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As soon as Captain Thompson joined the Methodists, his sister expressed
a wish to attach herself to the same church to which he and
his wife belonged.

“No, Anna,” said the Captain, “I advise you against it. I am
sure you cannot be a better christian in the Methodist Church than
you have proved yourself to be in the Presbyterian Church. If I
can be as bright an ornament to my Church, as you are to yours, I
shall deem myself greatly blessed—”

“Brother, you greatly over-rate my piety. I have a great many
faults and weaknesses which your eye never sees, but which I see
and mourn over, and struggle against, every day.”

“I shall hardly be convinced of my error by that kind of proof,
my dear sister. One brazen sin would bring your piety in question
with me more than a hundred faults and weaknesses hidden in the
heart, and mourned over and struggled against every day. But
enough of this—stay with your people, with whom you have long held
sweet communion, to whom you are endeared by a thousand ties, and
who are entitled to the benefit of your influence and example. I am not
sure that the division of the Church into seets is not of God's appointment.
Some good results from the division, obviously. It secures
the Scriptures from interpolation and mutilation, stimulates
the several churches to good works, liberality, generosity, and activity
in the advancement of the Redeemer's Kingdom; brings truth to
the test of open, fair and able discussion, guards the church from
new heresies, if it cannot eradicate old ones, and effectually prevents
a union of Church and State in this blessed country, at least. So
much good does it, and much more would it do, if each sect would
practice, as it should, the heavenly precepts of love and charity
taught them by their common Head. If others will not practice
them let us do it, my dear sister; and be assured, if our example
passes unobserved on earth, it will not be overlooked in Heaven.”

“Those are sweet counsels, my dear brother, and they have already
banished from my mind every thought of quitting my church.
It is strange, very strange, but I cannot disposses my mind of the
thought that some heavy calamity is going to befall us. I am too
happy for earth. I question whether there is this day a human being
this side of Heaven as happy as I am. You once said to me

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sportively, `turn Methodist and shout,' and now I could do it with
right good will. I can hardly keep from it—”

“And why should you wish to keep from it? It is one of the
means which Providence has appointed for relieving the overcharged
heart, and I do not see why it should be repressed. I know why it
is repressed, very well. It is regarded by most people as very undignified—
only, however, when most people are devoid of the feeling
that provokes it. Let the people, dignitaries and all, witness a
closely contested election of deep interest; at one moment it seems
to be going one way, at the next the other, and thus the contestants
alternately pass each other, until they stand abreast with but two
votes in the box—they come out for the same man. What do you
see, then, among the victors? One weeps outright with joy, another
laughs frantically, another vents the long suppressed breath, and
smiles; but all applaud, and nine-tenths raise a shout that may be
heard for miles. There is nothing at all undignified in this! It is
perfectly natural. Now they are all moved by the same spirit; but
it manifests itself in different ways according to the different temperaments
of the crowd. I suppose if a battery of artillery were
bearing upon them, and they were forbidden to shout, under pain of
being fired upon, they might suppress it (doubtful if all would); but
what would be thought of the man who would recommend such a
measure, or any milder one, to prevent this honest outburst of feeling?
When General Washington passed through the country on his
Southern tour, he was met by multitudes at every town and village
at which he stopped. As soon as the throngs caught a glimpse of the
approaching hero, they made the welkin ring with their shouts. As
he passed through the streets, women waved their handkerchiefs,
and wept; old soldiers wept, but most waved their hats, and shouted
again and again, loud and long. He would have been regarded as a Tory
who gave no outward demonstration of joy at such times. The very
next day these same people would go to a Methodist meeting, and
sneer at a new convert for shouting. And what has Washington
done for any one of us, compared with what Christ has done for the
new convert? What the liberty which Washington gained for us,
compared with `the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free?' What
can we promise ourselves from this great Republic, compared with
the Savior's legacy to the soldiers of the Cross? At His birth the
angels of heaven shouted. His second coming to earth will be heralded
by a shout. At His triumphant entry into Jerusalem, the
whole multitude of His disciples shouted. The Phraisee (strict re

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ligionists) begged him to rebuke them. What was His reply? `I
tell you, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately
cry out.' But He had not yet died for these disciples. No one is offended
at a shout from the dying Christian! In the times of David and
the Prophets, it was not regarded as undignified in holy men to
shout. I used to laugh at the shouting Christians, myself. I used
to be provoked with them, until I learned something of their feelings,
and then I was very ready to excuse them. From excusing I went
to thinking, and from thinking to reading upon the subject; and the
result of my deliberations and research is what I have delivered to
you. Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not say that Christians
ought to shout, much less that shouting is an infallible test of
Christianity; and least of all, that there are not just as good
Christians who never shout, as there are who do. I do not believe
that there is a better shouting Christian in our Church than you are;
but I do say that it is the most natural thing in the world that
Christians of some temperaments should shout, if I understand anything
about religion; and that ridicule of it comes with ill grace
from a shouting world, or a non-shouting Church.”

“But brother, how does it happen that there is shouting in no
other Church in the world but the Methodist?”

“Just because the Methodist is, (in one sense) the newest church
in the world. When we join a church we as naturally drop into the
ways of its people as we do into its eroed. I know very well where
they all began; it was in such a scene of excitement and clamor as
amazed the lookers-on, and led them to mock, and to say that the
converts were full of new wine. But all churches will, in process
of time, conform themselves to the opinions and manners of the
world, just as far as they can, without compromising their principles.
Prudence or policy may dictate this course—to avoid persecution,
ridicule and contempt, or to gain popularity. Never did the
world show any mercy, not to say charity to religious excitements.
The Methodists have hardly yet passed the fiery ordeal through
which all zealous, self-denying God-serving, world-defying Christians
must pass. The marks of violence are still upon their humble
meeting houses, and derision meets them at all their services. As
yet, they have no church etiquette (if you will excuse the term), no
thought, and very little knowledge, of the world's dignities; for they
are mostly poor and illiterate; no idea that joy should be disciplined,
or transports suppressed. They, therefore, give the rein to their
feelings just as nature prompts them. They are happy, very happy,

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and they express their happiness in the natural way, without fear of
startling their brethren, offending their pastors, or provoking sinners.
But it is not to be supposed that our church will be exempt
from the common lot of churches. With a penniless Ministry, fervid,
zealous, devout, persecuted, traversing the country from the
mountains to the seaboard, and preaching the Gospel to every creature,
white, black, bond, free, rich, poor, at their own doors, it must
grow, and as it grows it will increase in dignity, science, fine preaching,
fine dressing, fine eating, fine stations, fine circuits, fine music,
fine churches, and strong voting. Of course, it will then become,
especially with the most respected office holders and office seekers,
very respectable. There will be religion in it, sterling religion in
it still—religion armed for giant work, and well employed; but there
will be no shouting in it, no fraternal embraces in it, no out gushing
of hymns from a thousand voices, eloquent of the heart's heavenly
inspirations, no `brothering' between great preachers and poor
members. Or if these distinctive features of primitive Methodism
be not entirely effaced, you will have to seek them, to find them, in
some poor brother's circuit, in the gorges of the mountains, the
wilds of the West, or the negro quarters of the rich.”

“Verily, brother, you have said more in defence of shouting, than
I supposed could be said; and most certainly, if I never shout myself,
I shall always, hereafter, look with the greatest indulgence
upon those Christians who do.”

“That is the lesson that I would inculcate, my sister. And when
you learn what may be said in defence of it, tell me, what think you
of that Pastor of a church who requested a good sister of his flock
to leave the church, because, under his own glowing description of
Heaven, or under something else he said, that filled her heart with
joy, she relieved it with a shout. Think of her, if you please, perchance
the holiest of his charge, retiring from the house of worship—
from the sermon which refreshed her, under the eye-shot of the
congregation, shamed, subdued, depressed, disgraced!”

“Oh, my dear brother! Surely such a thing never happened?”

“Surely such a thing did happen, if a credible witness is to be
believed. It may be that that woman paid more, for her means, to
build the church from which she was ordered—paid more, for her
means, to support the Pastor who so deeply wounded her, than any
other member of his congregation. She never shouted again, in
his church, you may be sure, nor did any other one of his flock; and
the consequence was, (I conjecture, not without some reason), he

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had ever afterwards a very quiet, orderly, Laodicean Church. Charity,
my sister! let there be charity among the churches. Instead of
looking for faults in each other, let them be looking for what is good
in each other, and let them reciprocally interchange the good, and
reject the faulty. In this way, all might be improved—all would be
more endeared to each other than they are.”

“You have so well defended shouting among Christians, that perhaps
you can give me some new views upon another usage of your
church, which has always seemed to me much more objectionable
than shouting. I allude to your altar scenes in times of revival.
Some are singing, some are talking to mourners, and two or three
are praying aloud at the same time, and when to all this is added the
shouts of the converts, the whole scene is one of utter confusion, it
seems to me. What can you say in defence of all this?”

“Nothing. It is not only indefensible, but it is positively unscriptural.
Each and all of these exercises are proper in their
place; but to have them all going on at one and the same time is
little better than to set all the rules of order, human and divine, at
defiance. The honesty of intention and benevolence of purpose
with which it is done, are all that make it tolerable, even to the
most charitable; but these are very poor excuses for those who are
presumed to have read Paul's Epistles, and yet encourage such things.
And here, a very pertinent illustration of what I have just said, presents
itself: If at revivals in your church, your people would borrow
a little more fervor from ours, and ours in like circumstances would
borrow a little more order and solemnity from yours, I think both
would be improved. Dignity, gravity, and order well become the
christian; but love, joy and zeal, much better become him; and if
they cannot all be harmonized, why, let the first give way, I say, and
let all give way to love, if it be possible to separate joy from it! And
when love and joy abound in him, let him be indulged in his nature's
way of manifesting them, even to the interruption of a sermon for a
time; and if the feeling become general among the flock, why, let
the sermon go; there is no better preaching, at times, than the rejoicing
together of many happy Christians. These are my crude notions,
sister; take them for what they are worth.”

“I thank you for them, my very dear, dear brother, and I am
sure that they will be of service to me. Oh, how much happiness I
have lost from your delay in embracing Christianity!”

“Not so much, perhaps, from want of my counsels and religious
opinions, as from want of that deference and respect which I should

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have shown to your piety, and that tenderness of address that I should
have shown to a sister.”

In the main, things went on smoothly and happily in the two
families, during the vacation; but before its close, both the Captain
and his sister had their quiet a little disturbed by William's over
attention to Snap-dragon. It was a natural curiosity that prompted
him to enquire carefully into Snap-dragon's capabilities, accomplishments,
predilections, and tractability. By close observation and experiment,
he discovered that a little needless whipping improved him
wonderfully—(such the difference between a teacher and a disciple.)
It made him move airily, and infused life, grace and activity into
both his extremities; that he could trot eight miles an hour—that he
could beat Billy Figg's Nicktail, Billy Pine's Catham, and Bob
Maston's Flying Nelly easily; that he stood the firing of a gun on
him very well; that he could clear a six-rail fence at a leap; that
by tickling him in a particular way in the flank (which he called
the “grabble-tickle”) he could make him kick amusingly, that by
applying the “grabble-tickle” to his back-bone, just behind the
saddle, he could carry him through a variety of most interesting
evolutions—tail-switching, warping, biting, (backwards, at nothing,)
polka-dancing, and furious kicking. One thing he taught him which
was perfectly original, and that was to stop at the cluck or chirp,
and go at the word “wo!” To teach him all these accomplishments
William had to devote nearly his whole time to him. He had to
ride him far and near; and in so doing it was just as well to call
and see all the planters within seven miles of the village, and rest
awhile with them, and entertain them with all the wonders of Doctor
Waddel's school, as to ride that far and return without dismounting.
Every gathering in the county he was certain to attend; by
means whereof he had a fine opportunity of studying human nature,
in some of its most interesting aspects. He saw how petty elections
were conducted—how electioneering was carried on—how much
rum it took to elect a Captain and a Justice of the Peace. He
saw justice administered by magistrates in their shirt-sleeves, and
heard stiff quarrels between them and the suitors—he saw card
playing in its most unpretending humility and simplicity, to-wit,
by a couple of the sovereignty, seated cross legged on the ground,
with a dirty cotton handkerchief between them for a table, and
a half deck of dirtier cards. (Here was the introduction of
`squatter sovereignty” into the country; but who could have supposed
that it would ever make such a fuss in the world as it has

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made!) He saw cock-fights occasionally, dog-fights often, and men-fights
regularly—now and then he was entertained with a quarter
race and a foot race—upon one occasion he took up a banter of “the
universal world” for a foot race, by a youth both older and larger
than himself, and gained the victory handsomely. His competitor
said, “if he couldn't beat him a running, he could whip him.”
Bill “pitched into him,” as the saying is, without a parley, and
flogged him, beautifully, and to the delight and admiration of everybody,
who thought it mean in him to pick a quarrel with a boy who
had fairly beaten him, just from shame of his defeat. These feats
gave William great renown in the county. Perhaps no youth in the
land ever made greater progress in “the study of human nature”
than William did in the short space of two months. But without
Snap-dragon, where would he have been? Confined to the darkness
of his own village! And whoever heard of any human nature in a
village, save at Court times, general elections, and general parades?
The Captain often heard of his progress, and often counselled him.
“William,” he would say, “I fear I committed a great error in giving
you that horse; I am sure I did. It was one of the most imprudent
acts of my life.”

“Why, uncle?”

“For many reasons. He takes up all your time. I never see a
book in your hand; you have hardly attended a religious meeting,
except on Sunday, since the vacation commenced. You are too
young to have control of a horse. He is a spirited horse; and if not
managed with care he may break your neck—”

“Uncle, he can't throw me to save his life.”

“I'm glad to hear that; my main design in giving him to you,
was to make you a good horseman; but he may run away with you,
carry you under the limb of a tree, and knock your brains out. If
you will be careful with him, there is no danger, for I know him to
be a very gentle horse, though spirited—but youths of your age are
so thoughtless. I hardly ever see you in the day time; where do
you keep yourself?”

“Just riding about in the country, Uncle.”

“But sometimes you're gone the live long day, and surely you
are not riding all the time without your meals?”

“Oh no, sir! sometimes I take dinner at Mr. Love's, sometimes
at Mr. Tod's, sometimes at Squire Mattoxes, sometimes at Mr.
White's, and Curtis King's—”

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“Why, William, my son, you ought not to visit people's houses
in that way—”

“Uncle, they always tell me they are glad to see me, and always
beg me to come and see them again.”

“To be sure they do; but because they are kind, you should not
tax their hospitality all the time. At times, I am sure you must fall
upon them very unseasonably, and give them no little inconvenience.
When they see you in town here, and ask you to come and see them,
why, then go; but don't thrust yourself upon them at all hours, uninvited.

“I'll obey you uncle.”

Again the Captain would renew his complaints and advice:

“William, your mother is very uneasy about you. She says you
constantly come home charged with news from all the gatherings in
the county. Surely, you don't frequent such places? What interest
can you take in them? What do you promise yourself from such
resorts? I charge you under pain of my sore displeasure to abandon
them.”

“I will do so, uncle.”

William's victories happened to be reported to the Captain by Mr.
Moore, in the presence of William, and in the way of congratulation
to him!

“Why, William!” exclaimed the Captain, “is it possible that you
have been running foot races and fighting—”

“Oh, don't blame him,” said Mr. Moore; “I supposed you knew
all about it, since it is talked about everywhere. But don't blame
William, for he never did a better thing in all his life, and never will
do a better while he lives. He was at the Court, at old man Haralson's,
and there was an uncommonly large gathering for the occasion.
There was a fellow there, a forward, noisy chap, named Jake Black,
who was cutting up high shines. He said he could beat anything
of his weight and inches in the universal world at a foot race. `I
can beat you,' said William. `You!' says Black. `I can run round
you three times in fifty yards and then beat you.' `Well,' says
William, `suppose you try it.' The match was made up, a hundred
yards were stepped off, and all on the Court ground went to see
the race. At the word they started, and William beat him a clear
light of at least seven yards. There was a general shout as they
came in, and many had something digging to say to Black. One
told him he oughtn't to run against anything but grub-worms and
terrapins. Another told him his belly didn't give his legs fair play.

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`I saw your thighs,' says he `hit your belly every step you made.
If you can only manage to hook up your belly just three quarters of
an inch before you run, so as to give your legs full sweep, you'd beat
Bill Mitten thirty yards in the hundred, I know you would.' `Oh,'
says a third, `his stomach had nothing to do with it—at least it
wouldn't have had, if he had been in good keep; but he was in no
order to run. I saw him eat two water millions and a peck of peaches,
not an hour before the race. Take that weight off of him, and
where would Bill Mitten have been?' `Well,' said the second,
`that's just what I say. He only lacks three-quarters of an inch of
beating `the universal world,' I thought his belly was nat'ral.'

“This kind of chat,” continued Moore, “made Jake very mad, and
as William stood laughing with the rest, Jake stept up to him, and
said, `If you can beat me running, I can whip you mighty easy.'
You know that hard place in the road between old man Haralson's
house and the Court room? He was standing there; and the words
was no sooner out of his mouth than William seized him, fetched
the hip lock upon him, and gave him the hardest fall that I ever
saw a boy get in all my life. Before Jake could recover from his
fall, William was on him, giving him bringer. He very soon `told
the news' (cried `enough!') and William got off of him without a
scratch. I don't suppose there ever was a people more rejoiced and
surprised than they all were at William's doings. Jake had no idea
that a boy dressed as fine as William was, could fight at all, nor did
anybody else believe it; but, Lord bless your soul, Captain, he walked
over Jake in the highest style of fighting! I tell you what, sir,
he's as active as a cat and as bold as a lion. So you see he was not
to blame.”

“And now came the tug of war,” (intestine war) with the Captain.
Before Moore had proceeded four sentences in his narrative,
Captain Thompson's countenance lost every trace of amazement and
indignation, and assumed a rather unchristian placidity. The next
transition was to a benignant smile; then to an expression of wonder
and delight; then to a laugh of triumph; and so it went on, stronger
and stronger, to the end of the chapter; so that when Moore concluded,
it was manifest that “brother” Thompson had no more
thought of religion in him, than he had of the tattling of his countenance;
and no more thought of the tattling of his countenance,
than if he had been all the time in profound sleep. But the time
had come for him to speak, and what could he say? Bill had followed
his counsels to the letter, and had exhibited the very fruits

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from them that he had anticipated and desired. Should he now rebuke
him? That would not do. Should he applaud his conduct?
That would not do from a Christian. Should he remain silent?
That would be a tacit sanction of all that William had done. But
say something he must, and that something must be extemporized;
so he began, in a very cool tone, that might be taken for the composure
of religion, or the composure of gratification:

“Why, William, I'm astonished at you!”

Very true, but very equivocal.

“I don't think, in any view of the case, that his saying simply,
that he could whip you, justified you in attacking him—”

“But, Uncle, I saw that he was mad, and bent upon picking a
quarrel with me, or hacking me before all the company, and I thought
that as I would have to fight or back out, I'd best take a running
start on him; for the first blow in a fight is half the battle, they
say.”

“Well, that is true—that is—arguing upon worldly principles;
and supposing fighting in any case to be justifiable; for by that
course you are certain to get some advan—However, worldly principles
are not always to be trusted; indeed, never to be trusted when
they come in conflict with religious principles. The longer I live
in the world, the more dissatisfied I become with its ways and notions.
Four or five months ago, I would have given advice that I
would not now give—at least without very considerable qualifications.
Vigor of body, strength of constitution, unflinching courage—moral
courage—are certainly great things—great things in many points of
view—but then, like all good gifts, they may be abused. And here,
William, let me give you a caution. You have a very good apology
(our friend Moore thinks) for engaging in those contests with Black.
Now, take care that your victories over him do not lead you to seek
contests merely to show your prowess—merely for the praise of victory,
and the terror of your companions. Oh! of all the disgusting
things in this world, a mere bully—a man who forces his fellow being
into a fight with him, merely for the vile fame of whipping him,
is the most disgusting. I have seen such men, and I have despised
them. They pretend to take as insults what they know was meant
in friendship, or in fun. They wantonly assail feelings, play insufferable
pranks with men, and then assail them for speaking harshly
of what they say they meant as innocent sport. They take occasion
from a man's dress, his features, his person, his carriage, to worry
him into resistance of some kind, and then flog him for resisting.

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Can anything better mark a devil than such conduct as this? Now,
William, I don't blame you for fighting (that is, upon worldly principles)
under the circumstances; but I do blame you for going to
such places—not for going to Mr. Haralson's, for he is a very worthy
man, and has a very worthy family, but for going there in Court
times. I have been there often and I don't remember ever to have
seen one of his sons in the crowd of Court days, in my life. And
I blame you for running a race, at such a time and place.”

Now if the reader can extract from this long harangue, what
were the Captain's views of the case of Mitten vs. Black, upon
Christian principles, he is certainly much wiser than the writer.
Whether it was becoming in him to discuss the case so generally
upon “worldly principles,” without drawing a line of distinction between
them and Christian principles—whether it was right in him
to say what he would have advised four or five months ago, that he
would not now without any specifications that might enlighten his
nephew, as to whether he meant to take back any of his counsels
upon universal excellence, are questions which we will not undertake
to settle. But we will venture to say, that Master Mitten inferred
from it, that the Captain was highly delighted, (but of course
only on worldly principles) with his achievements, and that he need
never fear the Captain's wrath for fighting, provided he would always
fight at the right time, in the right place, and for good reasons in Mr.
Moore's judgment.

In the course of his observations, Master Mitten discovered two
other things through the aid of Snap-dragon, which we must not
omit to mention; the one was, that six or seven months abstinence
from strong drink, had not entirely abated his relish for it; and the
other was, that the squatter sovereigns committed many errors in
their games that he could have rectified with success. It was the
custom of not a few heads of families at this time, to make up a
mint-julep of peach or apple-brandy, every morning, and to give a
little to every member of the family, old and young, blacks excepted.
It was a much more invariable custom to make a large bowl of egg-nog
every Christmas, of which the whole family were expected to
take a little more freely, and it was considered rather a laughing
than a serious matter if some of the children got intoxicated. No
one ever entered a house to tarry for a half hour, without being asked
“to take something to drink,” and with the plainer people of the
country, this invitation was extended to boys hardly in their teens,
and was accepted without exciting any surprise. Not many years

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before the times of which we are speaking, probably down to the
very times, a still more remarkable custom prevailed among some,
if not all Methodist Preachers;—which was to ask a blessing upon
every glass of toddy they took. Should this statement be questioned,
we have authority for it, at hand, which no man in Georgia will
question. How this custom originated it is easy to divine; the discipline
of the Methodist Church enjoined upon its members to do
nothing upon which they could not invoke God's blessing, and as
they never dreamed that there was anything sinful in taking a glass of
toddy, or as it was more commonly called a little sweetened dram,
they “said grace over it.”

While such customs were rife in the country, it is not to be wondered
at that Master Mitten had frequent opportunities of indulging
his early formed relish for ardent spirits, even without the help of
Snap-dragon—with his help they were quintupled. He however
took care never to appear at home, or in the presence of his Uncle,
“disguised with liquor.” But as the Captain saw that he was doing no
good, he feared that he was doing much harm, and he rejoiced greatly
when the time arrived for his return to school. A little before
this time, the Captain informed William overnight that he wished
to borrow Snap-dragon for a short ride the next morning, as all his
own horses were in use. William gave a cordial assent, of course.
“Send Tom over with him directly after breakfast, I'm only going
to Doctor Wingfield's,” said the Captain.

The Captain lived on the street that led directly to Doctor Wingfield's
and near the edge of the town. As William had never seen
his uncle on Snap-dragon, and felt a deep interest in his performance
under the saddle of his kind benefactor, he took his position in the
inner lock of a fence on the street, under cover of some high weeds,
whence, with a little change of position, he could have a full view
of the Captain's house, and two or three hundred yards of the street
and road leading from it. Tom got to the house with Snap-dragon,
about the time that William got comfortably seated. Snap was soon
saddled, and the Captain was nearly as soon by his side, ready to
mount him. Snap showing signs of impatience to get off. “What
makes that horse do so, Tom?” asked the Captain. “I don't like
his motions.”

“He's gentle, Mas' David,” said Tom. “He only do so till you
start him.”

The Captain placed one hand on Snap's neck and the other on the
back of the saddle to mount; this hand happened to slip and fall a

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

little rudely on Snap's back. Snap, nothing doubting that this was
the beginning of the “grabble tickle,” commenced with the preliminaries
of the polka.

“Why, that horse is ruined,” said the Captain. “I wonder he
hasn't knocked William's brains out long ago.”

“Mas' David I tell you the' an't nothin' the matter with him.
This is nothin' but some little foolnish Mas William larn him. He's
gentle.”

In the mean time Bill was rolling in the weeds, “enthused”*
with delight.

The Captain made a second attempt, and mounted.

“Tom, tell your Mistress—Wo!” said he to fidgetting Snap, and
away went Snap “to the tune of eight miles an hour!” “Wo!”
repeated the Captain more emphatically, and Snap put off at half
speed, at which gait he passed Bill in an agony of laughter. The
Captain immediately conjectured that Bill had been running Snap,
and that the horse took “wo” for “go!” and he did not repeat the
word again. Snap soon became pacified, and the Captain brought
him to a halt. He studied awhile whether it would be best for him
to go on or return. He concluded he would try Snap a little farther
any how; so he clucked to him to proceed; but so far from proceeding,
Snap settled himself in more dignified composure than he had
exhibited during the whole morning. He clucked again, with no
better success. He chirped, but these changes of note operated upon
Snap like a seranade.

“Why, did ever anybody see such a fool horse since the world
was made!” mused the Captain. “What's a body to do with him?
How is he to be made to go on, or stop? If I ever give another
chap a fine horse, he may give me a thousand lashes, and I'll thank
him for it. It certainly was the unluckiest act of my life to give
Bill this horse!”

Upon the whole, the Captain concluded it would be best for him
to get out of temptations as quick as possible, by returning home.
Just as he made up his mind to this course, Mr. Foster met him:

“Good morning, brother Thompson!” said Foster.

“Good morning, brother Foster,” said Mr. Thompson.

“Which way are you going?”

“I was going to Doctor Wingfield's, but I've got on my nephew's
horse, which the boy has so completely spoiled, that there is no doing
anything with him, so I'll go back with you.”

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

All of the proceedings up to this moment convinced Snap-dragon
that he had been brought out that morning for no other purpose in
the world, than to beat Mr. Foster's horse in a quarter race. His
conjectures were fully confirmed, when in answer to Mr. Foster's
question “don't you own him?” the Captain, as he paced about,
answered emphatically “No!”

At the word, Snap dashed. The Captain soon took him up, and
waited till brother Foster came up. As he approached, the Captain
clucked to Snap, and he stopped crustily.

“Bless your soul, honey,” said brother Foster, “that's a mighty
good looking horse, but he's a mighty foolish one.”

“He was one of the finest horses in the land— Wo!” cried the
Captain, (forgetting himself,) to Snap, in rage to beat Foster's horse,
and away he dashed again. He was stopped as before.

“Why, brother Thompson, that horse seems to go when he ought
to stop, and stop when he ought to go.”

“Exactly so,” said the Captain; and Snap bristled considerably at
the last word, but was chirped to a halt instantly.

“Why bless your soul, honey, I never did see a horse take on
after that sort in all my life. I wouldn't give this pipe for him, if I
had to ride him.”

“No,” said the Captain, (Snap bristled,) “nor I neither.”

In this way, between stops and starts, and sidles and snorts, the
Captain reached home greatly to his delight, and the still greater delight
of William.

The lecture he gave his nephew at their next meeting, we leave
the reader to conjecture.

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