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A Quarterly Magazine

VOL. VIII.

INCLUDING NUMBERS

TWENTY-NINE, THIRTY, THIRTY-ONE
AND THIRTY-TWO

I

New York:
HINDS, NOBLE & ELDREDGE

31, 33 AND 35 WEST FIFTEENTH STREET

1913

Volume VIII., No. 1

Whole Number 29

The Parson's Horse Race

W

AL, now, this 'ere does beat all! I wouldn't have thought it of the deacon. Why, this hoss he's sold the Widder Simpkins 'ell never be no good to her. That 'are's a used up critter, any fool can see that. He'll mabbe do for about a quarter of a mile on smooth roads, but come to drive him as a body wants to drive, why he blaws like my bellowsis; and the deacon knew it-must 'a know'd it."

So spoke Sam Lawson, drooping in a discouraged, contemplative attitude in front of an equally discouraged horse, that had just been brought to him by the Widder Simpkins for medical treatment. And Sam leaned back on his cold forge and seemed to deliver himself to a train of general reflection. "Yes, hosses does seem to be sorto unregenerate critters; there's sunthin about hosses that deceives the very elect. The best o' folks gets tripped up when it comes to deal in hosses. Ministers, now, folks allus thinks it's sunthin sort o'shaky for a minister to hav' much to do with hosses-sure to get um into trouble. There was old Parson Williams, of North Bilbriky, got into a dreadful mess about a hoss. Lord massy and he waren't to blame neither: but he got into the dreadfulest scrape you ever heard on-come nigh to unsettlin' him."

"O Sam, tell us about it," we boys shouted, delighted with the prospect of a story.

"Ye see, boys, Parson Williams-he's dead now, but when I was a boy he was one of the great men around here. He writ books, and he was a smart preacher. Folks said he had invitations to settle in Boston, and there ain't no doubt he might a had a Boston parish if he'd a been a mind to take it. He was purty up and down and commanden in his ways, and things had to go

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