fearful the next minute, in the face of awed and admiring multitudes gathered at mighty musters or imposing cattle-shows.  He had no objection, either, to holding the reins in a wagon behind another kind of horse,—­a slouching, listless beast, with a strong slant to his shoulder; and a notable depth to his quarter and an emphatic angle at the hock, who commonly walked or lounged along in a lazy trot of five or six miles an hour; but, if a lively colt happened to come rattling up alongside, or a brandy-faced old horse-jockey took the road to show off a fast nag, and threw his dust into the Major’s face, would pick his legs up all at once, and straighten his body out, and swing off into a three-minute gait, in a way that “Old Blue” himself need not have been ashamed of.

For some reason which must be left to the next generation of professors to find out, the men who are knowing in horse-flesh have an eye also for, let a long dash separate the brute creation from the angelic being now to be named,—­for lovely woman.  Of this fact there can be no possible doubt; and therefore you shall notice, that, if a fast horse trots before two, one of the twain is apt to be a pretty bit of muliebrity, with shapes to her, and eyes flying about in all directions.

Major Rowens, at that time Lieutenant of the Rockland Fusileers, had driven and “traded” horses not a few before he turned his acquired skill as a judge of physical advantages in another direction.  He knew a neat, snug hoof, a delicate pastern, a broad haunch, a deep chest, a close ribbed-up barrel, as well as any other man in the town.  He was not to be taken in by your thick-jointed, heavy-headed cattle, without any go to them, that suit a country-parson, nor yet by the “gaanted-up,” long-legged animals, with all their constitutions bred out of them, such as rich greenhorns buy and cover up with their plated trappings.

Whether his equine experience was of any use to him in the selection of the mate with whom he was to go in double harness so long as they both should live, we need not stop to question.  At any rate, nobody could find fault with the points of Miss Marilla Van Deusen, to whom he offered the privilege of becoming Mrs. Rowens.  The Van must have been crossed out of her blood, for she was an out-and-out brunette, with hair and eyes black enough for a Mohawk’s daughter.  A fine style of woman, with very striking tints and outlines,—­an excellent match for the Lieutenant, except for one thing.  She was marked by Nature for a widow.  She was evidently got up for mourning, and never looked so well as in deep black, with jet ornaments.