From a foal upwards this remarkable animal had been the idlest and most sluggish of his race.Whatever capacities for speed he might possess he had kept so strictly to himself, that no amount of training had ever brought them out.He had been found hopelessly slow as a racer, and hopelessly lazy as a hunter, and was fit for nothing but a quiet, easy life of it with an old gentleman or an invalid.When I heard this account of the horse, I don't mind confessing that my heart warmed to him.Visions of Thomas Idle ambling serenely on the back of a steed as lazy as himself, presenting to a restless world the soothing and composite spectacle of a kind of sluggardly Centaur, too peaceable in his habits to alarm anybody, swam attractively before my eyes.I went to look at the horse in the stable.Nice fellow! he was fast asleep with a kitten on his back.I saw him taken out for an airing by the groom.If he had had trousers on his legs I should not have known them from my own, so deliberately were they lifted up, so gently were they put down, so slowly did they get over the ground.From that moment I gratefully accepted my friend's offer.I went home; the horse followed me - by a slow train.Oh, Francis, how devoutly I believed in that horse I how carefully I looked after all his little comforts! I had never gone the length of hiring a man-servant to wait on myself; but I went to the expense of hiring one to wait upon him.If I thought a little of myself when I bought the softest saddle that could be had for money, I thought also of my horse.When the man at the shop afterwards offered me spurs and a whip, I turned from him with horror.When I sallied out for my first ride, I went purposely unarmed with the means of hurrying my steed.He proceeded at his own pace every step of the way; and when he stopped, at last, and blew out both his sides with a heavy sigh, and turned his sleepy head and looked behind him, I took him home again, as I might take home an artless child who said to me, "If you please, sir, I am tired." For a week this complete harmony between me and my horse lasted undisturbed.At the end of that time, when he had made quite sure of my friendly confidence in his laziness, when he had thoroughly acquainted himself with all the little weaknesses of my seat (and their name is Legion), the smouldering treachery and ingratitude of the equine nature blazed out in an instant.Without the slightestprovocation from me, with nothing passing him at the time but a pony- chaise driven by an old lady, he started in one instant from a state of sluggish depression to a state of frantic high spirits.He kicked, he plunged, he shied, he pranced, he capered fearfully.I sat on him as long as I could, and when I could sit no longer, I fell off.No, Francis! this is not a circumstance to be laughed at, but to be wept over.What would be said of a Man who had requited my kindness in that way? Range over all the rest of the animal creation, and where will you find me an instance of treachery so black as this? The cow that kicks down the milking-pail may have some reason for it; she may think herself taxed too heavily to contribute to the dilution of human tea and the greasing of human bread.The tiger who springs out on me unawares has the excuse of being hungry at the time, to say nothing of the further justification of being a total stranger to me.The very flea who surprises me in my sleep may defend his act of assassination on the ground that I, in my turn, am always ready to murder him when I am awake.I defy the whole body of Natural Historians to move me, logically, off the ground that I have taken in regard to the horse.Receive back your hat, Brother Francis, and go to the chemist's, if you please; for I have now done.Ask me to take anything you like, except an interest in the Doncaster races.Ask me to look at anything you like, except an assemblage of people all animated by feelings of a friendly and admiring nature towards the horse.You are a remarkably well-informed man, and you have heard of hermits.Look upon me as a member of that ancient fraternity, and you will sensibly add to the many obligations which Thomas Idle is proud to owe to Francis Goodchild.'
Here, fatigued by the effort of excessive talking, disputatious Thomas waved one hand languidly, laid his head back on the sofa- pillow, and calmly closed his eyes.
