hoping against hope; no man having a horse to sell will trot him out in
a rainstorm, unless he intend to sell him at a bargain--but childhood is
so credulous! The succeeding morning was bright, however, and down came
the horse. He had been very cleverly groomed, and looked pleasant under
the saddle. The man led him back and forth before the door. "There,
'squire, 's as good a hos as ever stood on iron." Mrs. Sparrowgrass
asked me what he meant by that. I replied, it was a figurative way of
expressing, in horse-talk, that he was as good a horse as ever stood in
shoe-leather. "He's a handsome hos, 'squire," said the man. I replied
that he did seem to be a good-looking animal; but, said I, "he does not
quite come up to the description of a horse I have read." "Whose hos was
it?" said he. I replied it was the horse of Adonis. He said he didn't
know him; but, he added, "there is so many hosses stolen, that the
descriptions are stuck up now pretty common." To put him at his ease
(for he seemed to think I suspected him of having stolen the horse), I
told him the description I meant had been written some hundreds of years
ago by Shakespeare, and repeated it:

"Round-hooft, short-joynted, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostrils wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide."

"'Squire," said he, "that will do for a song, but it ain't no p'ints of
a good hos. Trotters nowadays go in all shapes, big heads and little
heads, big eyes and little eyes, short ears or long ears, thick tail and
no tail; so as they have sound legs, good l'in, good barrel, and good
stifle, and wind, 'squire, and speed well, they'll fetch a price. Now,
this animal is what I call a hos, 'squire; he's got the p'ints, he's
stylish, he's close-ribbed, a free goer, kind in harness--single or
double--a good feeder." I asked him if being a good feeder was a
desirable quality. He replied it was; "of course," said he, "if your hos
is off his feed, he ain't good for nothin'. But what's the use," he
added, "of me tellin' you the p'ints of a good hos? You're a hos man,
'squire: you know--" "It seems to me," said I, "there is something the
matter with that left eye." "No, _sir_" said he, and with that he pulled
down the horse's head, and, rapidly crooking his forefinger at the
suspected organ, said, "see thar--don't wink a bit." "But he should
wi