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After the diversions of the day were over, my friend introduced me to the genius of the place, a small man of about five feet high, with a very sharp countenance, and dressed in a brown jockey coat and top boots.
'Joey,' said he, 'this is a friend of mine.' Joey nodded to me with a patronising air.

'Glad to see you, sir!--want a dog ?' 'No,' said I.
'You have got one, then--want to match him ?' 'We have a dog at home,' said I, 'in the country; but I can't say I should like to match him.

Indeed, I do not like dog-fighting.' 'Not like dog-fighting!' said the man, staring.
'The truth is, Joe, that he is just come to town.' 'So I should think; he looks rather green--not like dog-fighting!' 'Nothing like it, is there, Joey ?' 'I should think not; what is like it?
A time will come, and that speedily, when folks will give up everything else, and follow dog-fighting.' 'Do you think so ?' said I.
'Think so?
Let me ask what there is that a man wouldn't give up for it ?' 'Why,' said I, modestly, 'there's religion.' 'Religion! How you talk.