"There he made straight for the cantonment of the European cavalry, and came whinneying up to the saluting post, where he had so often borne old Gillespie and seen the squadrons of the 8th defiling past, and there, on that very spot, the horse fell down and died!"[*] [*] There was another pet of the 8th Hussars, which met with a different fate. The jet-black horse, on whose back their colonel, T. P. Vandeleur, was killed at the battle of Leswaree "long kept his place with the regiment, and afterwards became the property of Cornet Burrowes, who took great care of him until the corps left India, when he was shot, that he might not fall into unworthy hands."—_Narrative of Leswaree_. By Dr. Ore. "I have often heard similar stories of dogs—but never such a yarn of a horse," said Captain Binnacle, who was greatly impressed by this anecdote, and smoked a long time thoughtfully and in silence after it. "Fact though!" said Beverley, curtly, and rather haughtily, as he tipped the ashes off his cigar. "That horse had the heart of a man. But I could spin you a yarn, colonel, of a man that had the heart of a beast—ay, of a wild wolf; and it all occurred under my own eye—for I had to shed human blood in the matter; though I doubt not God above will acquit me therefor, seeing as how my own conscience acquits me." The impressive manner so suddenly adopted by our worthy little skipper attracted the attention of Beverley, Studhome, and M’Goldrick, and all the listening group. Even Jocelyn—a gay fellow, who had more _affaires de fantaisie_ than _affaires de coeur_, and who never permitted the impulses of that useful utensil, his heart, to go further than proved convenient or comfortable—felt himself interested by the gloomy and stern expression that came into the face of Captain Binnacle. "Would you like to hear my yarn, gentlemen?" said the latter. "With pleasure—certainly—by all means—if you please," said we, alternately, and all together, for Binnacle was evidently anxious to spin it. He gave a glance aloft, and another at the sky. The evening was fine and clear. The mate had charge of the deck, the ship was running under her head-sails, courses, top-sails, and topgallant sails before a fine strong breeze, which, as she rolled from side to side, made our horses reel and oscillate in their padded stalls below. The watch of lancers were all smoking or chatting on the port side; the sail-makers, squatted under the break of the forecastle, were busy on a set of new studding-sails; the carpenters were at work repairing the headrails forward.