Doubtless, Boston is just as proud as New York, but her pride is that of brains, and those, from the necessities of the case, are hidden.
Go out on the fashionable drive of Boston, and you find that the horses are round limbed, and look as well satisfied as their owners.

A restless man always has a thin horse.

He does not give the creature time to eat, wears out on him so many whip lashes, and keeps jerking perpetually at the reins.
Boston horses are, for the most part, fat, feel their oats, and know that the eyes of the world are upon them.

You see, we think it no dishonor to a minister to admire good horses, provided he does not trade too often, and impose a case of glanders and bots on his unsophisticated neighbor.

We think that, as a minister is set up for an example to his flock, he ought to have the best horse in the congregation.