m him in torrents; he appeared feeble
and collapsed; and seemed scarcely able to stand on his limbs, which
were shaking as if with terror under him.

"Why, Mr. Murray," said Woodward, "I am very glad I did not buy him;
the beast is ill, and will be for the dogs of the neighborhood in three
days' time."

"Until the last five minutes, sir, there wasn't a sounder horse in
Europe."

"Look at him now, then," said Woodward; "do you call that a sound horse?
Take him into the stable; before the expiration of three days you will
be flaying him."

His words were prophetic. In three days' time the fine and healthy
animal was a carcass.

"Ah!" said the farmer, when he saw the horse lying dead before him,
"this fellow is his mother's son. From the time he looked into the
horse's eyes the poor beast sank so rapidly that he didn't pass the
third day alive. And there are fifty guineas out of my pocket. The curse
of God on him wherever he goes!"

Woodward provided himself, however, with another horse, and in due time
set out for the Spa at Ballyspellan.

The dinner was now fixed for a certain day, and Squire Manifold
felt himself in high spirits as often as he could recollect the
circumstance--which, indeed, was but rarely, the worthy epicure's memory
having nearly abandoned him. Topertoe, of the gout, and he were
old acquaintances and companions, and had spent many a merry night
together--both, as the proverb has it, being tarred with the same stick.
Topertoe was as great a glutton as the other, but without his desperate
voracity in food, whilst in drink he equalled if he did not surpass him.
Manifold would have forgotten every thing about the dinner had he not
from time to time been reminded of it by his companion.

"Manifold, we will have a great day on Thursday."

"Great!" exclaimed Manifold, who in addition to his other stupidities,
was as deaf as a post; "great--eh? What size will it be?"

"What size will it be? Why, confound it, man, don't you know what I'm
saying?"

"No, I don't--yes, I do--you are talking about something great. O, I
know now--your toe you mean--where the gout lies. They say, it begins at
the great toe, and goes up to the stomach. I suppose Alexander the Great
was gouty and got his name from that."

"I'm talking of the great dinner we're I to have on Thursday," shouted
Topertoe. "We'll have a splendid feed then, my famous old trencherman,
and I'll take care that Doctor Doolittle shall not stint y