“ Do your best, Tomson, do your best, and I 
I shall not complain,” I said, for I had im¬ 
plicit confidence in him, his only failings 
being too great a leaning towards gin-and- 
water, and a tendency to familiarity, as 
evinced in his addressing his pastor as “ Par¬ 
son.” 
We reached the head inn; I brought out a 
halter, aud Mr. Tomson led off poor old 
prince, the chaise aud harness being left in 
charge of the hostler, a fresh man. 
As the old horse was led off he seemed to 
give me a mournful look, as though he 
would have said :—“ Do you turn your back 
like this upon your old friends ?” And then 
he went limping out of the yard, whisking 
his gray tail about in a melancholy manner, 
and I thought of the many times those four 
white stockings had gone over the road with 
oOr modest conveyance; never too fast; 
never taking fright; never shying; never 
being incensed, as to the hind stockings, in 
fierce kicks through the splash-board. And 
I thought, that if, for the fivc-nnd-thirly 
pounds I had placed as the outside sum, I 
could get as good a steed to dwell with us 
for the next ten years, 1 should do well. 
I went into the coffee-room to await 
Furmer Tomson’s return, and somehow I 
rather regretted that I had not called in a 
veterinary surgeon, aud given Prince a 
month’s rest; but the next moment I drove 
away the thought, and stood at. the window, 
looking out at the busy turmoil of the little 
town during the horse fair. 
My wife had stipulated for a horse as 
much like Prince as 1 could get; and as I 
6lood gazing out 1 saw one or two goodly 
looking cobs, with one, two, and even three 
white-stockinged feet,, but not one, like old 
Prince, with four. 
“ But I can’t study that,” I thought to 
myself. “A good sound horse is what I re¬ 
quire, and a black-legged cob is likely to be 
the most durable.” 
Before 1 had waded half through the day 
before’s Times, Farmer Tomson was back. 
“ Well, how have you got on ?” I said. 
“ Oil, just as well as i expected, parson ; 
the regular thing for an old horse—pound a 
legand he dashed four sovereigns down 
on the table. 
1 was disappointed, for I had expected 
double, but I did not say so. Tomson saw 
it, though. 
“ It was its real value, parson,” lie said, 
quietly, “ the horse was lame, dead lame.” 
“ Don't say another word, Tomson, pray,” 
I said, hastily. “ I am, indeed, much ob¬ 
liged.” 
“ You’re quite welcome, parson. I shall 
look iu on you in the morning about that 
bit of wall in the churchyard, and then you 
can show me your new horse purchase.” 
“ But won’t you let me drive you back ?” 
I said. 
“ No, no, thankey,” he said; “ I dare say 
I shall he late. Good morning, and be on 
the lookout for sharpers.” 
Farmer Tomson departed; and L went 
about the town attending to a few domestic 
commissions before venturing upon the 
prime business of the day. At last, though, 
1 had a look round to see splendid carriage 
horses selling at two hundred and fifty to 
three hundred guineas a pair, and hunters, 
park hacks, ladies* well trained mares, sturdy 
cobs, gigantic cart horses—every description 
of the equine race; but though I wandered 
about for quite an hour and a half, 1 could 
not see the sort of cob that took my eye. 
Invitations to buy I had in plenty from cun¬ 
ning looking gentlemen, who could see what 
I was about; but a word from any of those 
horse looking gentry was sufficient to put 
me on my guard, and to take me to another 
part of the fair. 
Tired at last of the noise and bustle, the 
shouting horse dealers, and the trotting hoofs, 
I began to wish that, after all, 1 had intrust¬ 
ed some one else with the commission; and 
walking bade to the inn, 1 had a glass of 
sherry ancl a biscuit, sat down for half an 
hour, and then went to have one more look 
round, intending, if I were unsuccessful iu 
my search, to hire a horse from the inn to 
drive back, and then trust my case to other 
hands. 
“Plenty of horses are bought through ad¬ 
vertisements,” I said to ; “and old 
Baldox could examine it;” Mr. Baldox be¬ 
ing the vet. who came round our neighbor¬ 
hood. 
“ The very thing I want ” I said to myself, 
the next moment; but all the same, I pre¬ 
served a 9trict appearance of want of inter¬ 
est, for just then a rather red-fueed young 
fellow, in a quiet groom’s livery, passed me, 
leading a very good looking dark cob, very 
plump looking, full head, short, well-carried 
tail, four thick legs, good dark, glossy coat, 
but rather playful looking, and given to 
dance about. 
I let the man pass me two or three times, 
as I looked unconcernedly on, while first one 
horsy man went up and then another, want¬ 
ing to trv the horse, and talking in loud and 
depreciatory accents; but the groom was 
very surly, and seemed as if ho would have 
none of them, always walking off a few yards 
before he came to another stand. 
“ Horse for sale, my lad ?” I said at last. 
The groom looked at me surlily all over, 
his eyes resting long on my white handker¬ 
chief. 
“ Do you want to buy one lie said, at last. 
“Well, I don’t know,” I said, smiling; 
“ but that don’t seem to me the way to sell 
him.” 
“Oh, don’t it! P’raps it don’t,” said the 
man. “ I know wliat I’m up to.” 
“ Wliat is the price?” I said, as I walked 
round the cob, liking his looks more and 
more. 
“Now, look here,” said the groom,gazing 
at me seareliingly as in him lay; “do you 
want to buy him? Because, if you do, say 
so; if you don’t, just leave me alone, please, 
for I’ve been humbugged enough for one 
day.” 
“ Well, my lad,” I said,“you are not very 
civil; hut 1 do want to buy a cob." 
He looked at. me again, and then a bright 
thought seemed to Hash across him. 
“ You’re a clergyman, ain’t you ?” 
“ Yes,” I said, smiling. 
“ Then where’s your card?” 
He smiled triumphantly as he said this, 
evidently thinking that, lie had posed me; 
but I drew out my card-case and gave him 
a card—Bev. T. Tozer, Stogglesby Rectory 
—when the man’s face underwent a com¬ 
plete change, and he touched his hat re¬ 
spectfully. 
“ Beg pardon, sir; but I didn’t know but 
what you might he a chanter dressed up like 
a parson. Master sent me here to sell the 
pony, and told me to be very careful and not 
get done, and I’ve been nearly chiseled out of 
him twyste. Here’s these fellows come 
round you with flash-notes and duffing suv- 
l’ings, and more dodges than you’d ever 
think of, and it makes one suspicious.” 
“ Who is your master?” 
“ Mr. George Smith, sir, of Louth ?" 
I did not know the gentleman, but the 
livery buttons on the groom’s coat bore the 
well-known crest of the Smiths — a fist 
clenched upon a hammer—and I asked him a 
few more questions. “ Wliat is he parting 
with the cob for?” was among the rest. 
“ Missus used to drive him, sir; but we’re 
going to have a broom now and a sixteen- 
hander. It’s a pity, though, for this here’s 
as nice a little tiling as ever stepped. That 
quiet, you may do any manner o’ thing with 
him.” 
“ Not very young, my lad,” I said, know¬ 
ingly, after a look in the horse’s mouth. 
“ No, sir, he ain't young; but he liain’t a 
old ’oss. Master’s only had him two years. 
I don’t, believe he’s eight year, that I don’t.” 
I had him walked ; 1 had him trotted ; I 
had him tried in harness, and 1 drove him 
myself; and then he was once more reduced 
to the halter. 
“ Rather more skittish than I like !” 1 said. 
“Skittish, sir!” said the groom. “He 
ain’t skittish ; but I tell you wliat he is, sir : 
lie’s that fat and lazy, and full of play, that 
lie’s spoiled. Just fancy yourself, sir, sliet 
up iu a loose box, and the missus coming 
and blowing you out at tinreg'Iar times till 
you blew upon it. Wouldn't you lie skit¬ 
tish ? Why, see how slow he is ; lie might 
do two mile more an hour if he warn’t so 
fat.” 
“Well, aud now, how about price?” 1 
said. 
“ Forty guineas, sir,” said the groom— 
“ forty-tWO pounds in gold.” 
“ Which means that five-and-thirty pounds 
will buy him, I suppose?” I said; for I liked 
the horse, the man, and the character of the 
affair altogether. 
The groom looked hard at me for a few 
moments, and then his face wrinkled all 
over into a simple grin. “ Well, sir, master 
said:—‘Ask forty pound, and stick to it; 
but if you can’t get five-uud-thirty, bring 
him back again.” 
1 looked the cob over and over again, felt 
his hocks and fetlocks, and, with all my ma¬ 
nipulations, found him quiet as a lamb. 
“ Well, my lad,” I said, after bidding him 
thirty in vain, “I’ll give you the five-and- 
thirty pounds.” 
“ Suvrings, sir ?” 
“ Well, a clu ck on Garfit’s bank will do ?” 
I said, smiling. 
“1 don’t know nothing about checks nor 
notes, sir; suvrings for me, please,” said the 
lad, and the purchase was completed by my 
fetching the gold from the bank myself, to re¬ 
turn finding the groom just moving off. 
“Thought it was all ado, sir, said the 
man, touching his hat, and brightening up ; 
and then, on toy remembering him with five 
shillings, he led my purchase to the inn, 
where lie was put to, and I drove home, de¬ 
lighted with my bargain, for no horse could 
have gone better. He required a touch or 
two with (lie whip ouce, hut, on the whole, 
he trotted home most respectably, and was 
as nice a looking, plump cob as a parson 
need wish to drive. 
Our hoy was absent on my return, and I 
had to take the new horse out myself, my 
wife coming to see him by lantern light, 
patting him, and expressing her admiration 
loudly. 
Farmer Tomson, being an early man, was 
over next morning by the time we had done 
breakfast, and I proudly led him out to the 
stable, unfastened the halter, and brought 
out the purchase smilingly, while the old 
man walked round It, aDd round It again ; 
looked at its head, its tail; ran his hand all 
over it, stooped down by its legs, one by one, 
and then looked at me. 
“ Well," I said, “ what ought I to have 
given for it ?” 
“ Pound a leg 1” he exclaimed. 
“ Pool)! — nonsense 1” I said. “ What is 
he worth ?” 
“ Pouud a leg, I tell you, man. Why, 
drat it, parson, you’ve bought your own old 
boss again 1” 
“ Wliat !” I exclaimed, laughing. 
“ Absurd!” exclaimed Mrs. Tozer, who 
just then joined us. “ Why, Prince had 
four white legs, and he’d follow me about 
about like a dog; and so will you some day 
—poor fellow !” 
To my utter surprise, the horse walked tip 
to her and pnL his nose in her hand, as I had 
seen Prince do scores of times. 
I thought I knew a little about horses, hut 
I did not. The hollows over poor Prince’s 
eyes that had been blown out, hollowed out 
again; ins docked tail grew, and the dye 
wore off his four stockings; while the dodge 
in reshoeing him, so as to give a limp to the 
near fore-foot, was shown to me by an old 
farmer, and 1 learned how that where two 
legs were lame they formed a pair, and the 
lameness was not noticed. 
But, after all, I did not lose thirty-one 
pounds five; for upon choking down my 
disgust amt asking Farmer Tomson’s advice, 
lie said; — “Turn him out in the paddock ; 
the lameness may go off; but don’t think of 
trying law. Bear the first loss, and don’t 
throw good money after bad. I’ll never say 
nowt about it." 
Neither did I till now; and in proof of mv 
journey not being all loss, the lameness did 
go off, and we drove old Prince till lie died 
suddenly, five years after my Venture in the 
Horse-Market. 
THE - MASKED LADY, 
It was the Carnival Season in Paris, and 
Colonel Eugene Merville, an attache of the 
great Napoleon’s staff, who had won his way 
to distinction with his own saber, found him¬ 
self at tiie masked ball in the French Opera 
House. Better adapted in his taste to the 
field than the boudoir, he flirts but little 
will) the gay figures that cover the floor,and 
joins but seldom in the giddy waltz. But at 
last, while standing thoughtfully, and re¬ 
garding the assembled throng with a vacant 
eye, his attention was suddenly aroused by 
the appearance of a person iu a white satin 
domino, the universal elegance of whose 
figure, manner and bearing, convinced all 
that her face and mind must lie equal to her 
person in grace and loveliness. 
Though in so mixed an assembly, still 
there was n. dignity aud reserve in the man¬ 
ner of the white domino that rather repulsed 
the idea of a familiar address, and it was 
some time before the young soldier found 
courage to speak to her. 
Some alarm being given, there was a vio¬ 
lent rush of the throng towards the door, 
where, unless assisted, the lady would have 
materially suffered. Eugene Merville offers 
liis arm, and witli his broad shoulders and 
stout frame wards off the danger. It was a 
delightful moment ; the lady spoke the 
purest French, was witty, fanciful and cap¬ 
tivating. 
“ All! lady, pray raise that mask, and re¬ 
veal to me the charms of feature that must 
accompany so sweet a voice and so graceful 
a form as you possess.” 
“Yon would, perhaps, be disappointed.” 
“ No, I am sure not.” 
“ Are you so very confident ?” 
“Yes. 1 feel that you are beautiful. It 
cannot be otherwise.” 
“ Don’t he too sure of that,” said the do¬ 
mino. “ Have you never heard of the Irish 
poet Moore’s story of the veiled prophet of 
Khorasan— how, when he disclosed his 
countenance, its hideous aspect killed his 
beloved one? IIow do you know that I 
shall not turn out a veiled prophet of Kho¬ 
rasan ?” 
“All, lady, your every word convinces 
me to the contrary,” replied the enraptured 
soldier, whose heart began to feel as it had 
never felt before ; he was already in love. 
Sue eludes his efforts at discovery, but 
permits him to hand her to her carriage, 
which drives oft' iu the darkness, ancl though 
lie throws himself upon his fleetest horse, 
he is unable to overtake her. 
The young French colouel becomes 
moody; lie has lost his heart, and knows 
not what to do. He wanders hither and 
thither, shuns his former places of amuse¬ 
ment, avoids his military companions, and, 
in short, is miserable as a lover can well be, 
thus disappointed. One night, just after lie 
had left his hotel on foot, a figure, muffled 
to the very ears, stopped him. 
“ Well, monsieur, what would you with 
me ?” asked the soldier. 
“ You would know the name of the white 
domino ?” was the reply. 
“ I would, indeed,” replied the officer hasti¬ 
ly. “ How' can it be done.” 
“ Follow me.” 
“ To the end of the earth, if it will bring 
me to her.” 
“ But you must be blindfolded.” 
“ Very well.” 
“ Step into this vehicle.” 
“ I am at your command.” 
And away rattled the youthful soldier and 
Ids strange companion. “This may be a 
trick,” reasoned Eugene Merville, “ lntt I 
have no fear of personal violence. I am armed 
with this trusty saber, and can take care of 
myself.” But there was no cause for fear, 
since he soon found the vehicle stopped, ami 
he was led, blindfolded, into the house. 
When the bandage was removed from his 
eyes, lie found himself in a richly furnished 
boudoir, and before him stood the domino, 
just as lie met her at the masked ball. To 
fall upon Ills knees and tell her how much 
lie thought of her since their separation, that 
his thoughts had never left her, that lie 
loved her devotedly, was as natural as to 
breathe, and he did so, gallantly and sin¬ 
cerely. 
“ Shall I believe all you say.” 
“ Lady, let me prove it by any test you 
may put upon me.” 
“ Know, then, that the feelings you avow 
are mutual. Nay, unloose your arm from 
my waist. 1 have something more to say.” 
“Talk on forever, lady ! Your voice is 
music to inj’ heart and cars.” 
“ Would you marry me. knowing no more 
of me than you now do?” 
“ Yes, if you were to go to the very altar 
masked!” he replied. 
“Then I will test you.” 
“ How, lady ?” 
“ For one year he faithful to the tove you 
have professed, and I will he yours—as truly 
as heaven shall spare my life.” 
“ OIj, cruel suspense 1" 
“ You demur?” 
“ Nay,lady, I shall fulfill your injunctions 
as I promised.” 
“If, at the expiration of a year, you do 
not. hear from me, then the contract shall lie 
null and void. Take this half ring,” she 
continued, “ and when I supply the broken 
portion I will be yours.” 
He kissed llie little emblem, swore again 
and again to be faithful, and pressing her 
hand to his lips, bade her adieu. 
lie was conducted away as mysteriously 
as be had been brought thither, nor could 
he by any possible means discover where lie 
had been, his companion rejecting all bribes, 
and even refusing to answer the simplest 
qucstl ons. 
Months roll on. Colonel Merville is true 
to his vow, and happy in the anticipation of 
love. Suddenly he was ordered on an em¬ 
bassy to Vienna, the gayest of all the Eu¬ 
ropean capitals, about tlte time that Napo¬ 
leon was planning to marry the Arduehess 
Maria Louisa. The young Colonel is hand¬ 
some, manly, and already distinguished in 
arms, and becomes ut once a great favorite 
at court, every effort being made by the wo¬ 
men to captivate him, but in vain; he is 
constant and true to his vow. 
But his heart was not made of stone ; the 
very fact that he had entertained such ten¬ 
der feelings for the white doitiino had doubt¬ 
less made him more susceptible than before. 
At last be met the young Baroness Caro¬ 
line Von Waldroff, and iu spite of his vows 
she captivates him, ancl he secretly curses 
the engagement he had so blindly made at 
Paris. She seems to wonder at wliat she 
believes to be his devotion; and yet the dis¬ 
tance he maintains 1 The Lruth was, that 
his sense of honor was so great, that though 
he felt he loved the young baroness, and 
even that she returned his affection, still he 
had given his word, and it was sacred. 
The satin domino is no longer the idea of 
his heart, but assumes the most repulsive 
form in his imagination, and becomes, in 
place of his good angel, his evil genius ! 
Well, time rolls ou ; he is to return in a 
few days, it is once more the carnival season, 
and in Vienna, too, that gay city, lie joins 
in the festivities of the masked ball, and 
wonder fills liis brain, when about the mid¬ 
dle of 1 lie evening the white domino steals 
before him, in the same white satin dress he 
had seen her wear a year before at the French 
Opera House in Paris. Was it not a fancy ? 
“ I come, Colonel Eugene Merville, to hold 
you to your promise," she said, laying her 
hand lightly upon his arm. 
"Is tills a reality or a dream ?” asked the 
amazed soldier. 
“ Come, follow me, and you shall see that 
it is a reality,” continued the mask, pleas¬ 
antly. 
“ I will.” 
“ Have you been faithful to your prom¬ 
ise ?” asked the domino, as they retired into 
a saloon. 
“ Most truly in act, but, alas, I fear not in 
heart 1” 
“ Indeed." 
“ It is too true, lady, that I have seen and 
loved another, though my vow to you has 
kept me from saying so to her.” 
“ And who is that you thus love?” 
“ I will be frank with you, and you will 
keep my secret ?" 
“ Most religiously.” 
“ It is the Baroness Von Waldroff,” ha said, 
with a sigh. 
"And you really love her?” 
“Alas ! only too dearly,” said the soldier, 
sadly. 
“ Nevertheless, I must hold you to your 
promise. Here is the other half of the ring; 
can you produce its mate?” 
“ Here it is,” said Eugene Merville. 
“ Then I, too, keep my promise 1” said the 
domino, raising her mask, and showing to liis 
astonished view the face of the Baroness 
Von Waldroff 1 
She had seen and loved him for his manly 
spirit and character, and having fouud by 
inquiry that lie was worthy of her love, she 
had managed this delicate intrigue, and had 
tested him, and now gave to him her wealth,, 
title and everything. 
They were married with great pomp, and 
accompanied the Archduchess to Pat is. Na¬ 
poleon, to crown the happiness of his favorite, 
made him at ouce general of division. 
-- 
A TOUGH OF LIFE. 
A few nights since the passengers in a 
crowded street cur were startled by the soft 
cooing of a couple in one corner. A blue 
veil hid the lady’s face, and the gentleman’s 
hands were playing nervously with its folds. 
“ You love me, then ?” they heard him say. 
The rapid reply was in a toneless loud, 
hut its accent was as tender as heart could 
wish. 
“I have loved you so long,” the swain 
continued, “ and 1 have been afraid to in¬ 
dulge the sweet hopes that are now resolving 
themselves into certainty." 
“ Was you afraid of pa ?” 
“ No—but of you." 
“ Why should you be afraid of n>e ?” 
“ Because it seemed so impossible that 
you should love me.” 
“ Why?” 
“ I am homely ; my face is not handsome; 
I have nothing that attracts the love of 
woman.” 
“ But you are rich,” the lady archly re¬ 
plied. 
“ Passingly so, but not very.” 
The conversation had by this time grown 
absorbingly interesting, and every ear was 
listening in the crowded car. 
“ Would you marry me if I was poor?” 
“ How cun you ask me—am I so mer¬ 
cenary ?” 
“ No—but so many are.” 
There was a momentary silence, and then 
the whispered conversation was resumed 
with mutual confession. In plain words, 
both acknowledged a resemblance to Job's 
turkey—neither had a cent. They would 
commence their married life very much as 
they began the world — with nothing. The 
mutual confession was evidently a damper 
on their enthusiasm. They were sPenl. The 
lady cast furtive glaces at the swuiu, and at 
last murmured audibly: 
“ I’m too young to marry.” 
The tone was disappointed. It had a hesi¬ 
tating accent about it that meant more than 
the language. But the answer came heartily, 
bluff and to the point: 
“ So am 1." 
“ We’ve both been mistaken.” 
And so they had. They left the car 
quietly. The question of marriage was 
thoroughly understood. There was to be no 
wedding. 
-- 
MISCELLANEOUS PAEAGEAPHS. 
How absolute is the silence of the night! 
And yet the stillness seems almost audible. 
From all the measureless depths of air around 
us comes a half-sound, a lmlf-whisper, as if 
we could hear the crumbling and falling 
away of the earth and all created tilings in 
the great miracle of nature; decay and re¬ 
production ever beginning, never ending— 
the gradual lapse and running of the sand in 
the great hour-glass of Time.— Longfelloic. 
Touching dandies, let us consider, with 
some scientific strictness, what a dandy 
specially is. A dandy is a clotbes-wearing 
man,—a man whose trade, office and exist¬ 
ence consist in the wearing of clothes. Every 
faculty of liis soul, spirit, purse and person is 
heroically consecrated to this one object— 
the wearing of clothes wisely and well; so 
that as others dress to live, he lives to dress. 
— Carlyle . 
The man who talks everlastingly and 
promiscuously—who seems to have an ex¬ 
haustless magazine of words—instead of 
crowding thoughts into his words, crowds 
so many words into his thoughts that he 
always obscures, and very frequently entire¬ 
ly conceals. 
Loweel thus exquisitely draws a lesson 
from the footprints anil rain spots of the 
sandstone : — Perhaps it w 7 as only because 
the ripple and the rain-drop and the bird 
were not thinking of themselves that they 
had such luck. The chances of immortality 
depend very much on that. 
rtality 
