tree, close to the road-side. Curious to state, at that very spot the
carriage suddenly stopped, and I might have touched it with my hand.
The horses had gibbed, owing to the steepness of the ascent; and on
her inquiring into the cause, I immediately recognised the voice of
another daughter, who, with her husband, was coming on a visit to her
father from a distant county.

I now returned to my public-house, and was off at dawn in a coach for
town. Byron felt from experience, when he sighed, "and oh, the utter
solitude of passing your own door without a welcome, finding your
hearth turned into a tombstone, and around it the ashes of your early
hopes, lying cold and deserted."

In all and each of my various excursions, in foul weather or in fair,
I had ever one invariable companion. This was my horse, and his name
was Clodhopper. He was a light bay, with a pale face. Our intimacy
commenced under the following circumstances:

One Saturday afternoon I was staying on a visit with a family, many
miles from my church, and being therefore in great need of a horse, I
at once went to look through the stables of an extensive horse-dealer
in a neighbouring town. Having ascertained the price of several
likely-looking horses, I ordered a large powerful one, for better
examination, to be led into the yard. It was not unnecessary
in this case; for the animal had one totally-extinguished and
dreadfully-disfigured eye, a broken knee, both fore-legs fired, and a
conspicuous spavin.

"He's a little blemished, Mr. Turner," I observed.

"Why, how, Sir, can you, or any other gentleman, expect to see a
great, fine, upstanding horse like that ere, but what has a some'ut?"

But as I did, I requested to see another. For this one he asked but
eighteen pounds. With my own eyes I could see that he stood above
fifteen hands, was only just coming six, and was a strong, hardy
animal, with a written warranty for soundness. All this being quite
clear, I could not possibly account for the lowness of the price,
otherwise than by feeling quite confident that there must be "a
some'ut."

While thus deliberating, "Mr. Graham," said the dealer, "will you mind
what I says? You'll never be married--you never can make up your mind
to nothun, I see."

On my getting into the saddle, to try him along a few streets, Mr.
Turner added this very disinterested advice--

"Now, don't you go and hammer a good horse like that ere over the hard
stones. A parcel of