"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;"
for the Scotch poet to write--
"Oh Caledonia stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child;"
and for his brother Paddy to exclaim--
"Sweetest isle of the ocean,
Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh:"
yet it is impossible to deny that the song, the poetry, and the
exclamation are not in unison with the fact that the songster, the
poet, and the exclaimer are constantly caught in the fact of having
stolen away from the very "home," the very "nurse," and the very "isle"
they so ardently profess to love: indeed, in proof of the alibi, every
region of the globe, healthy or unhealthy, and especially every town,
city, and bathing-place in Europe, could not only declare on affidavit
that its localities, high-roads, bye-roads, paths, and streets, are,
especially in summer time or flea-season, to be seen crawling alive
with deserters from British homes, but to the questions, Who is waving
that flag in the balloon high above our heads?--Who is standing in
solitary triumph on the summit of that white capped mountain?--Who is
it that has just descended from human sight to the bottom of the sea
in a diving-bell? nine times out of ten it might truly be answered
"_A Briton_," who, in apparent desperation, has sought refuge in the
clouds, in the region of eternal snow, or in the briny deep, in order
to get away from his "dulce domum," and from "the right little, tight
little island" that contains it.
In almost every instance the home he has deserted is, comparatively
speaking, replete with luxury and comfort; and yet, from stuffed sofas,
easy chairs, feather beds, soft mattresses, warm fires, good carpets,
a well-stocked library, cellar, larder, and dairy, flower and fruit
gardens, carriages on buoyant springs, a stud of horses, faithful
servants, and friendly neighbours, he has fled, with, in one pocket, a
purse which, wherever he stops, by everybody is to be plundered; and
in the other a passport, not to happiness, but to every description of
what he has been educated to consider as a discomfort, simply because,
instead of being homesick, he has become sick, almost unto death, of
his "_home_."
Now, with these facts before us, which nobody can deny, it is strange
to reflect that while man, from all parts of the United Kingdom, is to
be seen centrifugally flying from his domicile, the horse's love for
his stable is a flame which brightens as it burns, and which nothing
but death can extinguish.
Those who have not studied or even observed the propensities of a
horse, fancy that when, like a galley slave chained to his oar, he
stands tied to his manger, he is in a prison, from which it would be
an act of humanity to liberate him; and accordingly, if the animal has
faithfully served them for many years, they feel disposed to reward
him, as the great Duke of Wellington rewarded his gallant war-horse
Copenhagen, by "_turning him out for the rest of his life_."
These notions, however, are perfectly erroneous. A horse not only loves
his stable, he not only never wishes to leave it, but whenever he is
taken out of it, although he may have been confined in it for many
months, he no sooner gets out of the door than he evinces a desire to
re-enter it. Every horseman, every coachman knows and feels that the
difference between riding or driving, especially a thoroughbred horse
from or towards his stable is so great, that while in the one case it
is often necessary to spur or flog him _from_ his home, the animal
invariably pulls hard, and on any trifling occurrence will start or
kick with joy, all the time he is returning to it; and his neighs,
responded to by his comrades within, express, in horse language, how
pleased he is to get back to them, and how glad they are to recover him.
A horse loves his stable for the same reasons that ought to induce
his master to love his home--namely, because, in society that pleases
him, he lives well clothed, well fed, and well housed; and therefore
(however well intended it may be) nothing can be more cruel to
a faithful animal that has all his life been accustomed to such
artificial luxuries, than to turn or ostracise him into a park so soon
as his age and infirmities require for him if possible still greater
comforts.
It would be thought harsh, ungenerous, and unjust, were a nobleman
to _reward_ his old worn out butler, and bent, decrepit, toothless
housekeeper, by consigning them both for the winter of their lives
to the parish workhouse, where, at no cost to themselves, they would
receive lodging, firing, food, and raiment; but if, without a shilling
in their pockets, and without a rag on their backs, his Lordship were
to turn the poor old couple adrift in the back-woods of North America,
he would confer upon them, in return for their services, exactly the
same sort of reward which is conferred upon an old worn out horse when,
suddenly deprived of the oats, beans, hay, bed, clothing, warm stable,
and companions he has been accustomed to, he is all of a sudden, as a
reward in full for all the work he has performed, "turned out for the
rest of his life."
The extraordinary attachment of a horse to his stable, especially if it
contains many comrades, may be exemplified by the following anecdote:--
Some years ago a brown thorough-bred mare became gradually afflicted by
a spavin on each hind leg, which, on due consultation, were declared
to be incurable except by firing.
To undergo this painful prescription she was led from a stable where
she had been residing by herself to the cavalry barracks at Hounslow,
about a mile off, where she was placed in a stable full of horses for a
day or two to undergo a preparatory dose of physic.
By men and ropes she was then cast, fired, and in the course of two or
three days, as soon as she could bear moving, she was slowly led back
to her master, who, with kind intentions, turned her into a small field
of nice, cool, luxuriant grass, about one hundred yards beyond his
house.
After eating a few mouthfuls the poor animal raised her head, snorted,
looked first on one side, then on the other, snorted again, stretched
out her tail, trotted up to a stiff post and rail fence, which she
cleared, and then passing unnoticed the loose box in which for many
months she had lived, forgetting and forgiving all the sufferings that
had been inflicted upon her, with raw, bleeding legs, she galloped
along the hard macadamised road to the cavalry stable, to re-enjoy the
society of the dozen horses which only for a few days she had had the
happiness of associating with.
In constructing a stable the main object should be to secure to the
lungs of the horse pure air, and to prevent the hay in the loft above
him from being impaired by foul air.[F]
By a simple shaft or chimney, and by other well-known modes of
ventilation, both these advantages can be obtained; and yet they are,
comparatively speaking, of no avail, if beneath the straw bed on which
the horse lies there exists a substratum generating and emitting gases
of a highly deleterious composition.
A stable may be well ventilated and well drained, the forage may be
of the best description, and yet all may be impaired by an atmosphere
unfit for respiration; for if foul litter beneath be only covered,
as is often, and in many stables is usually the case, by a layer of
white straw, (like a dirty shirt under a suit of fine new clothing),
distemper and disease must be the result.
Although therefore it should be the secondary duty of a good groom to
clean his _horse_, his primary duty is to clean _his stable_; for as,
in a fast and long run across a deep country, it is undeniable that the
healthiest lungs must triumph, it follows that a clean horse out of a
dirty stable cannot live with a dirty one of exactly the same character
and cast out of a clean stable.
But as it is always easier to preach wisdom than to practise it, so is
it infinitely easier to prescribe clean litter than to maintain it.
Indeed, it is almost impossible to keep straw under a horse perfectly
pure; and accordingly, throughout the United States of America, and
even in New York, horses are often made to lie on bare boards, on which
they appear to sleep just as soundly as in a state of nature they would
sleep on ground baked hard by the sun.
On this fact being privately whispered by us to the authorities at
the Horse Guards, it was at once repudiated by the assertion that it
would ruin English cavalry horses were they to be made to sleep without
litter on hard boards; and yet all the soldiers of Europe, cavalry as
well as infantry, in their guard rooms sleep and snore on wooden beds,
probably a good deal sounder than do their respective sovereigns on
bedding composed of wool, hair, down, feathers, fine linen, blankets,
and counterpanes.
"Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king?"--_Henry IV._
Another disadvantage of straw-litter is that horses with a voracious
appetite are sometimes prone to eat it, whether it be clean or dirty.
To prevent them from thus distending as well as injuring their
stomachs, it is usual to inflict upon them a muzzle, which, by impeding
respiration, is more or less injurious to the lungs.
A better and indeed an effectual mode of prevention is to substitute
for straw, wooden shavings, which form a cheap, wholesome, clean, and
comfortable bed.
[Footnote F: Youatt, in his valuable work entitled "+The Horse+," truly
says that changes from cold to heated foul air are as dangerous to the
animal as from heat to cold.]
+On Shoeing.+
As a railway carriage is constructed on springs to soften all ordinary
jolts, and with buffers to alleviate any violent concussion;--as the
human mind is gifted with a buoyancy which enables it cheerfully to
meet any trifling vexation, and with sentiments of religion which
maintain its serenity under the severest afflictions, so do the pastern
above a horse's foot and the frog beneath it protect the body of the
animal from the continual slight concussions and occasional severe ones
to which, in ordinary and extraordinary exertions, it is liable to be
subjected.
The pastern, like the instep of those Spanish women whose heels in
walking scarcely touch the ground, gives grace and elasticity to every
step; indeed, in the walk, trot, canter, and gallop of a horse we
clearly see the spring of his pasterns softening the movements of their
own creation.
But while the career of the body is thus rendered safe and delightful,
the interior mechanism of the foot is protected by one of those simple,
beautiful, mechanical arrangements which in every direction demonstrate
to us the superintending providence of an Almighty Power.
If the sole, front, sides, and back of a hunter's foot had been created
as solid and as inelastic as the gold or silver case of what is called
a hunting watch, the interior of the former, like that of the latter,
would receive material damage from a heavy blow against the ground.
The coating, however, of hard horn or armour which shields the front
and sides of the sensitive foot from any obstacle in its course,
does not equally extend to that portion of it in the rear, out of
harm's way, called the heels, beneath which we find on examination
a triangular cushion of an Indiarubber-like composition, which, on
concussion, or even by compression, acting as a wedge, forces the heels
that contain it, outwards.
By this beautiful arrangement, when a hunter with his front legs
extended, jumping over a broad fence, lands on a hard macadamised road
upon his two fore-feet, the heels which receive the greater portion of
the concussion are expanded by it in exact proportion to the weight
of the bodies of the horse and rider, and the violence of the blow
being thus alleviated, the sensitive mechanism of the foot is shielded
from injury. And yet, strange to say, simply by the act of shoeing,
this merciful protection in every country in the world is, generally
speaking, destroyed!
If a mischievous or ignorant clown were to drive a nail through a
chronometer, he would only destroy an insensible and inanimate work
of art; but when a man of wealth, intelligence, and science--the
proprietor of a valuable horse, on whose safe going his comfort,
and occasionally his life depends--deliberately nails to the poor
creature's living, expansible feet four obdurate, inexpansible iron
shoes, he is really guilty of an act of barbarity and barbarism which
would scarcely be expected from a savage, for besides instantly
impeding the expansive apparatus of the foot, he effectually stops its
growth.
Under this treatment the young horse, by day and by night, not only
lives in shoes which, though they may not hurt him very much in the
stable, always pinch him "in his utmost need," or rather speed; but,
like a Chinese lady, he outgrows his own feet, until, on attaining his
full size, it is discovered that his body, which, like that of Dives,
his master, has always worn fine clothing, and has fared sumptuously
every day, has nothing but a set of colt's feet with contracted heels
to carry it!
To prevent, or at least to alleviate the sufferings acute and chronic
just described, Mr. Turner, of Regent Street, introduced the
unilateral system of what he called "half-nailing," which consists
in affixing the shoe by nails on the outside and round the toe only,
leaving the inner side totally unsecured.
By theorists it was, of course, asserted that this arrangement would
prove to be defective and inefficient. In practice, however, not only
is the contrary the result, but, on nearly thirty years' experience,
we are enabled to maintain the apparent paradox that in riding
along or across any and every description of country, a shoe, when
_half_-nailed, is more secure than when _wholly_ nailed; in fact, that
it is insecure almost in proportion as it is tightly nailed, and secure
in proportion as it is loosely nailed.
The reasons are obvious.
When a horse is standing still, or lying fast asleep in his stable, his
shoes are, of course, firmer when wholly than when only half-nailed.
So soon, however, as, mounted by say a heavy man, he begins to move,
there commences, out of sight of every human eye, a desperate, and in
deep ground a subterranean struggle between the works of Nature and
of Vulcan the blacksmith, or, in plainer words, between the expansive
efforts of the frog and hoof and the arbitrary metallic shoe that is
restraining them.
At each step the contest is renewed; and while, by an acceleration of
pace, its violence is increased, the domination of the tyrant at every
stride is infinitesimally diminished in consequence of the nails, which
have to bear the whole brunt of the battle, becoming looser and looser,
until, by a jump on hard ground, or some other violent concussion, the
expansive power of the foot bursts the impaired fetters that have been
restraining it, and the poor animal, thus suddenly emancipated from
his shoe, leaves it either buried in mud, or, with every nail in its
socket, glittering on the grass behind him.
Now, under the system of _half_-nailing, the battle we have just very
faintly described does not take place. The foot can't struggle against
nails which don't exist; and accordingly, just as the pliant reed
remains erect after the storm that in its immediate neighbourhood has
torn up by its roots the sturdy oak, so does the half-nailed shoe,
by allowing the horse's foot to expand, perform by gentleness what
violence has failed to effect; and therefore it remains, throughout a
severe run, hard and fast, where Vulcan placed it.
The Greeks and Romans did not shoe their horses, but, for long
journeys, were in the habit of protecting, by leathern sandals,
strengthened by iron, and ornamented with silver or gold, their feet,
to the substance and shape of which they paid great attention.
"The first thing," wrote Xenophon more than 2200 years ago,
"that ought to be looked to in a horse is his foot. For
as a house would be of no use, though all the upper parts of
it were beautiful, if the lower parts of it had not a proper
foundation, so a horse would not be of any use in war if he
had tender feet, even though he should have all other good
qualities, for his good qualities could not be made of any
available use."
In many parts of the world the horse, though severely worked, has never
yet been shod. Indeed, in some of the towns in South America it would
still cost more money to shoe a horse than was paid to purchase him.
+On Roughing Horses.+
Although of all axioms no one is more trite and true than that "there
is a right and a wrong way of doing everything," yet our readers will
hardly be prepared to learn that the Anglo-Saxon on one side of the
Atlantic roughs his horse in the right way, and on the other side in
the wrong way!
In the United States, and especially in Canada, the surface of which
for half a dozen months in every year, white as a bridal plum-cake, is
composed of snow or ice, the _toe_ as well as the two heels of each
shoe are roughed; and as, in consequence thereof, the horse on every
foot stands upon a tripod, his sinews and muscles not only remain
in their proper position all the time he is in a stable, but while
crossing a level country the sole of each foot when it presses the
ground is parallel to its surface.
In ascending a hill the front cog, in descending a hill the two hind
cogs, and in traversing a plain the three cogs, of each shoe catch
firm hold of the ground; and accordingly the horse, whether in ascent,
descent, or on level ground, works in so true a position, and is so
efficiently roughed, that out of deep snow he can, at any gradient,
gallop suddenly upon what is called "glare ice," almost as hard as
iron, without the slightest danger to himself or his rider.
Now, in England, generally speaking, horses are most unscientifically
roughed on their heels _solely_, which not only at once, even in
the stable, especially when the outside cogs are unequally turned
up, throws the mechanism of their feet and fetlocks out of gear--it
not only forces them while travelling on a dead level into a false
position, but, after all this maltreatment, the poor animal finds out
that he is very inefficiently roughed.
For instance, in descending a hill, only the cog or cogs of the heels
of each foot, which can never be placed parallel to the ground, take
hold of it. In ascending, his case is infinitely worse; for, as it
becomes necessary, especially when he is drawing a very heavy load,
that he should raise his heels off the road in order to stick into it
his toes, he then discovers that while the hind portion of his shoe
which he abstains from using has been roughed for him, the _front_
part, which, for the ascent, especially requires to be roughed, has
been left untouched. Even to gallop a horse, shod in the English
fashion, over level ice, is exceedingly dangerous; for although, so
long as by a powerful bit he is forced on his haunches, the two cogs
at the back of each shoe take hold, yet, if the poor animal be allowed
to drop his head in order to propel himself at his utmost speed by
his unroughed toes, they immediately slip from under him, and he thus
experiences a defect, which it is astonishing should have been so
long perpetrated by a nation who, at an enormous expenditure of time,
intelligence, and money, have succeeded in rearing a breed of horses,
the finest in the world, coveted by every foreigner, but which they
persist in rudely roughing in the wrong way!
+Saddles.+
If a saddle does not come down upon the withers and back-bone of a
horse, the closer it approaches them the firmer it fits; and as, in
the matrimonial alliance which exists between the quadruped and the
biped, whatever is agreeable to the one is usually so to the other, a
roomy saddle, on which the rider can sit with ease and comfort, is also
beneficial to the horse, because it spreads the weight he has to carry
over a large surface, and the pressure per square inch being thereby
diminished, a sore back is less likely to be created, and per contra,
for the very same reason, the human skin is less likely to be rubbed.
Less than a century ago it was deemed necessary by hunting men to tie
their saddle to their horse's tail by a crupper, which, at every jump,
must have compressed the vertebræ of the poor animal, like the joints
of a telescope when slightly closed by a jerk. The object of this
barbarous apparatus was to prevent the saddle slipping _forwards_,
whereas, by the opposite apparatus of the present day, a breast-plate
has been substituted, to prevent the saddle from slipping _backwards_.
The difference between these two conflicting precautions has been
caused by the difference in the breeding, and consequently in the size
of the horse's belly, which, in the time of our ancestors, was lusty,
instead of being--as in the present day, when many hunters are racers,
and all in high condition--fine and slim.
When a horse is exceedingly light in the carcase, or as it is
technically termed "tucked up," it is usual among grooms and riders to
girth the poor creature as tightly as they can, in order, as much as is
possible, to relieve the breast-plate; but instead of assisting it, the
grievous mistake first paralyses its action, and then, if it be weak,
breaks it, for the following simple reasons.
If a horse, with a belly tapering like a cone, be tightly girthed, his
saddle, whenever it slips backwards (which it must do in ascending a
steep hill or bank), remains hard and fast on the part of the back
to which it has retired, straining against the breast-plate, whose
straps have not power to make it re-ascend the cone: whereas if, on the
contrary, the saddle of a light-carcased horse be unusually loosely
girthed, although in ascending an acclivity the saddle slips backwards
until it is retained by the breast-plate, yet, the instant the horse
either descends a hill, or gallops upon level ground, his own action,
combined with the power of the breast-plate straps affixed to the
saddle and girths, put an end to all strain upon the latter, by drawing
the loosely-girthed saddle forwards into its proper position. And it
is for this reason that horses of all shapes ought to be girthed less
tightly when they carry breast-plates than when they are without them,
and always two holes looser when they are light-carcased than when they
are lusty.
Formerly it was the usual custom in the hunting-field, as it still is
on the road, to secure the saddle by two narrow girths, each buckled on
either side to one strap. This arrangement has lately been superseded
by what are called Fitzwilliam girths, composed of one of double
breadth with two buckles at each end, and of a narrow one encircling
and secured to the broad one by two loops, through which it passes.
By this admirable alteration perfect safety is obtained; for, as the
broad girth is secured to four straps, if, say one on each side burst
at a leap, the other two remain efficient; and even if all break, those
of the narrow girth retain the broad one in its place; while, on the
other hand, if the straps of the broad girth hold, the narrow one is
prevented by the loops above described from dangling, in case either of
its two buckles should give way.
Whereas, by the old arrangement, if out of four straps any one burst at
a leap, its girth instantly dangled, leaving the safety, and possibly
the life of the rider, to depend on only two straps, by the rupture
of either one of which he would suddenly, without his knowledge, be
riding, possibly at a large fence, without any girths at all.
But, although hunting men have gained a step or stride by this new
fashioned girth, they have lately, as if to balance the account,
retrograded to the wisdom of their ancestors by discarding the modern
stuffed saddle-flap in favour of that ancient hard one which for many
years has been used only by postilions.
For ordinary riding, and especially for ordinary riders, a quantity of
stuffing in the form of a sausage, in front of their shins, no doubt
retains them in their seat.
In hunting, however, this retention has for many years been producing
strains of the large muscles of the thigh, which, although of common
occurrence, none of the sufferers could very clearly account for. On
reflection, the cause is obvious.
In riding over a large fence, or in any sudden blunder the horse may
commit, the rider, without losing his seat, is liable to be thrown,
body and bones, forward two or three inches, and accordingly on the
plain flat hard flap he glides onwards without inconvenience or injury
to the exact extent required.
But when, instead of being able to do so, his knees and shins are
suddenly arrested by the stuffing immediately in front of them, the
momentum of his body causes it to bend forwards on the pivot formed
by his knees, on the same principle as a cart-load of earth propelled
along a new railway embankment is chucked over its extremity on being
suddenly stopped by a log of timber placed there transversely for that
very object; and accordingly, the great muscles of the thigh which
have to sustain this conflict between the moveable and immoveable parts
of one frame are often so severely strained, that they require, for
many months, to be bandaged by a leathern strap.
The plain flap is considerably lighter than the stuffed one. It is a
sovereign cheaper; in case it gets into a brook it dries easier; and
after all, it is infinitely more agreeable to ride on. For all these
good reasons, in Leicestershire, Northamptonshire, and Lincolnshire,
which may be termed the region in England of large fences, it has been
generally adopted. However, as Peter in his 'Letters to his Kinsfolk'
truly observed that although the mail ran from London to Edinburgh in
forty-eight hours, it required always six months for fashions in dress
to travel from the former metropolis to the latter, so throughout
almost all the other counties hunting men continue to sit behind that
costly, ugly, thigh-straining sausage stuffing which the riders to the
Pytchley, Quorn, and Cottesmore hounds have so properly discarded.
+Bridles.+
Arrian states that the Persians, in battle, had no bridles, but
governed and guided their horses by nose bands, covering sharp pieces
of iron, brass, or ivory.
The curb bit, though used in the time of the Roman emperors (in
an ancient sculpture Theodosius is represented riding with one of
extraordinary leverage), was not adopted by the English until Charles
I. in the third year of his reign issued a proclamation, commanding
that no person serving in the cavalry should use the snaffle, but in
lieu thereof the curb only.
On the frieze of the Temple of Minerva, in the Acropolis of Athens, the
horses are represented as ridden (as in the races through the Strada
Reale in Malta they are still ridden) without bridles or saddles.
The best bridle for a horse is, of course, that which is best adapted
to the particular work he is required to perform.
For racing over turf, where he is required to extend himself like a
greyhound, the snaffle-bit only is almost invariably selected.
For cavalry purposes, where he is required suddenly to throw himself
on his haunches, wheel to either side, or right about, the curb-bit is
added; while by the Turks and those Asiatics who practise their horses
to approach a wall at full speed, stop, turn round, and then gallop
back again, a curb-bit only is used.
For hunting, both bits are necessary; for while across turf, light
soil, and over fences of almost every description, the snaffle is a
safer guide than the curb-bit, yet in going through deep ground the
latter is absolutely necessary to enable the rider, by holding his
horse together, not only to prevent him from extending himself--in
which attitude his hind feet would overreach his fore ones before they
could be extricated from the sub-soil--but to stop him quickly, for
instance to pop through a gap on either side, which he would otherwise
override for a considerable distance.
To leap over the hedge of a plantation full of trees on a hot horse,
with only a snaffle-bit in his mouth, would be dangerous, and often
impracticable; whereas it might easily be effected with a curb-bit, by
which the animal could moreover be made to ascend a steep narrow bank,
creep along it, and then jump off it, over perhaps the only practicable
point in the fence beyond it.
The shape, make, and leverage of bits of all descriptions of course
depend on the mouth and disposition of the particular animal for which
they are required.
It may, however, be generally stated that for all horses a plain
snaffle is better than a twisted one; and that of curb-bits, those are
the best which give to the rider the maximum of mechanical power, with,
to the noble animal beneath him, the minimum of pain.
To a war horse, as well as to his rider, it may be immaterial whether
he be infuriated by spurs pricking his sides, or from the laceration
of his mouth by a harsh bit, purposely constructed to hurt him.
As regards a hunter, however, the case is quite different; for while on
the one hand his becoming infuriated is dangerous to his master as well
as himself, a total absence of pain induces him to give calm attention
to the difficult work he has to perform.
Although, therefore, according to the animal's disposition a sufficient
amount of leverage is required, the smoother the bit is made the more
willing will he be to submit to it, and the less will he be disposed
to quarrel with it; indeed this principle has more than once been
exemplified by the fact of a run-away horse, over which his rider
had apparently no control, stopping gradually of his own accord, in
consequence of the rupture of the curb chain, which, having infuriated
him by the agony it had inflicted on his lower jaw, had actually
caused the very danger it had been created to prevent. And it is for
this reason that a leathern strap ought almost invariably to be placed
under the hard twisted curb chain, by which simple addition acute pain
is removed, without any diminution of strength of the chain or of the
leverage of the curb-bit.
+Intrinsic Value of a Horse.+
Although it is a common axiom that "the value of a thing is exactly
what it will fetch," yet in the hunting field the price at which a
horse has been sold is very rarely a criterion of his real worth, the
reason being that his performances are made up of three items, of which
he himself forms only one, the other two being stable management and
good riding, for neither of which is the quadruped entitled to claim
the smallest amount of credit; and yet, on the principle that "handsome
is that handsome does," it is a usual error, especially among young
sportsmen, to estimate that a horse which goes brilliantly must be a
good one, and vice versâ; whereas an ordinary description of animal,
in splendid condition, and judiciously ridden, cannot fail to leave
far behind him a superior one injudiciously ridden, made up of flesh
instead of muscle, of impure instead of pure blood, and of bloated,
unpractised, instead of healthy, well-exercised lungs. For these
reasons it continually happens that a horse that has been observed
to go what is called "brilliantly" throughout a run, is, at its
conclusion, sold for a considerable sum, in addition to another horse,
on which the purchaser, in a few weeks, leaves behind him the animal he
had sold, whose owner now to his cost discovers that
"The lovely toy so keenly sought
Has lost its charms by being caught"
by _him_.
But the price of a hunter is materially affected by the quality as well
as the qualifications of his rider, whose position in the world often
confers upon his horses a fictitious value; and accordingly the hunting
stud of the late Sir Richard Sutton--sold by public auction shortly
after his death--realised sums exceeding by at least 40 per cent. what
subsequently proved to be their current value when transferred to the
stables of people of less renown.
Again, a respectable, first-rate horse dealer succeeds in his
profession, not so much by his superior knowledge of the animals he
_buys_, but by the quantity and quality of the eloquence he exerts in
_selling_ them. Every hunter, therefore, that is purchased from a great
man of this description is necessarily composed of, 1st, his intrinsic
value; and 2nd, of the anecdotes, smiles, compliments, and praises,
which, although when duly mixed up with an evident carelessness about
selling him, captivated the listener to purchase him, like a bottle of
uncorked ardent spirits evaporate, or, like a swarm of bees, fly away,
almost as soon as the transaction is concluded, leaving behind them
nothing but the animal's intrinsic value.
+On Shying.+
It often happens that a horse brimfull of qualifications of the very
best description is most reluctantly sold by his master "because he
shies so dreadfully," a frolic which, to a good rider, is perfectly
harmless, and which, if he deems it worth the trouble, he is almost
certain to cure.
A timid horseman, however, not only believes that his horse is
frightened at the little heap of stones at which he shies, but for this
very reason he becomes frightened at it himself; whereas the truth is
that the animal's sensations in passing it are usually compounded as
follows:--
Of fear of {the little heap 1/10.
{whip and spur 9/10.
Now, if this be the case, which no one of experience will deny, it is
evident that the simple remedy to be adopted is, first, at once to
remove the great cause of the evil complained of, by ceasing to apply
either whip or spur; and, secondly, gradually to remove the lesser
cause by a little patient management which shall briefly be explained.
When a horse has been overloaded with a heavy charge of oats and
beans, which may be termed jumping powder, and primed by a very short
allowance of work, his spirits, like the hair trigger of a rifle, are
prepared on the smallest touch to cause a very violent explosion. In
fact, without metaphor, on the slightest occurrence he is not only
ready, but exceedingly desirous, to jump for joy.
The _casus belli_ which the animal would perhaps most enjoy would be to
meet a temperance run-away awning-covered waggon full of stout, healthy
young women in hysterics, all screaming; or to have a house fall down
just as he was passing it. However, as a great conqueror, if he cannot
discover a large excuse for invading the territory of his neighbour,
is sure to pick out a very little one, so does the high mettled horse
who has nothing to start at, proceed under his rider with his eyes
searching in all directions for something which he may pretend to be
afraid of. Influenced by these explosive propensities he cocks his ears
at a large leaf which the air had gently roused from its sleep, as if
it were a crouching tiger; and shortly afterwards a fore leg drops
under him as suddenly as if it had been carried away by a cannon shot,
because in the hedge beside him a wren has just hopped from one twig to
another nearly an inch.
Now, of course, the effective cure for all these symptoms of exuberant,
pent up spirits is a long, steady hand-gallop up and down hill across
rather deep ground. Before, however, this opportunity offers, man can
offer to the brute beneath him a more reasonable remedy.
The instant that a horse at a walk sees at a short distance before
him, say a heap of stones, at which he pretends to be or really is
afraid, instead of forcing him on, he should be allowed or, if it be
necessary, forced to stop, not only till he has ceased to fear it, but
until, dead tired of looking at it, he averts his eyes elsewhere.
While advancing towards it, so often as his fear, or pretended fear,
breaks out, by instantly bringing him to a stand-still it should in
like manner be over-appeased.
In slowly passing any object which a horse appears to be afraid of, the
error which is almost invariably committed is to turn his head towards
it, in which case, revolving upon his bit as on a pivot, the animal
turns his hind-quarters from it, and in that position with great ease
shies more or less away from it; whereas, if the rein opposite to it be
pulled firmly, he not only instantly ascertains that his rider's desire
is in opposition to, instead of in favour of forcing him towards the
object of his fear, but when his head is drawn away from it, although
he is able to rush forwards, it is out of his power to shy _laterally_.
Now, instead of endeavouring thus to triumph over instinct by reason,
instead of allowing a horse more time even than he requires to appease
his own apprehensions, be they real or pretended, the course which a
gentleman's groom usually adopts is, like giving fuel to fire, to add
to the animal's fear of the object he is unwilling to approach, his
infinitely greater fear of a pair of plated spurs.
The oftener and the stronger this ignorant prescription is applied, the
more violent becomes the disease it undertakes to alleviate, until, on
its being declared to be incurable, the poor frightened animal is sold
for a fault almost entirely created by human hands and inhuman heels.
* * * * *
The extent to which a timid animal can be appeased by kindness is,
at the present moment, beautifully exemplified by a deer, which has
been so divested of its fears by Tom Hill, the huntsman of the Surrey
fox-hounds, that the animal not only accompanies the hounds when taken
out for exercise, but eats biscuit, and actually sleeps with them in
the kennel.
If, during their meal, two of the hounds fight, by a pat with his fore
feet he tries to separate them. If, at exercise, anything alarms him,
with a bound or two he vaults for safety into the middle of the pack.
And yet, when in this citadel, if any strange dog approaches them,
with malice prepense he rushes out at him, as if determined to kill
him. In short, by kind superintendence the deer has become as fond of
blood-thirsty hounds as they of him.
+Singeing.+
As it is incumbent on all civilized communities to be kind to every
living being,--as our laws profess to maintain this Christian
axiom,--and as there exists among us a Society self-constituted for the
especial purpose of "the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals," it would be
very difficult satisfactorily to explain, at least to _them_, why, in
violation of so benign a theory, we deliberately practise the following
fashions:--