is robbing me,’ said the voice from the ground.  ‘Help! murder!’ cried Bat; and, regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he would stay and help him up, he urged his horse forward and galloped away as fast as he could.  I remained for some time quiet, listening to various groans and exclamations uttered by the person on the ground; at length I said, ‘Holloa! are you hurt?’ ‘Spare my life, and take all I have!’ said the voice from the ground.  ‘Have they not done robbing you yet?’ said I; ‘when they have finished let me know, and I will come and help you.’  ’Who is that?’ said the voice; ‘pray come and help me, and do me no mischief.’  ‘You were saying that some one was robbing you,’ said I; ’don’t think I shall come till he is gone away.’  ‘Then you ben’t he?’ said the voice.  ‘Aren’t you robbed?’ said I.  ‘Can’t say I be,’ said the voice; ’not yet at any rate; but who are you?  I don’t know you.’  ’A traveller whom you and your partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost frightened me out of my senses.’  ‘Frightened!’ said the voice, in a louder tone; ‘frightened! oh!’ and thereupon I heard somebody getting upon his legs.  This accomplished, the individual proceeded to attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty raised him upon his legs also.  ‘Aren’t you hurt?’ said I.  ‘Hurt!’ said the voice; ’not I; don’t think it, whatever the horse may be.  I tell you what, my fellow, I thought you were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good mind—­’ ’To do what?’ ‘To serve you out; aren’t you ashamed—?’ ‘At what?’ said I; ‘not to have robbed you?  Shall I set about it now?’ ‘Ha, ha!’ said the man, dropping the bullying tone which he had assumed; ’you are joking—­robbing! who talks of robbing?  I wonder how my horse’s knees are; not much hurt, I think—­only mired.’  The man, whoever he was, then got upon his horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, ’Good night, friend; where are you?’ ‘Here I am,’ said I, ‘just behind you.’  ‘You are, are you?  Take that.’  I know not what he did, but probably pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; one of his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell back with the violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a great rate.  Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, and then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him.

‘What a difference!’ said I, getting up; ’last night I was feted in the hall of a rich genius, and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark lane by the heel of Master Wise’s horse—­I wonder who gave him that name?  And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not wise enough to keep out of his way.  Well, I am not much hurt, so it is of little consequence.’