentleman in a blue jacket and white trousers owned the lot, and, accordingly, led off the game.  The lottery-keeper handed the box, and put in the dice—­rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop, and lift up—­“seven and four are eleven”—­“now again, if you please, sir,” putting the dice into the box—­rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop, and lift up—­a loud laugh—­“one and two make three”—­the youth bit his lips;—­rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop—­a pause—­and lift up—­“threes!”—­“six, three, and eleven, are twenty.”  “Now who holds number two?—­what lady or gentleman holds number two?  Pray, step forward!” The Sunflower drew near—­Green looked confused—­she fixed her eye upon him, half in fear, half in entreaty—­would he offer to throw for her?  No, by Jove, Green was not so green as all that came to, and he let her shake herself.  She threw twenty-two, thereby putting an extinguisher on the boy, and raising Jemmy’s chance considerably.  “Three” was held by a youngster in nankeen petticoats, who would throw for himself, and shook the box violently enough to be heard at Broadstairs.  He scored nineteen, and, beginning to cry immediately, was taken home.  Green was next, and all eyes turned upon him, for he was a noted hand.  He advanced to the table with great sangfroid, and, turning back the wrists of his coat, exhibited his beautiful sparkling paste shirt buttons, and the elegant turn of his taper hand, the middle finger of which was covered with massive rings.  He took the box in a neglige manner, and without condescending to shake it, slid the dice out upon the table by a gentle sideway motion—­“sixes!”