We leave the company at the Well preparing for the forthcoming dinner and return to Rathfillan House, where Harry Woodward is making arrangements for his journey to Ballyspellan, which now we believe goes by the name of Johnstown. Under every circumstance of his life he was a plotter and a planner, and had at all times some private speculation in view. On the present occasion, in addition to his murderous design upon Miss Goodwin, he resolved to become a wife-hunter, for, being well acquainted, as he was, with the tone and temper of English society at its most celebrated watering places, and. the matrimonial projects and intrigues which abound at them, he took it for granted that he might stand a chance of making a successful hit with a view to matrimony. One thing struck him, however, which was, that he had no horse, and could not go there mounted, as a gentleman ought. It is true his step-father had several horses, but not one of them beyond the character of a common hack. He resolved, therefore, to purchase a becoming nag for his journey, and with this object he called upon a neighboring farmer, named Murray, who possessed a very beautiful animal, rising four, and which he learned was to be disposed of. “Mr. Murray,” said he, “I understand you have a young horse for sale.” “I have, sir,” replied Murray; “and a better piece of flesh is not in the country he stands in.” “Could I see him?” “Certainly, sir, and try him, too. He is not flesh and bone at all, sir--devil a thing he is but quicksilver. Here, Paudeen, saddle Brien Boro for this gentleman. You won't require wings, Mr. Woodward; Brien Boro will show you how to fly without them.” “Well,” replied Woodward, “trial's all; but at any rate, I'm willing to prefer good flesh and bone to quicksilver.” In a few minutes the horse was brought out, saddled and bridled, and Woodward, who certainly was an excellent horseman, mounted him and tried his paces. “Well, sir,” said Murray, “how do you like him?” “I like him well,” said Woodward. “His temper is good, I know, by his docility to the bit.” “Yes, but you haven't tried him at a ditch; follow me and I'll show you as pretty a one as ever a horse crossed, and you may take my word it isn't every horse could cross it. You have a good firm seat, sir; and I know you will both do it in sportsman-like style.” Having reached the ditch, which certainly was a rasper, Woodward reined round the animal, who crossed it like a swallow. “Now,” said Murray, “unless you wish to ride half a mile in order to get back, you must cross it again.” This was accordingly done in admirable style, both by man and horse; and Woodward, having ridden him back to the farmyard, dismounted, highly satisfied with the animal's action and powers. “Now, Mr. Murray,” said he, “what's his price?” “Fifty guineas, sir; neither more nor less.” “Say thirty and we'll deal.”