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spent all their earnings, and were soon glad to make more money some other way. Hundreds of pounds were bet upon the great matches, and other wagers laid on the scores of the finest players, and that too by men who had a book for every race, and every match in the sporting world: men who lived by gambling; and as to honesty, gambling and honesty don't often go together. What was easier, then, than for such sharp gentlemen to mix with the players, take advantage of their difficulties, and say, your backers, my Lord this, and the Duke of that, sell matches and overrule all your good play, so why shouldn't you have a share of the plunder? That was their constant argument. Serve them as they serve you. You have heard of Jim Bland, the turfsman, and his brother Joe—two nice boys. When Jemmy Dawson was hanged for poisoning the horse, the Blands never felt safe till the rope was round Dawson's neck, and, to keep him quiet, persuaded him to the last hour that they dared not hang him: and a certain nobleman had a reprieve in his pocket. Well, one day in April, Joe Bland found me out in this parish, and tried his game on with me. 'You may make a fortune,' he said, 'if you will listen to me: so much for the match with Surrey, and so much more for the Kent match—' 'Stop', said I: 'Mr. Bland, you talk too fast; I am rather too old for this trick; you never buy the same man but once: if their lordships ever sold at all, you would peach upon them if ever after they dared to win. You'll try me once, and then you'll have me in a line like him of the mill last year.' No, sir, a man was a slave when once he sold to these folk: fool and knave aye go together. Still they found fools enough for their purpose; but rogues can never trust