me in his own mysterious language. 'The horse wants no whip,' said the
landlord. 'Hold your tongue, daddy,' said Mr. Petulengro, 'my pal knows
quite well what to do with the whip, he's not going to beat the horse
with it.' About four hundred yards from the house there was a hill, to
the foot of which the road ran almost on a perfect level; towards the
foot of this hill, I trotted the horse, who set off at a long, swift
pace, seemingly at the rate of about sixteen miles an hour. On reaching
the foot of the hill, I wheeled the animal found, and trotted him towards
the house--the horse sped faster than before. Ere he had advanced a
hundred yards, I took off my hat, in obedience to the advice which Mr.
Petulengro had given me, in his own language, and holding it over the
horse's head, commenced drumming on the crown with the knob of the whip;
the horse gave a slight start, but instantly recovering himself,
continued his trot till he arrived at the door of the public-house,
amidst the acclamations of the company, who had all rushed out of the
house to be spectators of what was going on. 'I see now what you wanted
the whip for,' said the landlord, 'and sure enough, that drumming on your
hat was no bad way of learning whether the horse was quiet or not. Well,
did you ever see a more quiet horse, or a better trotter?' 'My cob shall
trot against him,' said a fellow, dressed in velveteen, mounted on a low
powerful-looking animal. 'My cob shall trot against him to the hill and
back again--come on!' We both started; the cob kept up gallantly against
the horse for about half the way to the hill, when he began to lose
ground; at the foot of the hill he was about fifteen yards behind.
Whereupon I turned slowly and waited for him. We then set off towards
the house, but now the cob had no chance, being at least twenty yards
behind when I reached the door. This running of horses, the wild uncouth
forms around me, and the ale and beer which were being guzzled from pots
and flagons, put me wonderfully in mind of the ancient horse-races of the
heathen north. I almost imagined myself Gunnar of Hlitharend at the race