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diff --git a/old/63418-0.txt b/old/63418-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f4b35df..0000000 --- a/old/63418-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2905 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poor Blossom, by Edith Carrington - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Poor Blossom - The Story of a Horse - -Author: Edith Carrington - -Release Date: October 9, 2020 [EBook #63418] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POOR BLOSSOM *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Garcia and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - - - - - - - - - - POOR BLOSSOM. - - -[Illustration: MY PLACE OF BIRTH.] - - - - - POOR BLOSSOM; - The Story of a Horse. - - -[Illustration] - - BY THE AUTHOR OF - - “NEDDY AND ME;” “ONLY A LADYBIRD,” ETC., ETC. - - - LONDON: - S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW. - - - - - Geo. Watson & Co., Printers, 28, Charles Street, Farringdon Road, E.C. - - - - -[Illustration: - - Dedication. - - - TO ALL WHO HAVE THE MANAGEMENT OF THAT NOBLE AND USEFUL ANIMAL - THE HORSE, - THESE PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. -] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER I. - - PAGE - MY PLACE OF BIRTH 1 - - - CHAPTER II. - - ‘BROKEN’ 7 - - - CHAPTER III. - - MY NEW MASTER 13 - - - CHAPTER IV. - - I AM SOLD.—MR. HARKAWAY 21 - - - CHAPTER V. - - THE FURNITURE DEALER 31 - - - CHAPTER VI. - - SAD SCENES OF LIFE 35 - - - CHAPTER VII. - - MY NEW MASTER, BENJAMIN BUNTER 43 - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - THE GREAT CARNIVAL 50 - - - CHAPTER IX. - - HERE AND THERE 65 - - - CHAPTER X. - - MY GENTLE MISTRESS 69 - - - CHAPTER XI. - - ANOTHER LOSS AND A DISAPPOINTMENT 75 - - - CHAPTER XII. - - EXIT BLOSSOM 83 - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - POOR BLOSSOM. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - MY PLACE OF BIRTH. - - -The first thing that I remember is a green field enclosed by a stiff -fence, where I was running about by my mother’s side. I cannot call to -mind the earliest days of my existence, but I am sure that I was not -more than a fortnight old when my mother gave me my first lesson in -life—a lesson I have never forgotten. My mother was a fine bay mare, the -property of Mr. Bayne, a farmer, who seems to have treated her very -kindly; indeed I have never heard any horse speak better of a master -than my mother was accustomed to speak of the man who owned her. - -‘He has never laid a whip upon me,’ she would say with a proud toss of -her head; ‘he has a heart far too kind for that sort of thing, and he -knows I always do my best—and what horse can do more, I wonder.’ - -But to return to the lesson she gave me. I was ambling by her side when -Mr. Bayne entered the field, and my mother, as she usually did, ran up -to him to be caressed and fed with some trifling luxury, such as a slice -of carrot or bit of sugar. I kept by her side until we reached him; then -I, purely from playfulness, turned and kicked at him, lightly—you -know—not by any means in a way to hurt him, I assure you. - -‘Woa there,’ shouted Mr. Bayne; ‘vicious are you, my youngster? the -mother’s blood don’t seem to run in you.’ - -He said nothing more, but having fed and stroked my mother, he went out -of the field, and left us together. Then I received the lesson to which -I have alluded. - -‘How very wrong of you,’ she said, ‘to kick at so good and kind a -master.’ - -‘It was only in play,’ I replied, hanging my head and feeling rather -foolish. - -‘I know it was so,’ she returned, ‘but it was wrong of you nevertheless. -Some men are so stupid that they do not know play from vice, in a horse, -and only few of them seem really to understand us. They often reprove us -when we endeavour to do right, and you will be beaten if you do not curb -your propensity to play.’ - -‘Were you ever beaten?’ I asked. - -‘Once I had a very cruel master,’ said my mother with a sigh; ‘but I do -not care to talk about it. If ever it should be your lot to find such a -man you will know enough about it then.’ - -‘But why did you endure it?’ I asked; ‘are you not stronger than man? -Why did you not kick?’ - -‘My child,’ said my mother impressively, ‘do not talk so idly: we are -created the lawful servants of man, and it is our _duty_ to submit. If -he is kind we repay him tenfold; if he is cruel we must do our duty -still, and the sin of cruelty be upon his head. Besides we are in his -power—he has so many things at his command, and if we disobey him he can -put us to great pain. You will learn that when you come to be broken.’ - -‘What is that?’ I inquired. - -‘Your training so that you may be useful to man,’ returned my mother; -‘you will have to do your work one day with the rest of us.’ - -There was a pause after this, and my mother cropped the sweet grass -while I meditated. My curiosity was aroused with regard to this creature -who ruled over us, and I soon renewed the subject. - -‘Tell me more about our master, man,’ I said; ‘I am very anxious to -learn something about him.’ - -‘He is a strange creature,’ said my mother—‘as much a puzzle to himself -as to the rest of the created world. He is very clever in some things -and very stupid in others; for instance, he knows nothing of _our_ -language, although we understand _his_ perfectly. If Giles—that is Mr. -Bayne’s foreman—bids me go here or there, I understand him without rein -or whip; and yet when he was ploughing in the ten-acre field, and I -pulling up told him as plain as I could that we were near a piece of -hollow ground, he would not understand me, but made me go on—and then -the ground gave way and we were almost buried alive.’ - -‘How did you know it was hollow?’ said I. - -‘By the sound,’ said my mother; ‘I don’t think they ever found out what -the hollow was—but there it was, as the uneven ground will testify. -Giles afterwards did me the credit to tell his master that I had pulled -up, and my doing so was considered to be remarkably clever, but I -thought nothing of it.’ - -‘Giles must be very, very stupid,’ I remarked. - -‘Not more than most men,’ said my mother; ‘but they are very clever at -some things—they build houses, make carts and harness; but still they -are inferior to us in many things. Now there is Mr. Martin’s Boxer, who -is very clever indeed; you know Mr. Martin?’ - -‘The farmer who drinks so?’ I said. - -‘That’s the man,’ rejoined my mother. ‘He goes every Saturday to market, -and returns home in a state of helpless intoxication; _he_ doesn’t know -the way home a bit, but Boxer brings him safely to the door, along the -dark roads, and through the narrow lanes, much better than any man could -do, and yet that fellow Martin—I cannot call him anything less—very -often beats Boxer most cruelly.’ - -‘I am sure _he_ ought to be kicked,’ I said indignantly. - -‘_Duty_ forbids, my dear child,’ replied my mother; ‘a proper-minded -horse never kicks one who is appointed to be his master; but some kick -and bite too; many of these are naturally bad, _but I am certain that -most of them are made bad through ignorant and cruel training_. But even -that is no excuse; if man forgets his duty to the horse, the horse never -ought to forget his duty to man: remember this, my child, act up to it, -and you won’t regret it in your old age.’ - -I promised to remember, and although I was young and therefore rather -thoughtless, I really took this lesson to heart, and found it of -excellent service to me throughout my varied life. - -It is not my intention to dwell upon my early days, but I must say a few -words more about the paddock—the dear old paddock where I first breathed -the pure air. Ah! I can see it now, and would that I was there. I can -see the narrow peaceful stream gliding away from the water-mill, as if -in calm satisfaction of having at least for the time performed its duty. -I hear the murmur of the wheel as it turns and turns, now in the shadow, -now in the sunlight; and the lark’s song is in my ear again, and I smell -the sweet-scented clover in the field, and the mignonette growing by the -cotter’s garden gate; and I see the sloping roof of the old farm-house -peeping out from the ivy clinging lovingly to its walls. Oh, home of the -spring-time of my life, it is all before my mind. But these eyes of mine -shall never see thee more, nor shall my ears be charmed again with the -hum of the bee, the song of the lark, or the murmur of the water-wheel. -It is all over now. But let me not anticipate, or waste time in useless -regrets, for I have a long story before me and but a short time to tell -it in. - -To resume. When I was about five months old, another mare and foal were -put into the paddock. The mare was an old acquaintance of my mother, and -the two were soon gossiping together; but the foal was of course a -stranger to me. He informed me that his name was Rip, and I told -him—what I might have told my readers before—that Mr. Bayne had named me -Blossom. This introductory business over, we became excellent friends, -and capered about the paddock in fine style. Rip was a better looking -foal than I was—he was better bred, and had I believe something of the -race-horse in him; he told me that his great-grandfather, on his -mother’s side, had nearly won a big race once, and this Rip seemed to be -very proud of. I felt sorry for him on account of this weakness—it was -so much like a man to be proud of such a ridiculous thing. - -Rip told me a deal of news which he seemed to have picked up from a -number of horses in farmer Martin’s meadow, where he had been with his -mother. He knew Boxer, and spoke highly of him as a long suffering and -much-enduring horse; but he said that Boxer was getting tired of doing -all he could for the farmer at night and getting beaten in the morning. - -‘I should not be surprised,’ said Rip in a whisper, ‘if he upsets the -farmer in the pond by the “Wheatsheaf,” and leaves him there.’ - -A few weeks before I should have expressed my approval of this; but my -mother’s lesson had borne fruit, and I earnestly hoped that Boxer would -not so forget himself. Rip, however, favoured the idea of the pond -trick, and said that if Boxer did not carry out his threat he should -think he was but a poor, mean-spirited thing. In all this I detected, as -my readers have doubtless done, the racing blood of Rip’s -great-grandfather on his mother’s side. - -Those were very happy days in the old paddock. Rip and I enjoyed -ourselves amazingly, even when we were left alone, which occasionally -happened if our mothers were put into the waggon; but sometimes Giles -fetched them for the plough, and then we youngsters went with our -mothers and saw the earth ripped up by the terrible implement and smelt -the fresh soil as it was turned over into the sunlight. I was always of -a sober and reflective turn, and never lost the chance of ruminating -upon anything which came under my notice; but Rip was rather giddy—I am -afraid I ought to say thoughtless too—and gave his mother a deal of -anxiety and trouble. I have heard the poor creature declare a hundred -times that he would be the death of her; but Rip always laughed at such -declarations, and said that he would grow better some day. - -‘If we don’t have some fun now,’ he would say, ‘we never shall. It is -all very well for those old fogies to talk, but they were not always so -sober as they are now, I give you my word.’ - -I could not help laughing at Rip, he was so very droll; but I really -feared that he was getting into a bad way, and it seemed such a pity, -for Rip grew handsomer and handsomer every day, while I, although -improving, was but a poor plain animal at the best. - -‘Rip will have a gentleman for a master,’ I heard Mr. Bayne say one day -to Giles. - -‘And who will have Blossom, sir?’ asked Giles. - -‘I think Mr. Crawshay will have him,’ replied Mr. Bayne, and all that -night I wondered what Mr. Crawshay was like, and whether he was as good, -or better, or worse than a gentleman. Rip pretended to know him, and -told me that he often drove his horses to death; but Rip frequently said -idle things when he was in a joking mood, and I did not mind him. - -We passed the winter in the farm belonging to Mr. Bayne, and during the -long evenings my mother prepared me for the life which was now not far -ahead. She told me to be tractable when the horse-breaker took me in -hand, and I should escape a deal of punishment and pain. She also -prepared me for our parting, and told me that when it came we should -probably lose sight of each other for ever. The example of her fortitude -gave me strength, and for her sake I did my best to conceal the pain the -prospect of parting gave me. As for Rip, he seemed to trouble his mind -very little about it, but looked forward to the new life as something to -rejoice over. - -One day in the spring the parting came. A tall, strong man, clad in -velveteen, made his appearance on the farm, and Rip and I were sent with -him to the paddock to be ‘broken in.’ - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER II. - ‘BROKEN.’ - - -Resolved to be tractable, I yielded myself to the man in velveteen, and -he put some leather straps over my head, and a piece of iron in my -mouth, and then he got upon my back. His weight was very disagreeable to -me, and seemed to destroy in a moment the sense of freedom which I had -hitherto enjoyed. My first impulse was to kick out and try to throw him, -but the warning I had received from my mother, with the addition of the -iron in my mouth, checked me. Obeying the rider’s touch, I made the best -of his weight, and ran to and fro in the field, turning when he pulled -the reins, which he did unnecessarily hard; and obeying even the -pressure of his knees—in fact, acting in accordance with his wishes to -the best of my ability. - -In about half an hour Mr. Bayne came into the field, and the man in -velveteen guided me up to him. - -‘This will be a capital nag for a lady,’ he said; ‘a young lady learning -to ride will be very glad of him.’ - -‘I have sold him to Mr. Crawshay,’ replied Mr. Bayne, ‘and they will use -him both to ride and drive.’ - -‘Just the very hanimal,’ said the man, and then he got off my back and -went to Rip, who all this time had remained fretting and fuming with his -head tied to a gate. Mr. Bayne took charge of me, and the man in -velveteen released Rip. - -‘Woa there,’ he cried, as my friend gave a violent plunge; ‘steady -there—will you? Here’s a horse of another colour. Quiet there!’ - -But Rip would not be quiet, and I was sorry for it, as I knew what would -but to surely follow. - -I was spared the scene, however, for Mr. Bayne, loosening the halter -round my neck, led me back to the stable; but as I left the field I -heard the man in velveteen shouting in an angry tone, and then I was -certain that Rip had foolishly shown resistance. By the stable door we -came upon Giles the ploughman, who inquired with an air of interest how -I had behaved. - -‘Like a good-tempered little fellow,’ replied Mr. Bayne, patting me, and -a thrill of satisfaction ran through my body. I felt that I had done my -duty. - -They left me in the stall, and I had nearly an hour to think over the -process of breaking in. I cannot say that I liked it; the weight of a -man upon my back seemed to take away my liberty, as I said before; and -yet it was not entirely inharmonious to my nature—it was more novel than -disagreeable. - -‘Man is certainly created our master,’ I thought; ‘he was quite at ease -upon my back, and sat as if it were perfectly natural to him, and that -is the reason, no doubt, why my back is so long and broad. Man was -certainly _not_ created to carry _us_. Then he has hands to drive, and -we have not. Yes, man is our master, and my mother is right—it is our -duty to submit.’ - -Thus I reasoned until the hour was passed and Rip was brought home. -Giles and the man in velveteen led him in and put him into the next -stall to mine. The man in velveteen looked very hot, but he was not -angry—in fact he had rather a pleased look upon his face. - -‘I don’t care to have ’em all easy like this chap,’ he said, addressing -Giles and pointing at me; ‘I like to have ’em try a trick or two on me, -and then I can show who is master. The rougher they are the more I can -come out—and it was by breaking in the rough ‘uns that I made my name.’ - -‘Rip is full of play,’ said Giles. - -‘Is he?’ replied the other sarcastically. ‘_You_ may call it play, but -_I_ don’t; when a horse kicks out at all sides of the compass, and bites -at you like a fury, I calls it vice, and that’s the thing I know how to -cure. I gives them plenty of physic for it—whip and spur without stint, -and they soon gives in.’ - -[Illustration: BROKEN.] - -He then left the stable in company with Giles, and I, knowing that Rip -had gone through a fierce fight, waited for him to speak of it. But he -was silent, and after the lapse of five minutes I peeped over the -partition to get a look at my friend. Poor Rip! never shall I forget the -change which had come over him. His handsome head was no longer erect, -but hung low in a dejected manner; the fire had left his brilliant eye, -and his fine velvet-like mouth was bleeding; it was plain the fight had -gone against him. - -‘Why did you resist?’ I asked in a sympathising tone. - -‘It is cruel work,’ he replied, with a big sob which seemed to shake his -frame. ‘It is not fair—he had a whip and spurs, and the bit cut my mouth -like a knife. Look at my sides.’ - -I looked, and saw that the satin coat was scored and scratched by the -spurs, and broad weals of flesh stood up where the whip had been. I was -so sorry for my friend that I could say nothing, but only shed a few -quiet tears. - -‘If he had been kind,’ sobbed Rip, ‘I would have obeyed him; but he -began by saying that he knew I should give him a deal of trouble, and -that he would stand none of my nonsense. How could he expect a horse of -spirit to endure such language?’ - -‘Perhaps you showed that you meant resistance,’ I said gently. - -‘I may have done so a little,’ replied Rip; ‘but what could be more -natural? and when I gave in—which I was obliged to do, for what can we -do against the bit, and whip, and spur?—when I gave in he was not easy, -but continued to beat me until liquid fire seemed to run through every -vein of my body: it was cruel—cruel.’ - -I did my best to console Rip, and after a time he became calmer. We were -left to ourselves during the evening, and I took the opportunity to -reason with him, and before we lay down to rest I had the satisfaction -of hearing that it was his intention to abandon all resistance in the -future. - -On the morrow we were taken in hand again, and I was put into the shafts -of a cart and driven to and fro. The rattle of the wheels was very -disagreeable at first, but I resolved not to show any signs of fear lest -my movements should be taken for resistance, and eventually I became -accustomed to it, and received a second kind acknowledgment from my -master in the form of a patting and a piece of sugar. - -Rip underwent a second course of the saddle, and wisely gave in to the -hand of his master; but the resistance of the day before had gone -against him, and nobody seemed to place entire faith in his docility. I -heard the man in the velveteen tell Mr. Bayne that Rip was a tricky -youngster, and would require a tight hand to be kept over him for a year -or two; so much for first impressions! - -About a week after this I left the farm. My going was very sudden, and I -had neither time nor opportunity to take leave of any of those I loved. -A man came for me, and I learned that he was Mr. Crawshay’s groom. He -put a saddle upon my back, and got into it with the easy confidence of a -man who could trust the animal he was riding. My mother was away in a -team which Giles was driving to some distant town, and Rip was in the -hands of his trainer; so without a single word of adieu I turned my back -upon the farm and left it behind me—for ever. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER III. - MY NEW MASTER. - - -Of course I had been picturing to myself the style of home I was going -to, and as might have been expected I found it quite opposite to the -creation of my mind. I had portrayed to myself a house something like -that upon the farm, but larger and grander, and surrounded by trees and -flowers all carefully arranged, with a fine lawn in the centre; but -instead of this I found that my new master lived in the heart of a large -country town named Upton, and the ground around it, instead of being -devoted to the cultivation of flowers, was sacrificed to the art of -making beer. My new master was, in short, a brewer, and his house -adjoined his place of business. - -I am not going into the question of strong drink,—a little concerning -that will be found further on; for the present I confine myself to my -master and his family. Mr. Crawshay was a stout, florid man, with a loud -voice which many people called genial—perhaps it was, sometimes—but I -have heard that same voice address his wife and daughter in a tone -anything but genial. - -Personally I had no connection with the brewery, but was especially -reserved for the use of Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter. Mrs. Crawshay -was an invalid, and only went out in a waggonette, which I had the -honour of drawing, and when not required in that capacity, Miss Crawshay -put on her habit and used me for equestrian purposes. Both these ladies -were kind to me—I liked them very much, and used to prick up my ears -whenever I heard their voices. The young lady was especially fond of me, -and often came to the stable to feed me with some nicety, an apple and -so on, out of her delicate hand. Mrs. Crawshay being quite an invalid -was unable to perform the same kindness, but I have heard her, at least -fifty times, tell the servant, as I stood at the door, to bring me a -biscuit; and whenever the morning drive was ended she was always very -particular in her injunctions to the groom to take great care of me, and -he being in that respect a very excellent fellow, certainly made me as -comfortable as a horse could be. - -I cannot tell how it was, I suppose it was instinct, but from the first -moment I entered this service I felt sorry for my two mistresses. There -was a quiet, patient look on their faces which I did not understand -then, but which I thoroughly understand now—and Mr. Crawshay and his -loud, genial voice had something to do with the look you may be sure. - -I never was a great favourite with the brewer—he did not dislike me, -but, he took no interest in me. Never once did he either ride or drive -me, but he kept for his use a tall, conceited creature, who always -turned up his nose at my quiet ways, and called me a ‘draught horse;’ -and whenever we met, as we sometimes did with Mr. Crawshay on his back, -he passed me as if he had never seen me before, although we spent our -leisure time in the same stable. - -Little pitchers have large ears: so have horses, and I soon picked up -enough from the groom and the housemaid, who were often chatting -together, to learn that genial Mr. Crawshay was a perfect brute to his -wife and daughter, and he had bought me because he had a great dislike -to have anything, even a horse, in common with them. To the outer world -a horse and chaise for his wife and daughter was an act of liberality, -but to the inner life of that wretched home it was deliberate isolation. - -Looking back, I remember with mingled joy and pain the kindness I -received from that mother and child. Never a morning passed without the -daughter visiting the stable, and as I have declared before they always -expressed a vast amount of anxiety respecting my condition and welfare, -which was very delightful to hear. My home, in short, apart from the -little anxiety and grief I felt for my two kind mistresses, was a very -happy one. - -The groom’s name was Richards, and he was a very fair groom in a general -way, but he had a failing very common to his class—he was fond of drink. -Sometimes he would be sober for a month, and then he would, as Mrs. -Crawshay expressed it, ‘break out’—that is, he would begin drinking -early in the morning and do little else throughout the day, and tumble -into his bed, which was in a room above the stables, in a state which -would have disgraced the very lowest order of brutes; I am certain that -even a pig would have been ashamed of it. - -Mrs. Crawshay very often reproved him in a quiet way, and did her best -to reform the man; but he was too near the brewery—he lived in the very -centre of temptation, and he was not strong enough to resist it. From -Mr. Crawshay he received nothing but oaths and threats, which had less -effect upon the groom than the kind admonition of his mistress; and he -would go on in this sad way for about a week, and then suddenly turn to -sobriety again. I have often wondered what possible gratification -Richards could derive from this outburst, for it always made him very -ill and wretched, and for days afterwards he would skulk about more like -a criminal burdened with crime than an honest, hard-working man. - -This habit proved fatal to him, and brought a great misfortune upon me. -One night, when Richards was in the stable putting all right for the -night, Mr. Crawshay came in with a letter in his hand. - -‘Richards,’ he said, ‘put Blossom into the dog-cart and drive over to -Mr. Turner’s. You have nothing to do but leave the letter and bring back -a portmanteau which his man will give you. Keep it in your room for the -night, and bring it into the house in the morning.’ - -Richards, accustomed to obey, made no demur, and quickly harnessed me to -the dog-cart, and drove to Mr. Turner’s residence, a house about twelve -miles from Upton. The letter was delivered, and a servant brought out a -portmanteau, with an injunction to Richards to be careful, as it -contained deeds and papers of importance. Richards replied that he knew -his business, and always took care of everything, and drove away with a -self-satisfied air. - -It was now about ten o’clock, and an autumn moon was shining brightly as -I trotted briskly towards home. I was always of a sober turn, and never -cared for late hours; some horses may like them, but they don’t suit me, -so I put my best foot foremost, resolved to get home with the least -possible delay. Richards also seemed bent upon getting back, until we -came in sight of a roadside inn, with its well-lighted windows standing -out boldly to invite him in. The unfortunate man could not resist the -temptation, but steered straight for the beacon which decoyed him to his -ruin, and pulled up at the door. An ostler came, and Richards, before -going in, told the man that he would be out again in a minute, and that -he need not trouble about me, as I would stand perfectly quiet; he then -passed through the doorway and left me to my reflections. - -The minute passed, and other minutes were added to it, and Richards did -not return. Two other carts came up, and the drivers went in also; and -then I heard shouts and laughter, and Richards asking them what they -would have to drink, so I concluded that he had met with some old -friends—not knowing what I know now, that men under the influence of -drink make bosom friends of all comers, and spend their money in the -wildest and most foolish manner. - -I was kept waiting an hour, and then Richards reeled out in company with -the other drivers and about half a dozen other men. They were all in a -maudlin state of drunkenness, swearing eternal friendship, and declaring -that every man there assembled was a glorious fellow without an equal in -the known world. - -Two of the men were going to Upton, and Richards volunteered to drive -them home. They got up, both in front, which was too bad, as their -weight pressed very heavily upon me. Sober, Richards would have noticed -this, and shifted the body of the cart; but being intoxicated, he -neither knew nor cared how much their weight pressed upon me, nor how -great my sufferings in consequence. - -[Illustration: ‘DOWN I WENT WITH A TERRIBLE CRASH.’] - -We started, Richards driving with a very loose rein, and I am sure that -if ever I needed help from man I needed it that night; a tight rein -would have assisted me with all that weight pressing upon my withers. -Bad as it was, I would have taken them home safely if Richards had let -me alone. But he would not. First he shouted to me; then he shook the -rein; then I felt the cruel whip about my loins and head, until pain and -fright bewildered me. We came to a steep hill, but I seemed to be -scarcely conscious of where I was, as Richards beat me more furiously -than ever. Maddened, I sprang forward and tore down the hill: the weight -behind was too much, I could not gather my feet, and down I went with a -terrible crash. - -For a moment all was still, and I lay panting, half-dead with fear and -excitement; then I heard one of the men shouting for help. What followed -I can but dimly remember, for I was in a state of bewilderment, like a -horse in a dream; but I can just call to mind the arrival of several -persons from a house close by, who helped the men to put something heavy -into the cart, and then I, having arisen, was led slowly home. I was -suffering very much; my knees were dreadfully cut, and I was terribly -shaken; but my thoughts were busy with the load I was bearing home. It -was poor Richards with a broken neck, quite dead! - -They rang Mr. Crawshay up and told him what had happened. His first -inquiry was for his portmanteau, which was safe; then he expressed a few -words of regret for Richards, qualifying his sorrow by saying that it -was just what he expected; and wound up by cursing _me_, as a brute who -was not worth his salt. I was very tired and bruised and sore, but I had -enough spirit left in me to kick him then; I should have done so, but I -remembered the lesson of my mother, and wisely forbore. - -Mr. Crawshay did give me shelter for the night, but I heard him declare -he would have no broken-kneed beast about his place, and that I should -be taken away on the morrow to be sold. He carried out his threat, and -early on the morrow a small ferret-faced man came and led me away before -I had an opportunity of having a parting glance at my mistresses. This -act I have always believed to be in accordance with Mr. Crawshay’s -general conduct towards his wife and daughter; it was one more link in -the chain of unkind deeds with which he had burdened their lives. Mr. -Crawshay knew his wife and daughter were fond of me, and would gladly -have kept me in spite of my misfortune; but the opportunity for an -unkindness offered, such as could safely be performed in the face of the -world, and he seized it. Strange it is, but true, that some men will -spend a deal and go far out of their way to give pain, when they could -bestow happiness with less trouble and half the expense. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - I AM SOLD.—MR. HARKAWAY. - - -The ferret-faced man, before removing me, put some ointment upon my -sores, and painted my legs with something which hid my accident from the -eyes of casual observers; then he led me through the town into the -country, where we joined company with another ferret-faced man who had -several horses of various sizes and ages under his charge. I was tied to -the rest with a halter, and then we jogged quietly along the road, the -two men smoking and chatting as we went along. - -My companions were strange to me—strange in the strictest sense of the -word, for they had all been brought up in London, a place I had heard -very little of; but I was certainly not impressed with any favourable -notion of it when I saw their flippant pert ways, and became acquainted -with the style of their conversation. Naturally I, as soon as I joined -company, wished them good day, and made some remark upon the fineness of -the weather and the excellence of the second hay crop. To this they one -and all responded with a sarcastic roll of the eye, and one old horse -most impertinently called me a ‘yokel’—an insult I resented by becoming -perfectly quiet and withdrawing as soon as possible from a company where -I could see I was not particularly wanted. - -I gathered from what they said that they had been down to some place -belonging to the ferret-faced man ‘to grass,’ that is, to recruit their -health after a season of very heavy work in town. They all seemed to -like an idle life, but some of them really cared very little for the -country, and generally expressed themselves glad to return to town. - -‘Another month here would have killed me,’ said a young horse with a -Roman nose; ‘it is so dreadfully slow, and I cannot live without “fun.” -Of course the fresh air and the green fields and the purer water we get -does us good bodily—but we must feed the _mind_, you know.’ - -The others agreed to this, and I kept on for a long time thinking and -surmising what sort of food for the mind could be obtained in the great -city. I have learnt since, and I must say that much better food for the -mind—food more wholesome and nourishing—can be obtained in the country -than in the town; but we must not be astonished at poor ignorant horses -expressing such an opinion, when we know that thousands of intelligent -men declare the same thing. - -We did not walk the whole way to town—London was a long way off; but on -our arrival at a place much larger than Upton, we were taken to a -tremendous barn-like place roofed in with glass, and filled with large -boxes upon wheels, some of them with chimneys to them, which puffed and -snorted in such a way that I could not help jumping about in a fright, -much to the amusement of my companions. The ferret-faced man, probably -with a view to restore my calmness, beat me about the head with a stick, -and then hustled me into one of the boxes with another horse, and closed -the door. - -I found myself shut in with one of the best of my late companions—a -horse who had in snubbing me rather followed the leadership of others -than obeyed the dictation of his own feelings. He told me not to be -alarmed, that there was nothing to fear, and that we were going to -travel about a hundred miles by railway. I asked him what a railway was, -and he told me it was something which man had made to imitate the horse, -to do its work in transmitting men and goods. - -‘But it is a very poor imitation,’ he said; ‘they cannot trust it -anywhere off the particular road and rails laid down for it; and there -is no grace, no action in it, and whatever it does it makes a frightful -noise about. I know that any horse would blush to make half the fuss. -When man first made it, he said that he could do without the horse; but -he made a great mistake. Horses,’ added my informant with some pride, -‘have since the establishment of railways become worth double the -money.’ - -I asked a deal more about this railway, and my companion gave me a very -good general idea of this base but fortunately unsuccessful attempt to -supersede the horse, with which I do not intend to trouble my readers; -and just as he finished, the train started. - -Oh! the agony of that journey!—the shaking, the jolting, the screaming, -the roaring, and the noise and rattle of other trains as they passed -us—it was dreadful, especially to me who had never undergone the ordeal -before. My companion suffered less—he had travelled upon, many -occasions, and was more composed. In about four hours we arrived in -London, and I being released, took my first peep at the big city. - -The impression was not favourable. The place looked large, and very, -very dirty; the dingy courtyard of the railway station gave me the -heartache to look at it, and the promise of a most miserable place to -live in was fulfilled when the ferret-faced man led me into the streets. -Many horses I have met with, knowing that I have a literary turn of -mind, have asked me to describe the great city; but I always decline to -do so—it defies description: volumes might be written upon every foot of -its paved way, and libraries filled with the wonders of a street. It is -at once a paradise to pleasure-seekers, a desert to the friendless, a -gold mine to the successful, a pit of destruction to the unfortunate; it -contains every vanity and every pleasure of human existence; the -poorest, the richest, the proudest, the meekest—the lost in vice, the -raised in virtue; the very depths of vice, the highest aspiration and -the noblest thought, can alike be found within its gates. Joy, hope, -love, hatred, malice, and despair are all in the shadow of its walls, -and lie hidden in the hearts of men not scattered here and there, but -gathered close together in teeming millions. - -The very thought of attempting to describe such a place drives me to -despair: I leave it for an abler horse. - -We kept on for half an hour, with nothing but houses on either side, and -then I was led into a paved yard, where I saw a long row of stabling, -all very clean and nice—more so than I could have expected, considering -the place was in the heart of the great city. I spent ten days there, -and then I, with a number of other horses, was put up for sale; but in -the meantime my broken knees had been attended to by a very clever -veterinary surgeon, who put them right in the most astonishing manner. I -heard one of the ferret-faced men declare that it would take a very good -pair of eyes to tell that I had been down, and as far as _my_ sight went -I was perfectly restored. I felt a little weakness, and nothing more. - -A great number of people attended the sale, and we were all made very -spruce for the occasion. The grooms trotted us up and down, and made us -show off ourselves to the best advantage. Several of the bystanders -seemed to take a great deal of notice of us, and these I afterwards -noticed were the principal buyers. - -One of the horses which accompanied me from Upton was put up first, and -the bidding began—but slowly. Neither the auctioneer—a tall, stout, -florid man—nor the public seemed to think much of him, and after a -little haggling he was knocked down for twenty pounds. As he was led -back to his stall I was led out, and the disgust written upon his face -found vent in words. - -‘Twenty pounds!’ he said, with an indignant neigh; ‘there’s a price! If -I had dreamt of such a thing a month ago, I believe I should have -drowned myself in the river.’ - -I shook my head to express my disapproval of such light talk, but could -say nothing, as the groom who led me gave me a thump with the halter, -and bade me ‘come up’—which I did by breaking into what was really a -very pretty trot. - -‘Now here, gentlemen,’ said the auctioneer, ‘is a very valuable lot, -named Blossom, reared by Bayne, of Upton, a man who, as you are fully -aware, never sends a bad lot into the market. This horse is rising four, -and has never been in private hands, but he is thoroughly fit either to -ride or drive. Take a look at him, gentlemen. Don’t be afraid of it; he -can bear it—sound from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.’ - -[Illustration: THE AUCTION.] - -Oh! the falsehood of this man—to say that I had never been out of -private hands, and that I was thoroughly sound. I really felt as if I -could have kicked him—not very hard, but in such a way as to warn him -not to tell such fibs again. The groom trotted me to and fro, then -pulled up, and a number of men proceeded to examine me. - -‘He’s been down, ain’t he?’ asked a short, thick-set man, who spoke in a -husky voice, as if he had a hair or straw in his throat. - -‘I believe he knocked himself in the paddock, Mr. Harkaway,’ replied the -auctioneer; ‘a mere graze, though—the skin was barely broken.’ - -‘He grazed a tenner off him,’ said Mr. Harkaway, with a short laugh; -adding in a whisper to a man, apparently his friend, who stood beside -him, ‘But he is the sort of nag I want; and I will have him.’ - -The bidding for me, in spite of the signs of my fall, was very brisk, -and I soon ran up to forty pounds; then a few fell away, and I increased -to fifty. At this sum all left me but Mr. Harkaway and a man in a sort -of grazier’s suit, with a face so positively cruel, that I shudder even -now when I think of it. Mr. Harkaway had a dissipated, reckless look, -which reminded me of Richards; and if I could have had my will, I would -have chosen another master; but he was better than the grazier, and I -earnestly hoped that he would show the longer purse. - -‘Fifty-five,’ said the grazier. - -‘Six,’ said Mr. Harkaway. - -‘Seven,’ cried the other. - -‘Eight,’ returned Mr. Harkaway. - -‘Nine,’ shouted the grazier. - -Mr. Harkaway hesitated, and looked at me. I turned an imploring eye upon -him, but I might as well have looked at a brick wall—he was as stupid as -the rest of the men, and did not understand me a bit; but the auctioneer -came to my rescue. - -‘Come, Mr. Harkaway,’ he said, ‘put another pound on—you won’t get such -another chance this season; the horse is young, sound, good-tempered, -and ready for any amount of work. Shall I say sixty?’ - -‘Sixty be it,’ said Mr. Harkaway, and the hammer to my great joy fell. -The grazier seemed to be rather disappointed—his face expressed that -feeling; but he said he was glad he had not bought me, as I was a poor -thing at the best, only fit for a dust cart. This hurt me a little, for -none of us like to be depreciated even by those we despise; but since -then I have heard a story about a fox and some grapes, which -sufficiently explains the insulting expressions of the grazier. - -As the rest of the sale has no interest to my readers, or any connexion -with my life, I will pass it over with the simple declaration that it -was a very painful thing to witness. Falsehood and deceit were rampant; -not a single horse was honestly represented to the public, and some poor -things, long past work, were doctored and stimulated for the occasion, -and then solemnly described as horses in excellent condition—fit for any -amount of service. Most of the men collected there were too sharp to be -deceived; but I am afraid that more than one was that day sadly swindled -and deceived by the artful horse-dealer and the glib-tongued auctioneer. - -As I have since become thoroughly acquainted with London, I may as well -now call places by their proper names; such a course will help those of -my friends as know the metropolis to a more definite idea of my -wanderings, and assist me in making my story more graphic to the rest of -my readers. - -Late in the afternoon Mr. Harkaway fetched me from the horse-dealer’s -yard, and tying my halter to the tail of a common cart, drove away. -There was a big brown horse in the shafts, whom he called ‘Sam’—rather a -knowing-looking animal, I thought, and one certainly accustomed to the -noisy ways of this bewildering place. We travelled over an immense stone -bridge near the Houses of Parliament, and turning to the right went -through a maze of street, for the most part poor, dirty, and miserable, -making me wonder how any one could live in such tumble-down houses. This -was Lambeth, and Lambeth was to be my home; for my new master halted at -a house by the corner of a street a shade better than most we had passed -through, and shouted out for Jim in such a way that I knew the house -must be his own. - -[Illustration: LEAVING THE HORSE-DEALER’S YARD.] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER V. - THE FURNITURE DEALER. - - -The whole of the front of my master’s house seemed to be devoted to -business. The ground floor was quite open, with furniture of every -description piled up to the ceiling; and from the windows above hung -hearth-rugs, pieces of carpet, long strings of tinware, brushes, and so -on, sufficient in my eyes to supply the entire population of Great -Britain. - -He seemed to deal in every household requisite; the number and variety -of articles for sale were quite bewildering, and to an unpractised eye -appeared to be piled up anyhow on either side, without any regard to law -or order, leaving a small narrow lane only to travel in and out. - -Down this lane came the boy Jim, Mr. Harkaway’s son and heir, a lad of -twelve years, who hailed his father with a sullen visage, and the -inquiry, ‘Now, then, what do you want?’ - -‘Take the nags round,’ said Mr. Harkaway, ‘and give ’em both a feed. You -need not be particular with the new one, Blossom—he’s done no work -to-day.’ - -‘Will he kick?’ asked Jim. - -‘Quiet as a lamb,’ replied his father; and the boy, with rather a -suspicious look at me, led Sam round the corner, and I perforce -followed. - -Mr. Harkaway’s stable was certainly a most abominable hole, bad enough -to kill any horse fresh from the country with the look of it; but as I -afterwards learnt from Sam and my own sad experience, there were -hundreds of worse places, where even man himself was glad to -dwell—indeed, an entire family lived and slept in a wretched room over -our wretched stable. - -Jim gave Sam a pretty good feed, and me a handful of hay; after this he -made up two slovenly beds for us, and retired for the night. I was glad -when he was gone, as I wanted to be alone with Sam, for I was burning -with curiosity to hear what sort of life was in store for me. - -Sam attacked the food given to him as if he were in need of it, and went -on munching for some time without a word; and I kept silent, fearing -that any remarks I might make would be deemed intrusive, and thus defeat -the end I had in view. We were only divided by a pole, so that even -lying down it would be easy to converse, and I waited patiently. Sam -munched his food to the last wisp of hay and kernel of corn; then -settling down, condescended to address me. - -‘Well, youngster,’ he said, with a sort of grunt, ‘where do you hail -from?’ - -‘Upton,’ I replied. - -‘Country,’ returned Sam. ‘Ah! you will find it different here.’ - -‘I am afraid so,’ I replied softly, with a sigh. - -‘There is a little life here,’ continued Sam, who apparently had not -heard my remark. ‘No trotting about for miles and seeing nothing but -hedgerows and trees and fields full of grass and corn, tantalizing a -hungry horse to death; no brooks to wet your feet and legs by crossing, -and not half the flies to bother you. We have flies, of course, but they -don’t seem half so hungry as they are in the country—it’s the air, I -suppose.’ - -‘The country air is supposed to give an appetite,’ I remarked, not -caring to say too much in praise of the country at present. - -‘That is why I hate it,’ growled Sam. ‘Harkaway goes into the country -sometimes, and brings me home so horribly sharp that I could eat my -halter, but he gives me no more corn: a feed is a feed to him, although -it may not be more than half a feed to me. Harkaway is wretchedly -stupid; but most men are like him.’ - -I coughed an assent to this, and Sam went on for awhile grumbling about -the short allowance of corn he received, until I thought I might venture -to ask for a little information about my master. Sam, to my joy, -received my inquiries in a very amiable spirit. - -‘Harkaway,’ he said, ‘is a furniture dealer, principally second-hand. He -will buy anything, from the lid of a saucepan to an entire house of -furniture, and will gladly sell the same if he can realize a fair or an -unfair profit. He calls it “turning an honest penny;” but honest as it -may be, I have heard him tell the most abominable falsehoods while -transacting the most simple acts of business. He will declare, with all -the solemnity of a man upon oath, that he gave so-and-so for such a -thing, and that he will lose by the transaction, when he knows it did -not cost him half the money, and that he will realize a very respectable -profit.’ - -‘It is very sad,’ I said. - -‘And it is also absurd,’ returned Sam; ‘_for no man believes him_—they -know as well as he does that he sells for profit, and profit alone; as -for any motive of philanthropy, you won’t find such a thing in men of -the Harkaway class.’ - -‘You say the furniture is second-hand,’ I said; ‘where does he get it -from?’ - -‘Mostly from homes where _ruin_ has stepped in, an unwelcome guest,’ -replied Sam solemnly. ‘When a man gets into difficulties, his landlord -seizes his furniture, and sells it for rent. Upon these occasions the -goods are generally put up by auction, and then Harkaway buys with the -rest of the public. But very often the ruined tenant is not only ruined, -but a man of bad principles; then he calls in my master, sells -everything he has, and goes away with every debt unpaid. These are very -profitable transactions, for he generally gets the goods at his own -price.’ - -‘But are not some of these seizures oppressive?’ I asked. - -‘Very,’ replied Sam. ‘Some landlords are very harsh, and turn the widow -and orphan into the streets without the least remorse.’ - -‘What becomes of them?’ - -‘Don’t ask me,’ said Sam, shaking his head; ‘when you have been in -London a year or two, you will have seen enough to guess what becomes of -the helpless and unfortunate.’ - -‘Tell me something about Mr. Harkaway’s family,’ I said; ‘give me an -idea of his character.’ - -‘Call him Harkaway—we have no misters this side of the water,’ replied -Sam. ‘So you want an idea of his character and family. Well, here it is. -Harkaway is a sordid, grasping man, who has not an idea beyond making -money; it is never out of his thought—he dreams pounds, shillings, and -pence, I think. His idea of everything is, what is it worth, and what -will it fetch? He would die of despair in Paradise, if there was nothing -to buy and sell. His wife is just like him, and when a bad bargain is -made, which sometimes happens, they mourn together like parents bereaved -of a promising family. Jim is their son. Nursed and cradled upon the -pounds, shillings, and pence idea, he has no love, no sentiment, no -religion—he possesses nothing which helps to make man noble; and I -verily believe that, young as he is, he would sell his parents for five -shillings, if anybody would be rash enough to buy them. He feels no love -or gratitude towards them; he is cold, crafty, and cruel to a terrible -degree; he tortures insects, beats dogs, and pinches children like a -little ogre; and the day is not far distant when he will prove a thorn -in the side of the parents who have made him what he is.’ - -‘In what way?’ I asked. - -‘I cannot precisely tell,’ replied Sam. ‘But such children mostly -develop into lovers of low dissipation; they haunt music halls and low -dancing saloons, spending, in a manner quite at variance with their -sordid nature, the money accumulated by the craft of their parents. I -have known many such, and I can see this boy is already in the downward -road.’ - -I said I was sorry to hear it, and hoped Sam would prove to be a false -prophet for the boy’s sake. Sam grunted something in reply, and gave out -signs of falling asleep. As I had now learned all I cared to know for -the present, I said no more, and we were soon both enjoying sound -repose. - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - SAD SCENES OF LIFE. - - -I was awakened in the morning by a knocking overhead, which Sam, who was -already up and stirring, told me proceeded from the head of the family -in the room above, who was a cobbler. I also heard the tongue of a -loud-talking woman, and the murmur of the voices of several children. - -‘How many up there?’ I inquired. - -‘Father, mother, and six children,’ replied Sam. ‘The father works hard, -and is a patient, quiet man; but the mother drinks and scolds, and the -home is a wretched one. Home I called it—ah! a poor home it is, and many -a pig would turn up his nose at it.’ - -Mr. Harkaway and his son entered and interrupted our conversation. Jim, -under the eye of his father, gave us a fairish grooming and a feed of -corn; then I was taken out, harnessed, and put to my first day’s work in -the furniture line. Mr. Harkaway drove me to a house in the Old Kent -Road, with the walls all plastered with bills, and leaving Jim in charge -of the cart, went in. - -Everything was so novel to me that the time passed very quickly. A -street in London or the suburbs is a perfect panorama to any observant -creature, and no one need languish for want of food for the mind. The -faces alone are sufficient to amuse and interest any thoughtful horse or -man. Watch two as they meet and salute, and you will see whether they be -friend or foe. Mark their style of greeting, their faces as they meet -and part, and you will have a very good idea of the true nature of the -feeling between them. The varieties of life are endless, the shades of -emotion numberless, and he who cares to study the book of nature may -read on throughout his days, and find in the end that he has but -imperfectly scanned a single page. - -There was much to study in the other horses I met with daily, and the -dogs too were very interesting; but my great study was man, and I shall -devote the principal part of these pages to him. I hope my experience of -our lord and master was a very exceptional one, but I am sorry to say -that I found very little good in him. - -My life with Mr. Harkaway was for the most part very monotonous; he -worked me very hard, and fed me as little as was consistent with the -amount of work required of me. Sometimes Sam and I were taken out -together in a large van to move the goods and chattels of some -tradesman; but as a rule we were employed apart on small jobs, Mr. -Harkaway driving me, and Sam being under the guidance of that atom of -vice, the boy Jim. I do not care to speak ill of any one, but I must say -that the training of this lad was fatal to every good quality which must -have been born in him. He was cruel, crafty, and fond of low -self-indulgence; he smoked and even drank with men—some of whom were old -and grey, and ought to have checked the boy in his evil ways. - -Sometimes it happened that I fell into his hands, and his father took -Sam, and then I had a very pretty day of it. He would make me gallop -until I flagged, and then beat me until I galloped again, and this with -a heavy load behind me too, without the least remorse; and often I have -returned to the stable in such a condition that I did not expect to -leave it again alive. - -I used to complain to Sam, but he said it was a common mode of treatment -towards horses in London, and that thousands died yearly from overwork -and neglect, or gave in with a broken heart, the result of unnecessary -cruelty. - -‘A good horse does not need the whip,’ he said; ‘but there are some -people who use it upon every possible occasion. If a horse is tired, -they lash him without mercy—they must have an idea that there is virtue -in the whipcord, and that it gives us a renewal of the strength we have -expended in their service.’ - -‘That wretched boy, Jim,’ I remarked, ‘must use a deal of whipcord.’ - -‘That boy is fond of giving pain,’ returned Sam; ‘if he is grooming me, -and wants me to stand over, he does not say so, but to save his tongue -kicks me in the ribs as if I were a log of wood or a feather bed. I have -known the day when I would have repaid him amply, but this miserable -life has taken all the spirit out of me. Heigho!’ - -‘You have had a very hard life,’ I said. - -‘Very,’ replied Sam. ‘I was born in the country, but left it quite -young. A dealer, Putney way, broke me in; he was celebrated for such -work, and a cruel fellow he was. The bits he used were fearful, and I -can almost feel his spurs now; as for his whip, it used to cross my ribs -like a thin band of red-hot iron—ugh! What horse could stand it? So we -all gave in; and he was celebrated as a trainer of horses. Isn’t it -disgusting!’ - -‘Men will be wiser some day,’ I said consolingly. ‘How old are you, -Sam?’ - -‘Somewhere about twelve,’ said Sam; ‘not at all old for a horse well -used—but I am almost worked out. I heard Harkaway tell his wife to-day -that I was scarcely worth my feed. Well! the knacker may come for aught -I care.’ - -‘What is a knacker?’ inquired I. - -‘A horse _murderer_,’ replied Sara. ‘When a horse gets old and past -work, this man is sent for, or we are taken to him. In either case it is -his business to kill us, and he makes very short work of it. But we are -useful to the end; they make shoes, glue, and all sorts of useful things -out of our very carcases; and if man had any real love or gratitude in -his composition, he would treat us all well when we are alive.’ - -‘But all masters are not cruel, Sam.’ - -‘No: many are very kind, and keep their stables in better condition than -they do their cottages for the labouring poor; and some keep both horse -and labourer well, but these are the exception, and not the rule. For my -part, I do not care for a rich master; give me a quiet family of the -middle class, living, let us say, at Finchley, Hampstead, or somewhere -about eight miles the north of London; these are the people who feed and -treat a horse well.’ - -‘Were you ever in such a family, Sam?’ - -‘No; but once I was almost bought by a gentleman of that class, but the -chance went by, and I am now too old to hope for such a thing. I have, -however, heard a deal of this life, and I am sure nothing could be more -agreeable. Now you are a likely fellow to drop upon this sort of thing, -if ever Harkaway makes up his mind to sell you.’ - -The picture drawn by Sam pleased me very much, and I earnestly hoped -that such a lot might befall me. - -So my life passed on. I dragged furniture about—now from a general sale, -now at midnight from a fraudulent debtor’s house, and once from a ruined -home, where the law had deprived the widow and fatherless of the -comforts of life. Sometimes Mr. Harkaway beat me very cruelly; but he -was generally sparing of the whip, as he had an idea that it knocked -some of the value off a horse—as rubbing removes gilt from gingerbread; -still he did not hesitate to overload me, and gave me such burdens to -bear that I often felt I must die beneath them. Yet I kept on, supported -by youth, I suppose, and endured this life for four long years. - -During this time I had not forgotten my place of birth, or those -connected with it. Of my mother I thought a great deal; but I had no -anxiety on her account, as I had often heard Mr. Bayne declare that he -intended to keep her all his life. Rip was very often in my mind, and a -thousand times I wondered what had become of him, with a yearning such -as one true friend feels for another. I loved Rip; he was so full of -life, so spirited, so brilliant in action, that any one with an eye for -beauty must have admired him. Ah, noble Rip! I did indeed love you, and -wonder if the humble companion of your youth, pining in the dingy stable -of a furniture dealer, ever entered your thoughts. Nor did I forget the -beauty of the scene where I was born: the paddock, the stream, the old -mill, and the rich surrounding foliage oft rose before me, and never -faded away again without leaving behind an aching heart. Often and often -I have, in fancy, smelt the sweet meadow flowers, and heard the -melodious beating of Rip’s feet upon the soft turf, as he gaily pranced -about the field; and such memories, if they have brought pain, have had -a softening influence too, and I have lain down to sleep a sadder but a -better horse. - -The four years gave me a good knowledge of the great metropolis, as -business at various times took me to every part of it; and the more I -knew, the more I wondered at the magnitude of the place. I have learnt -more since, and I have not ceased to wonder. - -About this period a very terrible thing happened. I had been out all day -with my master, and was back in the stable quite worn-out, thankful for -the prospect of rest, when Jim, now a morose, sullen, dissipated young -man, came into the stable, and without putting any harness upon me led -me away. The act was so novel that my mind became full of vague terror, -and the terrible knackers talked of by Sam arose before my eyes; but I -dismissed the thought as a piece of folly—for I was yet active and full -of work, and Mr. Harkaway was not the man to waste capital by useless -slaughter—and looked about me for a more reasonable solution of the -mystery. - -With his head down, Jim Harkaway slouched beside me, giving no clue, and -I wondered in vain as we walked the length of several streets, and came -at last into the presence of a small crowd of people. An opening was -made for Jim, and he led me through. The first thing I saw was a -cartload of furniture resting upon the shafts; the next, a horse lying -in the road, quite still. - -The shock was dreadful. I read the truth at once. Poor Sam was dead—had -died in the midst of his daily duty. It was indeed terrible, but I found -no tears then. My sorrow was tempered with a dawning conviction that -this sudden death was to him a merciful and happy release. In the -morning before starting he had complained of a pain in his side, but -such a form of suffering was common to us both, and I did not dream of -finding him dead that night. Jim harnessed me in, and drove away, -leaving poor Sam in charge of a man in a very dirty blue slop—a -knacker’s assistant, I have since been informed. - -That was a long night for me, and I slept but little. Sam, and Rip, and -mother, and home were alternately in my thoughts through the long dark -hours; and when the morning came, it found me but little prepared for -work. Prepared or not, there was the work to do, and during that and -many days following I toiled early and late, until I began to give out -signs of really breaking down; and then Mr. Harkaway, still influenced -by the pounds, shillings, and pence idea, kindly sent me into the -country for a month’s rest and fresh green food. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: DEATH OF POOR SAM.] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - MY NEW MASTER, BENJAMIN BUNTER. - - -I was sent down to a place about two miles from Blackheath, on the -Forest Hill side, and spent the days of my leisure in a field, sharing -the welcome grass with half a dozen cows belonging to a local dairyman. -It was almost as bad as being alone, having no other horse for a -companion; for the cows, not very conversational among themselves, did -not care to accost a stranger who spoke a language they did not -understand. - -It was not like my early home, but it was a paradise compared to the -dungeon I lived in down Lambeth way, and I would have been well content -to have spent the rest of my days there; but I had a great amount of -work left in my bones yet, and it was not to be. - -When the month was up, Jim Harkaway came to fetch me. I am sorry to say -that he was rather the worse for beer when he arrived, and before we got -home he was in a horrible state of intoxication. We met Mr. Harkaway -near home, and the way his son addressed him was very shocking; you -would not hear it from any creature save man—the noblest in his best -condition, in his fall the most degraded. - -High words ensued between father and son, and several people stopped one -after the other; but they all went on again, saying that it was ‘only -old Harkaway and his precious son,’ so I concluded that these scenes -between them were growing common. In the end Mr. Harkaway wrenched the -bridle away from his son, and led me up a turning opposite the shop. I -was surprised at not going home, and still more surprised when he halted -before a greengrocer’s shop, and Mr. Harkaway asked a stout woman if her -husband was at home. - -‘He’s round the yard,’ was the reply; ‘but he will be here in a minute.’ - -In less than a minute the husband came—a short, thick-set man, deeply -pock-marked, and dressed in corduroy, with a flaring red silk -handkerchief round his throat. - -‘Mornin’, Mr. Harkaway,’ he said. - -‘Morning,’ replied my master. ‘I have brought Blossom to you myself. Jim -is going on worse than ever.’ - -‘Sorry to hear it,’ said the other. ‘But you ain’t half sharp enough -with him. If he was a son of mine, I would give him the key of the -street, as sure as my name is Benjamin Bunter.’ - -‘Mrs. Harkaway clings to him,’ said Mr. Harkaway nervously; ‘she is a -woman, and he is an only son; but it is a great trial—the money he -wastes is enough to break one’s heart.’ - -Not a word about the vice of the youth—it was still pounds, shillings, -and pence to the furniture dealer. - -“Well, what are we to say for Blossom?’ said the greengrocer, stroking -my fore-leg with his hand. - -‘He is worth thirty,’ replied Mr. Harkaway. ‘I am only selling him -because I was obliged to buy two horses to carry on my business while he -was away. He is worth thirty pounds.’ - -‘You mean twenty,’ said Benjamin Bunter shortly. - -‘No—thirty, I mean.’ - -‘Twenty.’ - -In this style they haggled for awhile, and the bargain ended in the -usual way; I became the property of Benjamin Bunter, greengrocer, for -the sum of twenty-five pounds sterling. - -In this manner I parted from the furniture dealer, and we never met -again; but I learnt his fate in a casual way, and I may as well give it -here. He was killed in a railway accident on his way back from a country -sale, and having died without a will (he had put it off a hundred times -on the ground of the expense), the better part of his property fell into -the hands of his son, who justified his worldly training by squandering -the money like dirt, and dying, while yet in his youth, mad with drink. -What became of the mother I never knew. - -Let me turn to my new master, Benjamin Bunter, and endeavour to describe -him to my reading friends as I afterwards knew him. This master of mine -was what is known as a ‘free living man’—he made a deal of money in his -business, and spent it almost as soon as he got it. He was very fond of -eating and drinking, and delighted in such pleasure as could be found on -race-courses, at pigeon matches, and so on. His wife had precisely -similar tastes, and they jogged on very well together; and the -half-dozen children they had brought into the world were, as far as food -and clothing went, well cared for, but all else was entirely neglected. - -Let me speak of the man as I found him. Benjamin Bunter had a kind -heart, and he fed me liberally; but he was a thoughtless man, and many a -time he has, without the slightest regard for my good or ill, kept me -all day without food at a pigeon match, and then taken up half a dozen -men with him for ‘a lift’ home. He would also drive his wife and -children to Epping for a day’s outing, and the exhaustion I have felt -after the efforts required on such occasions was very great. - -With regard to the pigeon-shooting I wish to say, without going into the -subject, that I think it a very cruel and unmanly sport. The contest is -not equal in any way. What can be more cowardly than to box up a poor -helpless thing for awhile, then pretend to give it liberty and shoot it -as soon as it shows its head? Call that ‘sport’—I wonder men are not -ashamed of it! - -I was employed in the business mostly, and very often I was in the -Borough Market as early as four o’clock, and there I met with many -horses and ponies engaged in the same trade; some were well cared for -and fed liberally, but others had cruel or indifferent masters. Some of -the men were given to bad language, and used the most fearful oaths -whenever their animals did even the slightest thing wrong. Generally the -fault lay with the masters, who perhaps had a little difficulty in -fixing their carts among the rest, and instead of going quietly and -easily to work, out came the whip, and the horse’s head was wrenched -about, until he was quite bewildered. Who can wonder if the poor -creature backed into the wrong place, or showed a tendency to go -opposite to the direction required? Man talks a deal about reason, but -he too often forgets to act upon it, especially when he is dealing with -such poor creatures as myself. - -The scenes in the market were very exciting and amusing as a rule, but -many of them were painful. Foul language was sometimes followed by a -brutal fight, which gave amusement to a thoughtless crowd, until the -police appeared. Whenever such a scene took place I noticed that the -fighting men were invariably the worse for drink; the sober buyers, -sellers, and labourers always did their work quickly and went away -quietly. - -I am now coming to an episode in my life which requires an entire -chapter to itself, for it opened up to me a new train of thought with -regard to the connection between horse and man, and the really important -influence they have upon each other. One night, late in the month of -May, Benjamin Bunter came into my stable and gave me an extra grooming, -combing my coat and plaiting my mane with wonderful care. While he was -at work Mrs. Bunter entered with a large bonnet covered with flowers in -her hand. Mrs. Bunter, by the way, had a great love for bright colours, -and was generally a walking object of envy to her less fortunate -neighbours. - -‘There, Ben,’ she said, holding it up, ‘I think that will do.’ - -‘It’s prime,’ was his reply. ‘There won’t be many bonnets like that upon -the course. Everybody will know as we drive along that we are going to -the races. Come over, Blossom—steady there.’ - -[Illustration: I AM GROOMED BY BENJAMIN BUNTER.] - -So I was going to the races. Here was a prospect of something new to me, -and I immediately thought of Rip’s great-grandfather, who had nearly won -something or other many years ago; and then I wondered what that -something was, and in what way it was contested; and then I wondered -what had become of Rip, and I continued wondering long after Benjamin -Bunter had finished work and retired to his supper in the little parlour -behind his well-stocked shop. - -Sleep was almost a stranger to my eyes that night. Stimulated by -excitement, I continued to think and wonder until the first grey light -of the morning came stealing through the window of my stable, and then I -fell into a fitful doze, to dream that I was a race-horse of the purest -blood, famous for my victories throughout the length and breadth of the -land. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - THE GREAT CARNIVAL. - - -In the morning my master was up early, but he did not go to market, and -it was quite nine o’clock when he harnessed me to the cart and drove -round to the front door. There was a small knot of neighbours interested -in our starting, and I found that a plumber and his wife were going with -us. Two chairs were put into the back of the cart for the use of the -ladies, and the men sat in front, with the two eldest Bunter children on -the floor, making the party six in number. In addition to this was a bag -of cut hay and corn for my consumption, and a large hamper of food and -drink for the party. - -I gathered from the conversation of the men that they were both fond of -betting, and that Mr. King had received overnight a ‘tip,’ that is, -information concerning a certain horse, which would enable him to make a -large sum of money that day. - -‘I am told that Melrose is sure to win,’ he whispered in a confidential -tone to my master while they were waiting for the ladies. ‘Wigen wrote -to me to put every penny I have upon it.’ - -‘I go with you,’ returned Benjamin Bunter. ‘I always thought there was -something meant with Melrose. Now then, here is the missis; give her a -hand, will you.’ - -Mr. King gallantly helped the ladies to their seats, then put the -children in, and we started. A few idle boys gave us a cheer, the -neighbours waved their hands, and then we went through the streets at a -smart pace. - -The load behind me was rather heavy, but I did not mind that, as there -was, in addition to my curiosity being aroused, the prospect of a peep -at the green fields and a few hours’ fresh air. In half an hour we had -left the worst part of the bricks and mortar behind us, and were -travelling among the neat suburban villas of prosperous tradesmen. - -It was a bright fresh morning, and everything looked nice—villas, trees, -flowers, everything, down to the butchers’ carts which we came upon now -and then waiting at the garden gates of the houses. My party enjoyed -everything; they were all in high spirits, and I have no doubt that Mrs. -Bunter made the most of her bonnet, which was a far superior thing to -the article worn by her friend Mrs. King. In spite of this, however, the -ladies were excellent friends. - -About eight miles from town we pulled up at a roadside inn, and my -master fetched out a pot of beer. I felt this to be the first hitch in a -promising day; not that I personally object to beer, for I do not know -even the taste of it, but I have seen the effects of it upon man, and -they are anything but pleasant. Never by any chance does it elevate or -improve, and too often it ruins and degrades—and yet men will drink it. -Here is something which I am sure man himself fails to comprehend. - -Our halt was brief, and we went on through quiet lanes and broad, -well-kept roads garnished with fragrant hedges and tall, graceful trees, -sometimes passing and at other times being passed by other parties -greater or smaller in number, and they all seemed to be in the highest -possible spirits, shouting and laughing as if the world had nothing in -it beyond going to the races, and they had left no sorrow or sin or -shame in the great city behind them. - -By-and-by we came upon a stupendous hill, and here a boy sitting upon a -horse volunteered to help us up the hill for sixpence. Benjamin Bunter -was in an excellent humour, and the offer was accepted; the horse was -attached to the shafts of the cart, and we moved forward. - -Now I do not wish to speak ill of any of my race, but I must out with -the truth at all times—that helping horse was a disgrace to his fellows. -He was as cunning as a fox, and made a deal of show, pretending to -strain his muscles and spluttering his feet about, but he did not pull a -bit. He was as bad as the boy upon his back, who shouted and pretended -to urge him on, while he really encouraged him to hold back. I ventured -to remonstrate in a whisper to my helper, but he only answered with a -short contemptuous laugh, which I have no doubt Benjamin Bunter -interpreted as a cough, and I had to do the work of the hill in reality -alone. At the top my master paid the boy the sixpence, and the precious -pair went back in search of other victims. - -After a brief rest we proceeded, and presently came upon the downs where -the races were held, and my master guided me past a long line of white -booths, erected for refreshment and various purposes. In some I have -been told men gamble and fight, but I have never seen such things, and I -only pretend to give the results of my actual experience. There was one -large wooden erection which Benjamin Bunter pointed out to his wife as -the Grand Stand; it was empty then, but I saw it later filled with -ladies and gentlemen most magnificently dressed. - -We were very early, and my master secured a good place near the ropes, -after paying ten shillings for the privilege. He and Mr. King then got -down and went away, and Mrs. Bunter brought out a bottle full of rum. -She had a sip, Mrs. King had a sip, and the children were induced to wet -their lips with it. All this seemed to me to be very shocking, but there -were many cartloads of people around doing much the same thing, and -nobody cried out against it. - -Turning from Mrs. Bunter and her friend, I took a look at the scene -around me. Like the great city, it defies description. Early as it was -thousands had already assembled, and the air was full of shouts and -laughter, and cries that some might have thought the outburst of joy; -but _I_ could detect a wail beneath it which told me that the joy was -after all but a hollow thing. I was now old enough and had seen enough -to read man at a glance, and as the thousands walked by I scanned their -faces and read no real satisfaction there. They were hilarious it is -true, but they lacked the contented expression which true happiness -brings. But even the apparently happy were in the minority; the main -part of this throng were eager, restless creatures, who walked quickly -up and down, and talked in low whispers to their friends, or scanned -little pocket-books with a forlorn look, as if they read their doom -therein. ‘Knave and gamester’ were written in the looks of many—alas! -too many—of the young as well as old. Every amusement presented by the -itinerant took the gambling form—betting was the order of the day, from -pence to pounds. Some held up purses and talked of large sums to be sold -for a shilling, and the thoughtless, untutored novice in race-course -ways bought them, to find themselves deceived, and to hear the laughter -of those who find fun in a miserable lie. Wheels of fortune, spinning -jennies, cards, dice, all were there, and vice, forgetting her shame, -walked boldly in the sunlight. - -Opposite, the big wooden stand and others on either side were filling, -and a babel of voices rose from the shifting mass. This, I was told -afterwards, was the noise of betting men, who risked their money—some -all their wealth, honour, good name—on the race to come. Some of the -noblest names in our land have been blackened in the betting ring. Some -of the richest among the people have left their all upon the -race-course, and gone home to shame and ruin. And yet men call racing -‘pleasure;’ but who can reason with them on the subject when they call -pigeon-slaughter by the name of ‘sport’? - -It was a strange motley scene, interesting in many points, but painful -in most, for I could see that there was more folly than fun in -everything around me; and folly, every thinking creature, horse and man, -knows, is but the herald of ruin and shame. - -I was musing on the scene when my thoughts were interrupted by a -carriage which drew up beside me; it was open, and contained two young -fellows barely arrived at the recognised age of manhood. Both were well -dressed and in the highest possible spirits. I was immediately -interested in them; but my attention was withdrawn by the horse in the -brougham, who was in front of me—we stood in fact face to face. - -There was a form a little more developed than I had hitherto known it, -but quite familiar, from the tip of the well-shaped nose to the end of -the ample tail. No need for that amused expression of face to guide me -to a recognition; I knew him at once—it was my old friend Rip, and -involuntarily I uttered a loud neigh of joyful surprise. - -‘Hush! pray do,’ remonstrated Rip. ‘Don’t be so vulgar. You really -astonish me with your want of breeding.’ - -‘I was overcome with joy,’ I apologised. ‘Oh, Rip! how often have I -longed for such an hour as this!’ - -‘Dear old Blossom,’ said Rip affectionately, ‘it is just like you to -think of your old friends. No one, looking at your quiet ways, would -imagine that you had half the emotion in you; but your sort of emotion -is like still water—it runs deep.’ - -‘But where have you been—and what sort of masters have you had?’ I -asked. - -‘I have had only one master since I knew you,’ replied Rip. ‘Squire -Tracey bought me of Mr. Bayne, and I am with Squire Tracey still. I have -brought his two eldest sons here to-day.’ - -‘From Upton?’ I exclaimed. - -‘Stupid old Blossom,’ said Rip, with a good-natured smile in his eyes. -‘No, Upton is a deal too far away; we came from town this morning. We -always spend the fashionable months in the great metropolis—West-end of -course. I have never cast eyes upon the east side of Temple Bar.’ - -‘And they treat you well, Rip?’ - -[Illustration: THE RACE-COURSE.] - -‘Nobly—from the squire to the groom,’ replied Rip. ‘As for the groom, he -is so kind to me that I positively love the fellow. He carries a whip as -part of the furniture of a brougham, but I really cannot tell you if -there is a lash upon it or not.’ - -‘I congratulate you upon your good fortune,’ I said, repressing a sigh. -‘My lot has not been so pleasant as I could wish, but I won’t complain.’ - -‘There never was such a horse as you to endure,’ returned Rip; ‘and yet -it’s not from want of spirit; you have a tremendous deal of work in you, -and you always did your duty nobly.’ - -‘It is only right to do so, Rip,’ I said, feeling rather foolish over -this unmerited praise; and then at his request I gave him a brief -outline of my life, and just as I concluded, Benjamin Bunter and his -friend the plumber returned. - -‘Melrose is first favourite,’ he said to his wife. ‘I have put the money -in, and we are safe to win. The men who ought to know say he can’t -lose;’ and the man’s face beamed as if the race was already over and he -a winner. - -‘Poor fool,’ said Rip contemptuously; ‘one of the numberless thousands -who make the betting knaves of the turf rich. He is a sporting -greengrocer—earns his money with toil, gets a tip or hint from a trainer -or jockey, who perchance knows no more than he, and risks not only his -own money, but that which is due to others in the way of business. I -have seen many like him, Blossom, and I know full well the expression in -his face—he is elated because he is hopeful; but if his hopes in this -case are foiled, he is a ruined man.’ - -‘I hope not,’ I said. - -‘It is a fact,’ replied Rip. ‘See how he licks his lips and nervously -presses his hands together; now he takes a sip from the bottle, as if -_that_ could help him. Poor fellow! there are thousands like him to-day -upon this course, and in an hour more than two-thirds of them will -realize their folly, and return home dejected, ruined, miserable—unless -they drink, which but wards off the pain for the time, and brings it -back tenfold on the morrow. But hush! here come the horses—the noblest -and most graceful of our race.’ - -Then there filed past upon the course, which the police had previously -cleared, a line of the most beautiful horses I had ever seen, each with -a rider in a coloured jacket and cap upon his back. The glossy coats of -the horses shone like rippling water in the sunlight, and their light -fawn-like limbs trod the turf as if they supported creatures of air. -Their appearance was greeted with a shout. The ladies uttered little -ecstatic cries of admiration; but the men were busy looking out for some -particular horse on which their fortunes that day depended. - -‘There—there,’ I heard Benjamin Bunter cry, ‘that’s Melrose; isn’t he a -beauty? There is not another horse in the field like him. The red jacket -wins!’ - -Melrose’s rider wore a red jacket, and many a tongue shouted out to him -a word of encouragement as he went by; but other horses and riders had -their supporters, who were as sanguine as Benjamin Bunter as to their -success. - -The horses passed on, and left the belt of turf called ‘the course’ -perfectly clear. Half an hour’s restlessness ensued—the police moved up -and down, urging the crowd to keep quiet and not break in upon the open -space. Every face was turned to the starting point, and every eye was -full of eager hope. Then came a cry, ‘They’re off!’ and ere I had fully -realized the meaning of these words they came flashing by—a line of -panting horses, with frantic riders remorselessly using both whip and -spur. The colours of the men were mingled, and I failed to single out -the red jacket of Melrose as the body swept past me, and the next moment -the air was full of shouts and cries, and the race was over. - -Then came a brief lull, and I saw some numbers hoisted on a board -opposite. Benjamin Bunter, with a borrowed field glass, scanned the -figures for a moment, and then fell back with a groan. - -‘I thought so,’ said Rip quietly to me; ‘your master is ruined. Melrose -is not one of the first three. I saw him bringing up the tail of the -race, looking as if every bit of life had been beaten out of him.’ - -I made no reply, for my thoughts were laden with sorrow: on the whole my -master had been kind to me, and his misfortune was mine. Under any -circumstances I must have grieved for a ruined man, but the ruin in this -case was brought near home to me, and my heart was very heavy indeed. - -I was made sad too by what I saw and heard around me. Thousands of -tongues were busy with the race, and disappointment was the general -tone. It was horrible to hear the cursing heaped upon the horses. Some -cursed the winner, some cursed the losers; but no one in my hearing -spoke one kind word for the horses who had shown such matchless -powers—not a word of their beauty, or the ease and grace of their -movements, or of the spirit they had shown in the efforts made. - -After the first excitement of the race was over, hampers were unpacked -in all directions, and both men and women began to eat and drink—the -winners to celebrate their success, the losers to drown their grief, and -the ruined to stave off thought until the morrow. Wandering minstrels -began their songs—women and girls in tawdry finery danced upon the turf -to the music of cracked instruments—sunburnt gipsies with babies in -their arms stole from carriage to carriage and told fortunes as truthful -as the ‘tip’ my unhappy master had received; women laughed, men shouted, -children cried; the cornet, the drum, the flute, the tambourine—one and -all lent their sounds to the general tumult, and all was riot and -confusion. - -My eyes ached, my ears tingled, and lifting my head above this -distracting scene, I fixed my gaze upon the clear blue heaven above. Oh! -how calm and peaceful—how glorious—how beautiful! and far away against a -patch of white cloud I saw a speck, and knew by its fluttering movement -that it was a skylark singing; but his song was drowned in the popping -of champagne corks, the beating of drums, and the thousand and one other -noises of the worshippers of Folly. The votaries of the race thought as -little of the grateful hymn of the bird as they did of the great Giver -to whom it was instinctively addressed. ‘Oh! man, man,’ I cried, ‘look -up and read your lesson there!’ - -I became so absorbed in my reflections that I had forgotten Rip, until -he gave utterance to a very indignant snort, and asked me if I had taken -up with sulky ways. This I laughingly denied, and Rip, after pretending -for a moment to be very angry with me, chatted on about old associations -and his present life, until his two young masters, who had been away for -awhile, came back again. They seemed to be indignant and vexed about -something, and the younger, as he put his foot upon the step, said -aloud— - -‘John told me that Madcap was sure to win—and he was not one of the -first three.’ - -The same song my master sung, but the name was different. Melrose was -sure to win, Madcap was sure to win, and neither of them were near it. -Surely there must be roguery somewhere. - -Rip’s young masters were so annoyed that they would stay no longer, and -I had barely time to say a few affectionate words to him ere they gave -their servant orders to drive away. Rip, in obedience to a jerk of the -reins, turned round, nodding to me carelessly as he did so; but I saw a -tear in his eye, and knew that a kind and tender heart lay under his -flippant air. I am very fond of Rip, and I am sure he was fond of me. - -My party by this time were in a very bad way; all had drunk a deal more -than was good for them, and I heard Mr. Benjamin Bunter challenge Mr. -King to fight. The ladies, however, interposed, and nothing came of it. -After this they had more drink, and my master sang a song in a loud, -cracked voice, and cut a lot of antics which made him appear very -foolish. A few thoughtless people laughed and encouraged him, but I saw -more than one man look at him with bitter contempt. - -I do not care to say any more about the race-course, the very memory of -it sickens me now—it was such a seething mass of folly, drunkenness, and -vice; but I know that I was very glad when we turned our backs upon it, -and started for home. - -[Illustration: RETURNING FROM THE RACE-COURSE.] - -The road was crowded with vehicles full of men and women, most of whom -were dressed up with paper feathers, false noses, as if the great object -of the day’s holiday was to make themselves as ridiculous as possible. A -great many in the garb of gentlemen were very much the worse for drink, -and amused themselves with pelting the other wayfarers with bags of -flour, cheap pincushions, and similar acts of folly—unworthy of men. - -A mile from the course we got into a quiet road; but there were still -many carts and carriages before and behind, and every public-house we -came to was full. I can see now the number of horses waiting patiently -outside for the masters who were drinking themselves into a mad or -maudlin state within; I can hear their oaths and repetitions of their -curses upon the horses which failed to win; I can smell the smoke of the -cheap filthy tobacco which curled in great clouds from the open doors -and windows;—that hateful scene and hateful day has haunted me ever -since, and will haunt me till I die. - -We stopped at many of these public-houses on our way home, and it was -late—almost dark—when we arrived at Clapham, and then it began to rain. -The clouds had been lowering for some time—but to men who are the worse -for drink clouds and sunshine are the same. The people who had assembled -to see the holiday-makers return were dispersed by it, and when we -reached home even the streets were clear. - -The rain was now falling fast; the whole of the party were soaked with -rain; and when Benjamin Bunter pulled up at his door, his friends the -Kings got out without a word. They just nodded a good-night, and as they -passed on I heard Mr. King mutter to his wife that he hated going out in -a common cart—there was no comfort in it, and it was not fit for a -respectable tradesman. - -Poor Mrs. Bunter! her bonnet was quite spoiled, and she was crying in a -weak maudlin manner as her husband helped her out. He was in a sulky -humour, and when the children came out to greet him he asked them what -they meant by sitting up so late, and bade them go to bed at once. Mrs. -Bunter supported this rebuff, and went even farther, threatening -personal chastisement if she saw them again that night. - -My master put me into the stable, tossed a feed into the manger, raked -out my bed in a careless manner, and left me for the night. I was very -wet and uncomfortable; but a horse has no right to complain, so I -munched my food quietly, and made the best of a bad case. - -Mr. Bunter’s back parlour window was near the stable: the night was -warm, and the window was open, which enabled me to hear a deal of what -was said. When my master went in his wife was crying still. He asked her -what was the matter in a coarse brutal tone, such as I had never heard -him use before. She replied in a querulous angry voice, bewailing the -loss of her bonnet and the bad behaviour of Mrs. King, who had said -something or other of a very personal nature on the way home. - -Then there was a silence for awhile, interrupted only by the -half-stifled sobs of Mrs. Bunter. This silence was suddenly broken by my -master, who had apparently been brooding. I heard him rise up from his -seat, and kicking over the chair, tell his wife to hold her crying about -her bonnet and save her tears for something worse, for he had that day -betted with and lost money which was not his own, and he was a bankrupt -and a ruined man. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - HERE AND THERE. - - -Five days later the bailiffs were upon the premises, and a week -afterwards I was put down in the inventory and catalogue of an -auctioneer as Lot 96. Everything was to be sold off, for Mr. Benjamin -Bunter had told the truth when he informed his wife that he was a ruined -man. Always a careless liver, he had allowed debt to accumulate, and -when the pinch came, sought to retrieve his position by gambling. The -result was what any sane man might have expected—he made matters worse, -adding disgrace to his misfortunes. - -Several of the neighbours came to look at me, and I heard many of them -speak with great censure upon the fact of my master having so near his -bankruptcy wasted his money upon the race-course; but with all of them -the sin lay with the betting so near his bankruptcy—against betting -itself they said not a word; indeed I found this fearful evil had taken -very deep root among the people, and that most of them, both high and -low, indulged much or little in the baneful habit. - -Benjamin Bunter and his wife and children disappeared. I heard it stated -that they were living in a small street near the Borough Market, and -that Bunter was working as a labourer there; whether it was true or not -I cannot say—I never saw them again. - -The day of the sale came on, and I was knocked down to a horse -dealer—just such another man as brought me from Upton—for fifteen -pounds, and he, even while he was paying the money, loudly declared that -I was a bad bargain to any man for eight: this is a habit of his class, -and I felt in nowise hurt by the declaration. He took me home, had my -coat trimmed, physicked me a little, and then, as before, I figured in a -general sale. - -A publican named Newman bought me, but I was with him only a week—I was -too slow, he said—and then he tried to sell me. Several men came to his -stable, but none cared to strike a bargain, so the publican got up a -raffle, with forty members at ten shillings per head. The humiliation of -being disposed of in this way has haunted me ever since, but like other -things I have learnt to bear it. A Mr. Somerfield won me; but he was a -railway clerk, without either the accommodation for keeping or the time -to use a horse, and I was sold again at once to a chimney sweep. - -He took me home, and put me into a stable with a tall bony horse -belonging to a carrier who worked between Hornsey and London. I tried to -make friends with this horse at once, and found that I had no easy task -ahead of me, for my companion, naturally rather inclined to be grumpy, -was furthermore suffering from a very bad cold. - -Kind words and patience, however, are capital things, and within an hour -we were chatting confidentially together. From him I learned that the -life of a carrier’s horse was a very hard one—out all weathers, standing -about in the cold and wet, and journeying a long way with very heavy -loads to drag, and sometimes, especially about Christmas time, the work -of the day was not over until past midnight. - -‘They don’t think much about our welfare,’ concluded my companion with a -sigh; ‘when one horse is worn-out they buy another, and work him to -death in his turn.’ - -‘Are worn-out carriers’ horses taken to the—the—ahem!—the knackers?’ I -inquired. - -I knew I was upon delicate ground, and tried to put the question as -pleasantly as possible. My companion answered with perfect freedom. - -‘Some go to the knacker’s,’ he replied. ‘But very few of us are entirely -worn-out; there is a little life left in us yet, and we go to the cab -proprietors generally for night work.’ - -‘To run in the night cabs?’ - -‘Just so.’ - -‘What sort of work is that?’ I asked. - -‘Don’t ask me,’ was the reply, given with a shudder. ‘If it ever be your -lot you will know all about it; if you escape it, better remain in -ignorance of its horrible misery.’ - -A strange quiver ran through my frame. I did not know then what I know -now, that it was a sympathetic foreshadowing of the life that was to be. - -I remained in the stable four days, and during that time saw many people -who were looking after a horse. I was, however, not the horse they -wanted, and none of them were the style of master I wished; so it -happily fell out that I was still on hand at the end of the four days, -when an elderly gentleman came to look at me. - -I saw in an instant that this was the master for me. His age was about -sixty, and his face was radiant with love and goodwill; there was a -tenderness in the very way he looked at me, and my heart warmed towards -him the moment he entered the stable. - -A man who had charge of the stable came with him, and expressed his -readiness to trot me up and down to show off my action or speed. - -‘No, no,’ said the old gentleman; ‘there is no need for that; I can see -it is the horse I want, patient and quiet. My daughter is a great -invalid, and this is just the thing to suit her. I know the price, and -the price will suit me. What is his name?’ - -‘Blossom,’ replied the man. - -‘Poor Blossom,’ returned the old gentleman, patting me tenderly; ‘long -passed the spring-time of life, but a good creature, I warrant, still. -Send him to Maythorn Lodge tonight. Graham is my name.’ - -As he left the stable my heart bounded with joy at the prospect of such -a master. Here at last was a hope of a long-encouraged dream to be -realized—a home where I could end my old days in happiness and peace. I -lay among the straw revolving this bright, pleasant hope again and again -within my mind, half sleeping, half waking, with a sense of being at -_rest_. I pondered thus until the evening drew nigh, and a stableboy -made his appearance to take me home. - -The lad bore a distant resemblance to his master; but it was in -expression and not in feature. The kindness of the employer had set a -seal upon the employed, and I read contentment and happiness upon every -feature. If any confirmation was wanted as to the nature of the home I -was going to, this gave it to me; and with a heart fast beating with joy -and hope, I stepped out lightly close behind my guide. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER X. - MY GENTLE MISTRESS. - - -I found Maythorn Lodge all and more than I either desired or expected. -It was called a lodge, but it was in reality a very substantial and -well-built family residence, about two miles on the Finchley Road. - -The great tidal wave of bricks and mortar which has since flooded the -green fields of Finchley was yet far away, and the country round about -my new master’s home was very beautiful—almost as beautiful as the place -where I spent the first days of my life. London was not far away it is -true; but we had green trees on one side to shut out the view of the -dismal smoke, and from the other the wind came over Hampstead Heath, -bearing on its bosom the untainted perfume of green meadows and sweet -fields. I had a small, well-kept stable for a residence, and all my -wants were attended to by a lad of fourteen years of age, who in -addition to this helped the gardener in his work. A few words in passing -respecting this boy. I gathered from what I heard that he had been -originally one of the ragged unfortunates of the London streets, and -that Mr. Graham had taken him home as an experiment, to see what could -be done with those wretched outcasts. The experiment was on the whole -satisfactory. The boy—who went by the name of Roberts—was devotedly -attached to his master, and although he had bickerings with the other -servants, especially with the gardener, who most injudiciously cast -reflections upon his origin, he was on the whole a well-conducted youth. -For my own part, I must say he was an excellent lad to me, and we became -very much attached to each other. - -Mr. Graham and his daughter were the only members of the household at -home; but there was a son at college, who, as far as reports were -concerned, was a very fine dashing young fellow—an object of great -interest to all in Maythorn Lodge. Miss Graham was, as her father had -declared, a great invalid. It was in the month of May that I took up my -residence at the Lodge, and the weather, warm and balmy as it was, -seemed to be too keen for the delicate frame. I remember her appearing -at the door as I drew up, with her fragile form wrapped up in cloaks and -furs, as if there were no sun shining in the heavens, and the keen -cutting blasts of winter were sweeping up from the adjoining heath. Her -face was beautiful, and there was a colour upon her cheeks which -rivalled the blush on a May-born rose; her eyes—blue, clear, and -thoughtful—were in harmony with the rich mass of golden hair which -clustered o’er her forehead, and fell in masses over her shoulders. But -beneath it all there lay something indefinable, something without a -name, which told me that the young life was fleeting. I read this in her -face, and I saw it plainer in the tender solicitude of the father, and -the anxious, sorrowful look he wore when her face was turned from his. -She came down, and before getting into the carriage stroked me upon the -neck. The touch, feather-like as it was, sent a thrill through my -frame—it was different to anything I had known for years. - -‘It is an old horse,’ said Mr. Graham, ‘but a very quiet one. You want -air more than exercise, Nellie dear.’ - -‘It is a very nice horse, and will suit me,’ she said quietly. - -Then they got into the carriage. - -[Illustration: MISS GRAHAM ‘STROKED ME UPON THE NECK.’] - -I felt by the touch that Miss Graham was driving me—a little experience -soon tells a horse who is behind him; and we soon entered upon a quiet -part of the road, when the gentle strain relaxed, and I was allowed to -have my own way. I trotted on, with an occasional walk, for an hour or -more, and then the reins tightened, and I was turned towards home. - -All the way Nellie prattled to her father, and all her talk was what she -would do next summer. Next summer she would be so well and happy. -Archibald—that was her brother—would take his degree and be home for a -holiday; and Harry,—here her voice quivered a little—who loved her, and -was over the sea, would be back again. Next summer was to be everything -to her;—but she had entered upon her last summer here! To all this Mr. -Graham said little; but in every word he uttered I detected a ring of -sorrow and compassion: he knew what many others knew—that with her the -day was far spent, and the night coming on. Oh, how I pitied them both! -and I pitied them the more for the love I bore them—so kind, so gentle, -so tender to me, who had known the rough road of life, and felt the -thorns and briars which grow on every side. This day was but the type of -many. If the sun shone and the wind was soft we invariably went out: not -always the same road, but at all times seeking quiet thoroughfares, -where I was allowed to travel as I pleased. A happy time for me—I had -indeed fallen upon pleasant places. Well fed, well cared for, tenderly -spoken to, treated as a horse _should_ be, the days passed like hours, -and the weeks like days, and so the summer fled. With the autumn came a -change: our drives soon decreased in number, and at last entirely -stopped. This was what I had feared—what I had looked forward to with -dread and sorrow. My young mistress’s days were numbered, and she was—to -use one of the tenderest expressions from the lips of man—going home. -Her father knew, and all around her knew, that there was no hope; but -this doctor was sent for, and that doctor was sent for, and took their -fees, until the last. The only exercise I got was with Roberts, who took -me out for a canter two or three times a week; and it was through the -neighbours, who stopped the lad, to inquire how Miss Nellie was, that I -learnt what I did about her. The death so long threatening came at last. -The time is scored deep upon my memory, and the night my darling -mistress passed away I shall never forget. Her brother—who was studying -hard, so they said—was kept in ignorance of her condition almost to the -last. It was her wish, I believe—one of the many unselfish thoughts of -hers to which I could bear witness; and so when he came, the poor -flickering flame of life was nearly gone. In the afternoon of the -well-remembered day I heard Roberts tell the gardener that Miss Nellie -was not expected to live throughout the night. This aroused my already -absorbing interest, and touching with a ruder touch than I had known -before the cores of my heart, kept me alive to every word and movement -around me. The evening passed on, and the sun set amidst a mass of -wind-tossed clouds, and with the night came storm and rain. It raged -until midnight, and then the heavens cleared, and the stars came out -with their twinkling faces looking down upon the wondering earth, -emblems of peace, and rest, and hope. I was gazing at them through my -half-open stable door, when Roberts came in and threw himself upon the -straw, weeping bitterly; and the sorrow of the boy told me that all was -over! - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - ANOTHER LOSS AND A DISAPPOINTMENT. - - -What I felt that night I do not care to tell—the sorrow of the time was -too deep for words. I loved my mistress; she had come upon me like -sunshine after storm—her very touch was balm to my wounded spirit—and -she was gone! Roberts made a deal of noise over his sorrow, and I have -no doubt he felt the loss; but his wound was not so deep as mine, I -warrant you. - -They buried my mistress quietly, as she wished; and then another -misfortune came upon me. Mr. Graham was taken ill. Mr. Archibald did not -go back to college, but remained with his father; and from this I argued -that the illness was of a very serious nature. Then came a dread upon me -of what was to come, and I was very unhappy indeed. - -I saw very little of Mr. Archibald, and what I did see was not pleasing -to me. He appeared to be very proud and imperious, and talked to -everybody in a very commanding way. As for _me_, he only came once into -the stable, and then he positively laughed at me, called me a -‘broken-down hack,’ and asked Roberts why I was not sent to the -knacker’s. - -‘Miss Nellie was very fond of Blossom, sir,’ replied Roberts; ‘he ain’t -much to look at, but he ain’t a bad horse—he is very willing, sir.’ - -This recommendation made no impression upon Mr. Archibald, who laughed -contemptuously and went away; but I felt very grateful to the boy -Roberts, who preferred speaking the truth to toadying to the disparaging -opinions of his young master. Mr. Graham was very ill, suffering from -brain fever, the result of many months of anxiety and watchfulness over -his daughter. The illness had long been pending, and descended upon him -with terrible force. He became delirious, raving night and day, until -nature was exhausted, and a calm settling upon him, he followed his -daughter to the grave. - -This second blow, following so closely upon the first, fairly broke me -down; a gloom settled upon the house, but nowhere so darkly as upon me. -I not only grieved deeply for the great loss I had sustained, but there -was the weight of a dark uncertain future hanging over me. - -I saw nobody but Roberts until the second funeral was over; and a few -days after the event, Mr. Archibald, Roberts, and another servant in -livery entered the stable. The latter person seemed to be very -deferential to Mr. Archibald, and I saw at once that he was his own -servant—a man I had heard Roberts speak of as Mr. Archibald’s Hoskins. - -‘There, that’s the nag, Hoskins,’ said Mr. Archibald; ‘I make you a -present of him, instead of a Christmas box by-and-by. He will fetch -something for cats’-meat, if for nothing else.’ - -This unmerited insult was received with an approving laugh from Hoskins; -but Roberts, with tears in his eyes, stepped forward and said,— - -‘If you please, Mr. Archibald, Miss Nellie always said Blossom was not -to be sold.’ - -‘Did she?’ returned Mr. Archibald. ‘And pray what was to be done with -him?’ - -‘Master said he would keep him while he lived, and leave enough money to -keep him at grass in his old days, if he died before him.’ - -Oh, kind mistress and worthy master! you have the thanks a horse can -give for the noble thought; but alas, it was never to be! - -‘There was nothing of the sort in his will,’ said Mr. Archibald; ‘and I -do not feel called upon to carry out such a sentimental scheme upon your -bare assertion, my lad. Hoskins, the animal is yours; get him out of the -way as soon as you can, for I want the stable for my own horses.’ - -Having thus sealed my fate, he turned upon his heel and went his way. -The cold, selfish sentence of Mr. Archibald Graham was carried out. I -will make no comment upon the character of this young man, but leave my -readers to judge his conduct for themselves. A few hours later I left -him and Maythorn Lodge behind me. - -Hoskins took me down to Smithfield, where he sold me to the proprietor -of an advertising van; and for four months I dragged behind me a huge -unsightly structure of light boarding, whereon was pasted the -advertisements my master was employed to make known. - -Sometimes we puffed a patent pill, warranted to cure every form of -suffering known to man; at another time we vaunted the merits of some -low wretched comic singer, who did his best nightly to degrade already -fallen man; and then this gave way to a wholesale outfitter’s -declaration that he was the best of tailors; and so we went on, until an -Act of Parliament swept advertising vans from the public streets, and my -master’s trade was ruined. - -This was a very wretched time for me: I was badly stabled, badly fed; I -was never once decently groomed all the time I was with this man. -Sometimes, it is true, he scratched my back with a bit of a curry-comb, -and threw a pail or two of water over my legs; but this was all, and -what with the life I led, and the wet weather and the dirt of the -streets, I sank down very low and became a poor wretched object indeed. - -I was sold again for so small a sum that I will not name it—none who -knew poor Blossom in his earliest days would have dreamt that he could -have come to such a pass. This buyer was Mr. Crabbe, livery stable -keeper and cab proprietor of Hackney Marsh—the last master I shall ever -know. - -He kept about a dozen horses—eight of them young and in good condition; -the rest were pitiable objects like myself, and we were reserved for -night work. - -I need not tell you that our position in the stable was anything but an -enviable one. The young horses turned up their noses at us, and upon the -strength of being better fed and better cared for than our wretched -selves, treated us with the greatest possible contempt. Mr. Crabbe -himself seemed to have no thought or care for us, and never once, from -the hour I became his property to the present moment, did he ever bestow -a kind word or a caress upon me. - -As for my duty—my work as night cab horse—I will speak more of that -presently; but just now I must tell of an incident which occurred in the -stable, as it bears upon the fate of a friend who is very dear to me—I -mean Rip, the noble, handsome Rip. - -One day, late in the afternoon, Mr. Crabbe brought home a new horse, a -young thing about four years of age, which he put in the stall next to -mine. I just glanced at him, but made no attempt to open a conversation, -as I had endured so many insults and snubbings from the better horses of -our stable; and after a time forgetting him, fell into a musing mood. My -fancy carried me back, as it often did, to my place of birth, and the -paddock and the surrounding scene rose up before me. For a moment the -quietude of the sweet place was upon me, and bowing my head I murmured, -‘Oh, Upton, Upton! would that I could take these old bones down to your -green fields! Would that I could lie down beside your sweet river and -give up my life!’ - -‘Who talks of Upton?’ said a voice near me; and turning my head I saw -the stranger look at me with an inquisitive face. - -‘I do,’ I replied; ‘do you know the place?’ - -‘I ought to,’ replied the other; ‘for I have only just left it, and a -bad leave it is for me, I fear. I was reared on Mr. Bayne’s farm, and a -kinder master never lived.’ - -I could barely speak for the tumultuous throbbing of my heart, but I -managed to stammer out, ‘Tell me all you know; is Mr. Bayne alive?’ And -then I asked for my mother, and the stranger told me what I expected to -hear, that she had lived to a good old age, and had died a year ago. - -[Illustration: THE TALK IN THE STABLE.] - -‘And Mr. Bayne?’ I asked again. - -‘He is getting into years, but hale and hearty still,’ replied my -informant. ‘But just before I came away a sad accident happened to a -farmer named Martin. Boxer was his horse, who used to bring him home -from market when he had been drinking; but Boxer was getting old and -blind, I suppose, and walked out of the road into the mill-pond. Be it -as it may, Mr. Martin and Boxer were found drowned together.’ - -I expressed my sorrow for both master and horse, and then with a -palpitating heart I inquired after my old friend Rip. - -‘Rip, Rip, let me see,’ said my companion, thoughtfully; ‘an old horse -belonging to the Tracey family, is it not?’ - -It seemed so odd to hear any one speaking of Rip as an old horse: but -time had flown since we met, and he, like me, was past his prime. But he -could not be so worn-out as I was—his lot had fallen upon smoother -places than mine; still he was old, there was no disputing that. - -‘A sad accident happened to this Rip,’ continued my informant; ‘a -careless groom drove him against another carriage, and a splinter -entering his leg, he was lamed for life.’ - -‘And what has become of him?’ I asked softly, my thoughts running upon -knives and guns in an instant. - -‘The family with whom he lives are very kind to horses,’ was the -reply—‘especially the elder branches. Rip has served them well, I -believe, and they have rewarded him by making arrangements for him to -end his days in the paddock where he lived when young. His leg will -never be of any real service again, but it has ceased to pain him, and -he limps about as happy and contented as a horse can be.’ - -Oh, Rip, my friend, this is good news of you. Long may you live to enjoy -your well-earned rest and ease! There was a choking feeling in my throat -as I thought of our different lots, but I hope it was not the result of -envy. Envy is as bad in a horse as it is in a man. - -‘Did he ever speak of a horse named Blossom?’ I ventured to ask softly, -after a pause. - -‘Very often,’ replied my companion—‘wondering what had become of him—and -always in terms of the greatest compassion. I fancy that Blossom is -rather an unfortunate horse. Do you know him?’ - -I did not answer, for my heart was full, and my brain was busy with -thinking of my dear old friend, high-spirited noble Rip—and generous -too, for he could think of me—poor, simple, vulgar Blossom. I felt very -sorry for having neighed so loudly when I met him on the race-course; -but he forgave me, and what more could I want? - -I ought to have been sleeping that afternoon; but the news concerning -Rip drove all thoughts of rest from my brain, and I had not closed my -eyes when the ostler came in to harness me for my nightly work. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - EXIT BLOSSOM. - - -No harder lot could have fallen upon a horse than that which befell me. -The night-work of cab horses is bad at the best, but mine was worse than -the ordinary lot of these unfortunate creatures. I was driven by a man -named Stevens—a coarse, brutal fellow, who could not drive a yard -without using the whip and supplementing his cruelty with bitter oaths. - -Then my work was in the night, when fallen man shows up at his worst. -Oh! the sad scenes I have witnessed! the dreadful things I have heard! -When the dark mantle has fallen upon the earth, Vice comes out boldly -and walks under the stars as if there were no great Witness of its -infamy far above. Then man comes out of the dark alleys and robs and -plunders, and does desperate deeds of violence to others who stagger -homeward soddened with drink. Then it is we hear the lewd song, the -bitter blasphemy, the oath and curse and shriek for help. Then it is -that woman, lost to everything but a defiant determination to live on -through her shame, crawls about the streets, sinking lower and lower -every moment of her life. Do the shameless and vicious think that night -screens their evil deeds? Is it possible that they can think it less -sinful to act under the starlight than under the broad beams of the -midday sun; or is it that vice and folly _cannot_, _dare not_ come out -and face the pure golden light in the sky? Oh, man! have you forgotten -that night was given to rest in, and not to riot away? Better be in your -graves than out and doing the things I have seen you perform. - -I shrink from any further record of this time—sad and cruel for me from -the first, and sad and cruel still; but in the darkness, standing by the -hour together in the chill fog, who could marvel that this old body sank -under it, and that I am broken in health? I am not so old a horse in -actual years; but misfortune, neglect, and ill-usage have brought me to -the end of my life long before my time. - -Last night, while dragging a fare up Ludgate Hill, my head suddenly swam -round, and I staggered and fell. When I came to, there was a small knot -of night prowlers around me, and Stevens the driver was kicking my ribs -with his heavy boots. I got up somehow, and I staggered on, half-blind, -and every bone in my body aching most terribly. The fare left the cab in -Cannon Street, and shortly after I fell again. I did not faint, but I -lay utterly helpless and exhausted. Stevens kicked me until he was -tired; but I could not rise for half an hour or more, and when I did -scramble to my feet I could not drag the cab, and Stevens, putting it -under shelter, led me home. - -I heard him tell Mr. Crabbe what had befallen me, and the livery stable -keeper positively _laughed_—think of it, my friends, the man laughed at -my misery and the brutality of the driver! - -‘It must have come sooner or later,’ I heard Mr. Crabbe say; ‘he has -lasted longer than I expected. As you go home tell the knacker to give -me a look up to-morrow.’ - -I heard my sentence almost without a quiver. I was so worn-out, so -reduced by pain, so weary of my existence, that I had no wish to exist. -Better die a thousand times than live on as I have lived during the past -six months. - -[Illustration: POOR BLOSSOM’S LAST DAYS.] - -I was resigned, but with my resignation came a sense of gross injustice. -I had toiled all the days of my life for man, and when worn-out and -broken, doomed to die in a knacker’s yard! It may be just—man is wiser -than I am; but it seemed hard to end one’s days in such a place. - -In the midst of my gloom a thought arose which gives me consolation to -this moment—_I have done my duty_. None of my masters, from the first to -the last, can accuse me of having shirked my work or shown the least -disposition to vice; and there is a companion thought to it which gives -me further comfort—I am sure that many of those who knew me, most of -them ignorant of my fate, will speak kindly of me when I am gone, and -say a good word for poor Blossom. - -I have a hope too—a hope which I hold close to my heart—and that is of -Rip, dear, noble Rip, roaming over the paddock I know so well, with the -gentle stream flowing at its base, and the old water-mill turning in the -sunlight, and the song of the lark and the hum of the bee in his ear, -and the sweet-scented clover throwing its perfume into his grateful -nostrils. As you wander thus, oh, noble Rip, I hope—ah, _know_—that you -will sometimes think of your old friend, who served mankind all his -life, and died by the knacker’s hand! - -[Illustration: Finis] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PUBLICATIONS - - FOR THE - - PROMOTION OF KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. - - - =Our Zoological Friends.= With Illustrations. By Harland Coultas. 6s. - - =Anecdotes in Natural History.= By the Rev. F. O. Morris, B.A. 5s. - - =Birds and their Nests.= By Mary Howitt. With Twenty-three full-page - Engravings. Cloth, 5s. - - =Animal Sagacity: a Selection of Remarkable Incidents illustrative of - the Sagacity of Animals.= Edited by Mrs. S. C. Hall. Cloth, 5s.; - gilt edges, 7s. 6d. - - =Our Feathered Companions, Neighbours, and Visitors.= By the Rev. T. - Jackson, M.A. With more than One Hundred Engravings. 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Cloth, 1s. 6d.; limp, 1s. - - =Anecdotes of Animals.= With Cover and full of Illustrations, 1d. - each. - - 1. Anecdotes of Horses. 2. Anecdotes of Dogs. 3. Anecdotes of - Donkeys. 4. Neddy and Me. 5. Blackbird’s Nest. 6. On the - Management of Horses. - - =A Mother’s Lesson on Kindness to Animals.= 1st, 2nd, and 3rd series, - cloth, 1s.; limp, 6d. each. - - =The Bird’s Nest.= A Story. Translated from the German. In large type. - 1s. - - =Dick and his Donkey; or, How to pay the Rent.= Edition in large type, - coloured stiff cover, 1s. Cloth, 6d. - - =Old Janet’s Christmas Gift.= An Interesting Story of a Donkey. 2d. - - =The Natural History Picture-Roll.= With Large Engravings and - Large-type Letterpress, for each day of the month. Price 3s. In - schools and nurseries this ‘Roll’ will be found a rich treasure of - daily interest to the young. - - - LONDON: S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - 4. 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