He had a propensity to take every hog path he came to.

All the bombasting that I could give him would not make him accelerate his speed.

If blood makes speed, I do not suppose he had a drop of any kind in him.

If I wanted him to go on one side of the road he was sure to be possessed of an equal desire to go on the other side.
Finally I and my mule fell out.

I got a big hickory and would frail him over the head, and he would only shake his head and flop his ears, and seem to say, "Well, now, you think you are smart, don't you ?" He was a resolute mule, slow to anger, and would have made an excellent merchant to refuse bad pay, or I will pay your credit, for his whole composition seemed to be made up the one word--no.