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.

This may sound as though I had, after all, but little real faith in riding-masters. It is certainly not so meant. I would not for a passing moment cast the smallest slur upon a painstaking and often much-maligned body of men, many of whom are capable of bringing a pupil forward in an almost marvellous manner, by the excellence of their method, and that ready observance of so-called “trifles,” in other words, a quick eye, and rapid detection of anything that is amiss, which are the riding-master’s most valuable attributes. Nevertheless, despite the good opinion in which I hold many instructors of the art, I am a very strong believer in the efficacy of self-help, and just as a novice at skating will, in spite of many sore falls and painful bruises, acquire skill if left to himself, long in advance of his brother-learner who is trusting to somebody to bring him along (being pretty certain to come down with a run whenever that “somebody” considers it expedient to let go), so, in like manner, I shall be ready to back my pupil, although I may never have seen her, to hold her position across country, in the park, by lane, street, or roadway, against the city demoiselle, who in a fashionable school has been taught to ride upon a carpet of tan, and who would be as much at sea in a crowded thoroughfare, or endeavouring to cross an intricate hunting-country, as an inexperienced vocalist would be if called upon to interpret the difficulties of Wagner or Bach.

Let me here especially impress upon you that, if you value your prospects as a future good rider, you should not suffer anything to induce you to accept the services as instructor of John the coachman, or James the groom. It is lamentable to see the manner in which parents and guardians of the present day give up the teaching of their charges to this class of persons, not one of whom has any more idea of how a lady ought to manage a horse, than of instructing her in the etiquette of the dinner-table, or the intricacies of the valse. On the evils of the system, I need not now enlarge; they ought to be apparent to even the most obtuse; suffice it to say, that fathers and mothers who permit their daughters to be taught by studgrooms ought not to wonder when these personages impart another and different style of knowledge to the pupils whom they have been unwisely privileged to instruct.

To provide yourself with a suitable horse will be the first thing necessary. It is a cruel injustice to a pupil for a master to expect her to learn upon any chance animal that may happen to come in her way. Never attempt such a thing. Respect your rights, and exercise your privilege by selecting an appropriate mount. If it is not within your power to do so at the time, put off your practice until it is. I cannot sufficiently urge upon you the importance of this advice. It is the very direst mistake for a beginner to attempt to learn upon an indifferent animal. Bear in mind that first impressions are never forgotten, that you will take all your future ideas of riding from the sensations which you derive from your elementary practice of the art, and, believe me, if you make your opening venture upon the back of a happy-go-lucky beast, one who is sometimes well-conducted, but oftener not, or who shies, or goes upon his shoulders, or indulges in cross-legged movements, or throws up his head, or bores (which is a still more objectionable habit), or if you are called upon to gain your first experience upon a rough trotter, or a loose galloper, who, to use a stable term, goes “slummucking” all over the place, you will care but little for riding during the remainder of your life. The discomforts which such things entail will dwell unpleasantly in your memory, and in fact create an ineffaceable impression; so much so, that even if, later on, you happen to be suitably mounted, a long time will have to elapse before those early impressions can be eradicated, or induced to fade even partially away, and a still longer one will go by before you can acquire that _confidence_ which is one of the first and chiefest necessities of a good and easy rider.

While on this subject, I may say that a timid horsewoman will never be a successful one. She may just as well give up the pursuit at once, for her rides will always be a punishment to her. With some, timidity is a natural weakness which cannot be got over, but with the majority it is the result of early impressions--an uncomfortable, unfading recollection of having learnt upon an unsuitable mount.

To illustrate what I say: most children are fond of driving, because they have never associated the pastime with other than pleasurable sensations. Neither risk nor discomfort is, as a rule, connected with the simple carriage exercise to which so many young persons are from babyhood accustomed; but, give a child his first experience of it by driving him in an open phaeton, behind a shying, kicking, or backing horse--one that winds up a long list of vagaries by spilling the vehicle and its occupants into an unpleasant dyke, and if that child does not carry his primary impressions through many a long course of after drives, I am a less sapient observer of human nature than I am generally accredited with being.

A lady’s horse, to be suitable, should be perfect in temper and training. Beauty may be dispensed with, decided acquisition though it undoubtedly is, but disposition and education may not. They are absolute necessities which cannot be done without, although a really _skilled_ horsewoman may, without undue risk, ride any animal that is fit for a man to ride, provided he be not fidgetty in mounting, or a decidedly hard-mouthed puller: two points with which I shall have to deal by-and-by.