I can't say--all I know is, that Tom Smart said so--or at least he always told my uncle he said so, and it's just the same thing.
"'Blow me," says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if she were precisely of the same opinion.
"'Cheer up, old girl," said Tom, patting the bay mare on the neck with the end of his whip.

"It won't do pushing on, such a night as this; the first house we come to we'll put up at, so the faster you go the sooner it's over.

Soho, old girl--gently--gently." 'Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquainted with the tones of Tom's voice to comprehend his meaning, or whether she found it colder standing still than moving on, of course I can't say.

But I can say that Tom had no sooner finished speaking, than she pricked up her ears, and started forward at a speed which made the clay-coloured gig rattle until you would have supposed every one of the red spokes were going to fly out on the turf of Marlborough Downs; and even Tom, whip as he was, couldn't stop or check her pace, until she drew up of her own accord, before a roadside inn on the right-hand side of the way, about half a quarter of a mile from the end of the Downs.

'Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the house as he threw the reins to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the box.