<^{)c ifarmcr's iilciutl)lu llisitor. 



51 



■o'clock (liat " poor George Fortescue" was ngain 

 I'eiiieiiilicix'd.] 



They all agreed, at palling, however, thut thev 

 lia<l never passed snch a liuppy day— rongratu- 

 lated each other upon having instituted so de- 

 liglitCul H meeting, and promised to he punctual 

 to their appointenent tlie ensuing evening, when 

 they were to celelirate the new year whose en- 

 trance thby had welcotned in litnnpers of claret, 



as the watcl tn liawled " past twelve o'clock," 



beneath their window. 



They met accordingly, and tlieir gaiety was 

 v\ithout an alloy or drawhack. It was ordy the 

 first time of their assendding after the death of 

 *' poor George Fortescue," tliat made the recol- 

 lection of it painful ; for, though hut a lew hours 

 hiid intervened, they now took their seats at the 

 taLle as if eleven had been their usual nniidier, 

 and as if all were there who had ever expected 

 to be there. It is thus in every thing. The tirst 

 time a man enters a piison — the first book an 

 author writes — the llrst painiing an artist executes 

 — the first battle a general wins— nay, the first 

 time a rogue is hanged— (for a rotten rope may 

 provide a second perlbrmance, even of that cer- 

 emony, w itii all its singleness of character) — 

 difl^er inconceivably from the first repetition. 

 There is a charm, a spell, a novelty, a freshness, 

 a delight, inseparable from the first experience, 

 (hanging always excepted, be it remendiered,) 

 which no art or circumstance can imjiart to the 

 second. And it is the same in all the darker 

 traits of life. There is a degree of poignancy 

 and anguish in the first assaults of sorrow, which 

 is never fbmid afierward. In every case, it is 

 simply that the first fine edge of our feelings has 

 been taken ott", and that it can never be restored. 



Several years had elapseil, and our eleven 

 friends kept up their anniversaries, as they might 

 apllv enough be called, with scarcely any per- 

 ceptible change. But alas! there came one din- 

 ner at last, darkened by a calamity they never 

 expected to witness, for on that very day, their 

 friend, compainon, l)rotlier, almost, was hanged ! 

 Ves, Stephen Rowland, the wit, the oracle, the 

 life of their little circle, on the morning of that 

 day, forfeited his life upon a public scaffold, for 

 having made one single stroke of his pen in a 

 wrong place. In other words, a bill of exchange 

 was passed into his hands for £700, passed out 

 of his hands for £1700; he having drawn the 

 important litlle prefix to the hmulreds, and the 

 bill being paid at the banker's without examining 

 the words of it. The forgery was discovered — 

 brought home to Rowland— and though the great- 

 est interest was used to obtain a remission of 

 the latal penally, poor Stephen Rowland was 

 hanged. Every" body pitied him, and nobody 

 conid tell why he did it. He was not poor, he 

 was not a gandiler, he was not a speculator, but 

 phrenology settled it. The organ of acquisitive- 

 ness was discovered on his head, after his exe- 

 cution, as large as a pigeon's egg. He could not 

 help it. 



It would be injustice to the ten to say that 

 even wine, friendship, and a merry season, could 

 dispel the gloom which pervaded this dinner. It 

 was aj;reed beforehand that they shoidd not al- 

 lude to the distressing and melancholy theme ; 

 and having thus interdicted the oidy thing which 

 really occupied all tlieir thoughts, the nattual 

 consequence was, that silent contemplation took 

 the place of dismal iliscourse; and they separated 

 long before midnight, 



* * * "* Some fifteen years had 

 now glided away since the late of poor Rowland, 

 and the ten remained ; but the stealing hand of 

 time had written simdry changes in most legible 

 characters. Raven locks had now become griz- 

 zli.d — two or three heads with not as many locks 

 altogether as may be reckoned in a walk of half 

 n mile along the" Regent's canal— one was actu- 

 ally covered with a brown wig— the crow's feet 

 were visible in the corner of the eye — good old 

 port and warm Madeira carried it against hock, 

 claret, red biugundy and champagne— stews, 

 hashes ami ragouts grew into (jivor — crusts were 

 rarely called for to relish the cheese after dinner, 

 conversation w;is less boisterous, and it turned 

 chiefly lo politics and the state of the fluids, or 

 the value of landed property — apologies were 

 made for coming in thick shoes and warm stock- 

 ings: the doors and windows were more care- 

 fidly provided with list and sand bags — the fire 

 more in request — and a quiet gatne of whist filled 



up the hours that were wont to be devoted to 

 <h'iid<ing, singing, aiid riotous merriment. Two 

 rubliers, a cup of cotti;e, and at home by eleven 

 o'clock, was the usual cry, when the fifth or 

 sixth glass had gone round after the removal of 

 the cloth. At paiting, loo, there was a long cer- 

 emony in the hall, liultonim; np great coals, ty- 

 ing on woolen comtbrters, (ixiiig silk handker- 

 chiefs over the mouth and up to the ears, and 

 grasping sturdy walking canes, to support un- 

 steady leet. 



Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had 

 indeed been busy. One had been killed by the 

 overlurning of the mail, in which he had taken 

 his place in order to he present at the dinner, 

 having purchased an estate in Moumouthshire, 

 and retired thither with his family. Another 

 had undergone the tijrrific operation for the 

 stone, and ex|iired beneath the knile ; a thinl had 

 yielded up a broken spirit two years after the 

 loss of an only surviving and beloved daughler; 

 a fourth was carried ofl' m a few days by tin: 

 cholera morbus; a fil'lh hail breathed his last the 

 very morning he obtained judgment in his favor 

 liy the Lord Chancellor, which had cost him his 

 last shilling nearly to get, anil which, afier a lit- 

 igation of eighteen years, declared him the right- 

 ful possessor often ihonsand a year — ten minutes 

 after he was no more. A sixth had perished by 

 the hands of a midnight assassin, who broke into 

 his house for plunder, and sacrificed the owner 

 of it as he grasped convulsively a bundle of ex- 

 chequer hills, which the robber was drawing 

 from beneath his pillow, where he knew they 

 were every uighl placed for b.'lter security. 



Four little old men, of withered appearance 

 and decrepid walk, with cracked voices, and dim 

 rayless eyes, sat down, by the mercy of Heaven,- 

 (as they ihemselves tremulously declared) lo cel- 

 ebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first day of the 

 year; to observe tlie li-olic compact, which half 

 a century before, they had entered into at the 

 Star and Garter at Richmond! Eight were in 

 their graves! Yet they chirped cheerily over 

 their glass, though they could scarcely carry it to 

 their lips, if it was half full ; and cracked their 

 jokes, and luticulatetl their words with ditficnity, 

 and heard each other willi still greater difficulty. 

 They muinliled, they chattered, they laughed, (if 

 a sort of strangled wheezing might be called a 

 laugh;) and when the wines sent their icy blood 

 in warmer pulse throngh their vein.s, they talked 

 of the past as it were but a yesterday had passed 

 by them — and the future, as if it were a busy 

 cenliuy that lay before them. 



They were jiist the number for a quiet rubber 

 of whist; and for three successive years they 

 sat down to one. The fourth came, and their 

 rubber was played with an open dummy ; a fifth, 

 and whist was no longer practicable — two could 

 play only at cribbage,and cribhage was the game. 

 But it was litlle more than the mockery of play. 

 Their palsied hands could hardly hold, or their 

 lading sight distinguish the cards, while their 

 torpid faculties made them dose between each 

 deal. 



At length came the last ilinner, and the sur- 

 vivor of the twelve, upon whose head fourscore 

 and ten winters had showered their snow, ate 

 his solitary meal. It so chanced that it was in 

 his house, and at his table, they had celebrated 

 the first. In his cellar, too, had remained for 

 eight and fifty years, the botlle they had then un- 

 corked, re-corked, and which he was that day to 

 uncork again. It stood beside him. With a fee- 

 ble and reluctant grasp he took the frail memo- 

 rial of a youthful vow; and for a moment mem- 

 ory was failhful lo her office. She threw open 

 the long vista of years ; and his heart travelled 

 throngh them all. Their lusty and blilhesome 

 spring — their bright and fervid summer — their 

 ripe and temperate aulmnii — their chill, but not 

 too frozen w inter. He saw, as in a mirror, how, 

 one by one, the laughing companions of that 

 merry hour, at Richmond, bail dropped into eter- 

 nity. " He fell all the loneliness of his condilion, 

 forhe had eschewed marriage, and in the veins 

 of no living crealure ran a drop of blood whose 

 source was in his own ; and as he drained the 

 glass which he had filled "to the memory of 

 those who were gone," the tears slowly trickled 

 down the deep fiurows of his aged face. 



He h.-id thus fnllilled one part of his vow, and 

 he prep.areil himself to iliscli.arge the other by 

 silling the usual number of hours at his desolate 



table. With n heavy heart he resigned himself 

 to the gloom of his own thon<;hts — n lethargic 

 sleep stole over him — his head fell upon his bo- 

 som — confiised images crowded into his mind — 

 he bahbleil to himself — was silent — and when 

 his servant enlered the room, alarmed by a noise 

 which he heard, he found his master stretched 

 upon the carpet at the toot of the easy chair, out 

 of which he had slipped in an a|iopletic fit. He 

 never spoke again, nor once opened bis eyes, ul- 

 thoiigh the vital spark was not extinct until the 

 following day — and this was his Last Day. 



For the Farmer's Monthly Visitor. 

 Blinds to Bridles for Horses, iSrC. 



IVIr. Hill: — In the Visitor for the last month I 

 noticed a short article recommending bridles 

 without hlinils, as having a tendency to prevent 

 horses from shying or taking frights. I agree 

 with the writer upon this subject, and since my 

 attention was diawn to it, which was some years 

 ago, I have remarked that horses, especially 

 voiing ones, are mine liable to take fright with 

 the blind bridle than without or under the sad- 

 dle. Some may suppose that tlie wagon or 

 carriage has its iiiBiieiice in this, but I think it 

 more attributable to the Minds. Some years ago 

 I read in an account of an English traveller in 

 Germany, that the horses in their carriages had 

 no blinds to their bridles, and that in travelling 

 or with loads, iheir heads were not reined up, 

 but left at full liberty. This mode was approved 

 by the traveller for the reasons assigned by the 

 Germans, that horses are not apt to be frightened 

 when they can see — that their eye-sight is injured 

 by blindsexcltiding air and light, and compelling 

 the animal to a constrained and unnatural exer- 

 tion of that organ ;— these were the reasons as- 

 signed. For the other peculiarity of leaving the 

 horse's head liee, especially when on the road 

 with heavy load.s, the reasons are that he works 

 easier when be can swing his head and adapt it 

 to his exertions, than when restrained ; that in 

 rising a hill with a heavy load, a horse will bend 

 his neck low towards the ground, and that he 

 will pull a load of greater weight than he can do 

 if his head is reined up hii'li, &c. Every one is 

 aware how skilful the Germans are in managing 

 cattle, and especially horses, and every laboring 

 man proves tlie very great importance of having 

 the limbs in a proper position for the exertion of 

 muscular power. Those people who pull against 

 horses, or rather, let the horses pull against 

 them, have not so great a superiority in strength 

 as may be imagined from these exhibitions of 

 strength. It is simply by placing themselves in 

 a position for resistance, by which their muscu- 

 lar powers are brought most successfully to ope- 

 rate to counteract the exertions of the horses. 

 This is well known to anatomists and those ver- 

 sed in the art of performinjr these feats. Does 

 not the same reasoning hold good in horses in 

 putting forth their strength ? It may answer the 

 purpose of a gay appearance, for carriage horses 

 of those who ride for heallli or pleasure; but I 

 feel persuaded that if our farmers would use 

 bridles without blinds, and give horses a free use 

 of their heads for a short lime, we should not 

 see the present praclice again recurred lo. 



We have in this State a good breed of horses, 

 which, every thing considered, cannot perhaps 

 be improved by a different race, allhongli much 

 may be done by attention in crossing for points. 

 But we have in very many cases much room for 

 improvement in the accommodalions and treat- 

 ment of this noble, high si.iriied, hard lempfred 

 animal. There is sireat, anri it is believed, often 

 unnecessary cruelly practiced in what is termed 

 breaking colls. Horses appear graiefnl for kind 

 treatment, — they show evident signs of affeciion 

 lo those who tre.it tlipin kindly. The .Vrabs who 

 possess perhaps the most courageous .■mil fiery 

 breed of horses known, have at the same time 

 the most docile and best trained. They sleep 

 with them in the same tent ; their children lie 

 down and climb upon their horses w illiont fear 

 and without injury. I cnce knew a man in our 

 sister Slate of Massachusetts who reared, and 

 broke to harness, a great number of colts; he 

 was a practical man of the old three cornered 

 school, and the last man in my native town who 

 wore, which he <lid to the last, the revolutionary 

 hat. He had great fondness for hor.ses, and used 

 to say that although he had liioken hundreds of 

 colls, lie had never struck one with the weight 



