Alexandria Gazette

A FANCY TRADE.--The following capital story is from a letter of a Western correspondent in a late number of the 'Spirit of the Times.'

One evening I was rallying my companion upon his low spirits, and attributing it to long absence from his wife, making as unfavorable a comparison as possible between his situation and my own a bachelor, when our quondam friend, as usual, joined in. Matrimony, said he, is a fine thing when you're once in for it, and know what you've got, but it's rather ticklish to begin on,-- you're as likely to make a fancy trade as any, and if I'm a goin' to make one I want it in horses, for if I'm married I shall have to stand perhaps when I don't want to.

'Yes, but,' said I, 'what do you call a fancy trade?'

Why Captain, a fancy trade is where a man's fancy outruns his judgment, and runs away with his brains. I'll tell you a story now, where my fancy run right away with my gumption to the tune of a hundred.

The last time I was out West I went with the old brown hoss I had of the stage agent, a purty good one, but a little rusty at times. Well, I got to Windham Cattle Show before I see a chance to swap, and for the matter of that I couldn't see any chance there was a good many niceish kind of horses but nobody seemed to hanker after a trade. Finally I see a countryman leading a black colt--wasn't he a burster! He had the greatest withers you ever see on a hoss. and a set of limbs that would bring tears into a man's eyes. That's that chap.

'Mister,' says I, 'that's a first rate colt, if it want for them are!'

'Them are what?' says he.

'Law! now, do be green,' says I.

'Green,' says he, 'I don't know what you mean. Why there, man,' says I, 'that'll do with some but I've been there and staid a week.'

'Why, friend,' says he, 'if there's any thing out of the way with my hoss. let's know it.'

why, do you mean to say that you don't know that colt's got two bone spavins?

'I deny it,' says he; and his eyes stuck out so you could hung your hat on 'em.

'Well friend,' says I, 'I'll prove this to you; lead your colt over this way, where there is a little the soundest horse flesh ever did see, and we'll compare their legs. Now that colt was a dreadful made one: his hock joints was deeper than any horse's I've seen, and the upper pints inside the hind leg, stuck, out clean and handsome, I'll tell you.

Well, old Brown's leg was a gummy round thing like any other old Plug's--

'There,' says I, 'I mean to say that them bones stickin' out like a frog's elbow on your colt, ain't natural; but when you get him to work they are bound to lame him, for they're nothing more or less than bone spavins.'

'O dear;' says he; 'what shall I do?' and he turned as blue as a whetstone.--

Well' says I, there never was a nigger so black but there was a white to his eye, and your case has some bright spot yet. Let's find the chap what owns this hoss, I'll help you trade with him. We can put him through and make a good thing out of a bad one.'

Well,' says he, you start after him.

Off I goes to the tavern. for old Jim Dana. a dreadful critter for a trade. 'Jim' says I, 'do you want to make a V?'

'I don't want to do any thing else,' says he.

Well, then,' says I, throw away your cigar, put your hat square on your head. take that swagger out of your carciss, and come and swop my brown hoss for me, and I want you to look so much like an honest man that your wife wouldn't know you."

Well we got down where the chap was: here's the gentleman,' says I, 'that owns the brown hoss and he is willing to make an exchange with you.

Very well,' says the fellow. 'tell what you'll do.

On this, off goes old Jim at half cock I've owned this critter from a colt,' says he, 'I've used him in every way amd shape, and he never failed. He aint used to high keepin' but it takes a man's horse to beat him. There he is--look for yourself--sound, kind, and good--eight years old next spring. I'll warrant him right in any harness and you come to a hill he's there. I should feel bad to part with him;' and really the old fellow looked as if he'd cry.

'Well,' said I. 'how'll you trade?'

I can't make up my mind says old Jim, 'I must see my son;' 'offer him $20 says I in my covey's ear.

'No,' says he, 'I can't trade him short of $20 myself.'

'But,' says I, 'you will trade for twenty.'

'Yes,' says he. I winked to old Jim, to close up.

'Well,' says Jim, I shall trade.'

We shifted purty quick I guess; and I never felt safe till I saw his halter on Old Brown. Jist as he was going off he turned round and says to me, "when you put that colt in your wagon, set well back, for he'll kick it all to pieces;" and oh, how he laughed. I've hearn folks laugh, and I've hearn them cry, but I never hearn any thing before or since that come over me as that did.

I felt as if I'd lived on raw barbarries for a week, and exercised myself whetting saws. Old Jim laughed as though he'd split. Where's the V?" says he and then he'd laugh. I hired a horse
cart and put the colt in; he got to kickin, and there! he kicked it all to pieces, in no time, his hind legs went like a mill race; them ere gambols want made for nothing, I'll tell you; he kicked the cart all to flitters, and I had to pay $37 for it.

Well, I thought I'd make the best of a bad job, so I bought an old cripple for ten dollars to draw my wagon, and tied the colt behind, and cuss him, he wouldn't go there, but went to pulling back and broke my new wagon. Well, thinks I, I'll put up and try again in the morning; but I hadn't seen the worst yet, for they wouldn't put him up no how; they said he was glandered, so he was; the chap had blowed powdered alum up his nose so it didn't show, and I was so earnest to pick up a flat I hadn't looked to anything. And that was the end of my 'fancy trade.'

I gave the colt away after two days, for he wouldn't have fetched me a pint of cider. It was a good deal for me in the end though, for my school master used to say, that hour's work bred me circumspection. And from that day to this, I've never took a sudden shine to any thing, without its bringing that colt right afore my eyes. I've never been married, and a gal must manage purty cute, and look purty well, to make me, for the black cow's horns show dreadful quick to me on account of the color.

And now, captin', let's have our hot whiskey punch, and go to roost, and it's your treat, for you are gettin' your experience mighty fast, and without payin' for it.