Cashel Byron's Profession

"You look awfully fetching, Miss Goff," Lord Worthington said, as he

followed them to the carriage. Alice did not deign to reply, but

tossed her head superbly, and secretly considered whether people

would, on comparison, think her overdressed or Lydia underdressed.

Lord Worthington thought they both looked their best, and reflected

for several seconds on the different styles of different women, and

how what would suit one would not do at all for another. It seemed

to him that Miss Carew's presence made him philosophical.

The Agricultural Hall struck Alice at first sight as an immense barn

round which heaps of old packing-cases had been built into

race-course stands, scantily decorated with red cloth and a few

flags. She was conducted to a front seat in one of these balconies,

which overhung the tan-strewn arena. Just below her were the

palisades, ornamented at intervals with evergreens in tubs, and

pressed against from without by a crowd who had paid a shilling

apiece for the privilege of admission. She remarked that it was

little to the credit of the management that these people should be

placed so close beneath her that she could hear their conversation;

but as Lydia did not seem to share her disgust, she turned her

attention to the fashionable part of the audience. On the opposite

side of the arena the balconies seemed like beds of flowers in

bloom, blacknesses formed here and there by the hats and coats of

gentlemen representing the interspaces of clay. In the midst of the

flowers was a gaudy dais, on which a powerfully-built black

gentleman sat in a raised chair, his majestic impassivity

contrasting with the overt astonishment with which a row of savagely

ugly attendant chiefs grinned and gaped on either side of him.

"What a pity we are not nearer the king!" said Alice. "I can hardly

see the dear old fellow."

"You will find these the best seats for seeing the assault. It will

be all right," said Lord Worthington.

Lydia's attention was caught by something guilty in his manner.

Following a furtive glance of his, she saw in the arena, not far

from her, an enclosure about twenty feet square, made with ropes and

stakes. It was unoccupied, and there were a few chairs, a basin, and

a sponge, near it.

"What is that?" she asked.

"That! Oh, that's the ring."

"It is not a ring. It is square."

"They call it the ring. They have succeeded in squaring the circle."

Here there was a piercing bugle-call, and a troop of cavalry trotted

into the arena. Lydia found it pleasant enough to sit lazily

admiring the horses and men, and comparing the members of the

Olympian Club, who appeared when the soldiers retired, to the marble

gods of Athens, and to the Bacchus or David of Michael Angelo. They

fell short of the Greek statues in refinement, and of the Italian in

impressiveness as they vaulted over a wooden horse, and swung upon

horizontal bars, each cheapening the exploits of his forerunner by

out-doing them. Lord Worthington, who soon grew tired of this,

whispered that when all that rubbish was over, a fellow would cut a

sheep in two with a sword, after which there would be some boxing.