"
No. XXVII
The White Nigger.
One of the most amiable, and at the same time most amusing traits,
in the Clockmaker's character, was the attachment and kindness with
which he regarded his horse. He considered "Old Clay" as far above
a Provincial horse, as he did one of his "free and enlightened
citizens" superior to a Bluenose. He treated him as a travelling
companion, and when conversation flagged between us, would often
soliloquize to him, a habit contracted from pursuing his journeys
alone. "Well now," he would say, "Old Clay, I guess you took your
time a-goin' up that 'ere hill--'spose we progress now. Go along, you
old sculpin, and turn out your toes. I reckon you are as deff as a
shad, do you hear there? Go ahead! Old Clay. There now," he'd say,
"Squire ain't that dreadful pretty? There's action. That looks about
right: legs all under him--gathers all up snug--no bobbin' of his
head--no rollin' of his shoulders--no wabblin' of his hind parts, but
steady as a pump bolt, and the motion all underneath. When he fairly
lays himself to it, he trots like all vengeance. Then look at his
ear--jist like rabbit's; none o' your flop-ears like them Amherst
beasts, half horses, half pigs, but strait up and p'inted, and not
too near at the tips; for that 'ere, I consait, always shows a horse
ain't true to draw.
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