“There he is, gents,” said the auctioneer; “there he is! a splendid beast! Look at him, and judge for yourselves. There’s an ear, a forearm, a nostril, an eye for you! That animal, gentlemen, was ‘knocked down’ to a gentleman under the hammer, less than three months ago, for two hundred and eighty dollars. But I am authorized to-day to sell that horse—let him bring more or less. He’s a beauty; fine figure, splendid saddle-beast, natural gait fourteen miles to the hour, trots a mile in 2′ 42″; and altogether he’s a great horse,” which last remark no one could doubt, for he weighed eleven hundred pounds. “How much am I offered for that beautiful beast?” continued the auctioneer. “Move him round the ring once, John. That’s it; elegant motion.” There the horse stopped short, and refused to budge an inch, though John buried the rowels to the shoulder in his ribs. “Give me a bid, gentlemen, if you please. The horse must be sold.” “Twenty dollars,” was heard from one corner of the room. “_Twenty dollars!_” screamed the auctioneer, with a seemingly ironical laugh. “I’m offered the stupendous sum of twenty dollars, gentlemen, for that horse. Are there no sausage-makers in this congregation? I’m offered only twenty dollars! But, as I said before, the horse is here to be sold, so I shall accept the bid. Twenty dollars. I’m offered twenty dollars—twenty—twenty—give me thirty? Twenty dollars—twenty—did I hear thirty? Twenty dollars—give _five_? Twenty dollars—say _one_? Shall I have twenty-one? If that’s the best bid, down he must go, gentlemen! Twenty dollars! going! Twenty, only. Who’s the fortunate buyer?” “Sellum, John Sellum,” said our friend. “John Sellum, twenty dollars,” says the auctioneer; “you’ve got a horse as is a horse, Mr. Sellum.” And the fortunate John bore his magnificent charger away in triumph. A few days subsequently, an old acquaintance met John in the cars, and inquired about his purchase. “Got that horse yet, John?” “No, I sold him.” “So soon—what for?” “Wal, nothin’ in particular; but I didn’t fancy the critter, all things considered.” “He was sound; wasn’t he?” “Wall, I reckon he wasn’t; that is to say, I cal-k’late he wasn’t. Show’d very good pluck, till I got him down into Washington Street, after I left the baz-a-r, but just opposite the Old South, he fell slap down on the pavement.” “Pshaw! you don’t say so!” “Yaas. Blindstaggers—wust kind. But I didn’t mind that, so I took him home, and nussed him up a little. Put him in the gig next day; wouldn’t start a peg! Coax’d him, draw’d him, run a hot wire in his ear, wollup’d him, and so forth; and finally, I built a fire under him. All no use; cunning cuss, sot rite down on the pile o’ lighted shavins, and put it out.” Here his friend smiled.