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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Peter, I seen Scotchmen afore now," said he, with a reproachful look, "ah! that I 'ave, many's the time, an' Scotchmen don't go about wi' tails, nor yet wi' 'orns on their 'eads leastways I've never seen one as did. An', Peter, I know what a bagpipe is; I've heerd 'em often an' often squeak they do, yes, but a squeak bean't a scream, Peter, nor yet a groan no."
It was a public-house in those days, too. But I never heard of the Horns!" The 'bus-driver was impressed by this statement, but he would not lightly yield in the argument. "Of course," he said, "The Elephant my 'ave been well-known in them dys, and I don't sy it ain't well-known in these dys, but I do sy thet it ain't so well-known now as wot the 'Orns is.
They say young foxes sleep in them sometimes. Oh, Sir, if they would only get a few of them sheep, and let them loose here, there would be some fun in unting of them. They are covered over with air in summer, and they are so wild you can't take them no other way than by shooting of them. Then, Sir, there is the orns of " "But how is the moose half English?" sais I.
"And now if it's the last time I shall ever write words with a mortal pen, I must request your support in this dilemmer which is sounding its dread orns at my very door! "You know what she is and who she is, and you cannot doubt but what she's a goddess loath as you must feel to admit such a thing, and I ask you if it would be downright wicked in me to do what she tells me I must do.
I always sy to Bert we 'ave the most interestin' pubs in London on this route, White 'Orse, the 'Orns, the Elephant an' the Ayngel. Ever 'eard of the Ayngel at Islington?" "Yes," said John, "That's where Paine wrote The Rights of Man." "Did 'e?" the driver answered. "Well, I dessay 'e did. It's a celebrated 'ouse, it is. Celebrated in 'istory. There's a song abaht it. You know it, down't you!...
"Well, anybody'd think you was, you ast so many questions!" John's face coloured. "I beg your pardon," he said in confusion. "I didn't mean to be inquisitive!" "That's awright. No need to 'pologise. I can see you down't mean no 'arm!" His manner relaxed a little, as if he would atone to John for his former surliness. "That's the 'Orns," he said, pointing to a large public-house.
"Oh, it aren't the disapp'intment, Peter I found one corp', an' that's enough, I suppose, for an aged man like me no, it aren't that it's findin' ye eatin' your breakfus' just as if theer 'ad 'adn't been no storm no, nor yet no devil, wi' 'orns an' a tail, a-runnin' up an' down in the 'Oller 'ere, an' a-roarin' an' a-bellerin', as John Pringle said, last night."
By this time my island backers were roosting among the trees. Glancing round, for an instant, to discover a retreat in case of emergency, I raised my piece, when a voice cried out, from the wood, "Right between the 'orns, Paul! right between the 'orns!" Down went my barrel in range with a small white tuft on the forehead of the headmost one; and, letting him have it, I darted to one side.
"Sais he, 'this author is all wrong. He calls it han 'horiginal, but he ain't a native animal, it's half English and half Yankee. Some British cattle at a remote period have been wrecked here, strayed into the woods, and erded with the Carriboo. It has the ugly carcass and ide of the ox, and has taken the orns, short tail, and its speed from the deer.
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