But we needn't say what sort of rider.

When I see a cockroach scuttling across the floor and turning up its tail I stand affronted, and think: A rum sort of rider _you_ must have.
You've no business to have such a rider, do you hear ?--And when I hear the monotonous and plaintive cuckoo in the June woods, I think: Who the devil made _that_ clock ?--And when I see a politician making a fiery speech on a platform, and the crowd gawping, I think: Lord, save me--they've all got riders.

But Holy Moses! you could never guess what was coming .-- And so I shouldn't like, myself, to start guessing about the rider of the universe.

I am all too flummoxed by the masquerade in the tourney round about me.
We ourselves then: wisdom, like charity, begins at home.

We've each of us got a rider in the saddle: an individual soul.