“Well done, Corry!  I thought at first it was your own composition, but I see it is an English song.”

“Yes, it came out long ago as ‘The Tramp’s Song’ in Sharpe’s Magazine, where I found it, and changed moor and moorland to north and norland, as better suited to our purpose.  It’s a good song.”

“What kind of vehicle is that just in front of us?”

“It’s a pole on four wheels drawn by a team of oxen, and I’m going to make a triumphant entry into Collingwood on it.  The driver is a negro, as black as my boots—­were.”  Coristine soon overtook the remarkable vehicle, and accosted the driver, telling him that he had ridden on horses, donkeys, mules, and once each on a cow, a camel and an elephant; in all sorts of carriages, carts and waggons, even to a gun carriage, but never on a pole behind an ox team.  Had he any objections to letting him and his friend get aboard?  The coloured gentleman showed a fine set of ivory, and said he had no dejections in the leas’, and guessed the oxen didn’t hab none.  “The po-ul,” he remarked, “is thar, not foh ridin’ on, but ter keep the axles apaht, so’s ter load on bodes and squab timbah.  If yoh’s that way inclined, the po-ul aint a gwine ter break frew, not with yoh dismenshuns.  Guess the oxen doan hab ter stop fer yoh bof ter git aboahd?”

“Not a bit,” said Coristine, as he jumped on the pole behind the driver.  “Come on, Wilks, it’s a cross between the tight rope and the tiller of the Susan Thomas.”  But the dominie refused to be charmed or inveigled into a position of peril or ridicule.

“Yoh best take this yeah feed-bag ter save yoh pants and fezz’etate the keepin’ of yoh ekilibroom,” said the courteous darkey, as he handed the lawyer one of the bags that formed his own cushion.

“Wilks, with a feed-bag under you, riding on a rail is just heavenly.”

“If it was a rai-ul, you’d know it mighty soon, boss, fer rai-uls is angulish and shahp and hahd on the pants, but a po-ul is rounded and smoove.  How are yoh comin’ along?”

“In great shape, Mr. ——­”

“Maguffin, sah, is my applenashun.  Tobias Mortimah Magrudah Maguffin.  The low down folks around, they teenames me Tobe and Toby, that’s the shanty men and mill hans.  But when I goes whar they’s a meetin’ of the bruddren, it’s Mistah Maguffin, ebery time.”

The pole cart, as Coristine called it, was going down hill, now, and the oxen began to run.

“Hole on tight, Mistah, them cattle’s too lazy to stop runnin’ befoh they gits to the determination ob this dercliverty,” called the driver; and the lawyer held on in spite of frantic cries from his companion.  “Come off, Coristine, come off, and do not make an object of yourself before the whole town.”  Coristine held on till the bottom of the hill was reached.  Then he shook hands with his coloured brother, returned him the feed bag, and waited for Wilkinson.  In friendly converse they entered the town of Collingwood, and put up at a clean and comfortable, almost fashionable, hotel.  There, for the night, they may be left in safety, with this remark, that Coristine fulfilled his promise to the little girl, and got a clean shave before retiring.