"Tall half-and-half that was at the Queen's Head !" "And the cheese not small nayther." "What a nice little horse this is! (we were inspired by John Barlycorn, and in very good humor with everything.) If we only had him to take us all the way to Leeds!" "Moy heart quails just to think o' droiving that other one." "Well, you must summon up your fiftytude, as Pat says, for here's Tadcaster; (ke-ip! pay along pony!) and here's the Rising Sun, as large as life and twice as natural. How's the thoroughbred, hostler?" "He's doin' vera well, zur.' "He must be turning over a new leaf then (sotto voce.) And the buggy?" "All roight, zur." We paid our shot, and bestowed a munificent largess on our rubicund friend. "Now, Peters, we must have a division of labor. Do you take the whip and I'll see to thereins." Fred looked as if he thought the division hardly a fair one to himself. Never was man more mistaken. Hardly had I gathered up the ribbons when our horse, always in extremes, like a modern reformer, dashed off at four minute pace, pulling in a way that threatened to haul me straight over the dash-board. For thirteen miles we scarcely spoke a word. The state of things seemed too good to be true. I twisted the reins round my hand and held well on, giving vent to an occasional yell as the pace exhilarated me; Peters smoked a Principe in satisfied silence. At the thirteenth milestone I began to tremble, fearing that this might be the precise amount of which our animal was capable. But again we were agreeably disappointed. On he flew with undiminished speed, and merrily we dashed into Leeds, just as they were lighting the lamps. "Through many a startled suburb He rushed into the goodly town, no, not "white," but particularly black and dirty street in which the York road terminated; and we auspicated our entry by pulverizing a donkey-cart which wouldn't clear the track. Both donkeys, so far as our comet-like velocity permitted us to observe, escaped unhurt, but the cart must have been past carpentry. "Coom out o' way, Tammy, or thee'll be run over!" I felt a slight jar; it was caused by our off hind hub knocking over a small child, who continued a rotary motion for some seconds, and finally disappeared down a yawning cellar. Humanity prompted us to stop, but you might as well have tried to pull up the black horse that carried off Lenore. Nor indeed, if feasible, would such a proceeding have been safe, for when the unmanageable was once stopped, not Horace Greeley himself could set him going again. The long narrow street down which we had been locomoting, crossed at right angles a long wide one the main street of Leeds. On the right, lay the Albion Hotel, our quarters; I had a shrewd suspicion that our steed's lay on the left. Anticipating a fearful struggle, I gradually eased out the nigh rein as we approached the critical corner and tightened my pull on the off one correspondingly. Peters, who saw what was passing in my mind, just at the decisive moment, seized my wrist with one of his hands and the rein with the other; so that our combined energies were directing the vehicle eastward. "All this, it is hardly necessary," &c., "passed in a less time," &c., &c., as Mr. James would say. "A body acted upon by two forces will proceed in a line between them," (vide Whistle's Mechanical Algebra, some page or other.) Agreeably to this fundamental law, horse and buggy continued a straight-forward course, which there was nothing to prevent their doing indefinitely except a few houses. One half-second more, and we should have been in a linen-draper's shop when as if restored to partial sanity, rowdy brought up with miraculous suddenness. The velocity which had been regularly distributed through his limbs, was instantly transferred, as by magic, to his hind quarters. Elevating his heels to an extent that was more amusing to those around, than comfortable to those behind him, he broke one trace and both shafts, and entirely dissipated the dashboard. "Factoque hoc fine quievit," like Pious Æneas. I shied the reins right and left over the horse's neck, and jumped out on the causeway (Americanice side-walk.) "Where ye goaing?" quo' Peters. "I'm going up to the Albion; you may do as you like.” "And leave the horse standing here?" In reply, I expressed a wish that the animal might stand there as long as was convenient to him, and undergo a much more unpleasant operation afterwards. Having thus relieved my injured feelings, I was proceeding to crowd all sail for the Albion, when a stout lad came to the rescue. "Pleaze, zur, Oi knows t' auld horse." "Oh, you do know him? well, I wish you joy of your acquaintance." "B'longs tauld Measter Stoiles, zur. Shall Oi tawk him whoam ?" "Yes, take him away, and tell Mr. Styles to send in his bill and -." It is unnecessary to repeat the conclusion of the sentence. Persons who are much excited sometimes talk inconsiderately. "Aw, never fear, zur, t' auld gentleman 'll zend 'um in fast enough." FYTTE THE FOURTH. Next morning between the first egg and the second cup of tea, a small document was handed to me. I glanced at it, and handed it over to Peters, who read as follows: "Leeds, July 2, 1843. "Dear droive, rayther!" L. 1 00 L. 1 10 0 "Wait a minute, Fred, my boy, till you see the other side of the ledger. Waiter! Pen, ink and paper!" The stationary was brought. "What be that you're wroitin', Carl?" "Read it, Fred;" and Peters read. "Leeds, July 2, 1843. Ralph Styles, to Carl Benson, Dr. to Surgeon's bill for damages inflicted by his horse,. L. 3 30 My Pylades looked half a dozen notes of interrogation. I rose and limped across the room. "What is the matter wi' you?" “Am I very lame, Fred ?" "Awful!" "That'll do then." I inquired of the porter Mr. Styles' locality, and having ascertained that it was not farther off than a cripple might manage to hobble, gradually worked my way thither. In a small office sat a large man of the ordinary Yorkshire type. "Zurvant, zur," said he, as I entered with an emphatic limp, and a ferocious aspect. "Are you Mr. Ralph Styles? Because, if you are, here's your bill and here's mine." "Aw! you be the chap that had my horse yesterday, be you?" "I am that unfortunate man. (O-oh! my leg !") "Noice job you made of it. T' horse has the heaves." "Has the heaves, has he? I'm glad of it, (crescendo,) I hope he'll get the bots and a few more nice little complaints. I wish that horse was dead!" And down came my fist on the desk, nearly knocking the inkstand up into Mr. Style's nose. "O-oh! my leg, again!" and I stooped down to rub the member in question. "Zure, zur, I hope ye be na vera mooch hoort." Styles looked rather alarmed. "I am very much hurt; shan't be able to attend to business properly for three months, However, I won't say anything about that, but if you don't pay my doctor's bill, I'll have satisfaction of you if there's any law in the land, that is. I'll teach you to give two quiet young gentlemen such a horse as that." And very quiet this young gentleman looked. "Now, zur, Oi wants to do what's faier mysel, I does, but you caun't expect me in faierness to pay your doctor's bill. But Oi'll tell you what Oi will do. Pay me hauf o' moy bill and we'll be quits." "Ah, you mean to say that you'll take off half of your bill, if I take off half of mine, which leaves" "Na, Oi did na zay that, zur, Oi'll tawk off hauf o' moine and zay nothink about yourn, ye know." "H-em-em!" I leaned on the desk a few seconds in a thoughtful attitude. "I don't want to go to law about a trifle. You mean to say that you'll take off half of your bill and receipt it in full, if I say nothing about mine ?" "Zactly zo, zur." "Here it is then!" and I planked a sovereign and two half crowns, while Mr. S. on his part made his original performance complete by adding to it the magic words "Ralph Styles." And never had two words a more magic effect, for no sooner was the exchange made, and the important scrap of paper safely pocketed, than I cut an exuberant pigeonwing, and followed it up by shooting across the little room at one glissade. It's astonishing how much better my leg feels," and I let off a few more capers. Styles looked on with a very puzzled expression. "Oi doan't understand this," said he at length, "pray, zur, be ye hurt, or be ye not?" "I'm not hurt," said I, "thank Providence, and no thanks to your horse. But let this be a warning to you how you put that brute before a Christian again, or there'll be manslaughter some day." The Yorkshireman was utterly dumbfounded. My coolness had stumped him completely. For at least three minutes he gazed at me, open-eyed and open-mouthed. Then broke forth, spite of himself, this most unwilling and mortifying confession, "Well, I be done!" And so is CARL BENSON. POOR OLD CHARLEY. Knickerbocker, July 1853. CLARA rushed into my room, her fair hair floating down her shoulders, her little feet in slippers, and her dressing-gown wrapped hastily round her little figure. 'What is it?' I asked, starting half conscious out of a heavy, summer-morning sleep, with a dim fear that the baby might be ill or the house on fire. "One of the horses is dead! it must be Charley! They brought him out of the stable just now, and he laid himself down and died.' |