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.
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,