Virtue and vice—Sowing wild oats—They can all jump—Drive down Box Hill—A gig across country.

The intelligence of the horse, and his judgment in hesitating to perform feats which, if attempted, must result in dangerous accidents, have afforded many proofs of equine sagacity. On the other hand there are bolters and kickers which indulge in these vices apropos to nothing, and at times when a bad accident must inevitably ensue.

The worst vices of the horse are comprised in the two faults I have named. “Bolting” means shying, running away, shifting suddenly out of the road, or turning round short without notice. “Kicking” includes all the damage that can be inflicted on man, carriage, harness, etc., by a living catapult tipped with iron.

There is a third defect—one of character—denominated “sulk.” This is most tiresome and trying, and, if not carefully and promptly dealt with, may never be eradicated.

One thing is quite certain, that punishment will not avail. Patience offers the only chance. If the weather be fine and the driver in no particular hurry, a daily paper is an excellent antidote to this evil.

I knew an instance of a sulky horse being checked when he attempted to move, and forced to stand in one place almost in one position, till his owner had read through The Morning Post (advertisements and all), taking care to rustle the paper occasionally in order to let the animal know the cause of his detention. So effectual was this remedy, that his master had only to show him a newspaper to make him start like a lamb.

If, as is sometimes the case, a horse be absolutely determined not to move, and defies all the usual methods of persuasion—holding up the fore-leg, tying whip-cord tightly round his ear, pushing at the wheel, etc.—but throws himself down as if purposing to remain there, nothing is left but to put a wisp of straw under him, and set it alight. This, albeit it sounds cruel, need not inflict the slightest injury—since the horse at once obeys the instinct of alarm and pain, and never forgets the experience; so that straw, without the match, will always be sufficient for the future.

The ready obedience to his rider’s wishes, even when the horse’s own judgment does not confirm them, is another proof of the animal’s generous nature.

We constantly hear of young men sowing wild oats, but the rÉcolte is seldom, if ever, sufficiently successful to enable them to feed their horses upon the produce. There is indeed a morne silence in respect to the germinating of this seed, which suggests the inference that no crop can be expected till the grain has perished and the granary is bare!

A young friend of mine was driving his team through some unfinished streets in one of our favourite marine resorts. Not being much practised in the art of “pointing his leaders” in the direction which he intended to pursue, he allowed them to continue a straight course in a road which had no egress, but was blocked at the end by a dwarf wall three feet in height. A friend on the box beside him, finding he had passed the turn by which he could have got out, called to him:

“Hallo! pull up, man! You can’t get out, and you can’t turn round.”

Slacking his hand and fanning his wheelers, the young Jehu quietly replied:

“Never mind; they can all jump.”

And they did all jump. No refusal. The leaders got clear over without a scratch; the wheelers, having broken the pole and splinter-bar, got over the wall, but of course fell in a confused heap, and were a good deal hurt. The gentlemen on the box were shot to a considerable distance into some “ground to be let for building purposes” which lay convenient, “rubbish” being also shot there!

Many of my readers may remember that during the severe frost in the year that made the fortune of Murphy’s Almanac, Mr. Hunt, the successful rival of Messrs. Day and Martin in the manufacture of blacking, drove his team and drag across the Serpentine; a foolhardy feat, seeing that the Serpentine was a treacherous lake, and at that time of uncertain depth, both of mud and water.

Another instance, which illustrates forcibly the courage and obedience of the horse, may be in the reader’s recollection.

A gentleman drove his curricle and pair down Box Hill in Surrey, a descending declivity upon which most horses would find it difficult to stand, even without a carriage.

One more example I may adduce—which, had I not been an eye-witness of it, I should find it difficult to believe—illustrates the courage of the horse and the folly of the man.

A dealer was showing a horse, in harness, to a customer who, after a short trial, finding that the animal was likely to suit him, inquired if he would jump. Being assured that he would, the intending purchaser requested that a hurdle might be set up.

Another gentleman, probably Irish, then assumed the vacant seat in the tilbury, and to the dealer’s utter amazement the horse was dashed at the obstacle.

There was no refusal; the obedient animal bounded at the hurdle (a good stiff one), was brought up by the wheels and shafts of the gig, and tumbled backwards into the vehicle, uninjured.

The results to the gentlemen were less than their folly deserved—a broken collarbone apiece—sprained wrists, and various contusions, at least severe enough to confine them to their beds for several days.

I now humbly submit these my Road Scrapings to the reader, in the earnest hope that I may have, in some measure, cleared the way for those who are disposed to avail themselves of my suggestions, and enlivened it for those who are not.

THE END.

CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.