CHAPTER XII.

SUBJECT OF FEEDING RESUMED.--COOKED FOOD RECOMMENDED.--EFFECTS OF RAW OATS UPON "PLEADER."--SERVANTS' OBJECTIONS.--SNAFFLE-BRIDLE, AND BIT-AND-BRIDOON.--KINDNESS TO THE POOR.--AN UNSYMPATHETIC LADY.--AN UNGALLANT CAPTAIN.--WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN?--_AU REVOIR!_

My remarks upon the subject of feeding horses, having gained publicity through the columns of the press, have called forth much comment and adverse criticism. Some have evidently considered--and have not hesitated to say--that I have written the veriest twaddle; but happily there is a reverse side to the picture, and many (including one very august personage indeed) have expressed a determination to adopt my system. Beans are such excellent feeding that I cannot object to an admixture of them, and to most English horses they are almost a necessity; but in Ireland we care little about them. It is unwise to give too much hay. I said "abundance" on a former page, but the word, as I used it, did not signify a large quantity. For horses fed three times daily upon a plentiful measure of oats, crushed Indian corn, and beans if desired, a few handfuls of hay will be amply sufficient, and this should be placed where the horse can stoop to it, but never above him, as in the effort to disengage it from the rack the seeds fall in his eyes and produce irritation, and sometimes permanent disease.

A bran-mash on a Saturday night, or after a hard day, forms an admirable variety to the ordinary feeding routine. Let the bran be thoroughly well steeped and mixed, and a portion of cooked oats or chopped carrots intermingled with it. This will induce almost any animal to partake of the bran, from which otherwise many delicate feeders will resolutely turn.

I have strongly recommended cooked feeding, even against the uproar of a general outcry against it, because I have seen and proved its efficacy. Last November, on the first Tuesday in the month--the opening day with the Kildare hounds--we had a splendid run, during which, however, I was amazed to find that my great horse, Pleader, sweated heavily--a thing which had never previously been the case. In fact, it had always been my boast that when other horses were thoroughly done, mine had not turned a hair; but, on the day in question, he was in a white lather, and I thought appeared distressed. Upon coming home, and speaking about it in my stable, I was informed that the boiler was in some way out of order, and the horses had, unknown to me, been fed upon uncooked oats during the preceding three days. Had I required any confirmation of my theory, this circumstance would certainly have furnished it, and entirely defeats the general supposition that cooked food renders horses soft.

I have now given the best advice I can upon the subject of feeding, and I shall not again refer to it, nor to anything connected with the treatment or stable management of horses, as the subject is an endless one, everybody entertaining an opinion of his own, which it shall not be my ambition to upset. What I have said has been in kindness, and with a view to benefiting both man and beast; but I do not by any means expect the majority of my readers to coincide in my views. There is a stolid determination general throughout the world to stick to old customs and old-fashioned ways and habits, no matter how excellent the modern ones may be, and so the "horse and mill" go daily round. Masters object to my system because it involves an outlay in the erecting of a proper boiler and other necessary adjuncts; servants object to it because it gives them a little additional trouble. It is far easier to lounge to the oat-bin, fill a measure from it, and thrust it before the animal, not caring whether it is rejected or otherwise, than to fetch the water and fill the boiler and go through the labours of a process which, in itself exceedingly simple, is made to appear complicated and laborious by the amount of fuss and discontent which are brought to bear upon the work. There is an old saying, "If you want a thing well done, do it yourself"; but, unfortunately, there are some things--and this is one--which ladies and gentlemen cannot do, and there is no doubt whatever that servants accustomed to the old style of management will never willingly adopt the new--unless they belong to that rare and select and most exclusive _few_ who have their masters' interest at heart.

Much information has been asked of me relative to the subject of holding reins. How often shall I say that there is no fixed rule, and that a method which may look well for park-riding will be totally out of place in the hunting-field. I have been asked how I hold my own bridle, and I shall answer that I almost invariably ride with a single rein, and you can understand my method readily if you will follow me whilst I endeavour to explain. Take your pocket-handkerchief, pass it through the back of any ordinary chair, and bring the ends evenly towards you, holding them for an instant with your right hand, which must, _pro tem._, represent the buckle. Place your left hand within the loop thus formed, the little finger resting firmly against the near-side, about four inches above the right hand; grasp the opposite side between the forefinger and thumb, left hand (the two sides of the handkerchief representing the reins); press the off-side slightly inward with the pressure of your thumb, slipping it entirely away from the control of the right hand; then bring the near-side, which still is held loosely by the right, under the thumb of the left, and hold it firmly. You will thus see that you establish a sort of "cross rein," and that you have, and are able to maintain, a secure grip upon either side. By an outward movement or slight turning of the wrist, accompanied by pressure of the little finger, you will control your horse upon the near-side of his mouth, whilst by an inward movement and pressure of the forefinger you will be able to command him upon the other or off-side. It must be borne in mind that these movements should be from the wrist _only_, and not from the arm or shoulder. A good rider will keep the elbows close to the sides, just drawing the line finely between that pinioned look which is so disfiguring, and the detestable flapping, like the wings of an unquiet bird, in which so many riders, both male and female, so frequently indulge. I have seen ladies, who wished to have an appearance of hard riding, leaning forward in the saddle and working their elbows in an unsightly manner, the hands (influenced by the elbows) sawing also, and the poor horse, with open mouth and straining jaws, staggering along in distress, fighting his bridle, and presenting altogether a melancholy spectacle. A firm even seat, elbows close, head erect, and strong steady hands held _low_--these are the characteristics of a good and lady-like rider. In going across country put _both_ hands to your bridle, and keep your horse's head straight and well in hand, but do not attempt to pull him nor interfere with him at his fences, or you will undoubtedly come to grief. If you ride with a bit and bridoon my advice is, ride your horse--even though he be a puller--upon the snaffle, and keep the curb rein looped over your little finger, hanging quite loose, yet in such a position that you can if necessary take it up at a second's notice.

I cannot too often impress upon you the advisability of being conciliatory and kind in your manner to everybody with whom you may come in contact. No matter how exalted your rank may be, you can all the better afford to be courteous to those beneath you. Kind words cost nothing, and are as balm to the hearer. Many of the lower orders are quite as much gentry at heart, and far more so, than those who hide their unworthiness beneath the convenient shadow of a "family tree." I have been more than once pained upon hunting days by the extreme contempt and rudeness with which ladies have treated the poor, who have asked nothing from them save the innocent and inexpensive privilege of seeing them mount and canter away with the field. It is all very well to say, "I do not like to be stared at," but even to those who _most_ dislike it, surely it is worth a little self-sacrifice to see the undisguised enjoyment and listen to the original observations of the Irish peasantry, to whom a sight of the hounds--especially when followed by ladies--is a treat they never care to miss.

I was riding last winter in company with a lady, very noble, very handsome, very proud. We came up to a branch of a river, upon the brink of which some country folk had gathered, with the innocent desire of seeing it jumped. A poor man, very quiet-looking and harmless, was actually knocked down and immersed in the water by a reckless young officer, who galloped over him, and went on without even glancing back at the spot where the poor half-drowned creature stood wringing his dripping clothing, yet not uttering a syllable of reproach. My companion roared with laughter, first at the catastrophe, and then at me for sympathising with the sufferer. "Apologise!" she cried, in a high key. "_How_ could Captain Dash apologise to a man like that? It would be different had he been a _gentleman_." I thought so too, if the meaning of the word "he" had only been reversed; but I said nothing, and we went on.

A few fields further we came to a terrible obstacle--a high post and rails, with a deep and yawning ditch upon the landing side. Three or four of us went at it: the rest turned away and sought the road. I got over safely, my noble Pleader proving himself, as usual, worthy of my confidence. Captain Dash came next, safely also; and then my ill-starred lady friend, whose horse (an inferior timber-jumper) bungled, and left her completely prostrate upon the wet earth. Never a pause did Captain Dash make in his onward career, although he glanced back when he heard her shriek, and, incredible as it may appear, I thought I saw him smile, for it was ever his saying that ladies had no business hunting, and always deserved mischance; but the poor man, at whose immersion she had laughed a few moments before, came running to her relief, rendered her every assistance in his power, replaced her in the saddle, expressed regret for her accident, and positively declined to accept of any remuneration for his services.

Which of these men, think you, was the gentleman? I know what I thought respecting the question; and I judged that my friend's opinion was formed as mine, for she now loves and cares the poor, and suffers the rich to care themselves, as every true-hearted and Christian woman should; and, moreover, on glancing over a book of my poems which I lent her some time later, I found a leaf turned down, as though to mark these lines--

"What is a gentleman? Is it a thing Decked with a scarf-pin, a chain, and a ring, Dressed in a suit of immaculate style, Sporting an eye-glass, a lisp, and a smile? Talking of operas, concerts, and balls, Evening assemblies, and afternoon calls, Sunning himself at "at homes" and bazaars, Whistling mazurkas, and smoking cigars?

"What is a gentleman? Say, is it one Boasting of conquests and deeds he has done, One who unblushingly glories to speak Things which should call up a flush to his cheek? One who, whilst railing at actions unjust, Robs some young heart of its pureness and trust; Scorns to steal money, or jewels, or wealth, Thinks it no crime to take honour by stealth?

"What is a gentleman? Is it not one Knowing instinctively what he should shun, Speaking no word that could injure or pain, Spreading no scandal and deep'ning no stain? One who knows how to put each at his ease, Striving instinctively always to please; One who can tell by a glance at your cheek When to be silent, and when he should speak?

"What is a gentleman? Is it not one Honestly eating the bread he has won, Living in uprightness, fearing his God, Leaving no stain on the path he has trod? Caring not whether his coat may be old, Prizing sincerity far above gold, Recking not whether his hand may be hard, Stretching it boldly to grasp its reward?

"What is a gentleman? Say, is it birth Makes a man noble, or adds to his worth? Is there a family-tree to be had Shady enough to conceal what is bad? Seek out the man who has God for his Guide, Nothing to blush for, and nothing to hide; Be he a noble, or be he in trade, _This_ is the Gentleman NATURE has made."

Now, kind reader, farewell. If I have given you instruction, called a laugh to your lips, or taught you to prize and cherish the priceless creature which God has generously sent for our enjoyment and our use, I shall cheerfully lay aside my pen, happy in the conviction that I have not written in vain.

Yet, shall I say in the song-words,

"_Au revoir. Pas adieu!_"

for we meet again, I trust, soon and often; but the subject upon which I have been writing has come to an end.

Whilst acknowledging the kindness of my friends, I would desire also to shake hands with my enemies. Life is short, and so it behoves us to bear no malice. To those who have unkindly criticised me I offer freely a forgiving hand and heart. I have never wilfully offended any, and if my efforts have not come quite up to the standard of excellence which certain captious critics have set up, I have at least done my best, and have been careful, in propounding theories which might appear new and uncommon, to state that such things were according to my notions, in which, however, I did not expect all persons to coincide. So long as the world lasts so long will there be differences of opinion; but it is not because such exist that ill-feeling should creep in, and Christian charity become a thing of nought. In ancient days, when the Apostles were upon the earth, these things were as they are now; yet the Great Example, to whose pure and simple teaching we all hopefully look, inspired the command, "_Let brotherly love continue._"

So be it, reader, with you and with me.