409 
HOW MR. COPER SOLD A HORSE. 
table matter when in a state of putrefaction. The particulars 
of the unfortunate occurrence that befell Dr. C., together with 
the subsequent treatment, are recorded in one of the medical 
journals.—E d. 
American Veterinary Jow'nal, April 185*2. 
HOW MR. COPER SOLD A HORSE, AS TOLD RY THE 
MAN DAVIS. 
“ Mr. Coper, as kept the Red Lion Inn Yard, in-Street, 
was the best to sell a boss I ever know’d sir; and I know’d 
some good ’uns, / have; but he was the best. He’d look at 
you as tho’ butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and his small wall 
eyes seemed to have no more life in ’em than a dead whiting’s. 
My master, Captain-, stood his hosses there, and, o’ course, 
I seed a great deal of Mr. Coper. One day a gent came to 
look at the stable, and see if he could buy a boss. Coper seed 
in a minute he know’d nothin’ about boss flesh, and so was 
uncommon civil. The first thing he show’d him was a great 
gray coach hoss, about seventeen hands and a inch, with 
shoulders like a Erkilus.” 
“ I suppose you mean Hercules.” 
“ I suppose I do, sir. The gent was a little man, so, o’ 
course, the grey was taken in agen, and a Suffolk Punch cob, 
that ’ud a done for a bishop, was then run up the yard. But, 
lor! the little gent’s legs ’ud have never been of any use to 
him; they’d a’ stuck out on each side like a curricle bar—so 
he wouldn’t do. Coper show’d him three or four others—good 
things in their way, but not at all suited to the gent. At last, 
Coper says to him, with a sort of sigh, * Well, sir, I’m afeard 
we shan’t make a deal out of it to-day, sir; you’re werry par¬ 
ticular, as you’ve a right to be, and I’ll look about, and if I can 
find one that I think ’ll do, I’ll call on you.’ By this time he 
had walked the gent down the stable to opposite a stall where 
was a brown hoss, fifteen hands, or about. ‘ Now, there ’ud be 
the thing to suit you, sir,’ says he, ‘ and I only wish I could 
find one like him.’ ‘ Why can’t I have him V says the gent. 
‘ Impossible,’ says Coper. ' Why impossible V says the gent. 
* Because he’s Mrs. Coper’s hoss, and money wouldn’t buy him 
of her; he’s perfect, and she knows it.’ 
“ ‘ Well,’ says the gent, gettin’ his steam up, f I don’t mind 
price.’ 1 What’s money to peace of mind,’ says Coper. ‘ If I 
