am sorry to hear it, Simon. "Why, Mass Ned, what mek you all let them Demmy Cats sarve you so? What you call 'em? Publicanes? Yes, _I'd_ cane 'um as old master used to do." But Simon, how is cousin Mary? "Miss Mary? Oh, Miss Mary is a beauty; gay as a young filly, and she walks upon her pasterns ----." Well, well, said I, interrupting him, Simon let us be off; what have you brought for me to ride? "Old Reglus, sir, your old favorite." Having taken some refreshment, and transferred my clothes to the portmanteau, I mounted Regulus, who still shewed his keeping. He was a bright bay, and his hair was as glossy as silk under Simon's management; his eye still glanced its fire, and his wide nostrils gave token of his wind. He knew me, I shall ever believe it, for my voice made him prick his ears, as if listening to the music of former days. It seemed to inspire him with new life; he flew like an arrow, and Simon found it impossible to keep up with me, mounted as he was on a high trotting, rawboned devil, that made the old man bound like a trapball, whenever he missed his up-and-down-position movement. His figure, thus bobbing in front of a monstrous portmanteau and bearskin, was so ludicrous, I could not forbear laughing; and reining up my steed, I told him I would ride slower for the sake of conversation with him. "Do, my good sir," cried he, "for this vile garran will knock the breath out of my body. If I had but my old hawse Grey Dick alive agin--that hawse, Mass Ned, was the greatest hawse upon the face of the yearth; I rod him ninety miles the hottest day that ever come from heaven, and when I got through our outer gate, he seized the bit between his teeth, and run away with me, and never stopped till he got clean into the stable. Whenever I fed him, I was 'bliged to shet the stable door and go away, for if he heard me move or a stirrup jingle, he would'nt eat another mouthful, but stood with his head up and his eyes flying about, impatient for me to mount." I knew this was the moment to put in a leading question to bring out a story I had heard a thousand times. That was not the horse that ran away with you when a boy? "No--no--that was Whalebone; _your_ grandpapa used always to go to court in his coach and six; I can see him now, in his great big wig, hanging down upon his shoulders, and powdered as white as a sheet. I was then a little shaver, and always went behind the carridge to open the gates. Waitinman George rod the old gentleman's ridin horse Bearskin, and led Mass Bobby's hawse Whalebone; Mass Bobby rod in the carridge with old master. Well, one day what should George do but put me up upon Whalebone, as big a devil as ever was; soonever I got upon him, off he went by the coach as hard as he could stave; old master hallooed and bawled--he'll kill him--he'll kill him--George how dare you put Simon upon Whalebone? Pshey! the more he hallooed the more Whalebone run. I pulled and pulled till I got out of sight, and turned