do something quite as bad; out of envy to a person who never injured him, and whom he hates for being more clever and respected than himself, he will do all he possibly can, by backbiting and every unfair means, to do that person a mortal injury.  But Jack is hanged, and my lord it not.  Is that right?  My wife, Mary Fulcher—­I beg her pardon, Mary Dale—­who is a Methodist, and has heard the mighty preacher, Peter Williams, says some people are preserved from hanging by the grace of God.  With her I differs, and says it is from want of courage.  This Whitefeather, with one particle of Jack’s courage, and with one tithe of his good qualities, would have been hanged long ago, for he has ten times Jack’s malignity.  Jack was hanged because, along with his bad qualities, he had courage and generosity; this fellow is not, because with all Jack’s bad qualities, and many more, amongst which is cunning, he has neither courage nor generosity.  Think of a fellow like that putting down two hundred pounds to relieve a distressed fellow-creature; why he would rob, but for the law and the fear it fills him with, a workhouse child of its breakfast, as the saying is—­and has been heard to say that he would not trust his own father for sixpence, and he can’t imagine why such a thing as credit should be ever given.  I never heard a person give him a good word—­stay, stay, yes!  I once heard an old parson, to whom I sold a Punch, say that he had the art of receiving company gracefully and dismissing them without refreshment.  I don’t wish to be too hard with him, and so let him make the most of that compliment.  Well! he manages to get on, whilst Jack is hanged; not quite enviably, however; he has had his rubs, and pretty hard ones—­everybody knows he slunk from Waterloo, and occasionally checks him with so doing; whilst he has been rejected by a woman—­what a mortification to the low pride of which the scoundrel has plenty!  There’s a song about both circumstances, which may, perhaps, ring in his ears on a dying bed.  It’s a funny kind of song, set to the old tune of the Lord-Lieutenant or Deputy, and with it I will conclude my discourse, for I really think it’s past one.”  The jockey then, with a very tolerable voice, sung the following song:-

THE JOCKEY’S SONG.

Now list to a ditty both funny and true! —
Merrily moves the dance along —
A ditty that tells of a coward and screw,
My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

Sir Plume, though not liking a bullet at all, —
Merrily moves the dance along —
Had yet resolution to go to a Ball,
My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

“Woulez wous danser, mademoiselle?” —
Merrily moves the dance along; —
Said she, “Sir, to dance I should like very well,”
My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.

They danc’d to the left, and they danc’d to the right, —
Merrily moves the dance along; —
And her troth the fair damsel bestow’d on the knight,
My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.