Ladies on Horseback Part 2

HOLDING ON TO A PROSTRATE HORSE.--IS IT WISE OR OTHERWISE?--AN INDISCREET JUMP.--A DIFFICULT FINISH.--THE DANGERS OF MARSHY GROUNDS.--ENCOURAGE HUMANITY.--A RECLAIMED CABBY!

To return to the subject of jumping.

In the event of an ordinary fall in landing over a fence, it is a vexed question whether or not it is advisable to hold on by the rein whilst your horse is on the ground. I do not now mean when he is sunk in a ditch, but when he is prostrate upon even gra.s.s-land or upon smooth earth. Many first-rate riders affirm that it is a highly dangerous practice, therefore I am afraid to advocate it, and must speak with reserve--as I did respecting the management of a rearing animal--but for my own part I always do it. My experience is, that when a horse struggles to his feet his movement is almost invariably retrograde. He tries to get away, consequently his heels are turned from me; and so long as I keep my hold of the bridle his head will be nearest me and his feet furthest. He will not think of turning to kick me, unless he be a vilely vicious brute, not worth his keep; and so I can hold him with safety until I am up myself and ready to remount him. When my horse falls with me on the flat, I roll clear of him without letting go the rein, and as the only danger of a kick is whilst he is getting up, I s.h.i.+eld my head with one arm and slip the rein to its fullest length with the other, thus allowing the animal so much head-room that he is enabled to make that retrograde movement, or "dragging away," which is natural to him, and which saves me from the possible contact of his heels.

This is, in my opinion (which I cannot, of course, pretend to think infallible), the best course to pursue. It is the one which I always adopt, and I have never yet, except in one trifling instance, received a kick from a fallen horse.

I remember one day, a couple of seasons ago, I was riding hard against a very beautiful Imperial lady, who dearly loves a little bit of rivalry. Neck and neck we had jumped most of the fences for forty minutes or so, and both our steeds were pretty well beaten, for the running had been continuous, without a check. We came to an awful obstacle--a high thick-set hedge, so impenetrable that there was no chance of knowing what might be on the other side. There was but one little apology for a gap, and at this the Empress's pilot rode--immediately putting up his hand as a warning to us not to follow, and pointing lower down. I knew that when Bay Middleton thought there was danger, it did, indeed, exist; but I was too much excited to stop. We had the hunt all to ourselves, the hounds running right in front of us, and not a soul with them. I came at the fence with whip, spur, and a shout! My horse--than which a better never was saddled--rose to the leap, and landing upon his head after a terrific drop, rolled completely over. I was not much hurt, and whilst he was on his knees getting up, I scrambled back to the saddle, and went on; but, oh! under what dire disadvantages! My rein had caught upon a stake in the fence and was broken clean off, and I fancy it was this chuck to my animal's mouth which had thrown him out of his stride and caused him to blunder, for it was the first and last mistake he ever made with me, nor could I, in the hurry of regaining my seat una.s.sisted, get my foot into the stirrup; so I finished the run as if by a miracle, and astonished myself even more than anybody else by bringing home the fox's brush as a trophy that I was in at the death.

Always bear in mind when hunting that you are bound to save your horse as much as possible. Jump no unnecessary fences; look out for a friendly gate whenever you can find one at hand; and in going up hill or over ploughed land, ease your animal and take your time. By acting thus judiciously you will be able to keep going when others are standing still. Always avoid bogs and heavy bottoms; they are most treacherous, and swamp many an unwary hunter in their dangerous depths. If you should ever have the bad fortune to be caught in one, dismount at once, and lead your horse. It is not a pleasant thing to have to do, but if you remain upon him, your weight, added to his own, will probably sink him up to his saddle-girths, and there he will stick.

I would desire particularly to impress upon you that if your horse carries you safely and brilliantly through one good run, you ought to be contented with that, and not attempt to ride him a second. It is through the unwise and cruel habit of riding beaten animals that half the serious accidents occur. Also remember that if you are waiting at a covert-side where there seems likely to be a delay, after your steed has had a gallop or a long trot, you should get off his back and s.h.i.+ft your saddle an inch one way or the other, generally backwards, as servants are usually apt in the first instance to place the saddle too close upon the withers. By adopting this plan you will, when you again get upon him, find him a new animal. If you or I were carrying a heavy burthen upon our shoulders for a certain number of hours in precisely the same position, would it not make a new being of us to have it eased and s.h.i.+fted? And exactly so it is with the horse. A selfish man will sit all day upon his beast, rather than take the trouble of getting off his back; but against himself does it tell, for his animal is f.a.gged and jaded when that of a merciful man is able to keep its place in the run.

There is nothing which should more fully engross the thoughts of the humane hunter than kindly consideration towards the n.o.ble and beautiful creature which G.o.d has sent to be the help of man. Your horse should be your companion, your friend, your loved and valued a.s.sociate, but never your wronged and over-tasked slave. Humanity cries out with ready uproar against the long list of grievances which animals have to endure, yet how few of us exert ourselves to lighten the burthen by so much as one of our fingers! There is not one of us who may not, if he choose, be daily and hourly striving to curtail the load of misery which the equine race is called upon to bear. We may not be fortunate enough to possess horses ourselves upon which to exercise our humanity, but can we not do something--yea, much--for others? Surely we can, if we only possess the courage and the will. Even a word judiciously spoken will often effect more than we could have hoped or supposed. Two years ago I saw a cabman in Dublin cruelly ill-treating his horse. The poor animal was resting its worn and tired body upon the stand, ready for the wrench which its jaw would receive as soon as the next prospect of a "fare" should excite the cupidity of its owner. One would have thought that the sight of so much patient misery would have moved the stoniest heart to suffer the hapless creature to enjoy its few moments of needed repose. But no; the driver wanted some amus.e.m.e.nt, he was weary of standing by himself, without some sort of employment to divert his ign.o.ble mind, and so he found such out. How? By beating upon the front legs and otherwise cruelly worrying with the whip the poor ill-used slave which he should have felt bound to protect. I saw it first from a distance--more fully as I came near--and with a heart bursting with sorrow and indignation, I crossed over and remonstrated with the man. I said very little; only what I have tried to inculcate in these pages--that humanity to quadrupeds is not only a duty which we owe to their Creator, but will in time repay ourselves. I expected nothing but abuse, and, indeed, the man's angry face and half-raised whip seemed to augur me no good; but, suddenly, as something that I said came home to him, his countenance softened, and, laying his hand quite gently upon the poor beaten side of the animal which he had been ill-treating, he said: "Well, if there was more like you, there 'ud be less like me! that's the thruth, at all events." And then he said no more, for he was satisfied that I knew I had not spoken in vain. For two years that man has been my constant driver. He is almost daily at my door: he drives me to and from the trains when going to and returning from the hunts, and dearly loves to hear something of the runs; nor is there a more humane driver nor a better cared horse in any city of the empire.

I have related this true incident, not from any egotism--G.o.d is my witness--but merely to show you how good is "a word in season." You may speak many which may be, or may seem to be, of none effect, but, like the "bread upon the waters," you know not when it may return unto you blessed.

CHAPTER IX.

SELFISHNESS IN THE FIELD.--FORDING A RIVER.--s.h.i.+RKING A FENCE.-- OVER-RIDING THE HOUNDS.--TREATMENT OF TIRED HUNTERS.--BIGWIG AND THE MAJOR.--NAUGHTY BIGWIG.--HAPLESS MAJOR.

You must be particularly cautious in the hunting-field to avoid being cannoned against. There is no other place in the whole world where there is so little ceremony; and so very, very little politeness. It is verily a case of "Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost!" There is scarcely one man in the entire field who will not in his heart of hearts resent your presence, and so he will pay you no court. The crowding at gaps, and at certain negotiable places in different well-known fences is simply disgraceful; and persons--I cannot call them gentlemen--ride each other down like dogs. At such places you will be fortunate if you can enlist a friend to ride behind you, and thus prevent your being jumped upon in the event of a fall.

I must not omit to remind you that in crossing a ford your horse will be very apt to lose his footing. You will know when he does so by his making a kind of plunge, and an endeavour to swim, which he only does when he feels himself out of his depth. If at such a time you interfere with his mouth, he will inevitably roll over. Your only chance is to throw him the reins, and let him scramble or swim as he finds easiest. If the latter, lift your left leg (with foot still in the stirrup) completely over the third crutch, that he may not strike your heel with his near hind foot, or become in any way entangled with the stirrup or in your skirt. At the same time grasp the up-pommel firmly with your hand, that you may not be unseated when he makes his second struggle, which he will do as soon as he recovers his footing at the bottom of the water.

A horse who s.h.i.+rks his fences is a terrible infliction to have to ride. Of course the first refusal condemns you to lose your place, for it is the etiquette of the hunting-field that if your horse refuses you must at once draw aside and let the whole field go by before you again essay it. But, provoked though you may be, do not allow yourself to be vanquished. If you do not now gain the victory your horse will always be your conqueror. Bring him again to the leap, keeping his head straight and your hands low and firm. If he refuses a second time, bring him round again and again, always turning him from right to left--that is, with the pressure upon you right rein--and not suffering him to have his own way. Remember that if you suffer him to conquer you or bring him to any other part of the fence than that which he is refusing, you will thoroughly spoil him. Do not, however, treat him with harshness. Coax him and speak gently to him. It may be nervousness, not temper; and if so, you will soon get him over by kindly encouragement. The horse is essentially a timid creature. He is oftentimes subjected to cruelties for his "obstinacy," where a little kindness and a few rea.s.suring words would be infinitely more effectual. Every glance of your eye, every look upon your countenance is noted by your horse whilst he can see you, and, when you are upon his back, your words fall upon highly sensitive ears. A horse's soul is full of affection for his owner. He yearns to please him. He would yield his life to serve him. Alas! how is such n.o.bility requited? Man's cruelty converts a peerless and incomparable companion into a terrified and trembling slave. Young limbs are heavily weighted before they have had time to grow; dark, wretched, solitary confinement too early takes the place of the open air and free pasturage to which the creature would fain a little longer cling; young heads, pining for freedom, are tied or chained up in melancholy imprisonment. The numerous little devices with which the captive strives to while away the tedium of its captivity are punished as "vices" by heartless and ignorant grooms. Nervousness is called bad temper, and timidity regarded as a punishable offence. All the horrors of the modern stable are brought to bear upon the priceless creature who is born to freedom, and whose fettered limbs he is scarce permitted to stretch. A rack of dry, and oftentimes vitiated hay is placed above the head which was created to stoop to gather the juicy gra.s.ses of the earth. A measure of hard dry corn, or a bucket of water, is periodically brought and thrust before the prisoner, who eats and drinks for mere pastime, often without appet.i.te, and whose frequent rejection of the offered dainties is regarded as "sulkiness" or "vice." The whole system of modern stable management is lamentably at fault. I cannot hope to remedy it. I cannot persuade obstinate humanity that the expenditure of a few s.h.i.+llings will turn in as many pounds: that by the bestowal of proper care, proper housing, light, and exercise, and proper clothing, food, and drink, the slave will repay by longer life and more active service the care and kindness which Christianity should deem a pleasure and privilege, instead of, as now, a compulsory and doled-out gift. I cannot expect to remedy these wide and universal evils, nor yet can you; but we are bound--you and I--to guard against such things in our own management. If your horse oppose you through nervousness, you can conquer him by kindness; if through obstinacy, which is occasional but not frequent, you must adopt a different plan. Use your spur and whip, and show that you will not be mastered, though you stay there till the stars come out. You will be sure to conquer ere long, unless your horse is one of those inveterate brutes which are, fortunately, rarely to be met with, and when you succeed in getting him over the obstacle at which he has sulked, put him at it again, making him take it backwards and forwards, and he will not be likely to trouble you by a repet.i.tion of his pranks.

You must be very cautious in the hunting-field not to leave yourself open to any suspicion of over-riding the hounds; keep close to them, but never so near as to be upon them. Over-riding hounds is a piece of unpardonable caddishness of which no gentleman, and certainly no lady, would be guilty; yet it is done; and then, when the master's wrath is aroused, the innocent suffer with the guilty, for many who are not absolutely offenders, ride too close in their zeal for the pleasures of the chase.

When your day's sport is over, and you are riding back to the place at which you expect to meet your trap, remember that the easiest way to bring your horse in is in a quiet jog-trot. It is nonsense to walk him, for he will only stiffen, and will be the longer away from his stable and his needed rest. If you chance to come across a piece of water, ride him to it and let him have a few "go downs,"--six or eight, but not more. When you get off his back, see that his girths are loosed at once, and, if very tired, a little water thrown over his feet. He should then be taken quietly home--if by road, in the same easy trot--and just washed over and turned into a loose box, where he can tumble and luxuriate without submitting to any of the worries of professional grooming. Fifteen minutes after my return from hunting, my horse--sheeted and comfortable--is feeding quietly in his stall, enjoying his food and rest; instead of standing in some wet corner of a cold yard, with his unhappy head tied up by an unsympathizing rope, and a fussy groom worrying his tired body with a noisy display of most unnecessary zeal. And this is as it ought to be. Horses are like human beings,--they like to rest when wearied, and their chief desire--if we would only believe it--is to be left alone. But we are incredulous, and so we hang about them, and fuss and worry the f.a.gged and patient creatures who would fain appeal to us for a cessation of our attentions.

There are few things more truly delightful than a mutual understanding and affection between horse and rider, and this can easily be arrived at by kindness and care. I have a hunter--Bigwig, son of The Lawyer--who follows me all over the place, knows my voice from any distance, rubs his nose down my dress, puts it into my pocket to look for apples, and licks my hands and face like a dog; yet I have done nothing to induce all this, except treating him with uniform justice and kindness. He has carried me most brilliantly through three successive seasons without one single display of sulk or bad temper. He knows not the touch of a whip. I carry one, that the long lash, pa.s.sed through his bridle, may a.s.sist him when necessary in getting over a trappy fence, at which I may deem it prudent to dismount, but the sight of it never inspires him with fear; if I showed it to him, he would probably lick it, and then gaze inquiringly at me to see if I were pleased with the novel performance. To me, this n.o.ble and beautiful creature is a priceless companion; yet, strange to say, n.o.body else (not even the most accomplished rider) can obtain any good of him. It is not that he displays vice, but he simply will not allow himself to be ridden. I once happened to mention this fact at our private dinner-table, in presence of a distinguished major, who had been boasting largely of his prowess in the saddle, and who at once offered to lay me ten to one that he would master the animal in question within five minutes. "I do not bet," I said, "but I will venture to a.s.sert that you will not be able to ride him out of the yard within as many hours." He took me up at once, and, as a good many sporting men were dining with us, who evidently enjoyed the prospect of a little excitement, I quietly called a servant, and sent orders to the groom to saddle Bigwig without delay. It was a lovely evening in summer, and we all adjourned to the yard to view the performance.

The moment my beautiful pet saw me he whinnied joyously and strove to approach me, but I dared not go near him, in case it should be thought that by any sort of "Freemasonry" I induced him to carry out my words. The sight was most amusing; the gentlemen all standing about, smoking and laughing; the horse suspicious, and not at ease, quietly held by the groom, whose face was in a grin of expectation, for none knew better than he what was likely to ensue. The major prepared to mount, and Bigwig stood with the utmost placidity; although I must confess he was naughty enough to cast back an eye, which augured no good to the gallant representative of Her Majesty's service. He mounted without difficulty, took up the reins, and evidently prepared for a struggle; but none such ensued. Bigwig tucked his tail very tight to his body, walked quietly forward for a yard or two, and then, suddenly standing up as straight as a whip, the defeated major slid over his tail upon the hard ground, whilst the horse trotted back to his box.

I have related for you this anecdote, not merely for your amus.e.m.e.nt, but to teach you never to boast. A braggart is ever the first to fall, and n.o.body sympathizes with him. If you become ever so successful in your management of horses, do not exert yourself to proclaim it. Suffer others to find it out if they will; but do not tell them of it, lest some day you share the fate of the prostrate and discomfited major.

CHAPTER X.

FEEDING HORSES.--FORAGE-BISCUITS.--IRISH PEASANTRY.--A CUNNING IDIOT.--A CABIN SUPPER.--THE ROGUISH MULE.--A DAY AT COURTOWN.-- PADDY'S OPINION OF THE EMPRESS.

I said at the commencement of these pages that I should offer little or no discourse upon the general management of horses; yet, in one reserved instance, I may be permitted to break through my rule. If you want your hunters to thrive, do not let them have a single grain of raw oats. People have laughed at me when I said this, and have scarcely waited for the turning of my back to call me a mad woman; but a few of the scoffers have since come to thank me, and if you adopt my plan you will think that this little volume would have been cheap at a ten-pound note. There are, of course, times when raw oats must be given, for your horse may not always be in your own stable. At such times it is a good plan to mix chopped clover or gra.s.s through the feeding, taking care that grain and clover be thoroughly mingled. The judicious mixture of green meat will go far towards counteracting the binding effects which raw oats will be likely to have upon a horse not accustomed to it, and will also induce him to masticate his food, which an animal inured to softer feeding will otherwise be apt to neglect, wasting the corn by dropping it from his mouth in a s...o...b..ring fas.h.i.+on, making no use whatever of his grinders, and swallowing a certain portion without chewing it at all. I am, for various tried reasons, a thorough advocate for Mayhew's and s.h.i.+ngler's style of feeding upon cooked food, mingled, of course, with good sweet hay, or an admixture of the juicy gra.s.ses upon which the animal in its unfettered state would be p.r.o.ne to live.

In my stable-yard are a large boiler and an unlimited supply of good water. The groom boils sufficient oats to do for two or three days, and, when cool, mixes through it a small proportion of bruised Indian corn. On this the horses are fed as with ordinary oats three times daily, and so enjoy the feeding that not one grain is left in the mangers, which are placed low upon the ground. The surest proof of the efficacy of this excellent and economical feeding is that my horses never sweat, never blow, never tire. When other hunters are standing still, mine have not turned a hair; and, as prize-winners and brilliant goers, they cannot be excelled.

The principle I go on is this:--If I eat a cupful of raw rice, it certainly does me no good; but if I boil it, it makes three or four times the quant.i.ty of good, wholesome, digestible food, every grain of which goes to the nourishment of my body. And it is precisely so with the oats and the horse. In addition to this feeding, I give abundance of good, sweet, moist hay, varied by green food in summer, subst.i.tuting carrots in the winter-time, of which vegetable they are particularly fond. The carrots are given whole, either from my hand or put loosely in the manger. I never suffer them to be cut up, unless it be done very finely, either by myself or under my supervision, to induce a delicate feeder to taste his food through which the chopped carrots are rubbed. Grooms, with their accustomed ignorance, are almost always in favour of the "cutting up," but I regard it as a most dangerous practice. If the carrot be left whole the horse will nibble at it, and will bite off just such pieces as he knows he can chew and swallow, but there is more than one instance upon record of horses choking themselves with pieces of cut carrot, and very many who have nearly done so. I can feed my horses upon this system for very little more than half the sum which my neighbours are expending, with advantages which are certainly fourfold. I consider it an excellent plan to vary horses' feeding, as it tells quite as beneficially upon animals as upon ourselves;--and for this purpose there cannot, in my opinion, be anything better than the forage-biscuits, manufactured by Spratt & Co., Henry Street, London, ten of which are equal to one good feed of oats, and are so relished that not so much as a crumb is suffered to go to waste. They combine all the most nutritious of grains, with dates and linseed added in such proportions as experience has pointed out to the inventor to be the best. They are then baked, and thoroughly dried, so that they are entirely deprived of moisture, and will consequently keep good for any length of time. The baking process being complete, they are, when eaten, practically half-digested,--or, as I may say, they present the materials to the horse in the most digestible form in which it is possible to give them. There are certain chemicals used in very minute quant.i.ties in the manufacture of these biscuits, which are productive of highly beneficial effects upon animals thus fed,--improving their muscular development, and imparting to their coats a peculiarly healthy and brilliant appearance. One feed of the forage-biscuits three or four times weekly is the proper allowance,--and they should be given whole, as the same objection applies to the breaking of them as I have set forth in my dissertation upon the cutting up of carrots.

I now desire to warn you that if you hunt in Ireland you must be prepared for the laughable and most ingenious frauds which the poor people--alas! how poor--will certainly endeavour to practise upon you. I can, and do most fully, commiserate their poverty, but with their attempts at imposition I have long since lost patience. Doubtless they think that everybody who hunts is of necessity a rich person, and conceive the idea that by fleecing the wealthy they will aid in blotting out the poverty of the land. Nothing delights the old cottage-woman more than to kill an ancient hen or duck on a hunting-morning, and then, when the hunt comes sweeping past her door, out rushes the beldame with the bird concealed beneath her ap.r.o.n, and throwing it deftly--positively by a species of sleight of hand--beneath your horse's hoofs, kicks up a mighty whining, and declares that you have "kilt her beauty-ful fowl!" I was so taken aback upon the first of these occasions that I actually stopped and paid the price demanded; but, finding that the same thing occurred the following week in a different locality, I ascertained that it was a trick and declined to be farther hocussed.

It is likewise a common thing for a man to accost you, demanding a s.h.i.+lling, and declaring that it was he who pulled your ladys.h.i.+p's horse out of the ditch or quagmire on such and such a day. You do not remember ever having seen his face before; but if you are a hard-riding lady you will be so frequently a.s.sisted out of difficulties that you cannot undertake to say who nor how many may have helped you unrewarded, and, being unwilling that any should so suffer, you bestow the coin, most likely in many instances, until you find that your generosity has become known and is consequently being traded upon.

I remember one day, a couple of winters ago, when returning from hunting, I lost my way, and being desirous of speedily re-finding it, I accosted a ragged being whom I saw standing at a corner where four roads met, and inquired of him the most direct route to the point which I was desirous of reaching. The creature hitched his shoulders, scratched his collarless neck, pushed the hat from his sunburnt forehead, and, finally, looking down and rubbing the fore-finger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, thus delivered himself: "I axed him for a ha'penny, and he wouldn't give it to me; but he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pinny, and gave it to me, and I took it in--ho, ho! and he gave me a letter to take up to Mrs. Johnston, and when I took it to her, she opened it and read it. Now, didn't I give her the letter?"

"Really," said I, "I know nothing about Mrs. Johnston nor her letter. I want to know the nearest way to Dunboyne station."

"I axed him for a ha'penny," began the man again. And then I had the whole story of the "pinny" and "Mrs. Johnston" repeated for me over and over, without a smile or any variation, until my vexation vanished, and I fairly roared with laughter. Guessing at once how the land lay, I produced a little coin with which I presented him, and which he immediately pocketed, and, touching his ragged feather, pointed down one of the roads, and said quite sensibly, "That's the right road, my lady." And so I found it. This man, I was subsequently informed, made quite a respectable maintenance by stationing himself at the cross-roads on daily duty, and informing every pa.s.ser-by that he "axed for a ha'penny" but was generously treated to a "pinny," together with the story of Mrs. Johnston and her letter, accompanied by all the shruggings, and scratchings, and sniffings, which never failed to provoke the laughter of the hearer and to elicit the coveted coin.

The Irish, with all their little failings, are a hospitable people, and full of pungent wit. I was one evening wending my way to Sallins station, after a long and wearisome day's hunting. My tired horse was suffering from an over-reach, and I was taking him as quietly as I could, consistently with my anxiety to be in time to catch the train by which I desired to return to town. So utterly jaded were we both--I and my steed--that the way appeared very long indeed, and I asked the first countryman whom I met how far it was to Sallins. "Three miles," he told me, and I jogged on again. When we had traversed quite a long distance, and I thought I must be very near my journey's end, I ventured upon asking the same question of a farmer whom I met riding a big horse in an opposite direction to that in which I was myself going. It was a matter of about two miles, he told me, or mayhap three, but not more he thought, and I was certainly not going wrong; I was on the right road, and no mistake. I took out my watch. No hope for me now. I was undoubtedly late for the train which I had hoped to catch, and must wait two long hours for the next. A poor-looking little cottage was close at hand; to it I trotted, and looked in at the door. The family were at supper, all gathered about a narrow table, in the middle of which lay a pile of unpeeled potatoes and a little salt. The mule, upon which much of their fortune depended, was supping with them; thrusting his poor attenuated nose over the shoulders of the children, and occasionally s.n.a.t.c.hing a potato, always receiving a box for so doing, to which, however, he paid no sort of heed. I was at once invited to enter, and gladly accepted the invitation, for I was cold and tired, pleased to ease my horse and get him a draught of meal and water. I sat down in the chimney-corner, thankful for the rest, but determined to withstand all entreaties to share the family supper, and my risible faculties were sorely put to the test, when my host, balancing a potato upon his fork and dipping it in the salt, presented it to me, saying, "Arrah! take it my lady, just for the jig o' the thing!" Of course I took it; and never have I enjoyed the richest luxury of an a la Russe dinner more than that simple potato in a poor man's cabin, in company with the mule and the pigs. When I stood up to go I carefully inquired the distance, for it was dark, and I had long since lost the remainder of my party. The man offered to accompany me to the station, and I believe he was actuated solely by civility, and not by any hope of gain. My horse was sadly done up; he had stiffened on the over-reach, and limped painfully. We proceeded but slowly, and, sighing for the patient suffering of my dearly-loved steed, I made the observation that the miles were very long indeed. "They are long, my lady," said the man, who was walking before me with a lanthorn; "but, shure and faith, if they're long they're narra'!" And with this most intelligent observation he closed his mouth, and left me to ponder upon it undisturbed until we arrived at the station.

One more anecdote, and I have done with them.

On one of last season's hunting-days the hounds met at Courtown, and great excitement was abroad, for the Imperial lady was expected to join the chase. She was, however, prevented through indisposition from attending, but Prince Liechtenstein and a very distinguished company came over from Summerhill. As we were trotting to the covert the country-folks were all on the alert, for not having heard of the disappointment respecting the Empress they were anxiously expecting her, and many were the surmises respecting her ident.i.ty. I was riding close to the front, escorted by Lord Cloncurry, and as we swept past one of the wayside cottages, two men and a woman rushed out to stare at us and to give their opinions upon the "Impress." "Which is she?" cried the female, shading her eyes to have a good look,--"That must be her in front, with his lords.h.i.+p. Oh! isn't she lovely? A quane, every inch!"

"Arrah! shut up, woman," said one of the men, testily interrupting her. "That's not her at all, nor a taste like her! The Impress is a good-lookin' woman." I need not say that this genuinely-uttered remark took the wind completely out of my sails, and that I have never since dreamed of comparing my personal appearance with that of any woman whom an Irishman would call "good-lookin'."

CHAPTER XI.

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 ill.u.s.trate 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 s.p.a.ce 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 att.i.tude, 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 ill.u.s.trated, 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 blus.h.i.+ng mountain-la.s.s, followed by her ladys.h.i.+p with an equally humble partner. The blacksmith was an Irishman, and looked very shy, as Irishmen invariably do in presence of the fair s.e.x(?) 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!"

CHAPTER XII.

SUBJECT OF FEEDING RESUMED.--COOKED FOOD RECOMMENDED.--EFFECTS OF RAW OATS UPON "PLEADER."--SERVANTS' OBJECTIONS.--SNAFFLE-BRIDLE, AND BIT-AND-BRIDOON.--KINDNESS TO THE POOR.--AN UNSYMPATHETIC LADY.--AN UNGALLANT CAPTAIN.--WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN?--AU REVOIR!

My remarks upon the subject of feeding horses, having gained publicity through the columns of the press, have called forth much comment and adverse criticism. Some have evidently considered--and have not hesitated to say--that I have written the veriest twaddle; but happily there is a reverse side to the picture, and many (including one very august personage indeed) have expressed a determination to adopt my system. Beans are such excellent feeding that I cannot object to an admixture of them, and to most English horses they are almost a necessity; but in Ireland we care little about them. It is unwise to give too much hay. I said "abundance" on a former page, but the word, as I used it, did not signify a large quant.i.ty. For horses fed three times daily upon a plentiful measure of oats, crushed Indian corn, and beans if desired, a few handfuls of hay will be amply sufficient, and this should be placed where the horse can stoop to it, but never above him, as in the effort to disengage it from the rack the seeds fall in his eyes and produce irritation, and sometimes permanent disease.

A bran-mash on a Sat.u.r.day night, or after a hard day, forms an admirable variety to the ordinary feeding routine. Let the bran be thoroughly well steeped and mixed, and a portion of cooked oats or chopped carrots intermingled with it. This will induce almost any animal to partake of the bran, from which otherwise many delicate feeders will resolutely turn.

I have strongly recommended cooked feeding, even against the uproar of a general outcry against it, because I have seen and proved its efficacy. Last November, on the first Tuesday in the month--the opening day with the Kildare hounds--we had a splendid run, during which, however, I was amazed to find that my great horse, Pleader, sweated heavily--a thing which had never previously been the case. In fact, it had always been my boast that when other horses were thoroughly done, mine had not turned a hair; but, on the day in question, he was in a white lather, and I thought appeared distressed. Upon coming home, and speaking about it in my stable, I was informed that the boiler was in some way out of order, and the horses had, unknown to me, been fed upon uncooked oats during the preceding three days. Had I required any confirmation of my theory, this circ.u.mstance would certainly have furnished it, and entirely defeats the general supposition that cooked food renders horses soft.

I have now given the best advice I can upon the subject of feeding, and I shall not again refer to it, nor to anything connected with the treatment or stable management of horses, as the subject is an endless one, everybody entertaining an opinion of his own, which it shall not be my ambition to upset. What I have said has been in kindness, and with a view to benefiting both man and beast; but I do not by any means expect the majority of my readers to coincide in my views. There is a stolid determination general throughout the world to stick to old customs and old-fas.h.i.+oned ways and habits, no matter how excellent the modern ones may be, and so the "horse and mill" go daily round. Masters object to my system because it involves an outlay in the erecting of a proper boiler and other necessary adjuncts; servants object to it because it gives them a little additional trouble. It is far easier to lounge to the oat-bin, fill a measure from it, and thrust it before the animal, not caring whether it is rejected or otherwise, than to fetch the water and fill the boiler and go through the labours of a process which, in itself exceedingly simple, is made to appear complicated and laborious by the amount of fuss and discontent which are brought to bear upon the work. There is an old saying, "If you want a thing well done, do it yourself"; but, unfortunately, there are some things--and this is one--which ladies and gentlemen cannot do, and there is no doubt whatever that servants accustomed to the old style of management will never willingly adopt the new--unless they belong to that rare and select and most exclusive few who have their masters' interest at heart.

Much information has been asked of me relative to the subject of holding reins. How often shall I say that there is no fixed rule, and that a method which may look well for park-riding will be totally out of place in the hunting-field. I have been asked how I hold my own bridle, and I shall answer that I almost invariably ride with a single rein, and you can understand my method readily if you will follow me whilst I endeavour to explain. Take your pocket-handkerchief, pa.s.s it through the back of any ordinary chair, and bring the ends evenly towards you, holding them for an instant with your right hand, which must, pro tem., represent the buckle. Place your left hand within the loop thus formed, the little finger resting firmly against the near-side, about four inches above the right hand; grasp the opposite side between the forefinger and thumb, left hand (the two sides of the handkerchief representing the reins); press the off-side slightly inward with the pressure of your thumb, slipping it entirely away from the control of the right hand; then bring the near-side, which still is held loosely by the right, under the thumb of the left, and hold it firmly. You will thus see that you establish a sort of "cross rein," and that you have, and are able to maintain, a secure grip upon either side. By an outward movement or slight turning of the wrist, accompanied by pressure of the little finger, you will control your horse upon the near-side of his mouth, whilst by an inward movement and pressure of the forefinger you will be able to command him upon the other or off-side. It must be borne in mind that these movements should be from the wrist only, and not from the arm or shoulder. A good rider will keep the elbows close to the sides, just drawing the line finely between that pinioned look which is so disfiguring, and the detestable flapping, like the wings of an unquiet bird, in which so many riders, both male and female, so frequently indulge. I have seen ladies, who wished to have an appearance of hard riding, leaning forward in the saddle and working their elbows in an unsightly manner, the hands (influenced by the elbows) sawing also, and the poor horse, with open mouth and straining jaws, staggering along in distress, fighting his bridle, and presenting altogether a melancholy spectacle. A firm even seat, elbows close, head erect, and strong steady hands held low--these are the characteristics of a good and lady-like rider. In going across country put both hands to your bridle, and keep your horse's head straight and well in hand, but do not attempt to pull him nor interfere with him at his fences, or you will undoubtedly come to grief. If you ride with a bit and bridoon my advice is, ride your horse--even though he be a puller--upon the snaffle, and keep the curb rein looped over your little finger, hanging quite loose, yet in such a position that you can if necessary take it up at a second's notice.

I cannot too often impress upon you the advisability of being conciliatory and kind in your manner to everybody with whom you may come in contact. No matter how exalted your rank may be, you can all the better afford to be courteous to those beneath you. Kind words cost nothing, and are as balm to the hearer. Many of the lower orders are quite as much gentry at heart, and far more so, than those who hide their unworthiness beneath the convenient shadow of a "family tree." I have been more than once pained upon hunting days by the extreme contempt and rudeness with which ladies have treated the poor, who have asked nothing from them save the innocent and inexpensive privilege of seeing them mount and canter away with the field. It is all very well to say, "I do not like to be stared at," but even to those who most dislike it, surely it is worth a little self-sacrifice to see the undisguised enjoyment and listen to the original observations of the Irish peasantry, to whom a sight of the hounds--especially when followed by ladies--is a treat they never care to miss.

I was riding last winter in company with a lady, very n.o.ble, very handsome, very proud. We came up to a branch of a river, upon the brink of which some country folk had gathered, with the innocent desire of seeing it jumped. A poor man, very quiet-looking and harmless, was actually knocked down and immersed in the water by a reckless young officer, who galloped over him, and went on without even glancing back at the spot where the poor half-drowned creature stood wringing his dripping clothing, yet not uttering a syllable of reproach. My companion roared with laughter, first at the catastrophe, and then at me for sympathising with the sufferer. "Apologise!" she cried, in a high key. "How could Captain Dash apologise to a man like that? It would be different had he been a gentleman." I thought so too, if the meaning of the word "he" had only been reversed; but I said nothing, and we went on.

A few fields further we came to a terrible obstacle--a high post and rails, with a deep and yawning ditch upon the landing side. Three or four of us went at it: the rest turned away and sought the road. I got over safely, my n.o.ble Pleader proving himself, as usual, worthy of my confidence. Captain Dash came next, safely also; and then my ill-starred lady friend, whose horse (an inferior timber-jumper) bungled, and left her completely prostrate upon the wet earth. Never a pause did Captain Dash make in his onward career, although he glanced back when he heard her shriek, and, incredible as it may appear, I thought I saw him smile, for it was ever his saying that ladies had no business hunting, and always deserved mischance; but the poor man, at whose immersion she had laughed a few moments before, came running to her relief, rendered her every a.s.sistance in his power, replaced her in the saddle, expressed regret for her accident, and positively declined to accept of any remuneration for his services.

Which of these men, think you, was the gentleman? I know what I thought respecting the question; and I judged that my friend's opinion was formed as mine, for she now loves and cares the poor, and suffers the rich to care themselves, as every true-hearted and Christian woman should; and, moreover, on glancing over a book of my poems which I lent her some time later, I found a leaf turned down, as though to mark these lines-- "What is a gentleman? Is it a thing Decked with a scarf-pin, a chain, and a ring, Dressed in a suit of immaculate style, Sporting an eye-gla.s.s, a lisp, and a smile? Talking of operas, concerts, and b.a.l.l.s, Evening a.s.semblies, and afternoon calls, Sunning himself at "at homes" and bazaars, Whistling mazurkas, and smoking cigars?

"What is a gentleman? Say, is it one Boasting of conquests and deeds he has done, One who unblus.h.i.+ngly glories to speak Things which should call up a flush to his cheek? One who, whilst railing at actions unjust, Robs some young heart of its pureness and trust; Scorns to steal money, or jewels, or wealth, Thinks it no crime to take honour by stealth?

"What is a gentleman? Is it not one Knowing instinctively what he should shun, Speaking no word that could injure or pain, Spreading no scandal and deep'ning no stain? One who knows how to put each at his ease, Striving instinctively always to please; One who can tell by a glance at your cheek When to be silent, and when he should speak?

"What is a gentleman? Is it not one Honestly eating the bread he has won, Living in uprightness, fearing his G.o.d, Leaving no stain on the path he has trod? Caring not whether his coat may be old, Prizing sincerity far above gold, Recking not whether his hand may be hard, Stretching it boldly to grasp its reward?

"What is a gentleman? Say, is it birth Makes a man n.o.ble, or adds to his worth? Is there a family-tree to be had Shady enough to conceal what is bad? Seek out the man who has G.o.d for his Guide, Nothing to blush for, and nothing to hide; Be he a n.o.ble, or be he in trade, This is the Gentleman NATURE has made."

Now, kind reader, farewell. If I have given you instruction, called a laugh to your lips, or taught you to prize and cherish the priceless creature which G.o.d has generously sent for our enjoyment and our use, I shall cheerfully lay aside my pen, happy in the conviction that I have not written in vain.

Yet, shall I say in the song-words, "Au revoir. Pas adieu!"

for we meet again, I trust, soon and often; but the subject upon which I have been writing has come to an end.

Whilst acknowledging the kindness of my friends, I would desire also to shake hands with my enemies. Life is short, and so it behoves us to bear no malice. To those who have unkindly criticised me I offer freely a forgiving hand and heart. I have never wilfully offended any, and if my efforts have not come quite up to the standard of excellence which certain captious critics have set up, I have at least done my best, and have been careful, in propounding theories which might appear new and uncommon, to state that such things were according to my notions, in which, however, I did not expect all persons to coincide. So long as the world lasts so long will there be differences of opinion; but it is not because such exist that ill-feeling should creep in, and Christian charity become a thing of nought. In ancient days, when the Apostles were upon the earth, these things were as they are now; yet the Great Example, to whose pure and simple teaching we all hopefully look, inspired the command, "Let brotherly love continue."

So be it, reader, with you and with me.

PART IV.

HUNTING IN IRELAND.

There is at present a mighty outcry in our poor land. Not against "battle, murder, and sudden death," landlord-killing, and "Boycotting," but against our royal pastime--hunting. The tenant-farmers are uproarious in their opposition to it; and, with a headstrong determination which cannot be too strongly condemned, refuse to listen to the voice of the reasoner. We are but in the beginning of our season, yet is our prospect marred and our pleasure spoilt by the blind idiotcy, not of the few, but, unfortunately, of the many.

They have but one cry, "You are ruining our gra.s.s-lands!" A more egregious error could not possibly exist. Is it wilful blindness or merely the desire to banish landlordism from the country which induces this senseless outcry? If the latter, there is unhappily every probability that the outcriers will succeed; if the former, there may be some hope of ultimately unclosing their sealed eyelids.

A body of hors.e.m.e.n galloping over gra.s.sland during the hunting season can never occasion injury; it is simply an absurdity to endeavour to maintain a contrary theory. A great friend of mine and a most practical gentleman, who possesses a large common attached to his grounds, upon which he can, if desirable, exercise his horses, always prefers doing so throughout the winter upon his finest gra.s.s-land. He maintains, and correctly, that they do it an immensity of good, and once offered (to prove the correctness of his judgment) to give the use of the said land to the colonel of a cavalry regiment stationed in his vicinity--to do all his work upon throughout the winter months. The offer, after some demur, was accepted, and proved to be most advantageous to the land-owner.

Being an enthusiastic follower of the Ward Union stag-hounds, I am enabled to state that I have galloped with them, in company with at least two hundred other riders, across the Ward Country and over the Fairyhouse lands, which are--as is well known--of a singularly wet and holding nature; and this not once, but many times throughout the season. Yet, so early as April, at which date the famous Fairyhouse races take place, no track or footmark can be seen upon the luxuriant gra.s.s. Again, when riding in winter through Phoenix Park, I have been struck by the state of mud to which it has been reduced through the frequent galloping of horses over its surface; yet, in summer it grows the finest gra.s.s, and is as smooth as a billiard-table. One day in June, three years ago, a grand Review was held there in honour of the Queen's birthday. A terrible shower came down--one of those mighty floods which can, in a few moments, transform a beauteous green sward into a hideous ma.s.s of unsightly mire and dirt. Those on foot ploughed patiently through it, sinking ankle-deep at every step; those upon horseback, myself included, churned it beneath their horses' feet, until not a trace was visible of the emerald carpet, which, one short hour before, had afforded firm footing for many thousands of spectators. Three weeks later, I rode through that park again; the velvety turf was green an