“I don't want money, sir,” replied the sturdy farmer, “and I won't part with the horse under his value. I will get what I ask for him.” “Say thirty-five.” “Not a cross under the round half hundred; and I'm glad it is not your mother that is buying him.” “Why so?” asked Woodward; and his eye darkly sparkled with its malignant influence. “Why, sir, because if I didn't sell him to her at her own terms, he would be worth very little in a few days afterwards.” The observation was certainly an offensive one, especially when made to her son. “Will you take forty for him?” asked Woodward, coolly. “Not a penny, sir, under what I said. You are clearly a good judge of a horse, Mr. Woodward, and I wonder that a gentleman like you would offer me less than I ask, because you cannot but know that it is under his value.” “I will give no more,” replied Woodward; “so there is an end to it. Let me see the horse's eyes.” He placed himself before the animal, and looked steadily into his eyes for about five minutes, after which he said,-- “I think, Mr. Murray, you would have acted more prudently had you taken my offer. I bade you full value for the horse.” To Murray's astonishment the animal began to tremble excessively; the perspiration was seen to flow from him in torrents; he appeared feeble and collapsed; and seemed scarcely able to stand on his limbs, which were shaking as if with terror under him. “Why, Mr. Murray,” said Woodward, “I am very glad I did not buy him; the beast is ill, and will be for the dogs of the neighborhood in three days' time.” “Until the last five minutes, sir, there wasn't a sounder horse in Europe.” “Look at him now, then,” said Woodward; “do you call that a sound horse? Take him into the stable; before the expiration of three days you will be flaying him.” His words were prophetic. In three days' time the fine and healthy animal was a carcass. “Ah!” said the farmer, when he saw the horse lying dead before him, “this fellow is his mother's son. From the time he looked into the horse's eyes the poor beast sank so rapidly that he didn't pass the third day alive. And there are fifty guineas out of my pocket. The curse of God on him wherever he goes!” Woodward provided himself, however, with another horse, and in due time set out for the Spa at Ballyspellan. The dinner was now fixed for a certain day, and Squire Manifold felt himself in high spirits as often as he could recollect the circumstance--which, indeed, was but rarely, the worthy epicure's memory having nearly abandoned him. Topertoe, of the gout, and he were old acquaintances and companions, and had spent many a merry night together--both, as the proverb has it, being tarred with the same stick. Topertoe was as great a glutton as the other, but without his desperate voracity in food, whilst in drink he equalled if he did not surpass him. Manifold would have forgotten every thing about the dinner had he not from time to time been reminded of it by his companion.