“That wasn’t nothin’ tho’. Went to git inter the wag’n, and he started ’fore I gath’red up the ribbins. Went ’bout three rods for’ard, and stopped agin quicker’n lightnin’. Brought him back, put him in the stall—low stable—got out of his reach, and then begun to whale him. Then he kicked up agin; knocked the floorin’ all through over head, stove his shoes off, broke his halter, and then run back inter the stable-floor. Trap-door happened to be open, and down went his hind legs, clear to the hips. There I had him foul.” “Yes, you did,” replied his friend. “I got a piece o’ plank, an’ I lam’d ’im for ’bout ten minutes, w’en, I be hanged, if he didn’t _git mad_! and kick hisself out o’ the hole. Next mornin’ found him swelled up big as four hogs-heads. Rub’d sperrets o’ turpentine all over ’im, an the ungrateful rascal kep tryin’ to kick me for’t. Give him nothin to eat for eight days, and the swellin’ went down. Took him out o’ the stable, and found him lame _behind_.” “Very likely.” “But on a closer examination, see he was full as lame for’ard; one balanced t’other, so’s he couldn’t limp. One eye had been knocked out in the fight, but the head-stall kivered that misfort’n. Brushed ’im up kerefully, and put on the shiny harness. Led him down the street, an’ met an old gent in search of a ‘spirited’ beast. Asked me if, I wanted to sell? “‘No, Sir,’ sez I. “‘Wot’ll you take for’m?’ sez he. “‘He’s high strung,’ sez I. “‘He is,’ sez he; ‘wot’s he wuth?’ “‘I never warrants hosses,’ sez I. ‘If you wa’t’m jest as he is. You’re a good judge o’ hosses, no doubt?’ sez I. “‘Wal, I am,’ sez he. “‘Very well, then; you may have’m for two hundred dollars.’ “The old gent pecked in his mouth, stroked his neck, looked very knowin’, and replied: “‘I’ll give you a hundred and fifty.’ “‘Split the difference,’ sez I. “‘Done!’ sez he. “‘The hoss is yourn,’ sez I. “He give me the money, took the animal, an’ that’s the last I’ve heene o’ him or that hoss.” “Possible!” exclaimed his friend. “Yaas, under all the circumstances, I thort it wan’t best to keep the beast, you see, so I let him go.” “Where are you going now?” asked his friend. “To York.” “When do you return?” “_Not at present_,” said Mr. Sellum, slyly; and I reckon he didn’t. XV. METAPHYSICS.[12] Most people are of opinion that whatever is, is right; but, strange to say, an acquaintance with pen and ink and that sort of thing is very apt to reverse this opinion. No sooner do we begin to study metaphysics, than we find how egregiously we have been mistaken, in supposing that “Master Parson is really Master Parson.”