d,
wasn't he? He was rising four years, as he had been several seasons
past. And you had been offered 500 pounds for him the day he was killed,
but wouldn't take it because you were going to win all the prizes in the
next race with him? Oh, I've heard of that off-horse before."

"I guess there's a mistake somewhere," said the old farmer, with an air
of surprise; "my hoss was got by old man Butt's roan-pacing hoss, Pride
of Lemont, out'n a wall-eyed no account mare of my own, and, now that
he's dead, I may say that he was twenty-nine next grass. Trot? Why,
Fred Erby's hoss that he was fined for furious driving of was old Dexter
alongside of him! Five hundred pounds! Bless your soul, do you think
I'm a fool, or anyone else? It is true I was made an offer for him the
last time I was in town, and, for the man looked kinder simple, and you
know how it is yourself with hoss trading, I asked the cuss mor'n the
animal might have been worth. I asked him forty pounds, but I'd have
taken thirty."

"Forty?" gasped the lawyer; "forty?"

"Yes," replied the farmer, meekly and apologetically; "it kinder looks a
big sum, I know, for an old hoss; but that 'ere off-hoss could pull a
mighty good load, considering. Then I was kinder shook up, and the pole
of my waggon was busted, and I had to get the harness fixed, and there's
my loss of time, and all that counts. Say fifty pounds, and it's about
square."

The lawyer whispered softly to himself, "Well, I'll be hanged!" and
filled out a cheque for fifty pounds.

"Sir," said he, covering the old man's hand, "you are the first honest
man I have met in the course of a legal experience of twenty-three years;
the first farmer whose dead horse was worth less than a thousand pounds,
and could trot better without training. Here, also, is a free pass for
yourself and your male heirs in a direct line for three generations; and
if you have a young boy to spare we will teach him telegraphing, and find
him steady and lucrative employment."

The honest old farmer took the cheque, and departed, smiting his brawny
leg with his horny hand in triumph as he did so, with the remark--

"I knew I'd ketch him on the honest tack! Last hoss I had killed I swore
was a trotter, and all I got was thirty pounds and interest. Honesty is
the best policy."

--_Once a Week_.

ABERGELE ACCIDENT.

The Irish mail leaving London at short