head, or thrust out an eye-what recompence, what atonement, let me ask, could the brutal servant render to his employer for this barbarity towards probably the chief favourite of his stud? "Tell it not in Gath: publish it not in the streets of Askelon." These and other summary modes, so heartlessly and foolishly adopted to correct the vicious propensities of horses, have I occasionally beheld carried to so dangerous an extent, that I have shuddered for the consequences. When I have remonstrated against these futile exuberances of passion, my censure has been unheeded, or probably met by the uncouth observation, "that it was no business of mine the horse deserved all he had received!! he knew well what it was for!!!"

Many gentlemen, I am sorry to say, are not totally exempt from the frailty of passion, and act upon an equally erroneous system. I have seen some otherwise humane men inflict upon a horse a most severe whipping, under the impression that the chastisement would act as corrective to the vicious habit. This is a totally mistaken notion. Such treatment, instead of proving efficacious, only adds fuel to the flame. The conduct of the gentleman and the groom on these occasions is equally reprehensible. same choler, the same paroxysm of rage, impels the one and the other, and the only distinction lies in the dissimilarity of the weapons used. But this circumstance offers no consolation to the philanthropist the cruelty exists equally with the one and the other. whip, in the hands of its lordly possessor, may appear less brutal than the treatment adopted by the plebeian; but the injustice of both is equally unwarrantable— they each betray the same igno

The

The

rance of the temper and disposition of the horse, although they ill-treat the animal chacun selon lui. The reviewers tell us the “schoolmaster is abroad :" I trust that in the course of his peregrinations he will soon take a peep into the stable, where he will find an ample field of reformation.

The reproachful conduct alluded to must, by its harshness, inevitably increase the primitive evil, with the addition of causing the animal, when abroad, to shy and startle at the merest trifle. Indeed, many of the accidents which occur may be mainly attributable to our own thoughtless actions. We punish the horse on the principle of the Yorkshire pedagogue, who castigated his scholars, not on the score of their peccadilloes, but because he himself happened to be in a passion at the moment.

"Paris est le paradis des femmes, mois l'enfer des chevaux," say the French. With the first part of the proverb I have nothing to do; but the allusion to the miserable fate of the horse will, I fear, hold good also for London; as it must be admitted we are by no means inferior to our Gallic neighbours in refinement of cruelty towards that animal.

A very objectionable custom is also but too prevalent with many grooms, coachmen, and their helpers. They seldom enter the stable without calling out, "Come up!" which they pronounce in a rough, sharp, hasty tone, as if in anger. These words, coming from the mouth of their gruff attendant, cause the horses to shrink almost within themselves as the man passes their stalls. They hear the detested voice, and seem anxious by their motions to escape from it. Some grooms have told me that in speaking thus sharply the horse is rendered more brisk

and lively. I know better: on the contrary, it keeps him in continual dread; and the conclusion I draw on these occasions is, that the horse must have suffered from previous ill-treatment. I once had a horse which always started whenever I came near him; and, in addition, had a knack of making a rush as he passed through the stable door. The first habit I overcame by uniformly soothing him by my voice till I came up to him, when I patted and caressed him. He soon gained confidence, and evinced pleasure whenever I drew near hini. The second propensity was not more difficult to correct, though it took much more time to eradicate. I accomplished it in about three weeks. My method was very simple. I walked the animal quietly towards the door, when near it I stopped, and placing myself in front of the horse, led him by slow and measured steps over the threshold, occupying his attention by fixing my eye upon his, and addressing him kindly. By these means the impetuosity he evinced on quitting the stable soon subsided. During the first few days it occupied perhaps half an hour to each trial; after which I increased the motion of his paces, and succeeded in curing him. This horse was a very good-tempered animal, but had evidently been alarmed and ill-treated by some former owner. Of this, however, more anon.

Buffon is enthusiastic in his admiration of the horse, and well he may be, for this animal is un

doubtedly the most valuable we possess. His subjugation lightens the labours and facilitates the operations of man in the most eminent degree. This celebrated naturalist observes, that "the reduction of a horse to a domesticated state is the greatest acquisition from the animal world which was ever made by the art and industry of man. This noble animal partakes of the fatigues of war, and seems to feel the glory of victory. Equally intrepid as his master, he encounters danger and death with ardour and magnanimity; he delights in the noise and tumult of arms, and rushes on the enemy with resolution and alacrity. But it is not in peril and conflicts alone that the horse willingly co-operates with his master; he likewise participates of human pleasures: he exults in the chase and the tournament; and his eyes sparkle with emulation in the cause."

This is all very fine and eloquent, as well as flattering to the ambitious pride of us "lords of the creation." But if the horse could speak, his language, I fear, would be far from complimentary to the gratitude of man! What is the return we make the animal for his willing servitude? If we answer with sincerity, and in the absence of prejudice and vanity, the response may be summed up in very few words: Our ignorant conduct and mismanagement heap upon him miseries which lead to disease and a curtailed existence. -From the English Sporting Magazine for September.

MR. EDITOR,

In reading Mr. Darvill's work on the English Racehorse a few days ago, I met with the following passage regarding the position of the distance posts on a race-course. He says at page 259, "In coming in, on the right of the course there should be two distance posts; the first of these posts is to be erected 240 yards from the winning post, the second 120 yards from it; the first is the distance post in a four mile race, the second in a mile race."

It is thus plainly laid down that the distance in a two mile race is 120 yards; a fact which, in India at least, I suspect is not generally followed "the distance" on all our courses and

SIR,

in all races, from the Calcutta down to the Dhoolia, being marked off at 240 yards from home.

Perhaps some of your sporting readers who are on the turf, and better acquainted with "the law on this point (one of considerable importance to a man who has a horse situated as Benedict was in Bombay in 1830) than myself or my neighbours in these parts, will be kind enough to let us know if such a rule exists amongst those of the Jockey Club in England, or, if then, any difference exists between "the distance" in a two or a four mile race, and oblige greatly Yours,

I am unfortunate enough to be the reputed author of every contraband article which has appeared in your Magazine, and my life is rendered burthensome thereby. Stephen's first critique caused my oldest friends to turn their backs upon me; and when I fancied the affair had nearly blown over, out

came No. 7 and irretrievably ruined me. I was forthwith assailed on all sides with accusations of "attempting to write down the Magazine," a crime which could not be expiated by death itself.

poor me.

An officious, finger-in-every-pie sort of acquaintance, who boasts of an unusual degree of intimacy

with the great Nimrod, assures me that "I have so disgusted that gentleman, that he has shut up shop." Me again-but this must be Balaam; Nimrod is too good a sportsman to trouble his head with fifty fools like Stephen.

Several of my friends have hinted to me rather unceremoniously that I possess a larger share of impudence (brass it is called) than any other man in the whole world; for that I not only preserved an impenetrable exterior during the reading of the first critique, but positively contemplated to conceal my crime by offering conjectures as to the real author. Stick to it.

Everybody points at me as the writer of Nosing Tom's letters, which appear to have given great offence, and I have had the pleasure of paying postage for more than one anonymous bluster on the subject. Nay, it was but the other day that a gentleman whom I had the misfortune to sit next at a large party, and who most unaccountably declined even monosyllabic conversation (I believe he was a little hard of hearing), suddenly exclaimed in no conciliating key, "You will be gratified to learn, sir, that you have done up the Nuggur pack."-There I was again.

But

my misfortunes are not half told. Some evil-disposed person has made affidavit, and fathered Scarlet's communications upon poor me, in consequence of which every one who acted a conspicuous part at the late Dhoolia meetings (and many too who did not) have dropped my acquaintance, assigning as a reason that "I have knocked the Dhoolia races on the head." Say it's me.

It has besides and moreover been signified to me that little doubt can exist as to the writer of divers papers on sundry contraband subjects, all of which might as well have been let alone. They mean me, I know.

This is pretty well, I thank you! Let me see. I have attempted to "write down" the Magazine (very bad indeed), and have succeeded in "writing down" Nimrod (worse). I have "done up" the Nuggur Pack (no great harm that); and have "knocked the Dhoolia Races on the head" (no great loss either); and if I live to see the publication of No. 13 (and

never was in better health than at this moment), I will do something still worse than all.

Yours cordially,

OLD GOOSEBERRY.

With jest and banter

On they canter,

When all steady

Beaters ready