The Horse and His Rider

How To Bring a Hunter Home.

Of the long list of hunters annually killed by what is called "a severe day," about one-third may be said to have died from bad riding, and two-thirds by improper treatment after the run was over.

Supposing, as is often the case, that the majority of the horses that are "in at the death" have been out of their stables from seven to eight hours, that they have been conspicuous in two or three runs, and that, with the lower edge of the sun nearly touching the horizon, they have to travel from fifteen to twenty miles to their stables, a question of vital importance has to be determined, namely, whether they are to perform that exertion in the way most agreeable to their riders, or most advantageous to themselves.

In the settlement of this problem the poor horses have, of course, neither voice nor vote. On their behalf, therefore, we will endeavour to contrast the attentions that ought to be bestowed upon them, with the inconsiderate treatment to which they are usually subjected.

In a severe day's work a hunter suffers from a combination of three causes: violent muscular exertion, an overexcitement of the circulation of the blood, and debility of his whole system caused by abstinence from food.

Of these causes, the latter produces by far the worst results; for although to the muscles may be given rest, and to the circulation repose, the stomach of a horse is so small and, in comparison to his noble spirit, so delicate, that on becoming empty and exhausted it is in an unfit state to digest food, and accordingly is beneficently deprived by Nature of appetite to receive it.

Now, under all these circumstances, it is evident that the most humane, and, taking the money value of the poor animal into consideration, the most economical course which the rider can pursue is as follows:

As soon as the day's sport is over, the hunter should be led, or ridden, at a walk for about a mile to some stable—it little matters whether it be good, bad, or indifferent—or strawyard, where he can stand for a minute or two.

When the object for which he has been taken there has been accomplished, about a third of a pail of gruel, or lukewarm water, with a mouthful or two of hay, should be given to him. To prevent his being chilled, the instant he has swallowed it he should be mounted; and whatever be the distance he has to accomplish, he should then be ridden homewards at a constant steady pace of about seven miles an hour.

After a staghunt in which the hunter may have been galloping principally on roads, soft ground (if it be not deep) should be selected; but when, as is usually the case in fox hunting, the muscles have, during the greater part of the day, been struggling in heavy soil, he should be permitted to travel, as he invariably tries to do, on the hard road.

As they proceed together, if the rider will dismount for a few minutes to lead his horse down or up any very steep hill, both animals will be greatly relieved. With this exception, however, there should be no alteration of pace or stoppage of any sort or kind.

If, at the quiet rate described, the hunter begins to blunder, it will be proper that he should be what is termed "wakened" by a word of remonstrance, or, if that prove insufficient, by a slight touch of the spur. But if, as is usual, the noble animal travels safely, the duller he is encouraged to go, the greater will be the relief to that over excitement of the circulation of his blood, and that violent palpitation of his heart, from which he has suffered.

By this treatment a hunter in good condition can, in the shortest possible time, be brought home not only cool in body and tranquil in mind, but with limbs less wearied than when they took leave of the hounds.

On entering his stable, in the manger of which he should find, ready to welcome him, a handful or two of picked sweet hay, his bridle should be taken off, his girths unloosened, and then, before his body is touched, all his four legs, after being cleared only of rough dirt, should, without a moment's delay, be swathed from the knees and hocks to the hoofs by rough bandages of coarse common drugget, which maintain in the extremities that healthy circulation which, from the minuteness of their veins, is prone, after great exhaustion, to stagnate, producing (especially when caused by the ignorant custom of washing the legs) disorganisation and disease throughout the whole system, as the following fact will exemplify.

Several seasons ago almost every hunter in Leicestershire and Northamptonshire was afflicted by a combination of lumps, bumps, swelled legs, and cracked heels, caused by the extraordinary wetness of the ground, and the consequent ablutions of the legs. After the veterinary surgeons had in vain nearly exhausted their pharmacopœia, the oldest and most experienced among them directed that on no account should horses' legs, after hunting, be washed; and wherever this plain, sensible prescription was followed, all the symptoms just described rapidly subsided.

If the hunter, as is now-a-days almost invariably the case, has been singed, the less he is excited and tormented by cleaning (the main object of which, with many strappers, seems to be to make the poor animal crouch his back, bite his manger, and violently work all his legs as if they were on a tread-mill) the better.

At the expiration of about an hour white flannel bandages should, however, be substituted for the coarse ones, under which the dirt will then be found to crumble away like warm sand.

If his ears (the opposite extremities or antipodes of his legs) have become cold, circulation therein should be restored by the groom quietly rubbing them with a cloth; and as soon as they are dry, and the animal what is called "comfortable," a pailful of warm gruel given to him at intervals, a bran mash, a rackful of hay, a clean stall, some chilled water, and a fresh bed, will do all that is possible to procure for him a night's rest, free from fever; and this vital object having been accomplished, the next day he may receive without injury, and indeed with great benefit, his usual allowance of the best oats and beans.

Now, in contrast to the mode of treatment just described, we will endeavour to offer to our readers a similar sketch of that which, especially by what are termed "fast men" (possibly because "lucus à non lucendo" they make it a rule never to "fast" or abstain from any thing they desire to do), is usually adopted.

After the run is over, while one sturdy hound that all the rest seem to be afraid of is stealing straight away with the poor fox's head, and while another at his utmost speed, chased by several, is meandering through the pack with a lump of unsavoury, very dirty fur in his mouth, groups of riders, some sitting astride, some like pretty ladies with a right leg hanging over the saddle's pommel, some with cambric handkerchiefs mopping moist heads and red faces, and some adjusting mustachios, are to be seen reciting to each other incidents aqueous, terrestrial, and amphibious, of the run. Here and there, one of the most handsome, as he talks, leans forward for a moment to pat the neck of his thorough bred animal in grateful acknowledgment of the particular feat he is describing.

In what is considered by all to be hardly a quarter of an hour, (for when men sit conversing about themselves, they little know how fast old father Time gallops), this joyous conversazione ends by the talkers, after giving to each other here and there a farewell nod, radiating in masses along roads, or across a fence or two, to gain the road that leads to their respective homes; but as, by this time, in almost every mouth a newly-lighted cigar happens to be gleaming, they resume their talk as they walk towards an object described at the back of the head of almost every one, in the humane words "gruel for my horse," to be obtained, not exactly at the first farm, but at the first great town, be it even half a dozen or so, miles off.

On reaching the best hotel, at which there is seldom hot water enough ready for all the cavalcade, the horses are handed over to that lot of idle attendants who, some out of the stable and some from the bar, greedily rush forward to grasp their bridles. "Gruel" is most kindly ordered for them all; but as it is voted that there is no great necessity to see them drink it, the landlord's smiling invitation is accepted, and in a few minutes, by one of those extraordinary contingencies that nobody could have anticipated, each gentleman rider is to be seen, in high glee and good-humour, sipping from a tumbler (which for some quaint reason or other happens to contain a silver spoon) something that is evidently very wet and very warm. Alas! little thinking that his poor faithful horse, whose performances he had so lately been describing, with cold clammy ears is shivering, chilled by having just drank too freely of "a summut," without a spoon in it, that was wet and cold.

On mounting, and clattering out of the paved yard of the hotel, most of the riders fancy they are all the better—many of their horses feel that they are all the worse for the half hour's rest and "gruelling" that was ordered for them. But although the quadrupeds leave behind them the fatal pail, the silver spoon has apparently accompanied the bipeds, who, like the favoured children of Fortune, are, externally as well as internally, under the influence of ardent spirits.

All thoroughly happy, they think neither of their horses nor their homes; but, according to the subject of their conversation, and the state of their cigars, they walk, trot, sometimes very slow, and sometimes very fast, until, on coming to a portion of the road bounded by grass, although their poor horses have had an overdose of both excitement and of heavy ground, they touch them with their spurs, to re-enjoy, for a short distance, a hand-gallop.

In short, travelling at what may either be described as "every pace," or "no pace at all," they unnecessarily excite and fatigue their horses; and yet, after all, though undoubtedly "fast men," they are often considerably more than an hour longer in getting home than if they had proceeded at a slow, quiet, steady, but unceasing rate.

On reaching this goal the poor horse who, from eight o'clock in the morning, has been working on an empty stomach, is led by his bridle to his stable. The rich man prepares himself for his dinner. Since he breakfasted, at a quarter before nine in the morning, he has, at a low average, enjoyed the slight intoxication of very nearly a cigar per hour, besides certain refreshments which he brought out with him, and the few crumbs of comfort at the hotel at which he stopped to give "gruel" to his horse.

Nevertheless, on the principle that "by-gones are by-gones," after his ablutions, exactly as if he had been fasting, he sits down to a capital meal, joyous conversation, luscious wine. In due time he "joins the ladies," and as, with rosy cheeks, and with a cup of fragrant coffee in his hand, he stands in patent-leather boots, whispering soft nonsense, the butler, white in waistcoat and in tie, most respectfully interrupts it to inform his Lordship that "Mr. Willo'thewhisp" has just sent up a strapper from the stable to say that "Harkaway" "has took to shaking, and seems very queer indeed all over!" and accordingly, on the evening of the next day, the poor high-bred animal, with protruding tongue, glacy eyes dishonoured by a few particles of dust, hollow flank, and outstretched limbs, lies in his stall, stiff and stark, a victim to the unintentional maltreatment and thoughtless mismanagement of his noble master.

How To dress for Hunting.

As in our Nursery Rhymes it is truly stated that—

"Whatever brawls disturb the streets, there should be peace at home,"

so it might be expected that, however violently men may differ among each other as to the shape, cut, or fashion of their clothes, they would at all events, like a brood of chickens nestling under their parent hen, concur together in selecting that description of warmth which is congenial, and in avoiding every substance uncongenial to their nature. And yet how true and how strange it is to say that of the best educated, most scientific, most intelligent, and wealthiest classes in England, more than three-quarters live and suffer, wither and decay, in clothing as uncongenial to their nature as a covering of slate, in substitution of their mother, would be to a nest of young birds!

In a cold, wet, variable climate like England, where, especially in winter, extra clothing to that granted to man by nature is absolutely required, the sensible and self evident course for the Lord of Creation to pursue would be to select from the living creatures around him, and appropriate, the fur, feathers, wool, or hair that warm them.

And yet, instead of thus cherishing blood by what has especially been created by Nature to warm blood, we repair to the cold ground for succour! From its produce we pick cotton and hemp, nourished by a circulation of sap; in short, from a mixture of perversity and ignorance which appear to be as inexcusable as they are unaccountable, we run for protection to the wrong kingdom, to commit the unnatural error of clothing ourselves as vegetables instead of as animals!

If a man has had nothing to do in this world but, with a crown on his head and with his knees closed, to sit very still on a throne,—with a coronet balanced on his head, to walk very gently from one carpeted room to another,—or in very tight boots to stand gaping at his fellow creatures as, at different rates, they pass in procession before his club window, he may live, die, and be screwed up in his coffin without ever discovering the mistake he has committed; but, on the other hand, if he has only for a few years been exposed to hard work, and even without severe labour to the vicissitudes of climate, he very soon finds out that he is suffering from the uncongenial clothing in which he has been existing. Indeed, our soldiers and sailors on active service, whether within the tropics or the polar regions; our labourers, especially those who work underground in mines; in fact all classes of people, sooner or later, are not only by medical men admonished, but by the aches and pains of Caliban, with all the ills which flesh is heir to when it has been suddenly chilled, are forced to discard vegetable covering, in order to nestle, for the remainder of their lives, in woollen clothing next to their skin; and when a man has lived to make this important discovery, he keenly feels that although his friend and neighbour would be grievously out of fashion were he to walk about the world with his cotton drawers over his woollen trousers, and with his Irish-linen shirt outside his coat, yet that it would be less insane and infinitely more reasonable for him to do so than to exist, as is still the general custom of the community, in vegetable garments, covered on the outside with woollen clothing. In fact, it is undeniable that a sinner doing penance in a hair shirt enjoys better health than a saint in a lawn one.

For ordinary work only ordinary protection may be required; but as in hunting the rider is exposed to every variety of weather, good, bad, and indifferent,—to sunshine, cold, wind, rain, sleet, and snow,—to a heating gallop, with a plunge into a brook, ending by a chilling detention at every fresh covert which the hounds are drawing, it must be obvious that to fortify himself against all these alternations, he requires not merely the dress superficially prescribed, namely, a scarlet coat, leather breeches, top boots, and a hat or a hunting cap, but beneath this gaudy surface the most wholesome description of underclothing that science can devise.

Now in the hunting field, experience, after a desperate struggle, has at last demonstrated the advantages of wool; and, accordingly, for some years it has been, and is, the habit and the fashion of most men, especially "the fast ones," entirely to discard linen, and in lieu thereof to ride in flannel shirts—pink, red, crimson, or many coloured—and in drawers drawn either from the back of a lamb or a sheep. The coats are lined throughout backs and sleeves with flannel; and as the waistcoats have also sleeves of the same material, the rider of the present day is not only wholesomely warmed, but his clothing, from being divided into many layers, is capable of keeping out a moderate shower of several hours' duration.

To provide, however, against a soaking day, it is usual to put on woollen drawers of extra thickness; but as it is impossible to foretell how long it will rain—for when it pours early in the morning, it not unusually becomes bright at eleven, and vice versâ—this precaution often proves not only unnecessary, but throughout the whole day a very unpleasant incumbrance, which, after all, fortifies a great deal more of the propria persona than is required.

A better plan, or "dodge," therefore, when the morning threatens to turn into a drenching day, is to place over the thin drawers on the surface only of each thigh, (which, from its position in riding, and from the dripping from the brim of the hat, invariably becomes wet, while all the rest of the drawers remain dry), a piece of stout serge or saddler's flannel, which will keep out the rain for a long time; which, when wet, can in a moment be drawn out, dried at any little inn, farm, or cottage fire, and then replaced; and which, if, from the cessation of the rain, it be not needed, instead of heating the owner, can be rolled up and transferred into one of his coat pockets, to remain there like a letter addressed Poste restante, "till called for."

Of boots there are just two sorts: those that do protect the mechanism of the knee, and those that don't protect it. Of these, the latter are the most fashionable. However, leaving the rider to make his choice, it need only be observed that if the soles are broad, the feet within them will be warm; and, if narrow, cold; simply from the circulation of the blood having, by pressure, become impeded.

Chilblains are often the result, though more usually caused by the mistaken luxury, as it is called, of putting the feet when chilled by hunting into warm instead of into cold water, the temperature of which, if possible, should be lowered in proportion to the coldness of the feet: indeed, whenever flesh is frost-bitten, the well-known practical remedy is snow; while on the other hand an approach to fire instantly produces mortification.

And now for a very few words respecting the upper, or garret-story of the rider.

In Leicestershire, many years ago, it was, and in Surrey it still is, the fashion for "fast men" to ride in the hunting caps worn by all huntsmen and whippers in.

They were invented to protect the head, whereas they have very properly been discarded in the shires because they have proved to be its enemy, or rather the enemy of the rider's neck, which is liable, on a very slight fall, as was lately the case with poor Lord Waterford, to be broken, literally on account of the protection given to the head by the cap, which, instead of collapsing like the buffer of a railway carriage, as a hat does when it is crushed by a fall, transfers to the neck the whole concussion of the blow.

In all hunting hats a small hole should be made, either in the crown or sides, to admit fresh air, and to allow the steam from a hot head to escape, instead of heating the brain and injuring the hair.

As regards the latter, for the sake not only of our masculine, but of our feminine readers (one of whose innumerable natural ornaments is their hair), we will venture to point out another mistake which is generally committed by our seeking assistance from the inanimate instead of the animate portion of creation.

We all know that throughout our country, and indeed throughout the world, there are exposed for sale two descriptions of oil; and as one of them is compressed from vegetables, and the other obtained from animals, without reflecting for a moment, it ought surely, at once, to occur to everybody, that as all things were created good, "according to their kind," vegetable oil would not prove to be "good" for animal substances; and accordingly, every coachman and stable-man concur in testifying, on their practical experience, that while animal oil mollifies and preserves all descriptions of bridles and harness, vegetable oil burns and destroys any leather it is applied to, disfiguring as well as impairing it by deep cracks, crossing each other like network (declared in Johnson's Dictionary to mean "anything reticulated or decussated at equal distances, with interstices between the intersections").

But just as the texture of linen is infinitely finer and more beautiful than that of broadcloth or flannel, so is vegetable oil clearer and more inodorous than animal oil, for which reasons the former, instead of the latter, is almost invariably used by perfumers in concocting what is sold by them as "hair oil," which, when extracted from almonds, olives, or any other vegetable substance, is, although highly scented, exactly as injurious to hair as it would be to harness; and thus it is lamentable to observe young people blooming around us in all directions becoming prematurely bald-headed, and older ones more or less rheumatic, dyspeptic, &c., from having by their own acts and deeds, namely, by rubbing their heads and clothing their bodies with the wrong substances, foolishly deserted the animal kingdom to which they belong, to go over to an alien, that, for the purposes for which they seek its protection, is really their enemy.

How to Eat and Drink for Hunting.

When a young man "too tall for school," that is to say, who has just concluded his studies, is on the point of what is called embarking in life, it would be well for him if he would but pause for a few moments, on the brink of his earthly career, to determine, not how he can avoid, but on the contrary, which, out of the many alluring pleasures standing in array before him, will afford him, when selected, the greatest and most enduring enjoyments.

Now these pleasures, sensual, literary, and religious, may be compared to the different qualifications in a large stud of horses, which, as we all know, may be divided into three classes, namely—

1. Those that will carry their rider brilliantly for a short time, and then, gradually failing, bring him early in the day to what, in the hunting field, is termed "grief."

2. Those that will carry him well through three quarters of a good run, and then give in.

3. Those which will not only carry him through any run, however severe it may be, but end a happy day by bringing him gloriously to his long home.

If this classification of the pleasures of this world be correct, there can exist no doubt that it is the interest of every young person to select from them those which, in intensity, increase instead of diminish the longer they are enjoyed, and which in duration are eternal, instead of being shorter than life.

Yet, supposing this wise selection to be made, it does not follow, because one set of pleasures rank infinitely higher than others, that the former should be exclusively pursued, and the latter wholly abandoned.

On the contrary, as rest restores the strength of the body after hard labour, so do pleasures of a lower order, if judiciously administered, recruit the exhaustion caused by mental exertion.

Now, of all sensual pleasures, those of eating and drinking produce, as we either use or abuse them, the most opposite results.

When a young man commences his career, the engine which is to propel him throughout his life, is, his stomach.

If he preserves it, it will in return render him good service. If he inconsiderately wears it out, whatever abilities he may possess become to him of no avail. Indeed the Spanish proverb truly says that in man's progress in the army, navy, law, church, or state, in short in every profession, "it is the belly that lifts the feet."

But the same remark is applicable, not only to every profession, but to all our amusements and recreations. A young horseman, therefore, who wishes to enjoy the greatest possible amount of hunting, should ensure it by taking the greatest possible care, not of his neck—not even of his life, for, as has been shown, the less he interferes with his horse in jumping, the safer he will go—but of his stomach, or in other words, of his health. To attain this object he has no penance whatever to perform, for, as he is undergoing strong exercise, his system requires, is entitled to, and ought to be allowed ample support, say a capital breakfast; a crust of sweet bread in the middle of the day; and after hunting is over, a glass of pure cold water to bring him home to a good, wholesome dinner, with three or four glasses of super-excellent wine. Now if a young rider were to resolve to rough it on, or as many of his companions would call it, to "stint himself" to, the diet above described, he would sit down to every meal with an appetite that nothing but healthy hunger can create; and thus, even from the sensual gratification of eating and drinking, he would derive the maximum of enjoyment, which would not only on the following day exhilarate his spirits, and strengthen his body, but which, by invigorating his nerves as well as his stomach, would maintain for him, to old age, the best possible recreation to his intellectual occupations, the manly exercise of hunting.

Instead, however, of subsisting on the healthy diet just described, the ordinary practice of many hunting men is to add to what may be called "Nature's prescription for the enjoyment of good health" the following ingredients:—

1. After breakfast, before mounting the spiry covert hack—a cigar.

2. On arriving at a hand-gallop at the meet; again on reaching the covert—a cigar.

3. At two o'clock some cold grouse, a long suck from a flat flask full of sherry, or brandy and water, and—a cigar.

4. After the run, another suck at the flat flask—a cigar. Refreshment at the nearest inn, for man and horse, and—a cigar.

5. While riding home, per hour—a cigar.

6. On reaching home, a heavy dinner, a superstratum of wine, an astronomical peep at the new moon, and—a cigar.

For a short time, a stout system is exhilarated, and a strong stomach may be invigorated, by a series of gifts so munificently bestowed upon them by the right hand of their lord and master.

But as Death eventually levels all distinctions, so do a constant slight intoxication produced by tobacco, vinous and spirituous liquors, with a superabundance of rich food, sooner or later first weaken the stomach, and then gradually debilitate the system, of the strong man as well as of the puny one.

The first symptom of premature decay is announced by the nerves, which, to the astonishment of the young rider, sometimes fail so rapidly, that while the whole of the rest of his system appears to him and to everybody to be as blooming and as vigorous as ever, he is compelled, under the best excuse he can invent, to sell his stud, and abandon for the rest of his life the favourite recreation he has himself destroyed.

Again, although the delicate network of the nervous system may continue uninjured, the stomach, from being continually over-excited, overwhelmed, and over-burdened by a heavy, conglomerated mixture which it has not power to digest, begins to become unable to execute, not its natural functions, but the unnatural amount of work it is called upon to perform. The blood becomes impure, secretions are vitiated, the liver gets disordered, the oppressed lungs are ready for inflammation, the brain is heated, the pulse irregular; in fact, the whole mechanism of the system becomes so deranged that the rider eventually experiences, to his vast regret, that he enjoys rest more than exercise, and accordingly in due, or rather in undue time, he retires from his saddle to an elbow chair.

But he is hardly seated therein when the sudden change in his habits, from an active to a sedentary life, rapidly produces the usual effects. Did his big toe, unknown to him, receive yesterday any little blow? Can he have sprained it in his sleep? What can possibly have swelled it so? How shiny and scarlet it looks! How burning hot it is getting! Gracious heavens, what a twitch that was!! something must be in it. That something, oh! seems to be a red-hot file in the hands of a demon who is rasping a hole in the bone. Ah! Ai! O O O OH!!

But this little mischievous demon is only one of a legion; for besides the eating complaint, commonly called gout, diseases, all more or less painful, produced by intemperate habits, or, in other words, by giving to the poor willing stomach more food and liquor than it could digest, are so innumerable, that it would require, and does require, a library of books to describe them, with regiments of medicine-men to prescribe for them—in vain.

"India, my boy," said an Irishman to a friend on his arrival at Calcutta, "is jist the finest climate under the sun. But a lot of young fellows come out here, and they dhrink and they ate, and they ate and they dhrink, and they die. And thin, they write home to their friends a pack o' lies, and say, it's the climate as has killed 'em!"

But to return to the saddle. Instead of preaching from it abstinence to hunting-men, they ought, on the contrary, to be urged to enjoy the greatest amount of gratification that can possibly be derived from eating and drinking, not for a single day, week, month, or year, but throughout their whole lives.

To enable themselves, however, to ascertain this amount, it is necessary for them to put into a pair of scales, to be accurately weighed against each other, the enjoyments of temperance, and the sorrows and anguish of intemperance. If, on doing so, they ascertain that the balance is in favour of eating, drinking, and tobacco-smoking ad libitum, they will act wisely in indulging in all three to the utmost possible extent. If, on the contrary, they ascertain that some of these pleasures last only for a few seconds, some for a few minutes, and none for more than one or two hours, while, on the other hand, the afflictions caused by intemperance endure for months and years;—that "felo-de-se" they put an end to hunting, spoil cricket, stop shooting, and last, but not least, ruin not only bodily but intellectual enjoyments, they will act wisely by resolving to befriend themselves as they befriend their horses, namely, by prescribing for all and each an ample quantity of food of the very best description, and, if more be required by a greedy stomach—the muzzle.

Difference between Leicestershire and Surrey Hunting.

When a stranger comes to hunt in "the shires" he is surprised, and is usually a little alarmed, at the size of the fences, until he learns, by experience, how very easily they are crossed; for although almost all non-hunting people, especially ladies, fancy that it must be dangerous to encounter a large fence, and easy to pass over a small one, yet in practice the reverse, within moderate bounds, may be said to be the truth: indeed, it is notorious that of the bad accidents that happen in the hunting-field, at least three-fourths occur either at small impediments or at no impediment at all. For instance, perhaps the very worst fall a rider can get is by his horse, at full speed, stepping on the edge of a little rabbit-hole; next comes that occasioned by one of his fore feet in his gallop dropping into a deep drain about six inches broad; next to that by his coming to a ditch too narrow to attract his observation, or to a stiff hedge so low that he disdains to rise at it; and at this rate danger diminishes, until the rider arrives at what may be termed the point of greatest safety, namely, a moderately high fence through which (as in the county first mentioned) a horse can at a glimpse see on the other side a broad and deep ditch or small brook.

A hunter coming fast and cheerfully at a fence of this description, no sooner is observed to prick his ears, than in self-defence he is sure to try, and if he tries he is not only sure, but by his momentum he cannot help to clear it.

The great ease with which large fences can be crossed produces the following rather curious result, namely, that although the horses ridden after hounds in Leicestershire, Northamptonshire, and Lincolnshire are infinitely superior to those ridden in Surrey, yet the small, blind, cramped, awkward, and consequently difficult, fences of the latter county require, and therefore create, better horsemen than those who, in "the shires," as joyously as swallows in summer, are to be seen in leafless November skimming together across grass fields separated by broad fences.

And it is for this reason, that while a horseman from the small, difficult fences, if well mounted, has always been found able to go and clear the broad, easier ones, the very best riders from the region of the latter, whenever for the first time they try to get across the former, must, until they have been sufficiently educated, either submit to follow experienced leaders or—break their necks.

But although of valour discretion has been declared to be the better part, yet in hunting a constant necessity to "look before you leap" is a virtue so exceedingly painful to practise, that on the principle that "where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise," the imperfect rider, in a good country, may rest well satisfied that he has infinitely more enjoyment than is allotted to the superior horseman in a bad one.

The Stable.

A comparison between the true Briton's love for his home, and that of a horse for his stable, elicits conflicting facts which are very remarkable; for although in theory and in law the house of the former is said to be "his castle," and although the latter is confined to his stable by head-collars, pillar-reins, rack-chains, halter-ropes, yet the hard, honest fact is, that the owner of the castle often seizes every possible opportunity to escape from it, while the inhabitant of the stable, if left to his own accord, would never leave it.

It sounds very beautiful for the Englishman to sing—

"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.