At last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston's pint, and they wheeled him right round and round like a whip-top.

Poor pony! he got his match at last.

He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged and fort, like a man, for dear life.

Fust went up his knowin' little head, that had no ears; and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore; but there was no bottom there; nothin' for his hind foot to spring from; so down he went agin ever so deep: and then he tried t'other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had no tail; but there was nothin' for the fore feet to rest on nother; so he made a summerset, and as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full stretch of his hind legs.
"Poor feller! it was the last kick he ever gave in this world; he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him for ever.
"I railly felt sorry for the poor old 'grave-digger,' I did upon my soul, for hosses and ladies are two things, that a body can't help likin'.

Indeed, a feller that hante no taste that way ain't a man at all, in my opinion.