, as I have said, a horse of huge proportions, and needed
"steadying" at the start, but the good deacon had no experience with the
"ribbons," and was, therefore, utterly unskilled in the matter of
driving. And so it came about that Old Jack was so confused at the start
that he made a most awkward and wretched appearance in his effort to get
off, being all "mixed up," as the saying is, so much so that the crowd
roared at his ungainly efforts and his flying rivals were twenty rods
away before he had even got started. But at last he got his huge body in
a straight line and, leaving his miserable shuffle, squared away to his
work, and with head and tail up went off at so slashing a gait that it
fairly took the deacon's breath away and caused the crowd that had been
hooting him to roar their applause, while the parson grabbed the edge of
the old sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall black hat with the
other.

What a pity, Mr. Longface, that God made horses as they are, and gave
them such grandeur of appearance and action, and put such an eaglelike
spirit between their ribs, so that, quitting the plodding motions of the
ox, they can fly like that noble bird and come sweeping down the course
as on wings of the wind.

It was not my fault, nor the deacon's, nor the parson's, either, please
remember, then, that awkward, shuffling, homely-looking Old Jack was
thus suddenly transformed by the royalty of blood, of pride and of speed
given him by his Creator from what he ordinarily was into a magnificent
spectacle of energetic velocity.

With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, the few hairs in it streaming
straight behind, one ear pricked forward and the other turned sharply
back, the great horse swept grandly along at a pace that was rapidly
bringing him even with the rear line of the flying group. And yet so
little was the pace to him that he fairly gamboled in playfulness as he
went slashing along, until the deacon verily began to fear that the
honest old chap would break through all the bounds of propriety and send
his heels anticly through his treasured dashboard. Indeed, the spectacle
that the huge horse presented was so magnificent and his action so free,
spirited and playful, as he came sweeping onward that the cheers, such
as "Good heavens! see the deacon's old horse!" "Look at him! look at
him!" "What a stride!" ran ahead of him; and old Bill Sykes, a trainer
in his day, but now a hanger-on at the village tavern, o