from the knees of their tight breeches, were running desperately, holding horses by the halter, and in some cases dragging them along; there were long-tailed steeds, and dock-tailed steeds of every degree and breed; there were droves of wild ponies, and long rows of sober cart horses; there were donkeys and even mules:  the last rare things to be seen in damp, misty England, for the mule pines in mud and rain, and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning sand below.  There were—­oh, the gallant creatures!  I hear their neigh upon the wind; there were—­goodliest sight of all—­certain enormous quadrupeds only seen to perfection in our native isle, led about by dapper grooms, their manes ribanded and their tails curiously clubbed and balled.  Ha! ha!—­how distinctly do they say, ha! ha!

An old man draws nigh, he is mounted on a lean pony, and he leads by the bridle one of these animals; nothing very remarkable about that creature, unless in being smaller than the rest and gentle, which they are not; he is not of the sightliest look; he is almost dun, and over one eye a thick film has gathered.  But stay! there is something remarkable about that horse, there is something in his action in which he differs from the rest.  As he advances, the clamour is hushed! all eyes are turned upon him—­what looks of interest—­of respect—­and, what is this? people are taking off their hats—­surely not to that steed!  Yes, verily! men, especially old men, are taking off their hats to that one-eyed steed, and I hear more than one deep-drawn ah!

‘What horse is that?’ said I to a very old fellow, the counterpart of the old man on the pony, save that the last wore a faded suit of velveteen, and this one was dressed in a white frock.

‘The best in mother England,’ said the very old man, taking a knobbed stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at first carelessly, but presently with something like interest; ’he is old, like myself, but can still trot his twenty miles an hour.  You won’t live long, my swain; tall and overgrown ones like thee never does; yet, if you should chance to reach my years, you may boast to thy great grand boys, thou hast seen Marshland Shales.’

Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl or baron, doffed my hat; yes!  I doffed my hat to the wondrous horse, the fast trotter, the best in mother England; and I, too, drew a deep ah! and repeated the words of the old fellows around.  ’Such a horse as this we shall never see again; a pity that he is so old!’

* * * * *

In Spain I passed five years, which, if not the most eventful, were, I have no hesitation in saying, the most happy years of my existence.  Of Spain at the present time, now that the day-dream has vanished never, alas! to return, I entertain the warmest admiration:  she is the most magnificent country in the world, probably the most fertile, and certainly with the finest climate.  Whether her children are worthy