last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston's pint, and
they wheeled him right round and round like a whip-top.
Poor pony! he got his match at last. He struggled, and
jumpt, and plunged and fort, like a man, for dear life.
Fust went up his knowin' little head, that had no ears;
and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used
to did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore; but there
was no bottom there; nothin' for his hind foot to spring
from; so down he went agin ever so deep: and then he
tried t'other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had
no tail; but there was nothin' for the fore feet to rest
on nother; so he made a summerset, and as he went over,
he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full stretch
of his hind legs.

"Poor feller! it was the last kick he ever gave in this
world; he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair
of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright
dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the
water closed over him for ever.

"I railly felt sorry for the poor old 'grave-digger,' I
did upon my soul, for hosses and ladies are two things,
that a body can't help likin'. Indeed, a feller that
hante no taste that way ain't a man at all, in my opinion.
Yes, I felt ugly for poor 'grave-digger,' though I didn't
feel one single bit so for that cantin' cheatin', old
Elder. So when I turns to go, sais I, 'Elder,' sais I,
and I jist repeated his own words--'I guess it's your
turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the