Part 8 (2/2)

I now returned to my public-house, and was off at dawn in a coach for town. Byron felt from experience, when he sighed, ”and oh, the utter solitude of pa.s.sing your own door without a welcome, finding your hearth turned into a tombstone, and around it the ashes of your early hopes, lying cold and deserted.”

In all and each of my various excursions, in foul weather or in fair, I had ever one invariable companion. This was my horse, and his name was Clodhopper. He was a light bay, with a pale face. Our intimacy commenced under the following circ.u.mstances:

One Sat.u.r.day afternoon I was staying on a visit with a family, many miles from my church, and being therefore in great need of a horse, I at once went to look through the stables of an extensive horse-dealer in a neighbouring town. Having ascertained the price of several likely-looking horses, I ordered a large powerful one, for better examination, to be led into the yard. It was not unnecessary in this case; for the animal had one totally-extinguished and dreadfully-disfigured eye, a broken knee, both fore-legs fired, and a conspicuous spavin.

”He's a little blemished, Mr. Turner,” I observed.

”Why, how, Sir, can you, or any other gentleman, expect to see a great, fine, upstanding horse like that ere, but what has a some'ut?”

But as I did, I requested to see another. For this one he asked but eighteen pounds. With my own eyes I could see that he stood above fifteen hands, was only just coming six, and was a strong, hardy animal, with a written warranty for soundness. All this being quite clear, I could not possibly account for the lowness of the price, otherwise than by feeling quite confident that there must be ”a some'ut.”

While thus deliberating, ”Mr. Graham,” said the dealer, ”will you mind what I says? You'll never be married--you never can make up your mind to nothun, I see.”

On my getting into the saddle, to try him along a few streets, Mr.

Turner added this very disinterested advice--

”Now, don't you go and hammer a good horse like that ere over the hard stones. A parcel of little ragged, dirty-nosed boys, run athwart, and upsots a respectable individual.”

I did hammer him, wasn't ”upsot,” and bought Clodhopper.

There were two accomplishments in which I think he was unrivalled--falling down without breaking his knees, and in running backwards. In performing the first feat, which, on an average, occurred twice in three weeks, he fell, without a moment's hesitation, directly on his head, and instantly took a somersault on his back; so that literally he never had time to break his knees, though he broke the saddle now and then. The second, he could perform at a frightful pace; and the more one whipped and spurred, the faster he would go, and never stop till he came in contact with something. One of these I suspect to have been the ”some'ut”--unless, by-the-bye, it had been the whooping-cough, or something very like it.

But Clodhopper's chief recommendation was, that whether in winter or in summer, with oats or without them, he was ever the same--stoical and indefatigable, so long as he was on the top of his legs. When eventually I had no further use for his services, I sold him for a leader to a coach proprietor, for seventeen pounds and a dozen of bad champagne; but I fear that the unfortunate wheeler in his rear must, by this time, have tumbled over him a lamentable number of times.

There was another rather prominent character in my establishment. This was ”Old Bob.”

The master whom he served was a neighbouring farmer, but I frequently obtained his services. His appearance was that of a veteran bull-dog, seamed with the traces of youthful strife, but in reality he was a pointer. Unfortunately, too, in his younger days, the stable-door had jambed his tail off within two inches of its origin, but still Bob flattered himself that it was a tail, for he affected to brush the flies away with it.

I think he had a high opinion of my shooting, for, whenever I was so inclined, he despised the society of any one else. As he was a selfish fellow, I suspect that I was indebted for his services to interested motives. He was a pot-hunter, like myself, and would instantly swallow anything I shot, could he but reach it first. He could certainly trot very fast, but that was the best pace he could accomplish, and had we anything like a fair start, I could distance him; and so convinced did he become of this, that the moment he found me abreast of him, he would give up the race in despair.

Considering this and other infirmities, for he was stone deaf and very near-sighted, he was highly creditable to his profession.

Though he frequently found game under his very nose, he was perfectly aware, though his mouth watered to taste it, that he had not a chance until I came up and shot it. He was, in consequence, the staunchest dog in the country. Only once, in this respect, did I know him guilty of a breach of decorum, and that too, I must say, under very aggravating circ.u.mstances.

One sultry day, at the expense of a great deal of time, and still more trouble, he had carefully footed an old c.o.c.k pheasant round three sides of a very extensive field, and at last brought him to a stand-still in a bunch of nettles, and was now patiently waiting for me to come up and help him. In the meantime, an unfortunate terrier had chanced upon the trail of the pheasant, and now came yapping along the ditch as hard as he could scamper. Of course, Bob being as deaf as a post, was quite unaware of this circ.u.mstance, and as the terrier brushed rudely by him, poor Bob looked so mortified! He wasn't going to find game for him, so ”the devil take the hindmost,” became the order of the day, and had I not shot the pheasant, which they put up between them, Bob was so angry that he would have wrung the very soul out of little Whisky.

After the fatigues of a long day, Bob was dozing in the farm-yard, when the team arrived in the evening from market. n.o.body saw Bob, and Bob couldn't hear the wagon, which the next moment pa.s.sed over his neck, and broke it.

CHAPTER IV.

The sole thing connected with my days on this spot, attended by a satisfactory feeling, is the remembrance of my long and quiet evenings, when I did happen to spend the week in the parish. It was the only period of my life that I read to any effect, and I must own, that even then it was no fault of mine, for it was impossible to do otherwise.

I used to rise at one o'clock in the afternoon, and go to bed at five the next morning. As to late hours, as it is termed, I have no sort of compunction, so long as I do not spend more than the necessary quantum of the twenty-four in bed.

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