Fair of horses-Looks of respect-The fast trotter-Pair of eyes-Strange men-Jasper,your pal-Force of blood-Young lady with diamonds-Not quite so beautiful.
I WAS standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of horses.
I have already had occasion to mention this castle.It is the remains of what was once a Norman stronghold,and is perched upon a round mound or monticle,in the midst of the old city.Steep is this mound and scarped,evidently by the hand of man;a deep gorge over which is flung a bridge,separates it,on the south,from a broad swell of open ground called 'the hill';of old the scene of many a tournament and feat of Norman chivalry,but now much used as a show-place for cattle,where those who buy and sell beeves and other beasts resort at stated periods.
So it came to pass that I stood upon this hill,observing a fair of horses.
The reader is already aware that I had long since conceived a passion for the equine race;a passion in which circumstances had of late not permitted me to indulge.I had no horses to ride,but I took pleasure in looking at them;and I had already attended more than one of these fairs:the present was lively enough,indeed horse fairs are seldom dull.There was shouting and whooping,neighing and braying;there was galloping and trotting;fellows with highlows and white stockings,and with many a string dangling from the knees of their tight breeches,were running desperately,holding horses by the halter,and in some cases dragging them along;there were long-tailed steeds and dock-tailed steeds of every degree and breed;there were droves of wild ponies,and long rows of sober cart horses;there were donkeys,and even mules:the last rare things to be seen in damp,misty England,for the mule pines in mud and rain,and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning sand below.There were-oh,the gallant creatures!I hear their neigh upon the wind;there were-goodliest sight of all-certain enormous quadrupeds only seen to perfection in our native isle,led about by dapper grooms,their manes ribanded and their tails curiously clubbed and balled.Ha!ha!-how distinctly do they say,ha!ha!
An old man draws nigh,he is mounted on a lean pony,and he leads by the bridle one of these animals;nothing very remarkable about that creature,unless in being smaller than the rest and gentle,which they are not;he is not of the sightliest look;he is almost dun,and over one eye a thick film has gathered.But stay!there IS something remarkable about that horse,there is something in his action in which he differs from all the rest:as he advances,the clamour is hushed!all eyes are turned upon him-what looks of interest-of respect-and,what is this?people are taking off their hats-surely not to that steed!Yes,verily!men,especially old men,are taking off their hats to that one-eyed steed,and I hear more than one deep-drawn ah!
'What horse is that?'said I to a very old fellow,the counterpart of the old man on the pony,save that the last wore a faded suit of velveteen,and this one was dressed in a white frock.
'The best in mother England,'said the very old man,taking a knobbed stick from his mouth,and looking me in the face,at first carelessly,but presently with something like interest;'he is old like myself,but can still trot his twenty miles an hour.You won't live long,my swain;tall and over-grown ones like thee never does;yet,if you should chance to reach my years,you may boast to thy great-grand-boys thou hast seen Marshland Shales.'
Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl nor baron,doffed my hat;yes!I doffed my hat to the wondrous horse,the fast trotter,the best in mother England;and I too drew a deep ah!and repeated the words of the old fellows around.'Such a horse as this we shall never see again;a pity that he is so old.'
Now during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I had been the object of some person's observation;that eyes were fastened upon me from somewhere in the crowd.Sometimes I thought myself watched from before,sometimes from behind;and occasionally methought that,if I just turned my head to the right or left,I should meet a peering and inquiring glance;and indeed once or twice I did turn,expecting to see somebody whom I knew,yet always without success;though it appeared to me that I was but a moment too late,and that some one had just slipped away from the direction to which I turned,like the figure in a magic lanthorn.
