OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­Ours is a horrid profession!  Phew! the sun actually penetrates my vertebra.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­Werterbee!  What’s that?

OFF-SIDE HORSE—­(impatiently).—­The spine, my friend (whish! whish!)

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­Ah! it is a shameful thing to dock us as they does.  If the marrow in one’s backbone should melt, it would be sartin to run out at the tip of one’s tail.  I say, how’s your feed?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­Very indifferent—­the chaff predominates—­(munch) not bene by any means.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­Beany!  Lord bless your ignorance!  I should be satisfied if they’d only make it oaty now and then.  How long have you been in the hackney line?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­I have occupied my present degraded position about two years.  Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever come to this.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­Ah! it ain’t very respectable, is it?—­especially since the cabs and busses have druv over our heads.  What was you put to?—­you look as if you had been well brought up.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­My mama was own sister to Lottery, but unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree.  I was the produce of that union.  At five years old I entered the army under Ensign Dashard.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE—­Bless me, how odd!  I was bought at Horncastle, to serve in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I’d a splint, and wouldn’t have me!  I say, ain’t that stout woman with a fat family looking at us?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­I’m afraid she is.  People of her grade in society are always partial to a dilatory shillingworth.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE—­Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or Mutton-hill, or a hill somewhere.

WOMAN.—­Coach!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­She’s ahailing us!  I wonder whether she’s narvous?  I’ll let out with my hind leg a bit—­(kick)—­O Lord! the rheumatiz!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­Pray don’t.  I abjure subterfuges; they are unworthy of a thoroughbred.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­Thoroughbred?  I like that!  Haven’t you just acknowledged that you were a cocktail?  Thank God! she’s moving on.  Hallo! there’s old Readypenny!—­a willanous Tory.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­I beg to remark that my principles are Conservative.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—­And I beg to remark that mine isn’t.  I sarved Readypenny out at Westminster ’lection the other day.  He got into our coach to go to the poll, and I wouldn’t draw an inch.  I warn’t agoing to take up a plumper for Rous.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­I declare the obese female returns.

WOMAN.—­Coach!  Hallo!  Coach!

WATERMAN.—­Here you is, ma’am.  Kuck! kuck! kuck!—­Come along!—­(Pulling the coach and horses).

OFF-SIDE HORSE.—­O heavens!  I am too stiff to move, and this brute will pull my head off.