he’s wicious -- far from it, only play -- full of play, I may say, though to be sure, if a man gets spilt it don’t argufy much whether it’s done from play or from wice.’

During this time the horse was going through his evolutions hopping over this thing, popping over that, making as little of everything as practice makes them do.

Having gone through the usual routine, the lad now walked the glowing coated snorting horse back to where the trio stood. Mr Sponge again looked him over, and still seeing no exception to take to him, bid the lad get off, and lengthen the stirrups for him to take a ride. That was the difficulty. The first two minutes always did it. Mr Sponge, however, nothing daunted, borrowed Sam’s spurs, and making Leather hold the horse by the head till he got well into the saddle, and then lead him on a bit he gave the animal such a dig in both sides as fairly threw him off his guard, and made him start away at a gallop, instead of standing and delivering, as was his wont.

Away Mr Sponge shot, pulling him about, trying all his paces and putting him at all sorts of leaps.

Emboldened by the nerve and dexterity displayed by Mr Sponge, Mr Buckram stood meditating a further trial of his equestrian ability, as he watched him bucketing ‘Ercles’ about. Hercules had ‘spang-hewed’ so many triers, and the hideous contraction of his resolute back had deterred so many from mounting, that Buckram had began to fear he would have to place him in the only remaining school for incurables, the ’Bus. Hack-horse riders are seldom great horsemen. The very fact of their being hack-horse riders shows they are little accustomed to horses, or they would not give the fee-simple of an animal for a few weeks’ work.

‘I’ve a wonderful clever little oss,’ observed Mr Buckram, as Sponge returned with a slack rein and a satisfied air on the late resolute animal’s back. ‘Little I can ’ardly call ’im,’ continued Mr Buckram, ‘only he’s low; but yon knows that the ’eight of an oss has nothin to do with his size. Now this is a perfect dray-oss in minature. An ’Arrow gent, lookin’ at him t’other day christen’d him ‘‘Multum in Parvo.’’ But though he’s so ter--men--dous strong, he has the knack o’ goin’, specially in deep; and if you’re not a- goin’ to Sir Richard, but into some o’ them plough sheers [shires], I’d ’commend him to you.’

‘Let’s have a look at him,’ replied Mr Sponge, throwing his right leg over Hercules’ head, and sliding from the saddle on to the ground, as if he were alighting from the quietest shooting pony in the world.

All then was hurry, scurry, and scamper to get this second prodigy out. Presently he appeared. Multum in Parvo certainly was all that Buckram described him. A long, low, clean-headed, clean-necked, big- hocked, chesnut, with a long tail, and great, large, flat, white legs, without mark or blemish upon them. Unlike Hercules, there was nothing indicative of vice or mischief about him. Indeed, he was rather a sedate, meditative-looking animal; and, instead of the watchful, arm’s-length sort of way Leather and Co. treated Hercules, they jerked and punched Parvo about as if he were a cow.

Still Parvo had his foibles. He was a resolute, headstrong animal, that would go his own way in spite of all the pulling and hauling in the world. If he took it into his obstinate head to turn into a particular field, into it he would be; or against the gatepost he would bump the rider’s leg in a way that would make him remember the difference of opinion between them. His was not a fiery, hot-headed spirit, with object or reason for its guide, but just a regular downright pig-headed sort of stupidity, that nobody could account for. He had a mouth like a bull, and would walk clean through a gate sometimes rather than be at the trouble of rising to leap it; at other times he would hop over it like a bird. He could not beat Mr Buckram’s men, because they were always on the look-out for objects of contention with sharp spur rowels, ready to let into his sides the moment he began to stop; but a weak or a timid man on his back had no more chance than he would on an elephant. If the horse chose to carry him into the midst of the hounds at the meet, he would have him in -- nay, he would think nothing of upsetting the master himself in the middle of the pack. Then the provoking part was, that the obstinate animal, after having done all the mischief, would just set to to eat as if nothing had happened. After rolling a sportsman in the mud, he would repair to the nearest haystack or grassy bank, and be caught. He was now ten years old, or a