Doctor Dobbs, and his Horse Nobbs.

Doctor Daniel Dobbs, of Doncaster, had a nag that was called Nobbs. One day, in the middle of winter, the Doctor having been summoned to attend a patient at some distance from his dwelling, and being anxious to return home before it was dark, rode poor Nobbs very hard. On his arrival, not finding his man in the way, the Doctor fastened Nobbs by his bridle to a rail in the yard, and went into his parlour, where he sat down to warm himself by a good fire. It had happened that the Doctor’s dairy-maid had brewed a barrel of strong beer, which had been drawn off into the cooler; and the dairy-maid having been called away to milk her cows, she had carelessly left the door of the brewhouse open. The steam of the beer proved wonderfully inviting to poor Nobbs, who had been hard rode, and now stood in the cold extremely thirsty. After sundry efforts he got loose from the rail, and repairing to the brewhouse, drank so heartily of the beer, that, before he was aware of it, he fell down dead drunk. The Doctor’s man coming home, ran into the yard to convey Nobbs to the stable; not finding him at the rail, he looked about, and at length discovered him stretched upon the ground, cold and insensible. Bursting into the parlour, where the Doctor was seated with Mrs. Dobbs, he communicated to them the news of poor Nobby’s decease. The Doctor and Mrs. Dobbs were both good-natured people, and of course were much concerned; but as the Doctor never suffered misfortunes to get the better of his discretion, he immediately gave orders that Nobbs should without delay be flayed, and that his skin should be taken next morning to the currier.

The Doctor’s man accordingly set to work: poor Nobbs was dragged to the dunghill, his skin was stripped off, and he was left to be eaten by the hounds. He had not, however, lain long before the novelty of his situation had a considerable effect[265]
[266] upon him. As he had lost his skin, of course the coldness of the night operated with double activity in dissipating the fumes of the beer which he had swallowed; and at length he awoke, got upon his legs, and trotted away to the stable-door, which happened to be close by the parlour. Not finding it open, and being both cold and hungry, he began to whinny for assistance. The Doctor and his wife had just done supper, and happened at that moment to be talking of the accident which had befallen their nag, over a hot bowl of brandy-punch. No sooner had Nobbs whinnied, than Mrs. Dobbs turned pale, and exclaimed, “Doctor Dobbs! as sure as I live, that is Nobb’s voice—I know him by his whinny!”

“My Dear,” said the Doctor, “it is Nobb’s whinny sure enough; but, poor thing, he is dead, and has been flayed.” He had hardly said this before Nobbs whinnied again—up jumps the Doctor, takes a candle in his hand, and runs into the yard. The first thing he saw was Nobbs himself without his skin. The Doctor summoned all his servants, ordered six sheep to be killed, and clapped their skins upon poor Nobbs. To make a long story short, Nobbs recovered, and did his work as well as ever. The sheep-skin stuck fast, and answered his purpose as well as his own skin ever did. But what is most remarkable, the wool grew rapidly; and when the shearing season came, the Doctor had Nobbs sheared. Every year he gave the Doctor a noble fleece, for he carried upon his back, you know, as much as six sheep; and as long as Nobbs lived, all the Doctor’s stockings, and all Mrs. Dobbs’ flannel petticoats, were made of his wool.