to
a nice stall, telling the ostler not to feed him till you come. If the
ostler happens to be a dog-fancier, and has an English terrier-dog like
that of mine there, say what a nice dog it is, and praise its black and
tawn; and if he does not happen to be a dog-fancier, ask him how he's
getting on, and whether he ever knew worse times; that kind of thing will
please the ostler, and he will let you do just what you please with your
own horse, and when your back is turned, he'll say to his comrades what a
nice gentleman you are, and how he thinks he has seen you before; then go
and sit down to breakfast, and, before you have finished breakfast, get
up and go and give your horse a feed of corn; chat with the ostler two or
three minutes till your horse has taken the shine out of his corn, which
will prevent the ostler taking any of it away when your back is turned,
for such things are sometimes done--not that I ever did such a thing
myself when I was at the inn at Hounslow. Oh, dear me, no! Then go and
finish your breakfast, and when you have finished your breakfast and
called for the newspaper, go and water your horse, letting him have one
pailful, then give him another feed of corn, and enter into discourse
with the ostler about bull-baiting, the prime minister, and the like; and
when your horse has once more taken the shine out of his corn, go back to
your room and your newspaper--and I hope for your sake it may be the
_Globe_, for that's the best paper going--then pull the bell-rope and
order in your bill, which you will pay without counting it up--supposing
you to be a gentleman. Give the waiter sixpence, and order out your
horse, and when your horse is out, pay for the corn, and give the ostler
a shilling, then mount your horse and walk him gently for five miles; and
whilst you are walking him in this manner, it may be as well to tell you
to take care that you do not let him down and smash his knees, more
especially if the road be a particularly good one, for it is not at a
desperate hiverman pace, and over very bad roads, that a horse tumbles
and smashes his knees, but on your particularly nice road, when the horse
is going gently and lazily, and is half asleep, like the gemman on his
back; well, at the end of the five miles, when the horse has digested his
food, and is all right, you may begin to push your horse on, trotting him
a mile at a heat, and then walking him a quarter of a one, that his wind
may be not di