door. Now, as cruel fate would have it, there was just within the nag's
reach, a tub full of wine lees, which, luckless moment for him, (being
thirsty) he unceremoniously quaffed off in a trice, without even _here's
to you_.

The consequence was, Prance fell down dead drunk; nay, he acted death so
much to the life, that his master, reckoning him absolutely defunct, had
him flayed, and sold his skin to a tanner, who happened to be drinking in
the alehouse kitchen. Mr. Pounce then walked in a solitary mood to his
home, and communicated the melancholy affair to his good lady, who wept
bitterly at Prance's untimely fate.

But leaving her to dry her eyes, we return to the nag--the weather being
cold, he was by the loss of his skin, &c. quite sobered, and prudently
trotted to his master's door, at which he whinnied with much clamour for
admission.

Bless me, my dear, exclaims Mrs. P. our nag's ghost is at the door--I know
him by his whinnies; upon which Mr. Pounce runs with alacrity to the
door, and sure enough there he was--no ghost--but in propriâ personâ
except his skin. In this exigence, the gentleman had four sheep killed
forthwith, and covered the nag with a woollen garment. To make short of
it, the horse rapidly recovered, and bore two tods of wool every year.

From this narration it is proposed to embrace the manifest advantages
which offer themselves for improving the woollen trade--that great staple
of Britain's wealth, in manner following:--

First, then, let an accurate estimate be taken of the number of sheep
annually slaughtered in these kingdoms.