THE DOUBLE-RISE.--POINTING OUT THE RIGHT FOOT.--THE FORCE OF HABIT.
--VARIOUS KINDS OF FAULT-FINDING.--MR. STURGESS' PICTURES.--AN
ENGLISH HARVEST-HOME.--A JEALOUS SHREW.--A SHY BLACKSMITH.--HOW
IRISHMEN GET PARTNERS AT A DANCE.
I shall now touch very briefly upon one or two points which I have not
before mentioned, but which may, nevertheless, prove interesting to
some lady riders.
Firstly, then, I shall speak of the annoyance--sometimes a serious
one--which ladies experience from what is known as the _double
rise_ in the trot. I have been asked is it preventible. Before
suggesting a remedy for anything--be it ailment or habit--we must
endeavour to get at the _cause_ of the evil complained of. The
most successful medical men are those who first take time and pains to
ascertain the wherefore, and then seek to effect the cure.
The extremely ungraceful and unpleasant motion known as the "double
rise" is attributable to two distinct causes. It is due either to the
horse or to the rider, and to the one quite as frequently as to the
other. A large, heavy animal, with slow and clumsy action will, if
ridden by a lady, be almost certain to necessitate the double rise.
This I know by the certainty derived from experience. I was staying
some time ago at a house in the midst of our finest hunting county in
Ireland, namely, royal Meath. The owner was a great hunting-man in both
senses of the word, for he was a superb cross-country rider, and, if
put in the scales, would pull down sixteen stone. Being a top-weight he
always rode immense horses--elephants I used to call them, greatly to
his indignation. Very good he was about lending me one of these huge
creatures whenever I felt desirous of joining the chase, which I
confess was but seldom, for the first day upon which I accepted a mount
we left off eighteen miles from home, and I was so exhausted by the
time we arrived there, that I fairly fainted before reaching my own
chamber. It was not the distance which tired me, although it was a
pretty good one, but the fact that I was troubled with the double-rise
all the way. I strove in vain to remedy it by urging my gigantic steed
to a faster trot, and making him go up to his bridle; but the moment I
began to experience a little relief, my companion--dear old man, now in
heaven!--would say, "Well, that is the worst of ladies riding: they
must always either creep in a walk, or bucket their horses along at an
unnecessary pace. _Why_ can't you jog on quietly, as I do?" He
was clearly not suffering from the annoyance which was vexing and
fatiguing me. I looked at him closely, watched his motion in the
saddle--that slow, slow rise and fall--I compared it with mine, our
pace being the same, and the mystery was at once solved. Both horses
were trotting exactly together, keeping step, as the saying goes, yet
my companion was at ease whilst I was in torment. Why was this? Because
he had a leg at either side of his mount, his weight equally
distributed, and an equal support upon both sides; in fact, he had, as
all male riders have, the advantage of a _double_ support in the
rise; consequently, at the moment when his weight was removed from the
saddle, it was thrown upon both feet, and this equal distribution
enabled him to accomplish without fatigue that slow rise and fall which
is so tiring to a lady, whose weight when she is out of the saddle is
thrown entirely upon one delicate limb, thus inducing her to fall
again as soon as possible, which, if riding a clumsy animal, she is
constrained to do _at variance_, as it were, with his tedious and
heavy motion, and hence the inconvenience of the double rise.
To illustrate my meaning, and explain more fully how it happens that
men never complain of this particular evil: a man will be able to stand
in his stirrups for a considerable time, even to ride a gallop so
doing, because he transfers his weight _equally_ to this feet; but
how rarely do we see a lady balanced upon one leg! Never, except it be
for a single instant whilst arranging her skirt or trying her stirrup.
The sensation is not agreeable, and would be, moreover, unpleasantly
productive of wrung backs.
A heavy horse is never in any way suitable to a lady. It _looks_
amiss. The trot is invariably laboured, and if the animal should chance
to fall, he gives his rider what we know in the hunting-field as "a
mighty crusher!" It is, indeed, a rare thing to meet a perfect "lady's
horse." In all my wide experience I have met but two. Breeding is
necessary for stability and speed--two things most essential to a
hunter; but good _light_ action is, for a roadster, positively
indispensable, and a horse who does not possess it is a burden to his
rider, and is, moreover, exceedingly unsafe, as he is apt to stumble at
every rut and stone.
The double rise may also, as I said, be quite attributable to the
rider. A careless way of riding may occasion it, sitting loosely in the
saddle, and allowing your horse to go asleep over his work. Pull you
mount together, so as to throw his weight upon his haunches, not upon
his shoulders. Keep your reins close in hand. Rise, so that you shall
be out of the saddle when his off fore-leg is thrown out, and I do not
think you will have much to complain of from the annoyance occasioned
by the double rise.
I have dwelt upon this subject because so many have asked me privately
for a cure for it, and I have surmised that numerous others, who have
not had opportunity--nor perhaps courage--to ask, will nevertheless be
pleased to receive a hint.
It has also been inquired of me whether there is any remedy for that
excessively unsightly practice of sticking out the right foot when in
the saddle, as we have seen so many ladies do, until the toe is
positively almost resting upon the horse's neck. There is, of course, a
remedy; a most effectual one. _Don't do it._ It is quite possible
and even easy to keep the right leg as close to the saddle as the left,
the toe pointing downward, and the knee well bent. I know, however,
that in some cases the position objected to is consequent upon the
up-pommel of the saddle being placed too near the off one, thus there
is not sufficient space for the leg to lie easily, and consequently it
sticks out in the ungraceful manner so often seen and deplored.
In many instances, also, it is habit; a bad practice, indulged in at
first without notice, and then, when confirmed, most difficult to
eradicate. These pernicious habits are extremely apt to grow upon all
of us, unless most carefully watched, I have seen ladies utterly
disfigure their appearance in the saddle by placing a hand upon their
side, or, worse again, behind their back, and riding along in this
jaunty style with an air as though they thought themselves the most
elegant creatures in creation. Others keep their elbows a-kimbo, and
fairly churn themselves in the saddle with every rise and fall. Others,
again, acquire a habit of tipping their horse with the whip in an
altogether unnecessary manner. It is not actually enough to hurt the
animal, but is amply sufficient to worry and ruffle his temper. No
horse fit to carry a lady requires to be constantly reminded of his
work. A whip in a woman's hand should be more for show, and to give
completeness to the picture, than for purposes of castigation. Nothing
looks worse nor more ungentle than to see it wantonly applied. It has
been said, "Spare the rod and spoil the child," but I cannot agree with
the theory. Rod and whip may be alike useful in (happily) isolated
cases, but I do not envy the disposition of child or animal who cannot
be made amenable by less ungentle means. Practices which are the result
of habit may be checked, and quite effectually, by the bestowal of a
little care. We want first some kindly friend to tell us of them; we
next require the common sense and good feeling not to be offended at
the telling; and, finally, we need the patience and perseverance which
are born of the _determination_ to overcome the fault. With regard
to the telling, how few of us know how to tell! There are just the two
ways, or perhaps I should say three. There is the cold, carping,
disagreeable fault-finding manner, which picks holes for the mere
pleasure of picking them, and the unworthy delight of seeing how the
victim writhes beneath the torture. There is the snake-like, insidious
fault-finding--the worst and most dangerous of all--which invariably
commences with the words, "You know, my dear, I am only telling you for
your own good." This species of fault-finding is peculiar to the
_female_ friend, and is invariably served up with an admixture of
honey and gall, so skilfully compounded that the very soul of the
listener is exercised and deceived. "Her words were smoother than oil,
yet were they drawn swords." Lastly, there is the genuine, honest,
open-hearted, fault-finding, which bears no malice, and is too true to
clothe itself with the garment of deceit. By this alone we should be
influenced or seek to influence others; but, for my own part, as I have
already said, I have found the world so inordinately self-opinionated
and determined _not_ to be advised, that I have long since ceased
to offer counsel, and only give it when requested. Long ago, when I
first began to write, I was jealous of all interference, and invariably
prefaced my letters to my Editors with, "Please do not alter anything
in my MS." Poor blind child I was then, groping about in the dark, and
sadly needing the helping hand which I was so obstinately rejecting.
Well, we gain sense with years, and wisdom with experience. Now that I
have got on in the world, in every sense of the word, I am only too
anxious for advice, and ready to grasp at every friendly hint.
And so it should be with riding as with writing. Take all kindly
counsel in good part, and if given advice ask for more. Bad habits grow
upon us with giant force; they strengthen with our strength, because we
know not of them, or blindly refuse to be controlled. I dare say a good
many of us are acquainted with a very famous queen of song who always
holds her hands crossed and her thumbs turned stiffly up whilst she is
singing. I do not believe she is at all aware of the peculiarity of her
attitude, and perhaps she could not sing half so well nor sweetly if
she altered it. In like manner I told you, in the earlier portion of
this volume, of a young lady who could not ride a yard without laying a
firm grip upon the off-pommel of her saddle. These things are habit;
we do them without consciousness; we are not aware of anything unusual
in ourselves, but when the knowledge comes to us (which it soon will if
we are known to possess sufficient sweetness to take a hint) we should
turn it to advantage, and so improve with time.
I recollect that when these writings of mine were first issued in the
journal to which they originally owed their appearance, a dear lady
wrote to me all the way from Rhode Island, U.S.A., asking me for hints
upon various subjects, and likewise offering me a few such, with so
much sweetness that I not alone accepted, but welcomed and adopted
them. She asked me many questions relative to the pictures with which
my various subjects were illustrated, and admired very warmly the
spirited drawings which Mr. Sturgess had made of my leap into the
farmyard and also of "The first fence." Many of my readers may
recollect them; and as there was, at the time, much discussion
respecting the position of my feet as portrayed in the former picture,
I take this opportunity of ranging myself upon the artist's side, for,
after much thoughtful inspection of the picture, I arrived at the
conclusion that he was perfectly correct, and the position quite such
as must of necessity be, in the event of a runaway steed clearing such
an obstacle with a wearied and startled rider scarce able to retain her
seat upon his back. Even had the artist been mistaken--which I am bound
to say he was not--the matter need scarcely have evoked criticism, for
his strong point is his delineation of horses, and as he has no equal
in this particular branch of art, he may well be forgiven if such
trifles as a lady's feet occasionally puzzle him a little! Moreover, he
draws with a view to producing effect as much as ensuring stereotyped
correctness. I recollect when I saw that picture I sounded my protest
against the flowing skirt and flying veil: two things quite foreign to
my style of riding-dress, which is always severely close-fitting and
_curtailed_. His answer certainly carried weight. The skirt and
veil were necessary to impart an appearance of rapid motion, or flying
through the air. He was quite right, and I was decidedly wrong. I felt
ashamed of myself, begged his pardon mentally, and atoned for my
audacity by henceforward believing blindly in his judgment.
I recollect laughing much at the time at a grave suggestion made to me
by a dear old lady, who thought there might be a particular reason why
Mr. Sturgess was (in her opinion) less successful in depicting lady
equestrians than when pursuing any other branch of his enchanting art.
Neither she nor I had or have, unfortunately, the pleasure of his
personal acquaintance, but we thought there might possibly be somebody
in authority who strongly objected to his studying the details of the
fair creatures whom he has occasionally to draw. To show that such
things may be, and actually are, in real life, I recollect that when I
was staying some two or three years ago at a famous house in the north
of England, a gay harvest-home took place, and the servants and
labourers had a dance in the barn. I and my husband, our host and
hostess, and numerous guests staying at the castle, went out to see the
fun, and greatly was I struck with the gallant appearance of the old
barn, so gaily decorated with corn, and the fiddler fiddling away upon
a beer-barrel! A mighty cheer was raised for us when we all, in full
evening dress, joined the motley company of revellers, and the lord of
the soil led off a country dance with a blushing mountain-lass,
followed by her ladyship with an equally humble partner. The blacksmith
was an Irishman, and looked very shy, as Irishmen invariably do in
presence of the fair sex(?) I knew him as a workman upon the estate--I
knew also that his wife, a very ugly woman, was a terribly jealous
shrew--and, actuated by a spirit of mischief, I went and asked him to
dance; but he only grinned, blushed, and said, "No, thank you, ma'am;
_I'm a married man!_" My husband, who was standing by, said
laughingly, "Why, Brian, you ought to feel flattered to be asked. Give
Mrs. O'Donoghue your arm, and take your place for the dance." "O,
faix," said Brian, hastening to obey, "if _you_ have no objection,
I'm sure _I_ have none. _Let her come on!_ Only," he added,
pausing and scratching his head, "begorrah, _I hope my wife won't see
me!_"