RIDING FOR LADIES.

Lafayette, Photo: Dublin.

W. THACKER & CO. LONDON.

The Common Sense of Riding.

Riding for Ladies
WITH HINTS ON THE STABLE.

BY
Mrs. Power O’Donoghue,
AUTHOR OF
“LADIES ON HORSEBACK,” “A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. CHANTREY CORBOULD.

LONDON:
W. Thacker & Co., 87, Newgate Street
CALCUTTA: THACKER, SPINK, & CO.
BOMBAY: THACKER & CO. LIMITED.
1887.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

TO MY FRIEND
LADY GLOVER,
WIDOW OF THE LATE SIR JOHN HAWLEY GLOVER, R.N., G.C.M.G.,
GOVERNOR OF NEWFOUNDLAND.
A SMALL TOKEN OF SYMPATHY, AFFECTION, AND ESTEEM.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

The work to which these few lines are meant to form a preface does not aspire to the dignity of containing anything resembling an exhaustive treatise on each, or any of the numerous minor subjects connected with the principal one of Equitation. It is simply a collection of useful and practical hints on matters that pertain to the horse and his management—no study of things abstruse being brought into requisition, or any complicated theories put forward for guidance. The instructions given are of the plainest and easiest description, and are the result of an experience which has in some instances been rather dearly bought; the experiments described have been duly tested, the recipes tried, the systems explored, and the rules set forth rigidly investigated before being recommended.

The unexpected success which attended the publication of “Ladies on Horseback” induced the Messrs. Ingram, proprietors of the Lady’s Pictorial, to commission me, some little time ago, to write for them a set of articles of a prepared in part from very rough sketches made by my own hand, I think I shall have said enough to form a suitable “preliminary canter” to this volume, and may prepare to go up to the starting-point, and begin my race.

N. P. O’D.

ASSISTING HIM.

See [p. 175].

A HORSE’S PETITION TO HIS OWNER.

Going up hill, Whip me not.

Going down hill, Hurry me not.

On level road, Spare me not.

Of hay and corn, Rob me not.

Of pure water, Stint me not.

Of fresh air, Deprive me not.

To damp bed, Subject me not.

With brush and sponge, Neglect me not.

Home from grass, Physic me not.

Tired or hot, Wash me not.

Sick or cold, Chill me not.

With bit and reins, Jerk me not.

When you are vexed, Strike me not.

When old and grey, Despise me not.

When past my labour, Work me not.

When sick and dying, Leave me not.

And, when dead—

FORGET ME NOT.

RIDING FOR LADIES.

CHAPTER I.
OUGHT CHILDREN TO RIDE?

The “Common Sense of Riding,” which formed the title under which these writings were first furnished to the public in the columns of a London journal, supplied a fitting heading for the articles at the time, very little concerning stable or general horse management being appended to the instructions offered to equestrians. The expediency of adding to the work formed a necessity for altering the title; but the original one, if used here, would set forth precisely the manner in which I am about to deal with the subject that I have taken in hand.

To discard preamble, and plunge at once in medias res, is usually the wisest and most common-sense manner of coming at and coping with the difficulties surrounding crotchety questions: and surely one of the foremost in the category of such is the often-heard inquiry, “How shall I best learn to ride?”

To offer instruction on any subject to persons who fancy they have no need of it, is at all times mere waste of time and trouble. My remarks, therefore—embracing, as it is meant they shall, a variety of matters especially interesting to ladies—will be addressed throughout to those only who really feel their need of friendly counsel, who are anxious to learn, and are willing to benefit by such hints and instructions as my varied experiences of horses and horse-management enable me to give them.

Before entering fully upon my pleasant task, I would say that although many men, and very many youths, may learn a useful lesson or two from matters upon which I shall touch, or possibly deal with in detail, my observations will be directed chiefly to ladies, my desire being to take each separately, as it were, into my confidence, and speak to her less as teacher to pupil than as friend to friend.

It seems to me that to adopt the homely pronouns “you” and “I” will be more convenient and concise than adhering to the stereotyped and old-fashioned terms “the reader,” and “the author”—modes of expression which are as a rule unnecessarily formal, and most uncomfortably cold. When, therefore, I begin my subject, I shall suppose that you are a novice, with but a very shadowy idea of the subject on which you wish to be enlightened; but when I say “novice,” I do not necessarily mean a child. Indeed, I hope that you are not one, for it is widely known that I object very strongly to children riding, my reasons for doing so being founded on the surest and most common-sense principles. The point is one which has of late years led me into discussions with very many high-class authorities on equitation, but I have never for a moment swerved from my fixed opinions, and many of my keenest opponents have, from time to time, ranged themselves on my side.

It is indeed a matter of surprise to me that anybody possessed of even moderate reasoning capacity can advocate infantile equestrianism. The two arguments which defenders of it make their strong points, namely, that it is “splendid exercise,” and that it imparts a courage which is beneficial in after life, can, while admitted, be counterbalanced by so many genuine drawbacks and objections, that their boasted efficacy runs considerable risk of being regarded as a thing of nought. Before, however, dealing with the con’s of the case, let us take up the pro’s in rotation. It is splendid exercise. Granted; but rolling hoop is quite as good, while ball-playing, tennis, badminton, and every other game that sets the blood in motion and calls the muscles into active play, may be styled equally beneficial. All the advantages which are derivable from exercise—and they are many—can be had without riding; this is an admitted fact; and, being so, it serves to sweep away suppositious inferences respecting the superiority of equine practice, or training, over that of any other sort. So much for the oft-quoted plea of “exercise.”

With regard to the question of courage, it cannot be denied that a certain and useful amount of confidence is imparted to all young persons who participate largely in pursuits which have a smack of daring or danger about them. Watch, for example, the peasant girls who inhabit the country districts of Ireland. They climb steep mountains, descend jagged cliffs, run barefooted along sharp ledges and high rugged walls, without thought of danger, or trace of fear. And why? Because from childhood they have been accustomed to it. It goes, then, without saying that early practice does impart an amount of bravado, which may in later life be found useful on occasion; but, having acknowledged this, I feel that I have done my entire duty towards the advocates of a system to which I strongly object, and I shall, therefore, proceed, in all fairness, to demolish their theories by a clear and simple setting forth of the evils which are, in my opinion, attendant upon early equestrian pursuits.

Few persons will be found to dispute the fact that a child on horseback, especially a girl, runs at least as many risks as a grown person. She may at any moment be jerked off, run away with, overpowered by the strength or temper of her mount, cannoned against by awkward or reckless riders, or subjected to the unpleasantness of discovering that the animal she herself is riding is given to slipping, stumbling, falling completely under her, or behaving in some unseemly manner that is entirely beyond her powers to check or control. To these dangers and discomforts—as well as to many others with which equestrians, old and young, are uncomfortably familiar—she is at all times liable to be exposed, and, this being an admitted truth, I ask whether it can for a moment be asserted that a child is as capable as an adult of coping with such risks? The answer must be “No.” The perils are the same for both—while the weaker side is absolutely unable to grapple with them when they arise. I speak from experience, and strive to teach from it also. Having been largely associated with juvenile riders, especially in country parts of England, the knowledge which I have picked up from their absolute want of it has proved most fitting and serviceable to me when offering hints and instructions to others of similar age. Five years ago I had the unhappiness of seeing a pretty child who was riding with me seriously hurt, through her horse falling under her while traversing an extremely rutty road. He made what is called a double stumble, and had her hands possessed the cunning, or her arms the strength, to have pulled him together after he had made the first blunder, he would undoubtedly not have gone down; but he was a slovenly animal,—one that wanted “collecting” and keeping well in hand: two things of which my tender little companion knew nothing whatever; nor was she capable of putting them in practice, even had it been otherwise.

About the same time I saw another bright-eyed little maiden run away with over the “breezy downs.” Her horse, fresh and frolicsome, started with mine at a light canter, and for awhile we kept nicely together; but presently—after a quarter of a mile or so—her mount began to romp with his head, and finally breaking into a gallop, made off at terrific speed, lashing the damp turf from beneath his flying hoofs, and laying back his wicked ears until they rested flat upon his neck. I knew that the youngster he was carrying had abundance of pluck, even without any very distinct knowledge of the art of riding, so I shouted to her with all my might to sit close and leave him his head (we were going up hill at the time), and to give him the whip when he tired, which I knew he very soon would do, with a long, heavy incline in front of him. I might as well have spoken to the wind. Terror, and consciousness of her own ignorance robbed the child of her wits: she gripped the pommel with her right hand, tugged at the reins with her left, and, after swaying about in a manner that makes me sick to think of, finally fell off, and was picked up bruised and bleeding, and so entirely unnerved as to render it a matter of extreme difficulty to persuade her ever to ride again. As for the horse, he was not personally any the worse of his escapade, but, having conquered his rider, he was ever afterwards rightfully considered an unsafe animal for a lady to mount.

I have seen children over and over again subjected to the most fearful risks through riding horses that were too much for them. It is so easy for a girl to be overpowered,—and, once she is so, good-bye for ever to all or any pleasure in riding the animal who has been her conqueror. He will always remember his victory, and presume upon it.

Horses are not simpletons; their wisdom, on the contrary, is astonishing. Allow them to vanquish you once, and they will pursue their advantage to their lives’ end.

There are other reasons, also, on which I ground my objections to children riding. Little girls are exceedingly apt to grow crooked. It is all sheer nonsense to say “they will not if they sit straight,” inasmuch as young riders never do, as a rule, fall into the desired method; or, if for awhile it is a thing accomplished, they very speedily fall out of it again, when fatigue overpowers them, or the groom has shortened their stirrup-leather too much, or when a large amount of pressure upon it during a long ride has stretched it to an uncomfortable length. It is the merest sophistry to argue that such things ought not to occur, seeing that they do, and are in fact happening every day around us. One child out of five hundred may, perhaps, be an habitual straight-sitter, but to counterbalance her perfection in this particular, the remaining 499 will be either hanging to one side or the other (usually the near, or left side), or sitting square enough, it may be, yet with the right shoulder thrust forward and upward, thus sowing the seeds of a deformity which in ten years’ time, when the little one of eight shall have grown into a belle of eighteen, will have become an incurable disfigurement, one which all the arts of the most skilful modiste cannot by any possibility cover, or the most seraphic charms of face and manner serve to put out of sight.

The frame of a child, even the most robust, is too weakly and delicate—too liable to grow “out of form”—to render equestrian exercise a fitting pursuit for persons of tender age. Nature has not ruled that her frail handiwork shall be roughly or unfairly strained, and when it is, the penalty is certain to follow, in disarranged system, weakened or injured muscular development, misplaced shoulder-blades, undue tension of the tendons of the left leg—or contraction of them, which is worse—accompanied by an unnatural languor and a constant craving for permission “to go and lie down,” which, in so many cases, children are observed to manifest.

The absurd assertion that no girl can excel as a horsewoman unless she begins to practise the art when a child has been so often and substantially refuted that to attempt further contradiction of it would be merely to entail loss of time. Suffice it to say that some of the finest equestrians the world has ever produced have been entirely ignorant of riding until after their arrival at womanhood, or, at all events, until childish days had been left far in the rear. Of these a foreign Empress is a noteworthy example, while many others, whose names in park and hunting-field are familiar as household words, might go to swell the list.

“Well, but really”—I fancy I hear some unconvinced matron saying—“I cannot see that my children are anything the worse for riding every day. I myself rode when I was their age, and it never seemed to do me any harm.” Granted, madam; but question yourself, whether you have a right, because you have had the good fortune to escape the evils usually consequent upon a prejudicial system, to encourage your offspring to go in the way of contracting them. As well might you boast of having escaped contagion during an attendance on a fever patient, and then (presuming on your own lucky chance) thrust your children deliberately into an infected house. No; if you are a wise parent, or guardian, advocate early instruction in pianoforte-playing and its study, also in drawing, painting, and such branches of education as will expand and benefit the understanding, without unduly straining the yet undeveloped resources of the body; encourage likewise such exercises as are of a healthful and suitable nature—but compel the young folks of whom you have charge to leave riding alone, at all events until the fourteenth year has been well got over: because, just as in singing the vocal organs are weak, and the voice apt to alter and break about that period (which is the case with girls as with boys, although very many fail to know or believe it), so, in like manner, the frame of a young girl is delicate and unstrung, and is absolutely incapable of enduring strain or fatigue without incurring consequences which, even if not made much account of at the time, will most likely in after life cause themselves to be dismally felt.

About fifteen, or from that to twenty, is an excellent time for a girl to learn to ride—by which I mean that she ought not to attempt it before the first-mentioned age while the last will not be one whit too late. Boys may begin whenever they choose; their position on horseback obviates the possibility of growing shoulder-crooked, while custom which enables them to ride with a leg on each side of the saddle, equalises their seat, and fairly distributes the amount of stress which pressure on the stirrups entails upon both nether limbs. Moreover, they are infinitely stronger, even from babyhood—can bear any amount of knocking about, and so far from being injured by an occasional spill or two, are immensely benefited by making moderate acquaintance with mother earth. It is not so with girls, and around them all my sympathies entwine.

CONQUERED HIS RIDER.

CHAPTER II.
FOR MOTHERS AND CHILDREN.

It is a rare thing to take up a cookery book in which the reader is not solemnly warned against the evils attendant upon frying chops and steaks in the pan, the deterrent paragraph usually winding up with: “Nevertheless, for the benefit of those who will not be brought to acknowledge the superiority of the gridiron as a cooking utensil, we append a few instructions.” It is as though the writer of the volume meant solemnly to say, “I have told you how to avoid the horrors of dyspepsia; but, if you will go in for them, I may as well show you the least objectionable way of doing it.”

On this principle, or something bearing a close resemblance to it, I have, as in duty bound, made known my objections to girls of immature age being permitted to indulge in equestrian exercise; and having eased my conscience by doing so, I shall lay down a few rules for the guidance of those who pay no heed to friendly warnings, but prefer taking their own way, and who, in short, will have the pan, in preference to the gridiron.

First, then, I will surmise that the child to be instructed is at least five years old. There are, I am aware, mothers of families who actually put their infant children into panniers, because they “look pretty” in them, and send them out on ponies for an hour’s jolting, with their poor little heads bobbing pitifully about, and brain and spine alike suffering from the so-called exercise. There are fathers, too, who think that their boys ought to ride before they are well capable of walking, and who in consequence of this belief clap them on to wide-backed, rough-actioned animals, regardless of the dangers to which, by so doing, they are exposing the feeble frames of their hapless offspring. To aid such persons by offering any sort of instruction as a help to their objectionable practices would be like assisting at a murder, or showing a torturer how to get on with his work.

I was choosing some articles at the establishment of a fashionable saddler a short time ago, when the proprietor stepped forward and requested me to look at an instrument (I can call it by no other name) which he had just completed to order. It was a child’s saddle, with a contrivance not unlike a brazier, arising from the centre of it, well furnished with padding and straps. This unique appliance was, it appeared, the invention of the father of the unfortunate infant for whose benefit it had been manufactured, and his pride in its appearance, and in his own cleverness, was quite unbounded. Determined that his son, aged three, should begin his lessons in horsemanship at that early period of life, and resolved to secure him from tumbling off (the only thing in the shape of danger to which he gave a moment’s thought), he conceived the idea of buckling the infant into the “brazier,” which was meant to come right up under the armpits, and by this means avert all possibility of a fall. It had apparently never struck this intelligent inventor of curiosities that the pony might fall as well as the boy, and that if it did, the little rider could scarcely fail to be seriously if not fatally injured, owing to the impossibility of his falling clear of the prostrate animal.

If a child of tender years must ride, by order of an ill-judging parent or caretaker, let it do so upon a safety-pad, fitted with a well-stuffed back, in order to prevent that of the child from becoming fatigued by remaining too long unsupported.

The pad-pony should be a light, elastic walker, and of necessity perfectly docile and quiet. He must, of course, be led: his paces being properly regulated, and his head kept quite straight. A good contrivance for this—and indeed for leading any description of horse—is a stout bamboo cane, fitted with a swivel snaphook.

The pad-pony should be ridden with a mild snaffle bridle, with loops somewhat large—and I am a great advocate for flap-reins: by which I mean a straight but not over-tightened band, extending from the flap of the saddle to the loop or ring of the bit, on either side—an admirable contrivance, which keeps the pony’s head in position, and also serves as a check against restiveness or starting. The girths should be broad and strong, and not too slack, and the pad should be made without a tree, and be composed of some soft roughened material, ornamented or not—according to fancy, and the outlay to be involved in the matter.

The advantage of having a strap in front is apparent for a very young child. It should, however, be used only when the pony is led, and when he cannot therefore possibly make off or fall down. In such case, and such only, it may be approved, inasmuch as it imparts a certain amount of confidence to an infant learner, and is likewise of assistance in ensuring an upright seat; but I should like to see it discontinued after the first few lessons, and the back of the pad also removed when a trifle more experience has been gained.

PONY WITH FLAP-REINS.

About eight years old is the very earliest age at which a girl should, under any circumstances, be permitted to ride on a side-saddle, or to mount the back of an unled animal. I prefer a small horse to a pony for the initiatory lessons, as being generally better paced and better broken. The child should not at first be allowed to touch the bridle at all. She should sit perfectly square and erect, her figure well balanced, her shoulders thrown back, and her arms folded upon her breast, while an attendant walks alongside her horse and keeps his paces evenly regulated. This is the correct method of teaching a child how to ride from balance,—an accomplishment most desirable for every class of rider. The ordinary fashion of putting a little one up, and giving her the reins to hold on by, is about as efficient a plan of instruction as teaching the same child to play the piano by ear only—thus ignoring the very first principles of the art—or running-up a building without laying a foundation-stone. Circus-children, the most beautiful balance-riders in the world, are taught to ride at first without ever touching the reins; and nothing else that could be suggested would ever be capable of giving the same firmness of seat.

If the learner be a boy, he should be taught his first lessons without stirrups; but I would not deny the assistance of such support to a little girl, as her position on the saddle would otherwise entail much extra fatigue upon the left leg. Be it understood, however, that the stirrup should be taken away after the first few lessons, and the child be instructed to ride for at least an hour a day without any such aid; otherwise she will trust to it, when riding, for the remainder of her life, and to ride from the stirrup is one of the most objectionable practices into which a young person can possibly fall.

When a firm and even seat has been obtained, without the help of reins or stirrup, the former (of the very lightest description, and single) may be entrusted to the little learner’s hands, but the flap-reins must not by any means be discarded.

YOUNG CHILD’S SADDLE.

When the child is perfectly at home on her horse, and has learned to treat his mouth with the utmost gentleness, and not on any account to pull at the bridle, a canter may be indulged in, by the attendant attaching a long rein to a cavesson and urging the horse to a gentle pace, making him lead always with the right leg, and pulling him up directly he changes to the left. The child should be most carefully watched during the exercise, and any tendency to hang over on one side or the other, or to lift one shoulder, or poke the neck, be at once checked.

The saddle should be level-seated—covered with buckskin, for a beginner—and should have no off-pommel. This latter appendage is happily almost obsolete, except with the most old-fashioned saddles, and is entirely unnecessary, as well as unsightly, for it affords no additional safety to the rider, and youthful learners are especially apt to lay hold upon it in any imaginary danger—an excessively bad practice to acquire.

As the term “level seat” applied to side saddles may not be generally understood, I will give a few words of explanation:—The ordinary side saddle, being made with the arch of the tree raised to clear the withers, is necessarily much higher in front than behind, and as a consequence the knee is thrown up in a cramped and fatiguing position; it is difficult thus to keep the figure erect, an aching back ensues to the rider, and frequently torture to the horse. The level-seated saddle has the steel front-part cut quite away over the withers, and replaced by a pad of soft leather, giving that horizontal shape from front to rear so much desired, yet so seldom found. These saddles were introduced and perfected by Messrs. Nicholls and Co., of 2, Jermyn Street, London, who have carefully studied the comfort of both horse and rider, and assisted by the experience and suggestions of that well-known authority, Mr. Wilson of Albington Manor, late master of the Vale of White Horse Hounds, have produced really admirable side saddles.

Trotting must be taught when the pupil has been perfected in the canter. It is not an easy thing either to teach or learn, but I shall come at the principles of it by-and-by. Trotting should be practised on soft, springy ground, never on a road, and the horse on which the lessons are taken should be very light of action, and of even paces. Otherwise, the punishment to the learner will be great, and the teacher’s difficulties equally trying.

Little girls learning to ride should be dressed in neat skirts, just long enough to cover the feet; loose-fitting jackets—(jerseys are excellent)—hair left flowing, never fastened up; and soft hats or caps, well secured under the chin, in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of their coming off. Whips should not on any account be allowed until some degree of proficiency has been attained, and the proper use of them should then be strictly pointed out, and as strictly adhered to. With this matter I shall likewise hereafter deal, as also with the question of spurs—articles which, I may here observe, should never, under any pretext whatever, be granted for children’s use.

A child should be taught to mount her horse with ease when assisted, as also the expediency of being able to do so without any help at all: this latter by simply letting down the stirrup-leather—taking it up, of course, to the required length, or rather shortness, when seated securely on the saddle. She should likewise practice dismounting without assistance. No active child should ever think of requiring a helping hand. To lift the right leg deftly over the up-crutch, take the left foot from the stirrup, gather the skirt well together with the right hand—making certain that no portion of it is in any way caught upon the pommels—and then to jump lightly down, is the proper method of dismounting. To be lifted—except for very young pupils—is extremely babyish.

How long a child should be permitted to ride at a stretch is a question very often asked me, and one to which I find some difficulty in giving a satisfactory reply. Some children are strong, and can both endure and enjoy an amount of exercise that would knock a delicate child completely up. Again, some are passionately fond of the art, while others care but little about it, and (as is well known) the things that one likes are seldom liable to cause fatigue, except when carried beyond the ordinary limits of moderation.

The counsel I would give is this: Watch carefully for any sign of lassitude, or display of weariness on the part of the pupil, and stop the riding as soon as such appears. What I mean to convey is, that if a child complains of feeling tired during her lesson, she should at once be permitted to dismount; or if after, say, an hour’s ride on the road she is conscious of fatigue, the time should on the next occasion be shortened to three-quarters, or even to half, and subsequently increased, according as the pupil gains experience and strength.

Nothing should be left undone to inspire confidence in the breast of a child-rider. Her mount should be the gentlest, her teacher the kindest, all her appliances (saddle, &c.) new, comfortable, and reliable. Girths that are apt to break, for instance, give a child uncomfortable impressions,—and early ideas or opinions on any subject are certain to influence the entire of the later life. Be it remembered, however, that although everything should be done to make the youthful learner feel at ease, while striving at the same time to impart proficiency, no approach to self-conceit, or desire to “show off,” should be for an instant encouraged. Modesty of demeanour is quite as charming out of doors as within. The child who pays attention to her seat, her hands, her horse—in short, to what she is doing—will make a better and more reliable horsewoman (even though she may be awkward at first) than will she who looks about for admiration, while neglecting the principles on which she has been taught. It is like the plodding student and the flippant-tongued. One will answer every question with tolerable smartness, out of the shallow depths of a superficial knowledge, while the other, though missing, may nevertheless be engaged in laying up a store of learning, which will in after life stand her in good stead.

“PLEADER” AND HIS MISTRESS.

[page 21].

Now, a word specially addressed to children, and I shall close my chapter. Be uniformly kind to animals, especially to the horses that carry you. Let humanity be a portion of your religion. Discipline, properly exercised, is just and right, and is as far removed from cruelty as is light from darkness, or bitter from sweet; but, hand in hand with it, gentleness should ever go. A hasty temper will induce cutting with the whip, dragging with the bridle, kicking or rasping with the heel, and uttering rough words, which, although not thoroughly understood by the animal, yet carry a tone with them which has a meaning for him of no pleasurable sort. On the other hand, a child of cold and dogged disposition will take its turn out of the willing slave at its command, and think no more about it than if it were a mere machine. This is pitiably wrong. You, as a child, ought to teach your horses to love you. You can do so, and it is well worth the time employed in the pursuit. I need not tell you how to do it: instinct will teach you. There are a thousand little ways and means, all of which you can try. For instance, always pet your horse in his stall, and when saddled for your use; make much of him when you are on his back, patting his neck, and stroking him gently with your hand, speaking soothingly to him all the while. Accustom him to the sound of your voice; give him scraps of bread, sugar, apple, or carrot when you dismount, or while he waits for you at the door; and when you do this, allow him to take the morsel quietly off the palm of your hand, not showing any fear; he will not bite you, if he is fit to be your pet. You should never offer him a bit between your fingers, or pull your hand away before he has taken the morsel up. This will, or at least may, induce him to snap: just as it would provoke a dog to do, if tantalised. You can feed him, too, if you like, when seated on his back; there is nothing more charming than sympathy between the human and the brute creation. Horse and rider should be on the best of terms, and all will then go right.

In a former work of mine on equitation, I made repeated mention of a hunter I once possessed, called “Pleader.” I gave him that name because his sire was “The Lawyer,” a very famous horse. “Pleader” and his mistress were on the most affectionate terms—brother and sister we were, that horse and I; certainly no two ever loved one another better—and this despite the fact that I had given him many a good whipping, for I trained him myself, and he was a rare hard one to bring to his manners; but he knew quite as well as I did that it was for his good, and so he loved me none the less. I rode him subsequently to hounds for three seasons, without ever giving him so much as a warning touch. When we fell together—and how often we did!—he waited for me to get up; and when he was the first on his legs, although trembling with excitement to scurry away with the rest, he would stand patiently for me to remount him. That horse’s training was not thrown away. He carried me in the first flight through two long and trying runs, the very day previous to that on which I met the accident that deprived me of the power of ever riding him again, and he is now carrying in similar splendid style a noble and popular master of hounds, the Earl of Eglinton and Winton, gaining honourable mention in the Field and other sporting papers. I sold him to a good master and a good home, and when he shall have finished his work (if I am spared to see it) he has been promised to me again, that the last of his days may be spent in quiet happy idleness, and that the hands that trained him may lay him to his rest.

I have spoken thus of “Pleader,” not altogether because I love him so dearly, as to encourage my young readers to make much of the animals that carry them, and to establish a bond of mutual sympathy, which is as beautiful as it is good. The greatest horsewoman in the world, Her Imperial Majesty the Empress of Austria, frequently feeds her horses with bread or biscuit while seated upon their backs. She is one of the rare few who seem to grasp the meaning of that peculiar “sympathy” of which I have spoken, and which is indeed so very difficult to understand.

“There are mysteries deep that we cannot unravel,

And bonds of affinity ever unguess’d,

While the Road to Research is a hard one to travel,

And many’s the query, and weary the quest.

There are circuits of Thought, growing fainter and wider,

Like circles in water when pebbles are thrown,

And the links that exist ’twixt the horse and his rider,

Our shallow philosophy never has known.”

“THE PONY MIGHT FALL AS WELL AS THE BOY.”

CHAPTER III.
FIRST HINTS TO A LEARNER.

Having already pointed out my objections to children’s riding, and appended a chapter of instructions for the benefit of those whose prejudices in favour of it will not be overruled, I shall in the present one assume that you, my reader, are not a child in years, although you may be one in experience. Surmising, then, that I am addressing a young lady of sixteen, or thereabouts—although the fact of your being much older will not in any way tell against you—the first point for consideration will be, whether you are resident in town or country. If the former, or that you even come up for a temporary visit now and again, the wisest counsel that I can give you will be to place yourself under the care of the very best riding-master within reach of you, being careful to select one according to reliable recommendation, for some are as incompetent as others are the reverse. I shall not occupy space or provoke jealousies by naming any in particular, but shall here take occasion to say, that readers desirous of receiving private hints or information on any subject strictly connected with horses, riding, or stable-management, can receive such by addressing their inquiries to me, care of my publishers, by whom all communications will be at once sent forward. This plan I have found to work very well upon former occasions, a few rules being of necessity laid down. For example: ask all questions as briefly as possible; write clearly; do not cross your letters; and wait patiently for answers, accepting the assurance that no unnecessary delay will be made.

Having, then, advised you, if a city belle, to secure the services of a competent riding-master (though it shall be my aim by-and-by to teach you how to ride very well without one), I would follow up this counsel by saying, when you do so, leave yourself entirely in his hands, and do precisely what he tells you. This is not by any means an unnecessary admonition, for at least one-half the awkward riders whose deficiencies pain our critical eyes in the Row and elsewhere, have learned in good schools, but have been too wilful, or too conceited, to give up their own entirely erroneous ideas on certain subjects connected with equitation, and, as a consequence, failure—not to say fiasco—has of course followed.

It is precisely the same with regard to every other art. The pupil should submit her own opinions to those of her teacher. If he is not competent to instruct her, why go to him at all? And, on the other hand, if he is, why not follow his advice?

To illustrate my meaning: I rode with a girl, one day, to a meet of hounds at Courtown Gate—starting from Kilcock Station, to which point we had railed our horses from Dublin, and trotting the two miles, or thereabouts, at a brisk pace, for we were a trifle behind time. From the moment that we settled in our saddles, until we saw the tails of the “beauties” in full wag at the entrance to Capt. Davis’s demesne, that girl never for an instant removed her left hand from her thigh—(pardon plain speaking; it was neither on her hip nor her knee that she placed it when we started), the fingers pointing in the direction of the up-pommel, causing, of course, the elbow to be shot out entirely from the side, the joint turning outwards in singularly ugly fashion. Should any of my readers have a desire to picture to themselves this position, with more clearness than words—or lack of them—have enabled me to depict it, they have only to seat themselves for a moment upon a make-believe horse, and adopt the pose which I have just described. I wish they would do it; it would be an excellent future warning. As I had a tolerably close acquaintance with the young lady—who had, I was aware, been taught by a really first-rate master—I ventured upon asking her whether the peculiarity on which she seemed to pride herself had met with his approval?

“Oh, dear, no!” she replied. “Old Prosey liked me to put both hands to the bridle, or if only one, the left; but I like this style myself; it’s so chic!”

I was not her teacher, nor did she inquire my opinion,—in fact she would in all probability have dubbed me “Old Prosey” also, had I offered one; so I wisely kept silent—and no doubt my companion believed that I was admiring her original attitude very much, for she rather intensified it as we proceeded, and took care to canter in advance of me, whenever we came to a patch of grass by the roadside, as though to give me full opportunity for feasting my eyes upon her figure.

Ah me! How often have I seen the same thing since that well-remembered day; seen it—been sorry for it—and yet smiled to myself because of the vanity and the folly. Would that we all—each one of us—could “see ourselves as others see us!” but, unfortunately, we never can.

To return, however, to the subject-matter in hand.

Should it happen that you are chiefly resident in the country, or that you enjoy the luxury of complete immunity from city life for even a portion of the year, defer riding until that time of times comes round, and then teach yourself, by simply following a trustworthy code of instructions laid down by some reliable authority.

This may sound as though I had, after all, but little real faith in riding-masters. It is certainly not so meant. I would not for a passing moment cast the smallest slur upon a painstaking and often much-maligned body of men, many of whom are capable of bringing a pupil forward in an almost marvellous manner, by the excellence of their method, and that ready observance of so-called “trifles,” in other words, a quick eye, and rapid detection of anything that is amiss, which are the riding-master’s most valuable attributes. Nevertheless, despite the good opinion in which I hold many instructors of the art, I am a very strong believer in the efficacy of self-help, and just as a novice at skating will, in spite of many sore falls and painful bruises, acquire skill if left to himself, long in advance of his brother-learner who is trusting to somebody to bring him along (being pretty certain to come down with a run whenever that “somebody” considers it expedient to let go), so, in like manner, I shall be ready to back my pupil, although I may never have seen her, to hold her position across country, in the park, by lane, street, or roadway, against the city demoiselle, who in a fashionable school has been taught to ride upon a carpet of tan, and who would be as much at sea in a crowded thoroughfare, or endeavouring to cross an intricate hunting-country, as an inexperienced vocalist would be if called upon to interpret the difficulties of Wagner or Bach.

Let me here especially impress upon you that, if you value your prospects as a future good rider, you should not suffer anything to induce you to accept the services as instructor of John the coachman, or James the groom. It is lamentable to see the manner in which parents and guardians of the present day give up the teaching of their charges to this class of persons, not one of whom has any more idea of how a lady ought to manage a horse, than of instructing her in the etiquette of the dinner-table, or the intricacies of the valse. On the evils of the system, I need not now enlarge; they ought to be apparent to even the most obtuse; suffice it to say, that fathers and mothers who permit their daughters to be taught by studgrooms ought not to wonder when these personages impart another and different style of knowledge to the pupils whom they have been unwisely privileged to instruct.

To provide yourself with a suitable horse will be the first thing necessary. It is a cruel injustice to a pupil for a master to expect her to learn upon any chance animal that may happen to come in her way. Never attempt such a thing. Respect your rights, and exercise your privilege by selecting an appropriate mount. If it is not within your power to do so at the time, put off your practice until it is. I cannot sufficiently urge upon you the importance of this advice. It is the very direst mistake for a beginner to attempt to learn upon an indifferent animal. Bear in mind that first impressions are never forgotten, that you will take all your future ideas of riding from the sensations which you derive from your elementary practice of the art, and, believe me, if you make your opening venture upon the back of a happy-go-lucky beast, one who is sometimes well-conducted, but oftener not, or who shies, or goes upon his shoulders, or indulges in cross-legged movements, or throws up his head, or bores (which is a still more objectionable habit), or if you are called upon to gain your first experience upon a rough trotter, or a loose galloper, who, to use a stable term, goes “slummucking” all over the place, you will care but little for riding during the remainder of your life. The discomforts which such things entail will dwell unpleasantly in your memory, and in fact create an ineffaceable impression; so much so, that even if, later on, you happen to be suitably mounted, a long time will have to elapse before those early impressions can be eradicated, or induced to fade even partially away, and a still longer one will go by before you can acquire that confidence which is one of the first and chiefest necessities of a good and easy rider.

While on this subject, I may say that a timid horsewoman will never be a successful one. She may just as well give up the pursuit at once, for her rides will always be a punishment to her. With some, timidity is a natural weakness which cannot be got over, but with the majority it is the result of early impressions—an uncomfortable, unfading recollection of having learnt upon an unsuitable mount.

To illustrate what I say: most children are fond of driving, because they have never associated the pastime with other than pleasurable sensations. Neither risk nor discomfort is, as a rule, connected with the simple carriage exercise to which so many young persons are from babyhood accustomed; but, give a child his first experience of it by driving him in an open phaeton, behind a shying, kicking, or backing horse—one that winds up a long list of vagaries by spilling the vehicle and its occupants into an unpleasant dyke, and if that child does not carry his primary impressions through many a long course of after drives, I am a less sapient observer of human nature than I am generally accredited with being.

A lady’s horse, to be suitable, should be perfect in temper and training. Beauty may be dispensed with, decided acquisition though it undoubtedly is, but disposition and education may not. They are absolute necessities which cannot be done without, although a really skilled horsewoman may, without undue risk, ride any animal that is fit for a man to ride, provided he be not fidgetty in mounting, or a decidedly hard-mouthed puller: two points with which I shall have to deal by-and-by.

AN “ORIGINAL” ATTITUDE.

CHAPTER IV.
SELECTING A MOUNT.

The purchase of a saddle horse requires a grave amount of consideration, especially as ignorant persons are apt to think that “anything will do for a beginner.” Every second person to whom you make known your requirement will be ready to put you in the way of securing “the nicest little horse in the world.” Gentlemen friends from every quarter will have something cut and dried for you to invest in; amateur dealers will persecute you; professionals will harry your life out; John, the coachman, will make himself odious by recommending some highly undesirable animal and stolidly determining to see no virtue in any other. You won’t know at first what his object can possibly be, but by-and-by you will find out that he and the owner of the property have come to an agreement concerning a certain little “tip” to be made over to John, in the event of his inducing you to become the possessor of the decided acquisition in horseflesh on which his own affections are set; and then, when you decline to be victimised, John will assume a stony appearance, and obstinately refuse to be interested in any other purchase.

You should be slow to select a horse, with a view to buying him, unless you can command the aid of a competent and disinterested judge. Do not take the onus upon yourself, for I grieve to say there is not any species of trade in which there is so much dishonesty and such a terrible amount of deception. If, however, you should happen to be thrown altogether upon your own resources, act thus (or get some one to do it for you): Go to the most respectable of the trade; it is your best safeguard. In former times, men like Scott and Anderson were so far above suspicion that the veriest tyro was safe in their hands. There are others of the present day of whom the same may be said. Find out one of them, tell him to what price you can go, and see the best that he can give you for it. If he happens to have what pleases you in price and appearance, get the animal examined by a reliable veterinary surgeon, and ask for a trial. Buy nothing without it. If refused, rest assured that something is amiss. Dealers and grooms, even the honestest of them, have ways of their own for pulling horses together, and making them step up and show themselves: ay, and for covering their defects, too, of which ladies, as a rule, know nothing at all. Therefore, when you fix upon an animal, get him ridden by a friend on whose judgment you can rely,—not in a hurried manner, in the dealer’s yard, but for an hour or so upon the road—and also for a turn upon grass. A correct opinion can then, but not otherwise, be formed concerning his paces, and the amount of training and discipline to which he has been subjected.

A lady’s horse should, as I have said, possess perfect manners. If he romps with his head, pulls heavily against the hand, leans weightily upon the bit, crosses his legs, goes clumsily upon his shoulders, or, in short, renders his rider in any way uncomfortable or unsafe, he is as unsuitable for you as though he were addicted to some actual vice. To be brief, he is not fitted for his office.

If, on the contrary, he can be ridden upon grass with a common snaffle and a single rein—not pulling, and going well up to his bridle—the making of his mouth has at least been properly attended to; he is fit to be a lady’s horse. I do not consider that any animal is so who requires a curb; but the subject of bitting is of too great importance to be merely touched upon here. I shall give some practical advice about it in a future chapter.

In the event of your purchasing a horse from a friend, adopt precisely the same rules as though buying him from a dealer, unless the animal be one with whom you are perfectly well acquainted. In such a case his price will be the only question; but if there is nothing amiss with him, and your friend is a person of honesty and good sense, he will freely grant you both a trial and an opinion, and will be rather pleased than otherwise that you should demand them, as the responsibility of the sale will then be lifted from his shoulders.

In selecting a horse, discard anything that is too large. A lady who is not a welter-weight does not require a weight-carrier, nor does she look well upon one either. See that he has good fore-legs, and has not any tendency to being what is termed “over at the knees,” for if he has an inclination that way he will be very likely to come down, and a sure-footed horse is positively essential to the comfort and safety of a lady rider. Bent knees denote a weakness of the muscles and tendons of the back of the leg, and are therefore to be reckoned as fatal to a roadster, although, strange to say, they are not thought nearly so objectionable in a racer, his price being in some instances not very materially lessened by them. This is owing to the fact that in the gallop they do not tell against an animal, while in the trot they do, very materially. “Diamond,” who was, some years ago, the winner of many important races, was so marred in appearance by this defect, that when standing still he always looked ready to topple over upon his knees; yet sportsmen know what a brilliant cross-country performer he was, and what a price Joe Anderson—dear old man! still living, and hearty, though deaf as any post—gave for him after his win at La Marche.

I have not the objection that most persons have to a hollow-backed horse, especially when designed to carry a lady’s saddle. It is infinitely preferable to anything approaching a roach-back, and animals distinguished by it are, strange to say, generally possessed of a variety of excellent points—extreme good temper and docility being among the most prominent. An unduly marked sinking of the spine is certainly not to be desired, but an animal who has what grooms term “a touch of a dip,” need not on any account be rejected for it.

A wise purchaser will always make a careful examination of the angles of the lips. A decided hardness about them, although an unfavourable symptom, need not condemn the animal; it may have been occasioned by abuse of the bit, or by the use of an improper one. A cicatrix on the mouth is a defect, as showing that the true skin has been removed from its place, and if a decided induration, or anything like a lump can be felt in the vicinity of it, evidence is afforded that the animal is a puller. He ought not to be purchased for a lady’s use.

A NATURAL AND AN UPRIGHT PASTERN.

A good foot is an indispensable adjunct. I am not in favour of over long, or excessively sloping pasterns, although they are preferable to those that are either too much shortened, or unduly upright. Where the latter defect exists, it indicates, in my opinion, a thickening and rigidity of the flexor muscles, and produces an unsafe method of planting the feet, particularly in walking. A light, supple pliant pastern is a great beauty. I have often watched a thoroughbred racer trotting over turf. The fetlock actually tips the ground, or seems to do so, at every step, and if elasticity and slenderness of this portion of a horse’s anatomy were to be regarded as indications of weakness, very few finely-bred animals would ever pass the post at all.

HOOFS.

Strong high hoofs, with broad, firm, well-shaped heels, are most desirable; though I know that in saying this I am challenging a large array of contrary opinions. I have heard many persons found their liking for low hoofs on the ground that an excess of horny substance checks expansion, and pinches the internal substance. This is, with all due respect, a fallacy. The hoof cannot press upon or injure the internal portion of the foot, any more than a well-developed skull can bruise or hamper the healthy brain which it has been created to protect. I cannot believe in the excellence of short, straight hoofs, with narrow heels, nor can I forego my opinion, although once or twice I have had to fight for it, that the best bred and safest horses have their feet standing close together, with the toes pointing forwards, in preference to a tendency to point either outwardly or in. The leg should be straight and firm, the knee-joint flat and broad, the shin hard, the forearm lengthy, and the limbs large and well-developed where they emerge from, or rather join, the trunk. The thorax should be wide; a narrow one is invariably accompanied by low withers (a great defect), and by upright shoulders, which is another. As it is, moreover, sacred to the purposes of respiration and circulation, its proper dimensions should be regarded as an all-important point.

A nice horse, in colour, for a lady to ride is a dark chestnut or bay. Browns and blacks are generally serviceable also, but greys and roans are objectionable, owing to the hairs coming off upon the habit. About fifteen-two is a good height for a horse which is to carry a rider of average proportions. He should have well-set sloping shoulders—oblique pasterns—clean, shapely legs—firm feet—and long, easy, swinging action, which is vastly better and more comfortable than that chin-knocking motion which lovers of what is showy run after and affect. The lady’s horse should carry his head handsomely, being neither a star-gazer nor a borer, and his back should be somewhat longer than might be thought altogether desirable in a horse intended for a man to ride, in order to give ample room for the side-saddle. He should have a moderately high forehand, be firm and flexible in all his movements, and be at least 20 lb. above the weight he is meant to carry; by which I mean that if you are, say, 8½ st., or from that to 9 st., and that your saddle and appurtenances (including your riding gear) weigh 2 st. extra, or a trifle over, you should select for your use an animal well up to 13 st. or thereabouts. To overweight a horse is both cruel and unwise, especially when a lady is the aggressor—which sounds strange, as female equestrians generally ride with tolerably light hands, and rarely stop out for any great length of time together, except on particular occasions. Nevertheless, their position on horseback, sitting far back and in a side attitude, entails a good deal of additional fatigue upon an animal; nor has the lady’s horse the advantage (a great one) which pertains to that of a man—namely, being eased now and again by the rider standing in the stirrups when galloping, or jumping off for a moment or two when opportunity offers.

I have always thought it a pity that ladies do not select their saddle horses with a view to their being somewhat in keeping with their own style of appearance. It would be an immense advantage if they did. A slender, willowy figure will always look best on a light-limbed animal—one of spirit and breeding, full of quality, and as nearly as possible thoroughbred—whereas a rider of more matronly build should select an animal of medium height, with broad, strong back, powerful quarters, big, healthy hocks, and stoutly-built forelegs. She will look infinitely better on him, and be more safely carried, than if mounted upon a slender weed.

So much for appearance. Now a brief word about other matters.

Do not buy a horse that is not a good walker, however perfect he may seem to be in other respects. I have always attached great importance to an animal’s walking powers. It is a pace more generally adopted than any other when out for a pleasure ride, and if you really want to enjoy this last-named recreation, have nothing to do with an indifferent walker, though he be offered you for a song.

About four and a half miles an hour is a good walking pace—excellent, indeed, when leaving stable. The horse that accomplishes it will generally walk at the rate of five miles an hour when coming home. A good walker will neither stumble, drop, shuffle, nor break. Everybody knows what the first and third mentioned of these defects signify. “Dropping” is a most uncomfortable fault: a sort of inclination to duck downwards in front, or indeed more generally with the hinder part of the body. Few young horses that are not overweighted are apt to do it, and when they do, it is a sign of weakness of the muscles; they are unsafe to ride. “Breaking” is an inclination to get into a canter, or trot, and is one of the symptoms of defective training. I like to see a horse walk steadily down hill, with head well up, and feet firmly planted. It is an excellent test.

“Brushing” is a dangerous drawback, and so is “cutting.” The first means striking one ankle against the other: the second is hitting the shoe against the other leg—a practice which involves considerable wounding and bleeding. Fast trotters frequently do it—therefore, if selecting one, look out for its signs. A horse that cuts or brushes with the fore-legs is thoroughly unfit for saddle use: he may come down like a shot at any moment.

The training of a lady’s horse should render him steady in every respect: perfectly quiet to mount, light mouthed, and ready to obey the smallest touch of the rein, without showing skittishness. An animal that bounces about when his mouth is felt, or whilst waiting to be mounted, is anything but a treasure to possess. He should not be a puller, though ridden in any description of bridle—nor should his action when trotting be rough or jerky. If this latter be not looked to, his rider will constantly suffer from undue fatigue.

That a lady’s horse should be sound and healthy is nothing short of a necessity—nor ought he to have any glaring defects, or blemishes, visible about his person—although a single one, if it be trifling—the result, say, of a former wound, blister, or scar—need not cause him to be rejected; in fact, it often happens that some excellent animals can be had quite cheap at the end of a hard hunting season, because they have got a little bit knocked about, although in many cases it does not tell against them in the smallest degree.

Very many persons—Irish at all events—will remember the beautiful “Adonis” who created so marked a sensation in the parade of prize-takers before the Lord-Lieutenant at one of the last of the Dublin Horse Shows, that was held in the grounds of the Royal Dublin Society in Kildare Street. He had a conspicuous blemish on the right side of his chest, the result of a car-shaft that had been driven through his body only five months previous to the show; yet his patching up had been almost perfect, and he commanded an excellent price, though nothing at all to be compared with the sums I had been offered for him before the accident occurred. This carries out what I have said respecting the chances of being sometimes able to secure a good animal, even a prize-winner, at a comparatively low figure, owing to some outward blemish, which, although slightly disfiguring, is not in any way prejudicial to the health, action, or general appearance of the intended purchase—or to his real value, when considered from a “useful purpose” point of view.

CHAPTER V.
THE LADY’S DRESS ON HORSEBACK.

I think I shall make this a chapter upon Dress. Not that the subject ought, perhaps, rightfully to come in just here, without first introducing some more details about the horse—but I know it to be a popular one with ladies, and it will make a pleasing variety from drier matter, which can be made to hold over very well until by-and-by.

In the days of Gottfried and the fair Maid of Ghent, ladies rode upon long-tailed palfreys, attired in embroidered robes of velvet or brocade. A century later we find them wearing cloth manufactured into riding gear, but fashioned so extraordinarily as to set us marvelling how on earth they ever bore the weight, or kept their skirt-tails even moderately clean. So far down as the first half of the present century trailing habits were worn, and about that period we find many allusions to the absurd custom, which would seem to convey something like admiration of it. For example, Charlotte Bronté, describing the return of a riding-party in ‘Jane Eyre,’ says, “Her purple riding-habit almost swept the ground;” a very questionable grace, in my opinion, and a highly dangerous one.

Even in the present day our risible faculties are sometimes excited by the sight of some countrified equestrian, clad in the old-fashioned attire of our mothers’ or grandmothers’ epoch—skirt six feet long, and quite four yards in width; bodice with long basque, neck completely open, displaying a huge expanse of shirt, finished off below the chin with a red bow, or a blue one, or a green, as the case may be; sleeves of enormous dimensions, both wide and long, and braiding enough to set up a regiment of Hussars. There was a girl in the park last season who wore a habit such as I have described, with the addition of soiled white kid gloves, and an extraordinarily tall hat, with a very narrow straight leaf, and evidently much too large to fit her head, for it went bobbing over her eyes at every step of her ungainly steed. Thousands of laughing glances were directed towards her, but she never minded, and only seemed pleased; possibly she thought they were signs of admiration—and her pleasant, healthy face was aglow with delighted satisfaction.

What a pity, I thought, that she had not the benefit of that inestimable looking-glass, a friend’s eye. Somebody ought to have told her what an exhibition she was, yet evidently nobody did; so ready are we to ridicule others, without offering help.

A learner’s first costume may be as primitive as her knowledge of the art—yet certain particulars concerning it ought not to be overlooked, and while considering them I shall adopt my former unceremonious mode of address, and speak as friend to friend.

To begin, then, with your head. Leave your hair floating, perfectly loose—untrammelled by so much as a ribbon. The object of this is that you may not have any temptation to remove your hands from the position in which the master has placed them, or anything to divert your mind from the subject with which it is engaged.

Were you to take your riding lessons with hair plaited neatly up in a coil, you would probably become conscious, after a round or two of jolting, that a tail was sticking uncomfortably out at one side, while a cold hair-pin would perhaps make you shudder by sliding down your back. Then, if your hand was not immediately lifted to rectify it, the tail would rapidly increase in length and volume, and a perfect rain of hair-pins would begin to descend upon your shoulders. This is precisely what a riding-master dreads and detests—for fingers and attention are alike employed to rectify the damage, which cannot be done in a hurry, but takes a long time,—and so discomfort reigns paramount until the lesson is over.

Always, while a learner, ride with your hair unbound, and wear a soft hat or cap upon your head, fastened securely with an elastic beneath the chin. This latter does not look pretty, but that need not matter very much; there will not be many to see it, and even were it otherwise, the sensible among them would applaud your foresight, and commend you for providing against the discomforts attendant on a hat that would go rolling off with every motion of the horse you were riding.

Your jacket should be more than easy-fitting: it should be loose—allowing the figure full play, and giving special liberty to the arms, which should never be hampered in any way.

The shape of it need not trouble you; beauty and fashion can be dispensed with till by-and-by. Your skirt should be wide and short; the make of it will not matter;—as in the case of the jacket, let “cut” give place to comfort. Do not wear a hard stiff collar, or anything that would irritate or distract your mind. Never wear petticoats on horseback, even from the first. To do so is a grave mistake. I advocate the purchase of proper riding trousers, to be worn from the very beginning, and they, of course, obviate the necessity for any such garment. I have heard persons speak in favour of flannel combinations, made to fit quite loose, and must confess that, having never tried them, I am not in a position to condemn, but my prejudices are certainly not in favour of them. If not fitted with elastic below the knees, they would most assuredly ruck up and make their wearer miserable; and if so supplied, the legs of them would turn round and round until the backs were almost twisted to the front, a state of things terribly uncomfortable, and one that could not be remedied without getting off. If, however, there is a decided predilection in favour of these extremely undesirable garments, the twisting process may in great measure be obviated by attaching a piece of good firm elastic, long enough to pass under the sole of the foot, to each side of the leg of the combinations. This answers the purpose of a man’s trouser strap, but must, if adopted by a lady, be worn under the boot. It is, I must say, surprising to me that the combination, or knickerbocker garment, should ever have received the notice of juvenile riders, inasmuch as it leaves the leg, from the knee down, entirely uncovered, save by the stocking, except when long boots are worn; and we all know that the limbs of a learner are far more tender and liable to abrasion than are those which have become saddle-hardened and inured to rubs.

Boots should be well-fitting, broad-soled, and made without buttons, bows, or anything that could possibly catch in the stirrup, or require disentanglement when about to dismount. High heels should never be worn.

Gloves are of little consequence, provided that they are soft and large. Of the two I like to see beginners ride without them, except when the weather is cold. A good strong woollen or cloth pair will then be found preferable to any kind of leather.

A whip you will not require, therefore I need not speak of it; neither will you have any need of a spur.

Having thus disposed of your requirements as a learner, we come to consider your more advanced costume, and I shall find need to speak of every requisite for park, road, and country riding—reserving the hunting outfit for the last.

If you are a moderate rider, three hats will be sufficient for you; a silk one, which I prefer low-crowned; a jerry, or melon-shaped; and a soft felt. These should be all of the finest quality; in fact, I may here take occasion to warn you against cheap or indifferent articles of riding apparel; they are, in all instances, by far the dearest in the end. For my own part I really look with horror upon low-priced articles of clothing—not from any snobbishness, far from it, but because I have always found them wear so badly, look so unsightly after short service, and adapt themselves so indifferently to the wearer, that a perfect abhorrence of all so-called “bargains” has been the not unnatural result.

You should have at least two riding-habits—one of heavy, the other of light material. Wolmershausen and Co., of Curzon-street, Mayfair, are constantly showing a variety of beautiful stuffs, suitable for all places, in town and country, and for all weathers likewise. They are the introducers of the famous “Curzon Red,” in reality a dark claret-colour of most charming hue, fine texture, and durable quality, being perfectly impervious to the effects of rain or sun.

I am frequently asked for advice respecting the newest fashion in the cut of riding habits—the form or shape of the bodice, and so forth. The very best I can give is to go to a good maker, and leave the matter entirely in his hands, not hindering him by the setting forth of any ideas of your own. If he be a master tailor he will know his business, and will not relish interference. Should you, however, be called upon to give directions to a provincial or country workman of doubtful capacity, send for a good pattern of a skirt, and then get your tailor to cut it out in coarse, rough calico, and to tack it lightly together. Finally, let him adjust it to your shape when on horseback, making quite certain that the fit of it shall be perfect before attempting to cut it out in cloth. By this simple process you and he will be spared much disappointment, and you will be saved unnecessary expense. A well-cut habit-skirt should fit without wrinkle or fold; it should be barely long enough to cover the left foot; there should not be a particle of superfluous cloth about it; the end of the hem should form a line as nearly as possible horizontal; and the circumference inside the hem should certainly not exceed two and a-half yards, even for the most matronly rider.

I adhere to the belief that no habit-skirt can be properly adjusted unless the maker of it can have the advantage of adapting it to the figure of the intended wearer while she sits on horseback. All fashionable tailors have model or block horses, on which they mount their customers, and by no other plan can a perfect fit be secured. It must be borne in mind that the better shaped a habit-skirt is for riding the more unsightly it looks when seen on a standing figure, or when held in the hand; in fact, it is then a seemingly hideous and “all wrong” thing, full of irregularities, and apparently without form and void—whereas, when viewed in the saddle, it adapts itself to the figure of the wearer, and falls into perfectly correct and shapely lines.

All modern habit-bodices are made entirely without perceptible basque, having merely the coat-tail at the back. Some are made to open at the throat, and these look smart with a white or pale buff scarf tie. Others, again, are slightly opened at the waist, or very much so at the breast, displaying fancy waistcoats of various kinds and patterns, some of them quite startling in colour and design. The fashion is, in my opinion, not one to follow. The nicest shaped bodice for a lady is one made closely buttoned up, almost to the throat, showing merely a small linen collar above the braid or neck-band, with the addition of a neat tie of no conspicuous colour. The bodice itself should be entirely free from ornament of any sort whatever.

I think it a good plan, although some tailors reject it, to have two large strong hooks attached to the back of the bodice, with eyes of corresponding size affixed in proper position to the band of the skirt. When these are fastened there can be no danger of getting “out of gear.”

Bodices which open much at the throat are very apt to give colds and coughs to the wearers of them. There is an old saying that pride feels no pain, and certainly ladies who fancy their own appearance in this particular style of garment are unfortunately only too apt to forget, or overlook, its tendency to admit the chill blasts and treacherous breezes which frequently make havoc with the most delicate portion of the frame. Nobody could condemn the practice of muffling up the throat more heartily than I do myself, but to leave the chest exposed to harsh wintry winds—as I frequently see done—with only a trifle of silk or muslin to serve as a protector, seems to me to be positively suicidal. I therefore recommend that when open bodices are worn in chilly weather, a fold of chamois, or warm soft flannel, should be placed across the chest.

A habit-bodice should fit closely, without crease or wrinkle, but ought not to be by any means tight; if it be so, all comfort in riding will be destroyed. I am confidently of opinion that half the ladies who canter their horses in the park and never attempt to trot them, only adopt the fashion because they themselves are too tightly laced to effect the rise in the saddle. This system of compression is a great mistake. If ladies could only be induced to believe it, it certainly adds nothing to their charms, for Nature will not allow herself to be put out of sight, and the figure that is crushed in at the centre by unduly tightened corsets must bulge out above or below them—sometimes both—in a manner that is by no means pleasant to contemplate. Putting aside, therefore, all questions connected with hygienic principles, the fashion of squeezing the waist is not one to be recommended.

I believe that a great many ladies who are not by any means naturally stout or clumsy, are made to appear so by wearing cheap and ill-fitting corsets; while, on the other hand, figures that are inclined to embonpoint can, with the assistance of a judicious and capable stay-maker, be invested with an appearance of grace and slimness that is not by nature their own. To expect a habit-cutter to fit a bodice over a seven-and-sixpenny corset, with two long bones, bald and unsoftened, sticking up at the top of the back, hip-pieces too wide, and front steels long and obtrusive, is as great a piece of injustice as to expect an artist to paint a picture with broken brushes, or a cook to furnish a banquet without the proper materials.

I cannot refrain from dwelling a little upon this subject, because it seems to me that ladies are very often—without meaning it, perhaps—a trifle unjust, not to say tyrannical, blaming their tailors, and even speaking against them in influential quarters, for faults in fitting, which are in reality entirely attributable to their own obstinacy (combined, perhaps, with a little bit of parsimony), in neglecting the advice given them: namely, to purchase well-made corsets from an artist in that particular branch of industry. To lay a good foundation is at all times, howsoever applied, an excellent rule, and the corset is the foundation on which the habit-bodice must, as it were, be built. Your figure may be ever so charming in all its outlines and details, but if that which helps to mould it is in reality only calculated to disfigure, the effect cannot be otherwise than unsatisfactory and bad.

Habit-sleeves ought not to be too long. To end within two inches of the hand is the correct thing, the space to be filled up by a spotless linen cuff. Ample room should be given at the elbows, and at the setting-in of the sleeves,—otherwise there will be discomfort, and a continual tendency to run up.

The system of shotting habits at the hem has happily entirely gone out. According to the present rule of skirt cutting, it certainly is not required, but for fair equestrians who are unduly nervous about exposing even the smallest portion of understanding, a good plan is to have a band of broad elastic affixed to the inside of the skirt, in such a position as to enable the toe of the right foot to be thrust through it, while a similar band does duty for the left. These appliances cannot be properly arranged by even the most skilful tailor, unless the wearer of the habit is ready to seat herself on horseback, or on a block horse, for his benefit and assistance. The necessity for this is obvious, as the precise position of the bands, or loops, must be regulated by the rider’s length of limb, otherwise they may be altogether wrongly placed, and, when used, have only the unsatisfactory effect of dragging the skirt completely out of form. Some authorities have censured me for advocating this plan at any cost, declaring it to be highly dangerous in case of a fall. I should like to know how it is so, seeing that it does not involve the possibility of dragging, or place a lady in any sort of peril. The theory is about as sensible as others of the kind, which ignorant persons—or men who attempt to write for ladies—not unfrequently lay down. For riders who are, nevertheless, apprehensive of danger from this source, reassurance may be found by using Nicoll’s patent safety-band for the right foot opening with a spring—so that, in the event of a fall, the rider is not kept in a cramped position upon the ground, but can at once make an effort to regain her feet, without trouble to herself or damage to her garments.

Ladies who ride much in the country, especially in summer weather, will derive comfort from the possession of a gingham habit, or one of very lightest dust-coloured summer cloth. I have had one of the latter myself, and it wore splendidly—bearing a couple of washings into the bargain when disfigured by dust on which a shower of rain had fallen. I would have it borne in mind, however, that cheap though the material may be, it must be tailor-made, otherwise it will not be fit to wear.

CHAPTER VI.
THE LADY’S DRESS ON HORSEBACK (continued).

No amateur manufacture can possibly look well on horseback. The effect is like that which is produced when men play cricket or tennis in home-made flannels, or go to fancy balls, or private theatricals in costumes manufactured by their wives. Please do not imagine that nobody ever does such things. To think so would be indeed a fallacy—but the effect is not a bit more ludicrous than that of amateur tailoring, especially when a back view of the latter is obtained.

AMATEUR MANUFACTURE.

Riding trousers come next for mention. Many ladies prefer them to breeches, and when worn, they should be made of chamois, with cloth to match the habit extending from the foot to about midway between the knee and the hip. Chamois, if of good quality, is soft, elastic, serviceable, and most pleasant for wear, and side buttons are preferable to an opening in front. Small, firm, well-adjusted straps should be affixed to the ends of the legs, to prevent the possibility of rucking up—an indescribably uncomfortable sensation. These straps may be made of leather, though many prefer elastic. I do not think it matters much which of the two is used for ordinary riding, but if the latter, it should be quite an inch in breadth, and should have a slit worked in it, button-hole fashion, at each end (leaving a good piece of the stuff beyond the slit), and by this means be made to fasten to two buttons, stitched very firmly, one on either side of the hem of the leg—on the inside, of course. By adopting this arrangement the straps can be readily changed—a great advantage, for elastic soon gets worn out; and if you are a wise and methodical manager you will have a second pair of straps always ready at hand, to provide for unexpected contingencies. No lady who rides much can possibly do without at least two pairs of riding-trousers: a pair for each habit being in fact the correct thing. I think it will be a boon for ladies to know that Messrs. Tautz have introduced an acceptable novelty in ladies’ riding and hunting breeches, a really beautiful and durable article made of deer-skin—soft as velvet, and elastic as a glove. Perfection in fit is secured through the medium of a lady “fitter,” who is specially relegated to the department, and it is a point in favour of these breeches that they can be worn quite as readily and comfortably with leggings or gaiters as with the more sporting “tops.”

The reference to these latter re-introduces the subject of boots: one on which I have already lightly touched. Never wear them tight—adopt the very plainest fashion—and let the soles be moderately thick. If you prefer Wellingtons—which many do—have your trousers cut away at the instep and buttoned close at the ankle, with a small strap to pass under the foot when in its stocking; or have the boots drawn over the trousers, à la militaire, so that you can get into both at the same time. Captain Horace Hayes pointed out to me the utility of this plan, and I have found it answer excellently for myself—but it is not every lady who can be brought to see the wisdom of wearing boots large enough to admit of it.

If a spur be required, select a Sewarrow; but I am against the indiscriminate use of such an appliance, and always maintain that if a lady is riding a properly broken horse she can have no possible need of a spur for ordinary road or park riding. When hunting, it is, in my opinion, an absolutely necessary adjunct, as also when training young or vicious horses—but such employment is altogether distinct from quiet, everyday exercise, and requires, in fact, an entirely different equipment, of which the spur forms only a part.

Stockings for riding should always, even in summer, be of a heavier and warmer description than those worn when walking, or in the house. I would have you remember, also, that to garter them will have a tendency to make your feet cold—a thing by no means pleasant or desirable,—therefore use suspenders to keep them up.

Corsets have already been discussed. Never, if at all inclined to stoutness, use what is called a riding-belt, or stay; in other words, an abbreviated and thoroughly unsatisfying contrivance, neither high enough nor sufficiently strong to serve as a support for the figure. It is only excessively slight and naturally erect women who can at all indulge in the wearing of such flimsy articles.

Web drawers of very light texture, such as are worn by men, will be found agreeable for wear, and being so close-fitting I have never found them move, or cause any discomfort.

Chemises should be made barely long enough to meet the saddle, or if worn a shade longer they should be fashioned in the form of trunks, extending about midway down the thighs. Nothing that can possibly ruck up should ever be worn. I like to see chemises made in the form of a man’s shirt, so far as neck, breast, and sleeves are concerned—but collars and cuffs should be movable, and all appliances complete for rendering an immediate change of these articles a matter of no difficulty whatever.

Ladies who do not adopt the shirt-like form of chemise frequently complain of the difficulty of keeping their cuffs in right position. The best way to do this is to attach a little loop of single-cord round elastic to the inside of the habit-sleeve, and place a small firm button on the back of the cuff, around which the elastic can be fastened with perfectly satisfactory results.

Pins should never be employed for any purpose, except about the head. This sounds strange, but I shall come to it by-and-by. Ribbons ought not to be used as ties, especially gaudy ones—nor ought anything coloured (including veils and flowers) ever be worn by a lady rider who desires to lay claim to the possession of even ordinary good taste. In this I am strongly opposed to the opinions of “Vielle Moustache” and other well-known authorities; but every man, and of course every woman, has a full and just right to his and her own views upon all such matters, and when we put them in print for the benefit of others, it is with the object of directing and advising by the reasonableness of them, rather than of coercing by their weight or power.

Gloves should be of doeskin—or strong, fine quality leather. They should be double-stitched in every part, have at least two buttons, and be amply large, in order to allow full play for the fingers and the muscles of the hand, as likewise to admit of circulation going freely forward—for extremities soon become chilled if cramped up in coverings in which they cannot be easily and freely moved about. I do not like white gloves, or yet black; a nice dark shade of tan looks well—and some black stitching on the backs is a decided improvement.

No ornaments ought to be worn when riding. A small stud should fasten the collar: never a brooch; ear-rings and bangles should be left at home; a watch-chain should not be seen crossing the breast of a habit-bodice, nor should a handkerchief ever be worn protruding from the front of the bosom. This latter custom is simply an abomination, which no rider of good taste would ever dream of adopting. Some, I know, regard it as chic: a principle that makes them also keep their elbows out from their sides—but with the vagaries of such persons I have happily little to do, and certainly have very little sympathy.

Veils should be of black net, cut just deep enough to cover the tip of the nose, without reaching below the nostrils, and they ought to be sufficiently long to twist into the form of a knot at the back of the hat, where they should be secured with two short steel pins. Those which have round shiny black heads are the best, being easily seized upon, even by gloved fingers, when the hand is put back for the purpose of removing them.

You will observe that I have said the veil should be twisted, not actually knotted, at the back of the leaf of the hat—for when it is the latter, there is always difficulty in undoing it, and frequently the hat itself has to come off before the veil can be successfully got rid of. Dust-veils, of grey or black gauze, are extremely useful in the country, but ought not to be worn in town—nor should any description of white veil ever be seen on a lady’s riding-hat, even though she be exercising in the wilds of Connemara, or in a district as lonely as the deserts of the East.

Whips are of many sorts and patterns. Select the plainest among those of good description, and on no account carry one that has a tassel appended. Never use a hunting-crop except when going out with hounds, and do not despise a neat little switch if riding in the heart of the country.

I think I have but one more point to notice before concluding this portion of my subject. Be certain that your hair is always most securely put up before setting out to ride; unless, indeed, you are a juvenile, and wear it loose. Make sure also that your hat is so well fastened that it cannot, by any possibility, come off, either by the influence of a high wind, or the sudden action of your horse. A good deal must, of course, depend upon the manner in which you arrange your coiffure. If your locks are abundant—sufficient to make into a stout coil at the back of your head—an elastic loop to pass under it will be found an advantage. Should your hair, however, happen to be light-coloured, this will look badly, and I therefore recommend a plan which I have myself found very effectual. Procure two steel pins such as I have recommended for veil-fasteners—only much longer; pass them through the leaf of the hat, about three inches apart; then weave them securely in and out, in a transverse

direction, through the roll or plait of your hair, keeping the points of them turned well outward. No danger can possibly accrue from this system of pinning, if properly performed, even though you may be unfortunate enough to fall upon your head any number of times in the day.

For girls who wear their hair flowing free, I cannot recommend any really perfectly safe method of securing a hat, except by an elastic passed beneath the chin. It is not a pretty way, certainly, but juveniles need not care much about that.

You will find a warm winter jacket a great comfort in chilly weather. It ought to be tailor-made, and lined with satin, to ensure its being easily slipped on and off over the habit bodice. A little braiding will be a great set-off to this, and a trimming of any good dark fur will also enhance its appearance. I like astracan myself. The Empress of Austria, when hunting in Cheshire in 1881, wore a lovely over-jacket of dark blue cloth, trimmed with a deep bordering of astracan, with collar and cuffs of the same becoming fur. Large frog buttons, with double loops of twisted braid, extended down the front. The corners were rounded, and the shoulders ever so slightly raised at the setting in. When she took it off one day at luncheon time, I saw that it was lined with very glossy purple satin, through which ran a tiny yellow stripe. Nothing could have been prettier or more becoming.

A rain-proof cape, or jacket, will be likewise essential. If you get the former, attach an elastic the circumference of your waist to the inside of it at the extreme back—hem the ends of this, and stitch a hook on one and an eye on the other, to enable them to fasten in front. This will prevent the wind from getting underneath the cape, and you can ride quite comfortably, even in squally weather, by bringing the ends of the elastic over the fronts of the cape before securing them around your waist.

If you ride much in winter time, when wet days are of frequent occurrence, you will find a couple of pairs of celluloid cuffs, with collars to match, extremely useful. They are universally known, and are now very cheap. All india-rubber houses keep them, and they can be had, I believe, in every size. Being impervious to wet, they are an improvement upon even the best starched linen (which they strongly resemble in appearance), seeing that the latter gets limp and wretched-looking after even a trifling shower.

I think I have now entered into all particulars respecting your ordinary riding gear. That for hunting will occupy a chapter later on. Bear in mind that the more plainly you are dressed, the quieter your appearance, and the less obtrusive your style, the more ladylike you will appear, and consequently the more to be commended and admired. It is only horsebreakers and women of inferior social standing who seek to attract attention by conspicuous action and costume. A lady shows best that she is one by neither doing nor wearing anything that is in the smallest degree calculated to provoke remark.

I have really often thought that the reason why many ladies look so much better in their riding-habits than in ordinary walking attire, is that there is so much less opportunity, when so dressed, for wearing what is unbecoming, or for conforming to silly fashions which only serve to distort and destroy all the beauties of the human form divine. On horseback we are spared the unsightlinesses of dress improvers, high heels, and high shoulders! The natural outline of the figure is revealed to us, and with it we can find but little fault. “God made man in His own image,” said a country preacher to whom I listened a short time since, “but woman makes an image of herself!”

CHAPTER VII.
BITTING.

Having now provided yourself with a suitable mount for road and park purposes, and likewise a supply of riding apparel sufficient to answer all purposes until you come to hunt, it will be necessary for you to turn your attention to the interesting subjects of bitting, saddling, and general turning out. These things ought of necessity to precede the actual riding—for you certainly cannot mount your steed until he has been saddled and bridled, and to know how to accomplish this yourself is in the highest degree important.

In the present day, when equestrianism is not only a popular amusement but amounts almost to a craze, it is astonishing to find the amount of ignorance that prevails among riders upon subjects with which they ought to be at least tolerably well acquainted, before laying claim to the terms “horsemen” and “horsewomen.” In no department that I can think of, or name, is this lamentable want of knowledge so clearly displayed as in the important one of bitting. That ladies are not, as a rule, very conversant with the subject is scarcely to be wondered at, for most lady-riders give no thought to anything on earth save the pleasure of the motion, and the fit of their habits and gloves. They have undergone a certain description of superficial training, which just enables them to know how to sit, and how to hold the reins between their fingers, but the real pleasure of being thoroughly en rapport with their mount—knowing what bit he will go best in, and feeling conscious that he is not enduring torture from being wrongly bridled or saddled—are things altogether denied them. It is precisely the same principle on which ladies execute showy pieces on the piano, without at the same time having the smallest knowledge of the theory of music, or any idea of why it is that pressure upon the pedals is capable of altering the sound. It is a sorry fact, but a certain one, that nine-tenths of the ladies who ride in the Row—pulling equally, as they often do, upon both reins—would stare at you in helpless amazement, or blush “celestial rosy red,” if asked to describe the difference in action between the curb bit and the snaffle. They do not know. Nobody has ever told them, because it has never occurred to them to ask. They are simply aware that there are two leathers, attached by some unknown means to the horse’s head, and that they are supposed to hold these nicely between their fingers, and look as charming as they can; but what the leathers are for, or why there are two of them, or yet, why some other ladies of their acquaintance ride with a single rein while they have been given a double one, are things of which they have not the very faintest notion. Lip-straps, cheek-pieces, throat-lashes, ports, cannons, &c., terms with which even moderately skilled horsewomen are familiar—have never been so much as heard of, or even inquired about. The existence of this species of ignorance among lady-riders is not hearsay. I speak from practical knowledge, having proved it upon many different occasions. “Pooh, nonsense; what do I care about your old leathers!” laughed a merry-hearted Cork girl to whom I was once striving to explain some necessary matters; “I just hold on, and let the beast carry me—and what more on earth do I want?” And away she went, helter-skelter, after the hounds, as she spoke—holding on, true enough, to both reins, with a good firm grip; and the beast did carry her, to some purpose too, up to a big drain—and finding his mouth unfairly dealt with in the taking-off, landed her deftly into it, and ungallantly galloped away.

With men—those who ride, I mean—ignorance concerning bitting ought never to exist, yet I have been fairly astounded at finding out how very little many of them know about the matter. An officer, who was considered a good man to hounds, and who owned a couple of racers to boot, looked actually quite puzzled when it was observed to him one day that he was riding his hunter in a very severe bit (a saw-mouth bridoon, attached to a snaffle), and said, “By George, I don’t know. I suppose my confounded servant put some queer thing or another on him, for the beggar won’t go a yard!” He had actually mounted his horse and set out for a day’s hunting without so much as casting a glance at the animal’s head. Nor was his by any means an isolated case.

Now a practical word or two about some of the bridles most generally in use—beginning with the common, smooth-jointed snaffle, which has ever been my favourite bit. This, when sufficiently wide and large, forms an absolutely perfect bridle, and its action is extremely simple, restraining the horse by pressure on the bars of the mouth when his head is carried more or less perpendicularly, and on the corners when the head is lifted or lowered. Owing to the centre of the mouthpiece being jointed, there is very little pressure on the tongue, which is one of the many points in favour of this admirable bridle.

COMMON SNAFFLE.

The common snaffle must not in any wise be confounded with the ringed-snaffle which has a noseband attached to the inner rings, kept in place by pieces of leather stitched round them and brought under the ends of the cheeks. It may be made to act severely by drawing one pair of reins tight and sharp, thus causing all the pressure to concentrate upon the horse’s nose—and is then called a Newmarket snaffle.

I append sketches of a common jointed snaffle, the easiest and nicest bit that a thoroughly-trained horse can possibly go in, and also a double-ringed one, such as I have just described. The latter is frequently used by men when breaking young horses in Irish hunting-fields, and is very useful when servants have to be entrusted with the handling of animals, for, severe though it may be made, it cannot spoil a horse’s mouth so easily as can any description of curb.

RINGED SNAFFLE.

There is not among the whole range of bits any so mild or suitable to a learner as the common snaffle. Captain Horace Hayes, writing to me on the subject, says: “The more imperfect the rider, the greater the necessity for using a snaffle bridle; but this,” he adds, “goes without saying. Persons are at times found to express such mad ideas about horses and bitting that to reply to them is only to encourage their folly.”

A big smooth bridoon (with or without horns), and a solid Portmouth bit and curb, will be found a capital hunting bridle. It has always been a favourite with me for horses that do not want to get their tongues over the bit, and where this objectionable habit does not exist, the common-jointed snaffle or Pelham will be found very nice also. In using it, however, you must see that the headstall is long enough for the pressure to lie on the bars of the horse’s mouth. This should always be looked to by the rider. If it has a tendency to crumple the lips at the corners, it is wrong, and partakes of the nature of a gag.

JOINTED PELHAM.

The Pelham bridle finds many advocates: Major Whyte Melville liked it, for instance,—and for showing off paces (if this alone be desired), I approve of the Hanoverian Pelham, but not particularly for anything else. The Newmarket snaffle is a capital bit for pullers, and the American snaffle with india-rubber mouthpiece is a pleasant bridle, largely used in the States for trotting purposes. The Segundo, formerly a great favourite, is a very powerful controller—while the Melton mouth-bit is deservedly a prime favourite with many riders. The Liverpool is greatly used for harness, and seems to have quite superseded the old Buxton, the bottom bar of which made it uncomfortably liable to catch on the pole-end or shaft.

SEGUNDO.

MELTON BIT AND BRIDOON.

I dislike seeing a gag employed, and consider it altogether unnecessary, except for a buck-jumper, or an animal who determinately “bores” his head in a downward position; nor am I at all in favour of the twisted snaffle, which is a very severe bit, and does not answer any purpose, so far as I have ever been able to make out, that the chain-snaffle cannot be made to fulfil; for if severity be required, it can be obtained by twisting the chain before putting it into the horse’s mouth. I hate to see it, however, and never would permit its use in my own stables, except in the case of some animal that was known to be of an unusually fractious, or, I might say, evil temper. Severity in bitting is, in my opinion, very rarely necessary; and taking into account the cruelty of it, I dislike it excessively, and always cry it down.

LIVERPOOL.—FOR HARNESS ONLY.

CAMBRIDGE BIT.

I saw a man in Cheshire, when the Empress of Austria was hunting there, riding in a terrible bridle. He had a strong, wiry rope-bit attached to the horns of an ordinary snaffle—and it must have been frightfully severe, for the horse’s mouth was bleeding at both corners. I remarked to the Kaiserin that it was no wonder she was anxious to get away from that part of the country, if her sensitive eyes were often thus shocked. She looked at the man—at the horse—at the man again—and then said one word—“Brute!” It was certainly expressive, and concise,—and she spoke it in right sound English too, which I thought a very good thing.

The ordinary term “bit and bridoon” means simply a curb and a snaffle. The latter has been already explained. The common curb is merely a mouthpiece attached to two cheeks, and is curved in the centre, forming what is called a “port,” while a chain is attached to the cheeks in such a way that when the curb-reins are drawn tight, the chain presses upon the chin of the horse, and so restrains him.

There is much variety in the shape of curbs, a Chifney being the strongest, and therefore the most capable of misuse in unpractised hands. A really good double bridle for ordinary riding is a Dwyer curb (which has very short cheeks), and a common smooth snaffle. The Cambridge bit is also very generally esteemed.

For hunting purposes, I like the snaffle bridle to have half horns only, as being less likely to be drawn in a scurry through the horse’s mouth, taking the curb along with it. I have seen this happen once or twice, with very unpleasant results.

HALF-HORNED HUNTING SNAFFLE.

To say that an animal is “hard-mouthed” is a very general expression; but the notion that he is so constantly arises from his being improperly bitted. Something or another is thrust into his mouth that does not go near fitting it, and as a consequence has no more effect in either checking or guiding him than if it were tied to his tail. When a horse is badly bitted, and controlled at the same time by incompetent hands, the double evil is almost too great to be endured; but when a proper bit is applied, there is far less suffering and inconvenience on the part of the animal, even though subjected to the hands of a very unlearned master. Timid riders ought to know, and remember, that as a horse is governed by his mouth—just as a ship is by her rudder—it will be wise to devote especial attention to that quarter, in order to avert the danger that may otherwise ensue. A skilful and experienced hand at the bridle will always prove the best means of success, and ensure the greatest amount of safety; but, where this does not exist, the natural or acquired defect may in great measure be counterbalanced by the application of a suitable bit.

Persons have positively laughed at me when I have spoken of having a horse’s mouth measured—and yet there are three interior measurements which ought to be carefully made before fitting an animal with a bit: these are, the width of the mouth, taking the measurement from the chin-groove—the exact width of the channel in which the tongue rests—and the height of the bars of the mouth, by which I mean from the surface of them to the undermost point of the chin-groove. If a bit with a port is to be used, the horse’s tongue ought also to be measured.

It often happens that from improper bitting horses acquire an ugly trick of working their tongues over the mouthpiece. I had two that did it, but cured them by riding them for awhile with a snaffle only, and then carefully fitting them as described with suitable bits.

Correct bitting will ensure complete control, or ought to do so, without inflicting pain. Anything that involves suffering ought to be discarded—although I do not wish it to be understood that I object to such pain in bitting as will compel an unbroken horse to drop his head to the correct position, or yield to the hands that are training him. Remember, however, that a curb unduly tightened, or a bit that is too severe, will often make a horse poke out his chin—and you must not then drag at him, but rather give him ease. When an animal has a bit forced into his mouth that he feels will not suit him, he tries to tell his master so by all the means that lie within his power. He exhibits restlessness when the bridle is put on: gapes, mouths, flings his head about, and carries it (when urged into motion) either on one side, or unduly high or low. There is by nature very little so called “vice” in horses. Comparatively few of them are born unruly, but many are made so by improper treatment on the part of those in whose charge they are at times unfortunately placed.

There should be one established law in bitting: never use any bridle that your horse after a trial will not face. Were this advice attended to there would be fewer accidents, and far fewer unsightly exhibitions of danger and discomfort than we are at present accustomed to see. A well-placed bit will just clear the tusks in a horse’s mouth, and in that of a mare will lie one-inch above the corner teeth. A considerate rider will always look to these things himself before mounting; will see, for instance, that the throat-lash is not drawn too tight, and that the pressure of the bit lies exactly on the bars of the mouth. These bars are formed much like the tibia, or human shin-bone, the minor edge being sharper and more salient than the outer, where it rounds off. Their shape varies in different horses. In hard-mouthed animals they are round, low, and furnished abundantly with fleshy substance; in a tender mouth they are very lean and sharp; and in what may be styled a good mouth, they are moderately so, without exhibiting too great an inclination to either of the first-named conditions.

I like to see a good wide mouthpiece used; it is a vast deal better to have it too wide than too narrow, and I give you the advice in case you do not go on the principle of measurements, which some ridicule. Let your mouthpiece be at all events not less than five inches inside (and even this will be found narrow for many horses), with cheeks rather short, and set outwardly. If a port is used it will be much better to have it opening laterally, from two to two and a-half inches.

The unsightly habit of lolling out the tongue arises from the pressure to which it is, or has been, subjected, by the whimsical shapes of many of the mouthpieces in general use, the ports of which, instead of being fashioned according to the form of the tongue and mouth, are so constructed that the first-named is either pinched severely in the hollow, or pressed between the cannons of the mouthpiece and the bars of the mouth. The horse, then, in order to relieve himself from the torture, either hangs out his tongue, or draws it up above the mouthpiece: an action which compels him to open his mouth in an unsightly manner. This latter defect is likewise frequently attributable to the extreme height of the ports of some mouthpieces; these act, most improperly, on the palate, and when the reins are pulled, cause such excessive agony that the sufferer gapes, in order to ease his pain.

MOUTH OF TORTURED HORSE.

It is a common error to suppose that the power of the bit lies in the mouthpiece, according to its form, and that a high port (one that bears upon the palate) affords control over the animal thus bitted. The real power lies in the branches, according to their proportions, and not by any means in the size or shape of the port, which latter ought to have the effect of an axis gravitating on the bars of the mouth, in order that by its influence the branches may act on these only, and not on either the palate or the tongue.

ANTI-REARING BIT.

No lady’s horse worth calling one will ever require a rearing-bit, but such things are useful on occasions, and a gentleman told me some time ago that he obviated an uncomfortable habit which one of his horses had contracted, of throwing up his head, by using a round ring bit with reins attached, in place of a snaffle. I have never tried it myself, therefore cannot vouch for the general efficacy of the experiment; but it may be very good. Men do not mean to be cruel to horses when bitting them improperly, but they are so nevertheless—to a terrible degree. An animal shows signs of uneasiness, and it is at once set down to “temper,” and punished accordingly. Temper may at times no doubt have something to do with intractability, but so it has—very often—with ourselves, and what better means can be adopted to calm the irritability of man or his slave than patience, kindness, and an entire absence of all desire to fight?

I do not much care for nosebands; they seem to me to interfere with the proper action of the bridle, by preventing the headstall from going forward, and also the cheek of the bit. The only really useful noseband is one that is detached from the bridle-cheeks and has a separate crown-strap. This, when worn low on the nose, is effective in preventing a horse opening his mouth widely, and thus displacing the bit from the bars. Martingales I simply abhor, for hunting purposes, although I have heard some good authorities advocate the use of the standing martingale, even when crossing country. I think it is only allowable in case of a confirmed “star-gazer,” who goes at his fences with his head in the air, instead of looking straight before him when he jumps. A running martingale might be found useful with some horses for park or road riding, inasmuch as it can be made effectual for keeping the head of a flippant or unsteady goer properly in place. When made use of for this purpose it should be adjusted in such a way as to allow the pull of the reins to be directly in line with the top of the withers, and should be lengthened for a horse who holds his head already sufficiently low.

I have seen Irish horsebreakers in the country improvise a martingale, by putting the reins underneath the horse’s neck, and then passing them through two rings, kept together by a strap. It answered pretty well for rough riding, but I cannot recommend the innovation.

Martingales of all sorts and descriptions are, as a rule, undesirable, except when the rings attached to the reins of them are so small that they cannot by any possibility slip over those of the bit, and this will necessitate the stitching of the reins—for buckles will not do. Stops will otherwise be essential: made of leather, for safety.

I cannot help believing that bitting is generally much too severely carried out. The most cruel curbs are used by ignorant persons, whereas there are really very few horses who cannot be done much more with by dropping the curb rein altogether, and riding on the snaffle only. Ladies pull and work their horses’ mouths, and then wonder that the horses pull them in return. It is a great mistake. Hundreds of animals are made thoroughly unruly by undue use of the curb, and so much evil have I seen accrue from it, that I strongly recommend all young riders to try riding with the snaffle only, and to keep the curb rein hanging loosely over the little finger, so that it may in an instant be taken up if necessity demands, which I am confident, however, will not very often be the case.

Some time ago I rode a mare for a friend who was very desirous of ascertaining whether the animal was a fit one to carry a lady with safety. I don’t believe she meant to imperil my safety in any way, in order to secure her own. I simply offered to try the mare, and the proposal was accepted. Terrible things had been said of the animal’s want of training, evil temper, and so forth, and the groom who brought her to me was evidently extremely nervous. He told me, the very first thing, that the mare had never in her life done any saddle work, except with “a desperately wild young gentleman,” who had bitted her severely, and yet found her most difficult to manage. Therein lay the secret, I thought to myself; but I said nothing, and the maligned quadruped and I started on our trial, the groom most earnestly imploring me to keep a firm hold of the curb. I found that she hung desperately upon her bridle, kept her head between her knees with a strong, determined, heavy pull—a dead one, in fact—upon the bit, and went along with a rough, jerky action, which had me very soon tired out. The Editor of the Sporting and Dramatic News had volunteered to accompany me, in order to see the trial, and when we got into the Row and set our horses going, the brute nearly dragged my arms out in her canter. The tug she had upon the bridle was quite terrific, and, evidently prepared for a fight, she laid back her ears and shook her wicked head angrily. I rode her from Palace Gate to the Corner in this manner—not pulling one ounce against her, and yielding very slightly to her in her stride. By the time we turned she had given up fighting, and I was enabled for the first time to speak to my companion. I then dropped the curb, and rode her entirely upon the snaffle. The effect was magical; she at once lifted her head, ceased pulling altogether, and went along in a pleasant, joyous canter—going well up to her bridle, but not attempting any liberties whatever. In less than an hour’s time I was riding her with one hand, petting and making much of her with the other—an attention which, as a pleasing novelty, she evidently much appreciated. Finding her slightly intractable during the ride homeward, I once more lightly took up the curb. It maddened her in a moment. She turned wildly round, twisted about with a rotatory motion most bewildering and unpleasant, ran me against a cart, and behaved altogether so outrageously that it required my very utmost skill, confidence, and temper to restore her equanimity, and steer her safely to our destination. On dismounting I observed to the groom who had come to fetch her, that considering the amount of excitement through which she had passed, it was wonderful that she had not sweated. His answer was that she was always fed upon cooked food (a pet theory of mine, to which I shall devote a chapter by-and-by), and added that the horse which he himself was riding—a remarkably fine four-year-old—derived its chief sustenance from boiled barley.

I shall now close my chapter upon bitting. That it has been a horribly dry one I cannot hope to find contradicted, but I felt that its instructions ought to come in just where I have introduced them, and they will be better understood, no doubt, when the pupil shall have learned thoroughly how to ride. No lady’s education can be called anything like complete (with regard to equine matters) until she perfectly understands the principles of bitting, and can, moreover, saddle and bridle her own horses without the aid of a groom. I shall give instructions concerning these matters in another chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.
SADDLING.

The choice of a lady’s side-saddle is a most important matter, and ought not to be treated in any other light; yet with multitudes of equestrians it seems to be regarded as almost a thing of nought. “Look out for a second-hand saddle for me, there’s a dear!” writes a country lady to a town friend; “I am actually going to ride!” And away goes the town lady on a search through alley and slum, and comes home the triumphant purchaser of an awful instrument, which gives a sore back to the bearer of it in no time at all, and is then sent to be stuffed, coming back to its owner all the worse for the process, owing to the fact that the stuffing has, in the first instance, been entirely over done. Articles of this description never give any satisfaction, and would be dear if purchased at half-a-crown. Economise as you will in other directions—put up with cheap hats, habits, boots, and gloves, if you cannot really afford any better,—for, odious though they be, they can prove injurious to yourself alone,—but let your saddle be of the best. Go to a first-class maker; get measured as accurately as a man does for a pair of hunting breeches—tell him that you need the best materials and very best workmanship—and if he knows his art he will require no further directions. It is almost superfluous to repeat that a well-made side-saddle should be level-seated, and should have no perceptible dip, or sinking, from front to cantle. It ought to be amply long for the rider, and the points of the tree should fit close to the horse’s sides behind the shoulder-blades. I object to stitching, on either near or off side, as being unworkmanlike; but an unpractised rider may have the seat of her saddle covered with buckskin, which will afford her a more secure grip than she can obtain from the ordinary slippery leather. The gullet-plate should either be dispensed with altogether (as mentioned in a former chapter), or be sufficiently arched to prevent its pressing on the horse’s withers. I prefer the former plan, and have found it answer admirably. The up-pommel should be barely high enough to afford a secure catch for the right leg. When higher than this it sticks up like a horn beneath the habit, and is extremely disfiguring.

The leaping-head should be movable. I do not mean that it should merely turn round and round, or bend downwards with a hinge, but it ought to be capable of being placed higher or lower, according as the rider may desire. This can be accomplished by having two, or even three, holes made for it within varied distances of one another: a plan which will be found of especial benefit in cases where a saddle is purchased with a view to more than one lady making use of it—and a tired rider will frequently find it a great boon. Of course, in such case, the leaping-head must be a screw one, a thing to which I know many ladies object on the ground that it gets out of order. It really ought not to do so,—nor does it, except when entrusted altogether to a groom, who keeps unscrewing it every day as if for mere pastime. It should not be touched at all, except when necessary for cleaning purposes, or to lubricate it with a little oil, and it will be well then to do it yourself, unless your servant happens to be an exceptionally good and trustworthy one, or that you are too grand in your ideas to put your hand to anything in the shape of work. I hope, however, that I am not writing for any such silly person. You should never be above looking after everything connected with your own riding gear. It will not lessen your dignity one whit: rather the contrary—for your servants will then see that you are not a simpleton, and will respect you accordingly. The lady who shudders at a duster, and wonders where puddings grow, is in reality not an atom more to be despised than is the foolish-minded equestrian who thinks it is inelegant to know anything about the conduct or management of her own stable. I like to see a woman able and willing to put her hand to everything that comes in her way, without feeling in the least lowered by it. One of the most perfectly ladylike women whom I have ever met, on one occasion groomed and fed her own hunter, when the stableman who had charge of him was found tipsy, on her return one wintry evening from a long day with the hounds; and she did it, too, before ever removing her habit. Sense and humanity combined.

I may add, before passing to another portion of my subject, that where a screw-pommel is used it will be found a wise plan to have it made with the thread of the screw reversed; by which I mean that the pommel should turn from left to right, in place of the ordinary way. By this arrangement the left knee pressing against it serves to fix it all the more firmly, instead of, as is usual, misplacing it.

I am often asked what ought to be the weight of a side-saddle, and what the size. Much must of course depend upon the dimensions of the rider. About eighteen pounds is, or ought to be, the average weight of an ordinary saddle, although my own were much lighter. I do not, however, see that there is very much to be gained by riding in too light a saddle. A few pounds one way or the other can make little difference (except in racing) to a good horse, and light saddles are sometimes apt to give sore backs.

With regard to size, I consider that a lady of moderate height—say five feet three, or thereabouts—ought not to purchase a saddle less than nineteen inches long. Any good maker will, however, give the proper proportions.

The stirrup-leather of a lady’s saddle is generally attached to it by an iron ring, but I greatly prefer the spring-bar attachment, same as is used with men’s saddles. Many ladies say that it is apt, with pressure, to come away, and if this be the case, a greater objection could scarcely be urged against it, but, for my own part, I have never found it do so.

Peat & Co., of Piccadilly, have brought out and patented a really first-class article in this line, namely, Born’s saddle-bar, a contrivance which instantly releases the foot in case of a rider being either thrown or dragged. I can confidently recommend it.

A very simple way, which some like, is to have the stirrup stitched to a single leather, which is then passed through a ring, and drawn downwards to within an inch or two of the end of the flap. It is next passed round the horse’s belly, and buckled to a single tongue on the other side. This keeps the flaps of the saddle close, and the rider is enabled by it to shorten or lengthen her stirrup from the off side—an advantage not to be overlooked.

Girths are of various kinds. Some are in favour of the elastic webbing; others like the Fitzwilliam, which is a very excellent kind, and thoroughly to be depended on for general work. For myself, I strongly advocate the plaited girths, made of either hide, horsehair, or cord. Being open-work they admit plenty of air, and are calculated to prevent chafing.

I do not, as a rule, care for saddle-cloths, but no doubt they preserve the inside of a saddle very much. If used at all they ought to be very thin. To save a sore back, a sheepskin is best A leather saddle-cloth will keep pliant if in constant use, but if laid by for a while it should be moistened with a little oil. Cod-liver will be found the most efficient for the purpose.

I am not in favour of any of the so-called safety stirrups. Nicholl’s patent is the best of them; but I cannot help regarding them all as danger-traps, having twice nearly lost my life through using them. I therefore strongly recommend all lady riders to adopt a perfectly plain stirrup, such as is used by men, only of course smaller. A neat little racing stirrup served me faithfully for years, and I cannot advocate any other. Safety stirrups are perpetually getting out of order, and my experience of even the best of them is that they are liable to catch the foot and confine it in a dangerous manner, which the plain stirrup never does.

To ride with a slipper, even for a very young beginner, is strongly to be condemned. To allow children to use it is simply to train them to ride from it—thus sowing the seeds of a most pernicious practice. It feels so snug and comfortable under the foot that there is an irresistible desire to rest and dwell upon it: an evil of which I shall hereafter have occasion to speak.

Having now said all that I consider useful concerning saddles and bridles, I think it will be expedient to give a few instructions about putting them on; for, as I have already said, a lady or gentleman who cannot do this without the aid of a servant has yet (no matter how accomplished in every other way) something very important to learn.

To bridle a horse, go quietly up to him, holding the headstall in your hand. Make much of him for a moment or two before putting it on: not at all because you think that he is going to fight against it—no lady’s horse would be guilty of doing such a thing—but because it is a nice and right habit, and one to be put in practice upon every reasonable occasion. The way in which unthinking grooms drag poor horses’ heads about, and force heavy bits into their quiet, unresisting mouths, is enough to make a humane heart feel grieved and angry together. Gentleness is, however, a woman’s attribute, and the kindness with which most women usually regard animals is one of their most loveable traits.

When the headstall has been nicely fitted, take a glance over it, and note that the forehead-band is loose enough, and that the throat-lash will admit at least two of your fingers between it and the skin. Fit the snaffle-rein next, by the buckles, and see that it falls about half an inch below the angle of the mouth. If you are in the habit of riding with a curb, adjust it very carefully, observing the rule laid down in my chapter on bitting, of resting the mouth-piece on the bars of the mouth, just above the chin-groove. I know it occasionally happens that some irregularity about the teeth renders this a difficult thing to do, and where such is the case the bit must of course be slightly moved, but it ought to be placed only just as much above the obstacle as will be necessary to clear it. You must next hook the curb, taking the off side first, and leaving a link in reserve. Then come to the near side, and leave it length enough to afford two links—making sure also that it lies quite flat on the chin-groove, and has not the smallest tendency to rise upwards at the draw of the reins. Ascertain above all things that the chain is sufficiently slack, and that it does not inconvenience the horse. A good test will be for you to insert the first and second fingers of your left hand between it and the animal’s chin: slipping them in, so that the palm of your hand shall go beneath the under lip of the horse, and the back portion of your two fingers be exposed to the pressure of the chain; then draw the reins quietly with your right hand, and if you feel an unpleasant pinching, slacken the chain a link, and try again until you have it right. I said in my last chapter that the action of the mouth-piece on the bars of the mouth was entirely controlled by the branches, which also regulate that of the curb-chain, both on chin and bars. The pressure which it effects on these constrains the horse to obey the will of his rider. Now, when the curb-chain is left to hang in too loose a fashion, the pressure cannot be effected at all, and the branches go backwards, because they meet with no resistance from the curb-chain: and thus the action of the cannons on the bars of the mouth is altogether defeated.

Saddling comes next to be spoken about. Place the saddle clear of the play of the shoulders, if meant for hunting; when the adjustment is for ordinary riding, an inch or two further back will do. It is a common error to place the saddle out of position, in order to make it appear as if the horse bridled better, or had a finer shoulder than he really has; but it is a very wrong thing to practice constantly, and can only deceive the most inexperienced judge’s eye.

If you want a horse to go particularly fast for a short distance, you may adjust the saddle so that it shall be as far forward as possible without interfering with his action: as the chief office of the hinder part of an animal is to propel weight, while that of the fore part is to bear it up.

When the saddle has been nicely placed, take up the first girth, and then the hinder one, drawing both well back from the horse’s elbows, so that they shall neither chafe nor inconvenience him in his action. Do not girth him up too tightly at first, especially if he has been recently fed; nor must you on the other hand leave him too much space for the air to make way through, taking into account that some horses are terrible rogues, and will actually swell themselves out ever so much when they feel the girths tightening upon them, which shows that they are more sensible than many who ride them, inasmuch as they object to being too tightly laced. I had an arrant rogue once, who used to present the appearance of a drowned pup whenever I came to girth him up, and would gradually collapse inward, like an indiarubber ball with a hole in it, whenever he thought he had me sufficiently gammoned. That horse’s face would have won a fortune for him as a type of injured innocence when I let him see one day in a practical manner that I was up to his tricks; but we continued excellent chums, nevertheless, and as it was to a male friend I subsequently sold him (who would, of course, clap a leg each side of him, and so distribute the weight), I said nothing about his little dodges, but laughed to myself when, a few days later, I saw the dear old man (his owner) riding his wily purchase in the Row, with girths so slack that he could have put both feet into them, stirrups and all, without much inconvenience, and my cunning friend trotting demurely along under him, with the most lamb-like countenance in the world.

It is almost unnecessary to say that while tight girthing is for every reason to be avoided, it will not do at all to leave the girths of a lady’s saddle too loose. When they are so, the uneven distribution of weight which a side position necessarily entails will be sure to draw the saddle on one side, or perhaps even cause it to turn: in which case the consequences will be both dangerous and unpleasant.

I think it an excellent plan to lead a horse about by the bridle for a minute or two after girthing, and then try again whether he is tight enough, by inserting a hand between the girths and the belly, and seeing whether they need any further looking after.

I must not omit to say that if you are using a saddle-cloth or sheepskin, you should, before finally girthing up, draw the front part of it well forward on the withers, in order that the gullet-plate of the saddle (if that article happens to be made with one) may not press upon them.

The last thing for you to do before mounting will be to pass your forefinger under the girths at each side of the horse’s body, and smooth away any wrinkles that the action of girthing may have caused in his skin.

It will not be amiss here to say that many ladies have asked me for an opinion concerning the advisability of riding occasionally on the left or off side of the horse. I cannot see any objection whatever to it for ordinary riding, although I cannot advocate it for hunting; and where young girls find it expedient to ride a good deal, I should be apt to recommend it highly, as a means of preventing their growing awry. The saddle necessary for it is a somewhat awkward-looking article to those unaccustomed to view such things, but it may be satisfactory to know that the Princess of Wales rarely uses any other kind.

LEARNER, ON OFF-SIDE.

CHAPTER IX.
LEARNING TO RIDE.
HOW TO SIT—TO WALK—TO CANTER—AND TO TROT.

Being now provided with a fully-caparisoned mount, it is time that you should begin in good earnest to learn to ride; therefore to this pleasant task we will apply ourselves, reserving the interesting subjects of shoeing, feeding, stabling, &c., for future consideration.

To mount well must first be studied, and practised: the latter assiduously, no matter how great the drudgery may be. It is certainly disheartening to a learner to feel that one of the most trying portions of her equine education is after all the only one that involves a very serious drawback, namely, that of requiring assistance that cannot well be done without; yet, so it is—and the difficulty is one which must be considered and met. A lady may saddle and bridle her own horse, may give him the finishing touches herself, and canter away, independently, when once she is on his back—but to get there she must, as a rule, seek for assistance from some source or another, and animated sources (by which I mean men) are generally painfully inefficient. It certainly is what is expressively termed “hard lines” on a practised equestrian to be made an exhibition of at door or covert-side by some inexpert individual, who either sends her clean over the saddle by the superfluous energy of his action, or leaves her to hang fire midway while he stoops to pick up his hat, which he manages to lose through stupidly poking his head forward at the moment at which she is making her spring. I know exactly what it is, and the mortification that it entails. Many of us are, unfortunately, familiar with the feeling that we have done precisely the right thing ourselves, but that some officious and horribly incompetent assistant—or would-be such—has frustrated our efforts, and left us a laughing-stock in the centre of a crowd. It is just like going up to a piano in full possession of all the difficulties that may mark the song selected to be sung, and being compelled to undergo the torments inflicted by a bad accompanist, who handicaps the singer by his own utter unfitness for his task. Half the people present are not able to discern whether it is the voice or the piano that is at fault; they only know that the performance is a failure, and speak of it afterwards as such. So it is with mounting for a ride. Say that there are a hundred persons present at a lawn meet, and you emerge from the house to mount your horse, with the result that you are kept struggling for an awful moment or two betwixt the ground and the saddle by some blushing booby who has offered to put you up, and who will neither do so properly nor suffer you to jump quite down. At least two-thirds of the onlookers will be ready to say the fault is yours. My advice, therefore, is, never leave yourself open to an unpleasantness of this description; select your assistant cavalier, just as you have a right to accept or reject a partner for a dance—and if nobody in whom you have confidence happens to be present, have recourse to the groom’s assistance, if you are quite certain that he knows how to render it, and, if not, lead your horse to a low wall, should such a thing be near enough, or take him, at all events, out of sight of the crowd, and utilise any sort of stepping-stone to reach his back, rather than incur the ridicule or unjust remarks of the more fortunate among your sex.

It is, of course, in some cases, quite possible for a lady to let down her stirrup and mount by it, unassisted—drawing it up again to the required length when seated on her saddle. To little girls riding ponies I have already recommended this plan; but for grown equestrians it is far more frequently impracticable than otherwise. A lady rider may be of diminutive stature, and may yet be called upon to mount a very tall horse; or her stirrup may not be an easily movable one (say, for instance, that she is accepting a ride upon a borrowed mount, with trappings entirely unlike her own), or her habit-bodice, despite all warnings, may not be loose enough about the waist to enable her to make the long stretch up to the pommel which unassisted mounting always requires. Therefore, writers who say that a lady can at all times be entirely independent of extraneous assistance prove to a certainty that they have not studied the subject.

The orthodox method of mounting is as follows: Take the reins and whip in your right hand and lay the fingers of it firmly upon the top of the up-pommel—grasping it, in fact; then, with your left hand, gather your skirt away from your left foot, and place this latter in the hand of your assistant, bending your knee as you do so. When you feel that his palm is firmly supporting the sole of your foot, take your left hand from your habit-skirt and place it on his left shoulder—he being in a slightly stooping position at the time. Then give him the signal: any pre-arranged word will do—“Ready!” “Go ahead!” “Now!” or, in short, anything you may choose to fix. As you say the word, straighten your knee, and make a slight spring upward, your cavalier at the same instant raising himself to an erect position, without letting his hand drop in the very smallest degree. By this arrangement you will reach your saddle with comfort and expertness. It will, as already mentioned, require some patient practice, for, like many other accomplishments, it looks wonderfully simple and easy—until you come to try it. In the event of having to mount by a wall, a big stone, a horse-bucket, or other article—any one of which you may be glad at some time or another to make use of on emergency—steady yourself well upon your stepping-stone, whatever it may be, gather the reins in your left hand, laying it firmly upon the up-pommel or on the horse’s mane, place your foot in the stirrup, taking care that it is well freed from the habit-skirt, then seize the cantle firmly with your right hand, and jump into the saddle. If your skirt is properly cut, you will have no difficulty in arranging it comfortably over your right knee when the latter has been placed in position, and you should then lift yourself slightly, and smooth the seat of the skirt from right to left with your left hand, first transferring the reins and whip to your right, in order to enable you to do so.

You should be extremely careful, if wearing a spur, to keep your left heel well away from the horse’s side when mounting: otherwise, the consequences may be very disastrous. I once saw a lady thrown heavily upon her face by a sudden start of her horse, through her spur having struck him in the flank just as she reached the saddle, before she had time to secure the support of the pommels.

Be cautious, also, not to touch your horse, when mounting, with your whip. If you do so he will assuredly start, and may give you an ugly fall. It is for this reason that I advocate the custom of ladies when mounting retaining the whip in their right hand and placing it, together with the reins, on the up-pommel of the saddle, in place of, as many do, handing it to their assistant cavalier. A man, when he gets a lady’s whip to hold, naturally tucks it away under his arm, where a nervous horse keeps looking askance at it, and is often rendered fidgetty by seeing it, even when it does not actually touch him—although it very often does. I append two sketches, one showing the correct position of the hand with whip and reins upon the pommel when just about to mount, the other demonstrating the precise attitude in which a lady ought to seat herself upon the saddle.

If properly placed, and sitting erect and even, your seat ought to be as secure as that of a man, or even more so, although you may have to depend (which no doubt you will) upon the girths for safety, and also to submit to the disadvantage of not having a leg on each side of your horse to guide him or urge him to his paces. A clever rider will, however, make her whip-handle serve her in great measure for this.