so the alarmed purchaser goes and buys a soft bay horse from a dealer, of which mediocre animal nobody knows either good or evil—a beast that nobody has ever yet liked well enough either to “show him up,” or to give him a chance of putting his rider down. But a wary salesman knows better than to keep a good place when he has got it. Whilst his horse is fresh he flourishes away over a few fences, the larger the better, for all England to look on and admire, knowing quite well that, in the hurry and confusion of a run, he can decline when he pleases, and turn up again at the first check in a conspicuous position, as if he had been in front the whole time. The very few that could tell anything about it have probably been so much occupied, and so full of their own performances, that they do not know whether he was in their neighbourhood or not; whilst the general public in the hunting-field, like the general public everywhere else, are quite satisfied, if he is only loud enough and positive enough, to take a man’s assurances about himself on trust. Now, Dick Naggett could do the selling business, especially the _talking_ part of it, to admiration. Turning out in extremely neat attire, and with some article of dress, either coat, neckcloth, or hat, peculiarly conspicuous, he could not be overlooked, and whilst careful never to ask his horse to do more than the animal could handsomely accomplish, he at the same time gave a customer such glowing descriptions of its prowess, that he sold more than one very moderate hunter of Old Nobbler’s for about twice its value, and three times what the lawyer had given for it. On these emergencies, too, Dick thought proper to affect the townsman, and sink the agriculturist altogether—a propensity which elicited on one occasion from Lord Castle-Cropper the only joke that reserved nobleman was ever known to perpetrate. Dick was holding forth, as usual at the covert-side, on the merits of the horse he was riding, and the silent Earl emerging from the recesses of Deepdale Wood, which had just been drawn blank, and followed by old Potiphar, a solemn badger-pied hound, not entirely unlike his Lordship in the face, paused to listen to the conversation. “I’m only asking a hundred and seventy for him,” said Dick; “he’s the cheapest horse out to-day. I’ll appeal to my Lord if he isn’t.” Lord Castle-Cropper ran his eye over the animal. “I could have bought him this time last year for that money exactly,” replied he, “barring the hundred.” “Oh! but all stock has risen since then,” retorted Dick, loud and unabashed, “cent. per cent. I should say—sheep, cows, poultry, guinea-pigs, and fancy rabbits!” The silent Earl was one of those provoking people who, always sticking to facts, always seem to have them, so to speak, at their fingers’ ends.