 | The works of Washington Irving |  |
HORSEMANSHIP.
A coach was a strange monster in those days,
and the sight of one put both horse and man into
amazement. Some said it was a great crabshell
brought out of China, and some imagined it to be
one of the pagan temples, in which the cannibals
adored the divell.
Taylor, the water poet.
I have made casual mention, more
than once, of one of the squire's antiquated
retainers, old Christy the huntsman.
I find that his crabbed humour is
a source of much entertainment among
the young men of the family; the Oxonian,
particularly, takes a mischievous
pleasure now and then in slily rubbing
the old man against the grain, and then
smoothing him down again; for the old
fellow is as ready to bristle up his back
as a porcupine. He rides a venerable
hunter called Pepper, which is a counter-part
of himself, a heady, cross-grained
animal, that frets the flesh off its bones;
bites, kicks, and plays all manner of
villanous tricks. He is as tough, and
nearly as old as his rider, who has ridden
him time out of mind, and is, indeed, the
only one that can do any thing with him.
Sometimes, however, they have a complete
quarrel, and a dispute for mastery,
and then I am told, it is as good as a
farce to see the he