what we are not likely to do! This horse, this beautiful and
high-bred horse, well-fed, and fat and glossy, who stood prancing at
our gate like an Arabian, has suddenly turned sulky. He does not
indeed stand quite still, but his way of moving is little better--
the slowest and most sullen of all walks. Even they who ply the
hearse at funerals, sad-looking beasts who totter under black
feathers, go faster. It is of no use to admonish him by whip, or
rein, or word. The rogue has found out that it is a weak and tender
hand that guides him now. Oh, for one pull, one stroke of his old
driver, the groom! how he would fly! But there is the groom half a
mile before us, out of earshot, clearing the ground at a capital
rate, beating us hollow. He has just turned the top of the hill;--
and in a moment--ay, NOW he is out of sight, and will undoubtedly so
continue till he meets us at the lawn gate. Well! there is no great
harm. It is only prolonging the pleasure of enjoying together this
charming scenery in this fine weather. If once we make up our minds
not to care how slowly our steed goes, not to fret ourselves by vain
exertions, it is no matter what his pace may be. There is little
doubt of his getting home by sunset, and that will content us. He
is, after all, a fine noble animal; and perhaps when he finds that
we are determined to give him his way, he may relent and give us
ours. All his sex are sticklers for dominion, though, when it is
undisputed, some of them are generous enough to abandon it. Two or
three of the most discreet wives of my acquaintance contrive to
manage their husbands sufficiently with no better secret than this
seeming submission; and in our case the example has the more weight
since we have no possible way of helping ourselves.

Thus philosophising, we reached the top of the hill, and viewed with
'reverted eyes' the beautiful prospect that lay bathed in golden