352 The NafAi,ralist in La Plata. 



sustains us ; but a something with life and thought, 

 hke ourselves, that feels what we feel, understands 

 us, and keenly participates in our pleasures. Take, 

 for example, the horse on which some quiet old 

 country gentleman is accustomed to travel; how 

 soberly and evenly he jogs along, picking his way 

 over the ground. But let him fall into the hands 

 of a lively youngster, and how soon he picks up a 

 frisky spirit ! Were horses less plastic, more the 

 creatures of custom than they are, it would always 

 be necessary, before buying one, to inquire into the 

 disposition of its owner. 



When I was thirteen years old I was smitten 

 with love for a horse I once saw — an untamable- 

 looking ' brute, that rolled his eyes, turbulently, 

 under a cloud of black mane tumbling over his 

 forehead. I could not take my sight off this proud, 

 beautiful creature, and I longed to possess him 

 with a great longing. His owner — a worthless 

 vagabond, as it happened — marked my enthusiastic 

 admiration, and a day or two afterwards, having 

 lost all his money at cards, he came to me, offering 

 to sell me the horse. Having obtained my father's 

 consent, I rushed off to the man with all the money 

 I possessed — about thirty or thirty-five shillings, I 

 believe. After some grumbling, and finding he 

 could get no more, he accepted the money. My 

 new possession filled me with unbounded delight, 

 and I spent the time caressing him and leading him 

 about the grounds in search of succulent grasses 

 and choice leaves to feed him on. I am sure this 

 horse understood and loved me, for, in spite of 

 that savage look, which his eyes never quite lost, 



