The History of Margaret Catchpole, a Suffolk Girl

She arrived at Ipswich that afternoon, and took up her abode at her former lodgings at the Widow Syers’, a distant relative of her mother’s, though by no means a desirable person for Margaret to abide with at such a time. She did not go, as she ought to have done, to her good mistress, who would have instituted every inquiry for her; but she chose to pursue her own course. She saw the old coachman, and learned from him that he had seen Laud at the Salutation, in Carr Street, only the day before. She did not stay to ask any more questions, but off she went towards the public-house in question. On her way, it was her misfortune to meet with that vagabond, John Cook, the very fellow who had so often made a dupe of her before, and who was now the cause of her performing an act that is probably without precedent in female history. Intent but upon one thing, the obtaining an interview with her lover, the mainspring of all her prospects in life, and the centre to which all her hopes, wishes, thoughts, and cares were pointed, she was almost crazy with anxiety to see this worthless object of her idolatry. She had been betrayed into misfortunes by her blindness on this point; and though careful, prudent, and considerate upon almost every other thing, she had been, and was still, the easy victim of any artful machination which had for its bait the sight of her lover. Had she consulted any of her friends, Mr. Stebbing, Mr. Brooks, Mr. Notcutt, or her beloved mistress, she would not have fallen a prey to the artful villainy of a wicked man; but Margaret had forgotten at this time her mistress, and every other consideration, except the all-engrossing subject which filled her heart; and she saw neither danger nor difficulty, right nor wrong, but was ready to go anywhere, or to do anything, provided she could only have an explanation with Laud.

“Why, Margaret, is that you?” said John Cook as he met her, turning the corner of the Chaise and Pair, on the evening of the 9th of May; “why, where have you been all these livelong days? And what are you doing now in Ipswich?”

“I am in search of Laud: have you seen or heard anything of him to-day?”

“Yes, that I have; you are in luck to meet with the only person in the world who could tell you where he is! But this is not the place to be talking secrets. Come with me to the Marquis Cornwallis, where Laud and I have spent a merry time, and I will tell you all about him.”

There was no difficulty in persuading her to accompany him, and on arriving at the inn, Margaret found by this fellow’s conversation with the landlord, that Laud and he had spent the previous evening at that house. This confirmed her belief in his story, and enabled him to make her the easy dupe of all the vile inventions which were to follow.

They requested that they might have the parlour to themselves; and the ever-liberal Margaret ordered some refreshment, though she could, from her anxiety, partake of nothing herself.

“Well, I promised you I would tell you all about Laud; but first let me tell you that I set him right about your ugly speech that night when you got such a ducking.”

“Did you? did you, indeed? What did he say to it? Did he forgive me?”

“Did he? Aye! I’ll tell you what, I never saw a fellow so dumb-foundered before. He looked almost like a madman, cursed his stars, and swore they were all confederate against him. He swore you were the best creature in the world, and if he could but see you, he would make you happy.”

“Oh, John! how good you were to tell him! But where is he? Is he in Ipswich? Do bring me to him?”

“Hold hard a bit; I must let you into a little bit of a secret. You must know that Laud and I are upon such intimate terms, that we communicate by a kind of expression known only to ourselves. He, as you know, went back to smuggling again after your rap, though that was not intentional on your part. He did not go to sea, but entered upon the timber trade, though he employed about twenty men under him to carry on his traffic. Now I know he would have gone in search of your hiding-place, if he had not been compelled to hide himself. The fact is, he is escaped from an arrest for five hundred pounds which he was bound to pay to the Excise, and but for a very lucky turn he would have been nabbed last night.”

“Well, but where is he now?”

“I will tell you where he may be found to-morrow. All I know now is, that he took the mail last night, by the greatest good luck in the world, and went off to London. He is to write to me to-night, and I shall be able to tell you to-morrow.”

That this was all a mere invention of this rascal’s, to get out of Margaret all he could, the reader will easily believe. Lucky was it for her that she did not tell him what sum of money she had belonging to Laud, or every farthing of it would have gone into this fellow’s hands. As it was, he managed to get out of her what little cash she could spare, under the promise of revealing to her the hiding-place of Laud. After chatting with him a long time, and hearing much of herself and her lover, all pure inventions of this fellow’s brain, and easily detected by any person with less blindness upon the subject, Margaret took her leave of him, giving him half-a-crown to spend. She returned to the Widow Syers’, and, as might be supposed, passed a feverish night, restless with nervous anxiety. Poor girl! she little thought of the mischief then brooding for her ruin.

The morrow came, bringing a letter to John Cook, of a very different description to that which Margaret anticipated. It ran thus: —

"Dog and Bone, Lambeth,

"May 8th, 1797.

“Jack,

“I sold the bay mare at Smithfield yesterday. I might ha’ got more, but the nabs were about; so I wopt her off for ten. Old Snacks, at the Bone here, got his ’centage. I crabbed the old chap as well as I could; but he’s up to snuff. You wouldn’t ha’ known old Peggy again. We blacked her white legs and popt a white face on to her, gave her a rat’s tail, filed her teeth, and burnt her mark, and wop me if I mightent ha’ sold her for a six-year old, if I hadn’t been in a hurry. But she’s off, they tell me, to serve in a foreign country. She’s a right good un, though an old’n. All’s honour bright, Jack!

“I say, old boy, we talked o’ the brown nag; can ye send him up to Chelmsford? or if to the Dog and Bone, direct to your old chum,

"Bob Bush,

"Sam Snacks,

"Dog and Bone, Lambeth.

To John Cook,

"Marquis Cornwallis,

"Ipswich, Suffolk."

This letter, which was found some days later at the inn, and delivered up to the constable of the parish of St. Margaret’s, may serve to show the connexion which this fellow had with a gang of horse-stealers, who, at this time, infested the counties of Essex, Norfolk, and Suffolk. The brown nag here mentioned was one which had been turned off in the pastures of St. Margaret’s, belonging to John Cobbold, Esq. He was a high-spirited little horse, and aged. The eyes of this rogue had been upon him, and a most diabolical project now entered his brain, of making Margaret Catchpole, whose early feats of riding were not unknown to him, the minister of this theft.

“I shall make something out of her now,” said the fellow, “if I can only play upon her feelings. How shall I do it?”

A thought struck him that he would tear off the half of the letter containing the post-mark, and paste one which he would invent, on that half, and sign it for Will Laud. Margaret knew little or nothing of Will’s handwriting, so that she could easily be deceived in this respect; and if she knew that it was not his, the fellow was ready enough to swear that he had hurt his hand by the falling of a spar, and so got a friend to write it for him. He put his wits to work, and concocted an epistle as nearly pertinent to what he had made out Laud’s case to be, as he could.

He dated it from the same place from whence he received his own, and intended to write to Bob Bush to take the horse off Margaret’s hands, if he could get her on to it. He wrote thus: —

Dog and Bone, Lambeth, May 9th, 1797.

“Dear Jack,

“Hurrah, my boy! Safely anchored, though I had cut my cable, and run; but I have got into a friendly port, and my pursuers shan’t easily find me. Precious hard, though, Jack, after just finding out my girl, to have to tack and leave her. You might lend a hand now, just to serve an old friend. Margaret would make my present dull time a little lighter, if you could but find her up, and put her on the right road to find me. I think she would forgive me, if you could explain matters a little to her. Tell her we could get married here, and after a time all would be well. But, Jack, mum must be the order of the day. Don’t you fire a volley at me until she’s off to London. She must come incog, Jack; aye, in man’s clothes, if she can: you know why. A thought strikes me, which if you put it into her head, will just suit her, and me too. Persuade her to borrow the old pony of her master’s, from the pasture on the Woodbridge road, or to take it with French leave. It is worth nothing, and will never be inquired after; and if disposed of, will scarcely be missed. And if she was found out, it would only be treated as a good spree! So, Jack, try her; she has a spirit equal to the work, and we shall then be no more parted. Now, do this for

"Your old friend,

Will Laud”

Margaret read this letter with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure, but she implicitly believed every word of it, yet she did not like Laud’s plan. “Why not go and borrow the horse of old Teager,” said she, "if it must be so? I know he will lend it to me.”

“What, and tell him you want his stable-dress to ride to London in? Fine fun he’d make of it, would he not? No, no, Margaret, that will never do. We must take it with French leave, or let it alone.”

“I wish I could see him by some other means. I do not like his plan; and yet, perhaps, he has none other to offer,” said Margaret, as if pondering within herself.

“I can tell you he is not the man to offer it if he has,” said Cook. "Once put him off again, and it will be long enough before you ever see or hear of him again.”

Margaret felt that such would be the case, and yielded to the artful duplicity of this wicked man, and agreed to meet him the next night to put their wild plan in practice. But as heaven willed that she should have one more chance of escape from the evil which threatened her, the excitement which she suffered brought on an attack of fever that very night, and she was laid up for many days. The warning, however, was in vain; and so soon as she recovered, she agreed to put their plan in execution.

It was on the 23rd of May that Margaret met John Cook at the place before appointed, having previously bought herself a hat and a pair of boots. But now a new obstacle presented itself, which, like the one just alluded to, might have served as a warning, had any religious feelings found place in Margaret’s mind and heart. They went into the meadow, and for more than an hour tried to catch the horse. But it was all in vain; he would be caught by nobody but old Teager.

What was to be done now?

“This is a turn I did not bargain for,” said John Cook, “and I have written to Laud to say you will be, without fail, at the place I shall tell you of when you are once mounted. A horse we came for, and a horse we will have, for I would not disappoint the captain for a hundred horses; so follow me, Margaret.”

The girl hesitated, and inquired what it was he proposed to do.

“Not many yards off, in yonder stable, there are two noble horses that are worth riding; you shall take one of them.”

“Do you mean the carriage-horses? I dare not ride one of them.”

“Nonsense, girl! If you don’t come along and just do as I bid you, hang me if I don’t write to Laud, and tell him you don’t care anything about him. Come along! I must help you over the low wall against the end of the garden. Come along! You have fairly begun the work; don’t give it up.”

Margaret never wanted courage until that moment, and then she followed, trembling from head to foot.

The fellow got on to the wall and assisted her up and down. He then went across the lawn to the stable-yard with the trembling Margaret at his heels; they found the stable-door locked; but the wicket at the side, by the muck-bin, was unhanked and stood ajar. Margaret got into the stable through this place, and slipped back the bolt of the stable-door; the horses had been accustomed to her coming into the stable for straw for her fire, and she had often spoke to them and patted them, so that her voice now, as she said, “Whoho, Crop!" and “Gently, Rochford!" was familiar to them; and they did not rise up until John Cook entered and began to strike a light.

“Now, Margaret, pull the litter down toward the stable-door, whilst I just look into the harness-house.”

Rochford, a fiery grey horse which Mr. Cobbold had lately purchased from Lord Rochford, at Easton, rose up and snorted, and clanked his chains so terribly, that Margaret expected every moment that old George who slept over the stable, would present himself; but the old man was deaf, and heavy in his sleep, and had only returned from Mrs. Proby’s, of Stratford, late that evening, and had not been in bed above an hour, so that he was in his first sound sleep.

“Margaret, you must take this lantern, and just move the dark part round, and it will show you where the old boy’s stable-dress is; go up the stairs carefully, and bring it down with you.”

Margaret did so. She went with breathless step to the bedside of the coachman. His stable dress was upon the floor; she took it up gently, and as cautiously receded with it down to the stable again, closing the door without noise.

“So far so good, Margaret. Now, do you dress yourself there in the empty stall, while I saddle and bridle the further horse.”

This, however, was more than John Cook could do, for Rochford was of such a spirit, and sent out at him with such vengeance that he dared not go up to him; nor could he without Margaret’s help put the saddle or bridle on to Crop. She dressed herself as quickly as she could in the coachman’s stable-dress; he being a little fellow, and Margaret rather tall, they only hung about her a little loosely, but were not too long for her. When she came from the stall, after rolling her own things in a bundle, and putting them into the very bottom of the seed-box, under the manger, and covering them with hay, she looked exactly like a young groom. She went up to the Crop horse and patted him on the neck, whilst her companion saddled and bridled him; she then tied some straw round his feet, so that no noise should be made in the stable-yard, and out the gallant fellow was led, ready for such a journey and for such a rider as never before had mounted his back.

“Now my girl,” exclaimed Cook, “screw up your courage to the start! Come into the meadow. I can let you out on to the Woodbridge road, and then off with you.”

“But where am I to find him? You have not told me that,” exclaimed Margaret.

“Mount! and I will tell you.”

Margaret, with his aid, was soon in the saddle, and once there, she felt her own command over her steed.

“Now Margaret,” he replied, “mind what I say: you must sell that horse if you can, at Chelmsford market to-morrow morning; if not, you must ride on to the Bull, in Aldgate, London; but if you regard your own and your lover’s safety, you will sell the horse first, and then find your way to the Dog and Bone public-house, at Lambeth; there you will find Will Laud expecting you. Sell the horse for all you can get; say he is worth a hundred guineas, and that your master, Squire John Cook, sent you up to sell him.”

The horse was a strawberry roan colour, remarkable for his action and the spirit with which he went through a journey. His ears were short enough, for, in accordance with a barbarous practice of that day, they were cropped; few that ever knew the horse could forget him; in harness he carried himself as proudly as if he had been trained to exhibit his beauty, but this was his constant habit; his spirit was such, that he was never touched with a whip, and never exhibited the least disposition to restiveness; free, easy, gentle, noble, swift, untiring, graceful, and grand – he was admired wherever he went; and the short coachman, who occasionally used to ride him, made him, a sixteen-hand horse, look at least a hand higher. What an object was Margaret Catchpole upon him! Her spirit was up as well as Crop’s; her resolution to go through all she had undertaken was fixed, and in reply to John Cook’s question, when they came to the paddock-gate, “Are you ready, Margaret?” she replied, "Quite ready!”

“And now, off with you,” said the fellow, as he opened the gate. "Remember the ‘Dog and Bone.’ A hundred guineas for the horse, and you will be a happy woman;" and off started poor Margaret at a sweeping pace for the London road.

St. Margaret’s clock struck one, just as she passed the front of that house in which she had lived so much respected, and in which, unconscious of her guilt, slept the kindest master and mistress that a servant ever knew.

But Margaret rode on, reckless of all the ills that might await her, and thinking only of the lover that she was to meet at the end of her mad journey.

The guard of the mail-coach observed to the driver of the Ipswich mail, as Margaret met it, about two miles before she reached Colchester, "That’s Mr. Cobbold’s Crop horse! There must be something the matter in the family by the pace the groom is going. Did you see the fellow’s stable-dress up to his knees? There’s something amiss, or the horse is stolen.”

When he came to Ipswich, the man mentioned the circumstance at the coach-office, and said he was positive something was wrong.

Mr. Bailey, the postmaster, immediately sent a messenger with a note, to inform Mr. Cobbold that the guard had met some one riding his horse very fast on the London road.

It was five o’clock when the man rang loudly at the porch-bell; the footman came down in a great hurry and carried up the note to his master’s room, who quickly ordered him to go to the stable and see if George Teager and the horses were safe. He ran to the stable, and true enough, he found the Crop horse gone. He called out to George, whom, at first, he suspected of having gone off with the horse, “Hullo, George; Crop is gone!”

The old man jumped up. “What’s the matter? Who calls?”

“One of the horses is stolen, George; you must come down immediately; it was met two miles this side of Colchester!”

“Come, come, Tom, none o’ your tricks! this is only some of your nonsense: can’t ye let an old fellow rest in his bed without playing off your boy’s tricks? what have you done with my stable dress?”

This made Thomas bolt upstairs.

“I know nothing of your stable-dress; I tell you master will be here in a minute: on with your livery. I’ll be whipped if somebody has not stolen the fustians! Come, old boy, this is no fun, it’s as true as you are staring there; so up with you.”

George found by his companion’s earnest manner that he spoke the truth, and putting on his livery he came down; he was, as many a man at his age and in his situation would be, much bewildered. He ascertained, however, that the thief had taken his master’s new saddle and bridle, and a small stick of his own. He observed that it must have been an old practitioner, by the straw being littered down to the door, and pointed out to Thomas that the horse’s hoofs had been covered with straw to prevent them clattering on the pavement of the yard. His master soon came down and easily tracked the horse to the paddock gate. Of course all the family were roused. “Go directly, George, up to Mr. Spink’s, the dealer’s, who got this horse for me, and knows him as well as you do, and order a post-chaise from the Lion, and bring Mr. Spink here. You must both of you pursue the thief, even to London. Be as quick as you can.”

In the meantime a handbill was written and sent to Mr. Jackson’s, of the County Press, with a request that copies might be struck off immediately, in time for the nine o’clock coaches to London. It was to this effect: —

"TWENTY GUINEAS REWARD

“Whereas, last night, or this morning, May 24th, a fine strawberry roan grey gelding was stolen out of the stable of John Cobbold, Esq., of St. Margaret’s Green, Ipswich, together with a new saddle and bridle, and the coachman’s stable-dress. Whoever shall give information of the robber, so as to lead to the recovery of the horse, or the conviction of the offender, shall receive the above reward at the hands of the owner.

“N.B. The horse is sixteen hands high, has cropped ears, is six years old, has a cut tail, and is very strong and very fast.

“Ipswich, May 24th, 1797.”

This was struck off as soon as possible, and circulated over the town and through the country, by every vehicle leaving the town.

It was about seven o’clock when old Teager and Mr. Spink left Ipswich for Colchester, so that Margaret had some hours’ start of her pursuers. As they went on they heard at every toll-gate of a young man having gone through on just the description of horse given, so that it was a warm scent before them.

When they arrived at Chelmsford, through a misdirection of some person, they were told that the same horse was seen going on to Maldon, in the hundreds of Essex; and they had just given the post-boy orders to turn off the London road in pursuit, as Mr. Alston, of Diss, rode into the yard of the Black Boy as the pursuers were in the act of getting into the chaise.

“Pray, sir, may I be so bold as to ask if you came far along the London road?”

“I left town this morning, and am now on my journey to Manningtree. Why do you ask?”

“Because I am in pursuit of a thief. You did not chance to meet a man riding a strawberry roan carriage-horse?”

“Yes, I did; and remarked at the time that I thought it was the finest shaped horse I had ever seen. He was a crop, with high action and bold crest.”

“It is the very horse! Whereabouts might you meet him, sir?”

“I met him I should say about five miles on the other side of Romford, near to Ilford. It was about nine o’clock. I remarked to myself, what a fool the lad must be who was riding him, that he did not manage to fasten his overalls down at his ankles, as I could see his stockings up to his knees. Some gentleman I thought was sending him into livery stables.”

“We are greatly obliged to you, sir. On, boy, on!" and the post-chaise dashed out of the yard.

But for the accidental meeting of Mr. Alston it is very probable Margaret would have escaped; but the information thus given put the pursuers on the right scent, just in the right time.

Meantime let us accompany Margaret on her perilous expedition. She had actually ridden the horse from Ipswich to London in the space of eight hours and a half; it being seventy miles from that place to the Bull, in Aldgate. She only stopped once on the road, at a small public-house, called the Trowel and Hammer, at Marks Tey, in Essex; here she gave her gallant horse a feed of corn, and had a glass of brandy and water and a biscuit. It was just five o’clock when she baited. She dared not to offer the horse for sale at Chelmsford for fear of detection, at such an early hour. She felt persuaded that a pursuit would be made, and hoped to hide herself in the metropolis before her pursuers could reach her. Accordingly she allowed the horse no more time than was sufficient for him to finish his corn, and off she went again for nearly five hours’ further ride. As she approached town many were the eyes directed towards her, both on account of the remarkable character of the horse, and the singular appearance of the rider. Margaret took no notice of any one, but pushed on her willing steed with the same indifference as if she had been sent upon an errand of only a few miles; nor was the horse apparently fatigued in the least when they arrived at the Bull Inn, which they did about half-past nine o’clock.

She rode quietly down the yard, called for the ostler, dismounted, shook her trousers down, and addressed the man in as off-hand a manner as if she were a real groom.

“Rub that horse down well, and get him cool and comfortable; give him a sup of water and a mouthful of hay, and I will come and see him fed.”

“Have you rode far, young man?” asked the ostler.

“Not a very great way. I came out of Chelmsford this morning. See and rub his ears dry, ostler. You must make him look as well as you can, for I expect my master up in town to-night; and if I don’t meet with a customer for that horse he’ll blow me up.”

“He’s a very fine horse; and if as good as he looks, would be worth any man’s money.”

“He’s better than he looks, ostler: and ’tisn’t any man’s money that will buy him. He must give a good price for him, whoever buys him. But look well after him. I must go and get a bait myself.”

She went into the bar, ordered her breakfast, took up the newspaper, and with all the airs of a consequential young jockey sat down to the perusal of it. After taking some refreshment she got up to see her horse fed.

The ostler, finding so fine a horse was for sale, apprised a livery-stable-keeper of his acquaintance, who on hearing his representation hastened to look at him. Margaret was called out; the animal exhibited; under-valued by the dealer in the style so characteristic of such gentry; and his good qualifications well vouched for by the young groom.

“Did you ever see a better shape?” exclaimed Margaret. “Look at his fore-end; there’s a crest, there’s a shoulder, there’s a head! Look at his legs, as straight and clean as a colt’s; and as for quarters, where will you find such for strength and beauty? He’s six-year old next grass; has never done any hard work before this day; and you won’t find a puff as big as a pea in any of his sinews. Quiet to ride or drive, and without a fault. Now, what’s the matter with him?”

This was such a poser to the dealer that he could only reply by asking, “Can I have a warranty with him?”

“To be sure you can,” said Margaret. “You may have a written one from me; or, if you like better to deal with my master, you may wait till he comes up, and then he’ll give you a character, and perhaps you’ll make a better bargain with him than you will with me.”

“Are you authorized to sell the horse?”

“To be sure I am, or else I should not stand here to talk with you about him.”

“Who does he belong to, young man?”

“He belongs to my master, Mr. Cook, of Ipswich, in Suffolk.”

“What do you want for him?”

“One hundred guineas.”

“May I take him for a trial?”

“Yes; when you have bought and paid for him. He is not to go out of my sight until I receive the money for him, or deliver the horse himself into my master’s charge.”

“I should like to see him down our ride; I could better judge of his paces.”

“Clap the saddle on him. I will ride him where you like; or I will let you drive me with him; but I do not trust any one else with him whilst he is in my care.”

The saddle and bridle were put on, and Crop came out of the stable free, and ready to trot back again to Ipswich if his rider was so disposed. He was as fresh and joyous as a lark, and sprang up into the air with almost as light a heart. Margaret mounted awkwardly; put her foot into the stirrup the wrong way; and perceiving that this was noticed, she crossed the stirrups over the saddle in front of her, saying,

“My master always makes me ride without stirrups, and I like it best.”

In truth she sat the horse better without them; and had she had no saddle, it would have suited her even better still; but this seemed to have the desired effect.

The dealer, however, entertained some suspicions from the awkward manner of the groom, and having already suffered for purchasing a stolen horse, he was more on his guard than he otherwise might have been.

They went out of the stable-yard together, and reached the ride belonging to the dealer, and Margaret turned her horse in as she was directed. The stable lads peeped out to see what kind of nag their master was buying, and were not satisfied with a glance, but looked with much admiration at him.

“Just trot him down the ride, young man.”

Margaret dashed down the yard and back again.

“Soho! my fine fellow! Peter,” he said to his head man, “just come and look at this nag.”

Peter stepped forward, and gave his master a knowing look, as much as to say, “Am I to decry him?”

“Look at his mouth!”

Peter did so.

“How is it, Peter?”

“All right, sir.”

“What’s his age?”

“Rising six.”

“What do you say to him?”

Peter looked at every point, then scratched his head, and again looked at his master; but he received no sign to manœuvre; so he replied, "Why, master, if you ask for truth you shall have it. He’s a right good one; that is it.”

“Well, young man, now what is the lowest price you will take?”

“I told you his price when you asked me before. You don’t expect me to lower the price of my own horse without a bid! What do you say you will give?”

“Why, I don’t know! He’s not every man’s horse! Not easily matched; and not suited for a town horse; but I’ll bid you fifty guineas for him.”

“Thank you for your bid, sir; but you must come nigh to double that before you’ll buy.”

“Will you take sixty for him?”

“No; I will not.”

“Will you take seventy? Come now, I’ll give you seventy. You may go a long way before you’ll get such another offer. Say, will you take it?”

“Add another ten to it and it shall be a bargain. I will take eighty.”

“Just walk him down again. Peter, what do you think of him?”

“He’s worth the money; that’s what I say. Buy him, master.”

“Well, young man, I’ll take the horse; but you must give me a written warranty with him.”

“That I’ll do; but perhaps you’ll not like to conclude the bargain without master’s warranty; if so, we had better not exactly conclude the price.”

This so took the dealer aback, that it drove away all suspicions, and he said, “No, no; your warranty will do. I’ll give you the money.” He was in the act of going to the gateway as he saw one of his men come into the yard, with a paper in his hand, which proved to be one of the identical hand-bills, offering a reward of twenty guineas for the very horse he had just bought. “Peter,” he called out, “tell the young man just to walk that horse once more up the yard, and come you here.”