A young friend of mine was driving his team through some unfinished streets in one of our favourite marine resorts. Not being much practised in the art of “pointing his leaders” in the direction which he intended to pursue, he allowed them to continue a straight course in a road which had no egress, but was blocked at the end by a dwarf wall three feet in height. A friend on the box beside him, finding he had passed the turn by which he could have got out, called to him:
“Hallo! pull up, man! You can’t get out, and you can’t turn round.”
Slacking his hand and fanning his wheelers, the young Jehu quietly replied:
“Never mind; they can all jump.”
And they did all jump. No refusal. The leaders got clear over without a scratch; the wheelers, having broken the pole and splinter-bar, got over the wall, but of course fell in a confused heap, and were a good deal hurt. The gentlemen on the box were shot to a considerable distance into some “ground to be let for building purposes” which lay convenient, “rubbish” being also shot there!
Many of my readers may remember that during the severe frost in the year that made the fortune of Murphy’s Almanac, Mr. Hunt, the successful rival of Messrs. Day and Martin in the manufacture of blacking, drove his team and drag across the Serpentine; a foolhardy feat, seeing that the Serpentine was a treacherous lake, and at that time of uncertain depth, both of mud and water.
Another instance, which illustrates forcibly the courage and obedience of the horse, may be in the reader’s recollection.
A gentleman drove his curricle and pair down Box Hill in Surrey, a descending declivity upon which most horses would find it difficult to stand, even without a carriage.