that he could draw up an argument in his sermon,--or a hole in his
breeches, as steadily on the one as in the other;--that brisk trotting and
slow argumentation, like wit and judgment, were two incompatible
movements.--But that upon his steed--he could unite and reconcile every
thing,--he could compose his sermon--he could compose his cough,--and, in
case nature gave a call that way, he could likewise compose himself to
sleep.--In short, the parson upon such encounters would assign any cause
but the true cause,--and he with-held the true one, only out of a nicety of
temper, because he thought it did honour to him.

But the truth of the story was as follows: In the first years of this
gentleman's life, and about the time when the superb saddle and bridle were
purchased by him, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it what you
will,--to run into the opposite extreme.--In the language of the county
where he dwelt, he was said to have loved a good horse, and generally had
one of the best in the whole parish standing in his stable always ready for
saddling: and as the nearest midwife, as I told you, did not live nearer to
the village than seven miles, and in a vile country,--it so fell out that
the poor gentleman was scarce a whole week together without some piteous
application for his beast; and as he was not an unkind-hearted man, and
every case was more pressing and more distressful than the last;--as much
as he loved his beast, he had never a heart to refuse him; the upshot of
which was generally this; that his horse was either clapp'd, or spavin'd,
or greaz'd;--or he was twitter-bon'd, or broken-winded, or something, in
short, or other had befallen him, which would let him carry no flesh;--so
that he had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get rid of,--and a good
horse to purchase in his stead.

What the loss in such a balance might amount to, communibus annis, I would
leave to a special jury of sufferers in the same traffick, to determine;--