er shoulder, backed the horse.

"Vell, I'm blessed," exclaimed Mr. S.--and so he was--with a scolding
wife and a squalling infant; "and they calls this here a trust, the
fools! and there ain't no trust at all!"

And the poor animal got another vindictive cut. Oh! Mr. Martin!--thou
friend of quadrupeds!--would that thou had'st been there. "It's all my
eye and Betty Martin!" muttered Mr. S., as he wheeled about the jaded
beast he drove, and retraced the road.

A RIMAROLE--PART II.

"Acti labores sunt jucundi"

The horse is really a noble animal--I hate all rail-roads, for putting
his nose out of joint--puffing, blowing, smoking, jotting--always going
in a straight line: if this mania should continue, we shall soon have the
whole island ruled over like a copy-book--nothing but straight lines--and
sloping lines through every county in the kingdom!

Give me the green lanes and hills, when I'm inclined to diverge; and the
smooth turnpike roads, when disposed to "go a-head."--"I can't bear a
horse," cries Numps: now this feeling is not at all reciprocal, for every
horse can bear a man. "I'm off to the Isle of Wight," says Numps: "Then
you're going to Ryde at last," quoth I, "notwithstanding your hostility
to horse-flesh." "Wrong!" replies he, "I'm going to Cowes." "Then
you're merely a mills-and-water traveller, Numps!" The ninny! he does
not know the delight of a canter in the green fields--except, indeed, the
said canter be of the genus-homo, and a field preacher!

My friend Rory's the boy for a horse; he and his bit o' blood are
notorious at all the meetings. In fact I never saw him out of the
saddle: he is a perfect living specimen of the fabled Centaur--full of
anecdotes of fox-chases, and steeple-chases; he amuses me exceedingly. I
last encountered him in a green lane near Hornsey, mounted on a roadster
--his "bit o' blood" had been sent forward, and he was leisurely making
his way to the appointed spot.

"I was in Buckinghamshire last week," said he; "a fine turn out--such a
field! I got an infernal topper tho'--smashed my best tile; tell you how
it was. There was a high paling--put Spitfire to it, and she took it in
fine style; but, as luck would have it, the gnarled arm of an old tree
came whop against my head, and bonneted me completely! Thought I was
brained--but we did it cleverly however--although, if ever I made a leap
in the dark, that was one. I was at fault for a minute--but Spitfi