I turned to the dictionary For a word I couldn't spell, And closed the book when I found it And dipped my pen in the well. Then I thought to myself, "How was it?" With a sense of inward pain, And still 'twas a little doubtful, So I turned to the book again. This time I remarked, "How easy!" As I muttered each letter o'er, But when I got to the inkwell 'Twas gone, as it went before. Then I grabbed that dictionary And I sped its pages through, And under my nose I put it With that doubtful word in view. I held it down with my body While I gripped that pen quite fast, And I howled, as I traced each letter: "I've got you now, _at last_!" [Footnote 5: Lippincott's Magazine.] THE FAMILY HORSE BY FREDERICK S. COZZENS I have bought me a horse. As I had obtained some skill in the _manege_ during my younger days, it was a matter of consideration to have a saddle-horse. It surprised me to find good saddle-horses very abundant soon after my consultation with the stage proprietor upon this topic. There were strange saddle-horses to sell almost every day. One man was very candid about his horse: he told me, if his horse had a blemish, he wouldn't wait to be asked about it; he would tell it right out; and, if a man didn't want him then, he needn't take him. He also proposed to put him on trial for sixty days, giving his note for the amount paid him for the horse, to be taken up in case the animal were returned. I asked him what were the principal defects of the horse. He said he'd been fired once, because they thought he was spavined; but there was no more spavin to him than there was to a fresh-laid egg--he was as sound as a dollar. I asked him if he would just state what were the defects of the horse. He answered, that he once had the pink-eye, and added, "now that's honest." I thought so, but proceeded to question him closely. I asked him if he had the bots. He said, not a bot. I asked him if he would go. He said he would go till he dropped down dead; just touch him with a whip, and he'll jump out of his hide. I inquired how old he was. He answered, just eight years, exactly--some men, he said, wanted to make their horses younger than they be; he was willing to speak right out, and own up he was eight years. I asked him if there were any other objections. He said no, except that he was inclined to be a little gay; "but," he added, "he is so kind, a child can drive him with a thread." I asked him if he was a good family horse. He replied that no lady that ever drew rein over him would be willing to part with him. Then I asked him his price. He answered that no man could have bought him for one hundred dollars a month ago, but now he was willing to sell him for seventy-five, on account of having a note to pay. This seemed such a very low price, I was about saying I would take him, when Mrs.