He is done, poor fellow! the spavin spoiled his
speed, and he now roams at large upon "my farm at Truro." Mohawk
never failed me till this summer.
I pride myself--you may laugh at such childish weakness in a man
of my age--but still, I pride myself in taking the concert out of
coxcombs I meet on the road, and on the ease with which I can leave
a fool behind, whose nonsense disturbs my solitary musings.
On my last journey to Fort Lawrence, as the beautiful view of
Colchester had just opened upon me, and as I was contemplating its
richness and exquisite scenery, a tall, thin man, with hollow cheeks
and bright, twinkling black eyes, on a good bay horse, somewhat out
of condition, overtook me; and drawing up, said, "I guess you started
early this morning, sir?"
"I did, sir," I replied.
"You did not come from Halifax, I presume, sir, did you?" in a
dialect too rich to be mistaken as genuine Yankee. "And which way
may you be travelling?" asked my inquisitive companion.
"To Fort Lawrence."
"Ah!" said he, "so am I; it is in my circuit."
The word CIRCUIT sounded so professional, I looked again at him, to
ascertain whether I had ever seen him before, or whether I had met
with one of those nameless, but innumerable limbs of the law, who
now flourish in every district of the Province. There was a keenness
about his eye, and an acuteness of expression, much in favour of the
law; but the dress, and general bearing of the man, made against the
supposition.
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