It was years before he attempted to ride on horseback again, but this time he was mounted upon an old horse white with age, and very quiet, which preferred walking to running; this second attempt also ended disastrously.  It was a very hot day, and he had ridden some miles into the country when he came to a large pit, on the opposite side of the road to a farmhouse, when, without any warning, and almost before my brother realised what was happening, the horse walked straight into this pit, and, in bending its head to drink at the water, snatched the bridle out of his hands.  He had narrowly escaped drowning on several occasions, and was terrified at the thought of falling into the water, so, clutching hold of the horse’s mane with both hands, he yelled out with all his might for help—­which only served to make the horse move into a deeper part of the pit, as if to have a bathe as well as a drink.  His cries attracted the attention of some Irish labourers who were at work in a field, and they ran to his assistance.  One of them plunged into the water, which reached half way up his body, and, taking hold of my brother, carried him to the road and then returned for the horse.  He was rewarded handsomely for his services, for my brother verily believed he had saved him from being drowned.  He was much more afraid of the water than of the horse, which was, perhaps, the reason why he had never learned to swim, but he never attempted to ride on horseback again.  On the wall in front of the farmhouse an old-fashioned sundial was extended, on the face of which were the words: 

  Time that is past will never return,

and on the opposite corner were the Latin words Tempus fugit (Time flies).  My brother seemed to have been greatly impressed by these proverbs, and thought of them as he led the white horse on his three-mile walk towards home; they seemed engraven upon his memory, for he often quoted them on our journey.

[Illustration:  THE GUILDHALL, DONCASTER.]

My ankle seemed to be a shade easier, and, after the usual remedies had again been applied, we started on another miserable walk, or limp, for we only walked twelve miles in twelve hours, following the advice of our host to take it easy, and give the ankle time to recover.  We rested many times on the road, stopped to talk to many people, got to know all about the country we were passing through, read papers and books, called for refreshments oftener than we needed them, wrote letters to our friends, and made copious entries in our diaries—–­in fact did everything except walk.  The country was very populous, and we attracted almost universal sympathy:  myself for my misfortune, and my brother for having to carry all the luggage.