of which you may put up for the night after a very fair day’s journey, for no gentleman—­supposing he weighs sixteen stone, as I suppose you will by the time you become a gentleman—­ought to ride a horse more than sixty-five miles in one day, provided he has any regard for his horse’s back, or his own either.  See to your horse at night, and have him well rubbed down.  The next day you may ride your horse forty miles, just as you please, but never foolishly, and those forty miles will bring you to your journey’s end, unless your journey be a plaguy long one, and if so, never ride your horse more than five and thirty miles a day, always, however, seeing him well fed, and taking more care of him than yourself; which is but right and reasonable, seeing as how the horse is the best animal of the two.”

“When you are a gentleman,” said he, after a pause, “the first thing you must think about is to provide yourself with a good horse for your own particular riding; you will, perhaps, keep a coach and pair, but they will be less your own than your lady’s, should you have one, and your young gentry, should you have any; or, if you have neither, for madam, your housekeeper, and the upper female servants; so you need trouble your head less about them, though, of course, you would not like to pay away your money for screws; but be sure you get a good horse for your own riding; and that you may have a good chance of having a good one, buy one that’s young and has plenty of belly—­a little more than the one has which you now have, though you are not yet a gentleman; you will, of course, look to his head, his withers, legs and other points, but never buy a horse at any price that has not plenty of belly; no horse that has not belly is ever a good feeder, and a horse that a’n’t a good feeder can’t be a good horse; never buy a horse that is drawn up in the belly behind; a horse of that description can’t feed, and can never carry sixteen stone.

“So when you have got such a horse be proud of it—­as I daresay you are of the one you have now—­and wherever you go swear there a’n’t another to match it in the country, and if anybody gives you the lie, take him by the nose and tweak it off, just as you would do if anybody were to speak ill of your lady, or, for want of her, of your housekeeper.  Take care of your horse, as you would of the apple of your eye—­I am sure I would, if I were a gentleman, which I don’t ever expect to be, and hardly wish, seeing as how I am sixty-nine, and am rather too old to ride—­yes, cherish and take care of your horse as perhaps the best friend you have in the world; for, after all, who will carry you through thick and thin as your horse will? not your gentlemen friends, I warrant, nor your upper servants, male or female; perhaps your lady would, that is, if she is a whopper, and one of the right sort; the others would be more likely to take up mud and pelt you with it, provided they saw you in trouble, than to help you.  So take