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.