In the several sallies about his parish, and in the neighbouring visits to the gentry who lived around him, --you will easily comprehend, that the parson, so appointed, would both hear and see enough to keep his philosophy from rusting. To speak the truth, he never could enter a village, but he caught the attention of both old and young. ----Labour stood still as he pass'd----the bucket hung suspended in the middle of the well, ----the spinning-wheel forgot its round, ----even chuck-farthing and shuffle-cap themselves stood gaping till he had got out of sight; and as his movement was not of the quickest, he had generally time enough upon his hands to make his observations, --to hear the groans of the serious, --and the laughter of the light-hearted; --all which he bore with excellent tranquillity. --His character was, --he loved a jest in his heart--and as he saw himself in the true point of ridicule, he would say he could not be angry with others for seeing him in a light, in which he so strongly saw himself: So that to his friends, who knew his foible was not the love of money, and who therefore made the less scruple in bantering the extravagance of his humour, --instead of giving the true cause, --he chose rather to join in the laugh against himself; and as he never carried one single ounce of flesh upon his own bones, being altogether as spare a figure as his beast, --he would sometimes insist upon it, that the horse was as good as the rider deserved; --that they were, centaur-like, --both of a piece. At other times, and in other moods, when his spirits were above the temptation of false wit, --he would say, he found himself going off fast in a consumption; and, with great gravity, would pretend, he could not bear the sight of a fat horse, without a dejection of heart, and a sensible alteration in his pulse; and that he had made choice of the lean one he rode upon, not only to keep himself in countenance, but in spirits.
At different times he would give fifty humorous and apposite reasons for riding a meek-spirited jade of a broken-winded horse, preferably to one of mettle; --for on such a one he could sit mechanically, and meditate as delightfully _de vanitate mundi et fug sculi_, as with the advantage of a death's-head before him; --that, in all other exercitations, he could spend his time, as he rode slowly along, --to as much account as in his study; --that he could draw up an argument in his sermon, --or a hole in his breeches, as steadily on the one as in the other; --that brisk trotting and slow argumentation, like wit and judgment, were two incompatible movements. --But that upon his steed--he could unite and reconcile every thing, --he could compose his sermon--he could compose his cough, ----and, in case nature gave a call that way, he could likewise compose himself to sleep. --In short, the parson upon such encounters would assign any cause but the true cause, --and he with-held the true one, only out of a nicety of temper, because he thought it did honour to him.
But the truth of the story was as follows: In the first years of this gentleman's life, and about the time when the superb saddle and bridle were purchased by him, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it what you will, --to run into the opposite extreme. --In the language of the county where he dwelt, he was said to have loved a good horse, and generally had one of the best in the whole parish standing in his stable always ready for saddling; and as the nearest midwife, as I told you, did not live nearer to the village than seven miles, and in a vile country, --it so fell out that the poor gentleman was scarce a whole week together without some piteous application for his beast; and as he was not an unkind-hearted man, and every case was more pressing and more distressful than the last, --as much as he loved his beast, he had never a heart to refuse him; the upshot of which was generally this, that his horse was either clapp'd, or spavin'd, or greaz'd; --or he was twitter-bon'd, or broken-winded, or something, in short, or other had befallen him, which would let him carry no flesh; --so that he had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get rid of, --and a good horse to purchase in his stead.

In riding about his parish, the parson never could enter a village without catching the attention of both old and young. Work ceased as he passed - the bucket hung suspended in the middle of the well - the spinning-wheel forgot its round - even chuck-farthing and shuffle-cap players stood gaping till he rode out of sight; and as his movement was not quick, he had time to hear the groans of the serious, and the laughter of the light-hearted; all which he bore with excellent tranquillity. He loved a jest - and as he saw himself as ridiculous, he would say he could not be angry with others for seeing him in the same light.
So to his friends, he chose rather to join in the laugh against himself; and since he was as thin as his beast, he would sometimes insist that the horse was as good as the rider deserved; that they were, centaur-like, both of a piece.
At other times, and in other moods, he would say that he found himself going off fast in a consumption; and, with great gravity, would pretend he could not bear the sight of a fat horse; and that he had chosen the lean one to keep himself in spirits.
At different times he would give fifty humorous reasons for riding a meek-spirited, broken-winded horse: that on such a one he could sit and meditate; that he could spend his time, as he rode slowly along, as usefully as in his study; that he could draw up a long argument in his sermon that brisk trotting would not allow. Upon his steed he could compose his sermon, and even compose himself to sleep.
In short, the parson would name any cause but the true one, which he withheld out of modesty.
But the true story was this: in the gentleman's youth, when he bought the superb saddle and bridle, it had been his manner, or vanity, or call it what you will, to go to the opposite extreme. He was said to have loved a good horse, and generally had one of the best in the whole parish in his stable. As the nearest midwife, as I told you, lived seven miles distant from the village, every week the poor gentleman received some piteous application for his beast; and as he was not unkind, he had never the heart to refuse.
The upshot generally was, that his horse was either clapped, or spavined, or lamed; or he was twitter-boned, or broken-winded, or something or other; so that the parson had every nine or ten months a bad horse to get rid of, and a good horse to buy in his stead.
