Fair and sell him, I settled at a busy inn on the high-road, where, in
return for board and lodging for myself and horse, I had to supervise
the distribution of hay and corn in the stables, and to keep an account
thereof. The old ostler, with whom I was soon on excellent terms, was a
regular character--a Yorkshireman by birth, who had seen a great deal of
life in the vicinity of London. He had served as ostler at a small inn
at Hounslow, much frequented by highway men. Jerry Abershaw and Richard
Ferguson, generally called Galloping Dick, were capital customers then,
he told me, and he had frequently drunk with them in the corn-room. No
man could desire jollier companions over a glass of "summut"; but on the
road they were terrible, cursing and swearing, and thrusting the muzzles
of their pistols into people's mouths.

From the old ostler I picked up many valuable hints about horses.

"When you are a gentleman," said he, "should you ever wish to take a
journey on a horse of your own, follow my advice. Before you start,
merely give your horse a couple of handfuls of corn, and a little
water--somewhat under a quart. Then you may walk and trot for about ten
miles till you come to some nice inn, where you see your horse led into
a nice stall, telling the ostler not to feed him till you come. If the
ostler happens to have a dog, say what a nice one it is; if he hasn't,
ask him how he's getting on, and whether he ever knew worse times; when
your back's turned, he'll say what a nice gentleman you are, and how he
thinks he has seen you before.

"Then go and sit down to breakfast, and before you have finished, get up
and go and give your horse a feed of corn; chat with the ostler two or
three minutes till your horse has taken the shine out of his corn, which
will prevent the ostler taking any of it away when your back's turned.