ue, daddy," said Mr. Petulengro. "My pal knows
quite well what to do with the whip, he's not going to beat the horse
with it." About four hundred yards from the house there was a hill, to
the foot of which the road ran almost on a perfect level; towards the
foot of this hill I trotted the horse, who set off at a long, swift pace,
seemingly at the rate of about sixteen miles an hour. On reaching the
foot of the hill, I wheeled the animal round, and trotted him towards the
house--the horse sped faster than before. Ere he had advanced a hundred
yards, I took off my hat, in obedience to the advice which Mr. Petulengro
had given me, in his own language, and holding it over the horse's head
commenced drumming on the crown with the knob of the whip; the horse gave
a slight start, but instantly recovering himself, continued his trot till
he arrived at the door of the public-house, amidst the acclamations of
the company, who had all rushed out of the house to be spectators of what
was going on. "I see now what you wanted the whip for," said the
landlord, "and sure enough, that drumming on your hat was no bad way of
learning whether the horse was quiet or not. Well, did you ever see a
more quiet horse, or a better trotter?" "My cob shall trot against him,"
said a fellow, dressed in velveteen, mounted on a low powerful-looking
animal. "My cob shall trot against him to the hill and back again--come
on!" We both started; the cob kept up gallantly against the horse for
about half way to the hill, when he began to lose ground; at the foot of
the hill he was about fifteen yards behind. Whereupon I turned slowly
and waited for him. We then set off towards the house, but now the cob
had no chance, being at least twenty yards behind when I reached the
door. This running of the horse, the wild uncouth forms around me, and
the ale and beer which were being guzzled from pots and flagons, put me
wonderfully in mind of the ancient horse-races of the heathen north. I
almost imagined myself Gunnar of Hlitharend at the race of--

"Are you satisfied?" said the landlord. "Didn't you tell me that he
could leap?" I demanded. "I am told he can," said the landlord; "but I
can't consent that he should be tried in that way, as he might be
damaged." "That's right!" said Mr. Petulengro, "don't trust my pal to
leap that horse, he'll merely fling him down, and break his neck and his
own. There's a better man than he close by; let him get on his