the
_inthumba_, suddenly wheels, and, dropping apparently off his horse,
steadily aims at his riderless competitor; two little white puffs of
smoke may be seen, and a thousand echoing guns are heard, like a volley,
from the surrounding mountains. The buffalo has had enough; he quietly
drops on his knees, lays his head on the ground, doubles his hind-legs
under him, and reposes at full length on the plain, to rise no more.
The race is run; the Derby won by the thirteen hands and eleven stone.
The prize is valueless as regards money; the flesh is given to Kaffirs
who are sent after it; the head and horn are too heavy to carry--but the
tail is the prize. This trophy, years afterwards, may be looked at by
some Nimrod of sparrows--questions asked about it; and in response to
the information that it is the tail of an angry old buffalo that was
taken after a long run, and when the owner had been shot whilst
charging, this hero may then inform you that he thinks that sort of
sport must be rather good fun, and it is just the style of thing to suit
him. The prize is of no value save to the winner. Who can paint the
feelings that he enjoys, however, as he sits and contemplates this poor
old dried bit of skin and hair, and looks back on the beginning and end
of the run in which his hand, without aid, won it? Can it be that a
single mind only enters thoroughly into a scene like that which I have
feebly described, and that the memory has drunk so deeply of the
details, stirring to itself, but valueless to others, that the mere look
of the prize suffices to recall the scene.

Is it not a greater proof of sense and of the power of intellect than
arguing whether Brown's conduct was right in submitting to be told that
he was anything but what he should be; or in calculating what, ought to
be the fair odds if the Middleham colt gives 7 pounds-weight to the b.f.
by Sir Sutton,--or--or--Well, we will suppose it is a mad corner; it may
be a treat to some, as sense and intellect are so very common, to have a
little madness now and then. I for one am content to be thus afflicted
every day of my life, as long as I am not confined in Hanwell, or
prevented from roaming in thought over lands blessed with the sun and
air pure from heaven, in place of bronchitial fogs, foul sewers, and
gloomy skies. We will suppose that the eleven stone told, and the horse
was beaten; no matter, we have no lost our money or our honour. We need
not take a tr