ABOUT BUYING A HORSE. 9 



Before Gloppin leaves us, I impart to him my ideal of the 

 horse I want. Fourteen hands high, to go in my pony trap, 

 perfectly quiet to ride or drive, good-looking, if not handsome, 

 bay preferred with four black legs, must not be afraid of 

 trains, musn't shy, kick, or rear, be quite good-tempered, no 

 vice, in fact all virtue, age rising six — by which / mean 

 (whatever the expression itself may mean) between six and 

 seven years old, price not more than forty guineas. 



"Ah," says Gloppin sarcastically, " you'd like one given 

 you." 



I should. One was given me once. I shall never forget 

 him. He wouldn't stand still, he wouldn't be ridden, he 

 wouldn't be driven, he never kept the same pace for two 

 consecutive minutes, he tossed his head up and down as if 

 he were throwing up a ball and catching it again, and after 

 ten minutes of the most utter discomfort, I handed him over 

 to the stableman, dismounted with the greatest possible 

 delight at finding myself once more on my own legs (which, 

 I am inclined to think are, after all, the safest and least 

 expensive means of conveyance), and the next day I sold him 

 at the hammer for what I could get. 



Happy Thought. — As I got him for nothing, I record this 

 instance of having made money by the sale of a horse. Rare. 



This is a long time ago, and I flatter myself I know more 

 about what I do really want now, so to-morrow see Clumber 

 the Flyman. The Nursury Rhyme occurs to me — " Simple 

 Simon met a Flyman "—it was Pieman, but the facility of 

 the rhyme is ominous. 



