They further told him that their neighbors had said it was not safe to give up check-reins altogether on all kinds of horses, and asked if such was the case.

“That is quite true,” Mr. Graham answered, “and I'm glad the subject was mentioned. There are some horses that it would be dangerous to drive without some kind of a check-rein; very fresh, unruly or vicious horses require something to prevent their getting their heads down and running away, but the rein should always be so loose that when a horse has his head in proper position the snaffle-bit will hang down from the corners of the mouth instead of being drawn up into the cheeks.

“Mr. Sidney says,” continued Mr. Graham, “that the object of a check-rein should be to divide the weight with the driver's hands so that when the horse drops his head below a certain point the weight of his mouth will come on the check-rein instead of upon the driver's hands. It also prevents horses, when standing still, from rubbing their heads against each other or against the pole where the bit is liable to be caught and cause an accident. Properly fitted, the check-rein does no harm and may be the means of preventing runaways, but unless it is slack when the horse has his head in a natural position it is not properly fitted. If a horse naturally carries his head down, like a pig, he is not suited for a carriage anyway, and should be employed solely as a working horse.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Charley, “and Mr. Webb also said that there are horses which cannot be driven safely without blinders.”

“Undoubtedly he is right,” was the reply, “but of all the horses now driven with blinders, nineteen out of twenty would be just as safe without them. A great deal depends on the training and early treatment of a horse; if he is broken without blinders he is very unlikely ever to need them, as he will be accustomed to the noise and sight of the carriage behind him and to what is going on around him. Some nervous horses are always looking back, and whenever the driver makes the least move they are apt to jump or become restive. Such horses may need blinders, but they should be put on in such a way as to allow a good range of vision in front. Several gentlemen have equipped their horses with narrow blinders, or more properly screens, that stand straight out from the side of the animal's head; he thus has a view in front and on both sides of him, but cannot seethe carriage and its occupant. Year by year the disuse of blinders increases, and we may hope for the day when they will be practically given up. Nobody thinks of putting them on saddle horses, and they are very rarely, if ever, used on trotting horses in harness. If not needed on race-trotters, why should they be placed on any other horse in harness?”

The subject of check-reins and blinders having been disposed of, Charley's next question referred to the use of the whip in riding or driving, and the spur in riding.

“For most purposes,” said Mr. Graham, “the whip should be more an article of ornament than of use. It should never be applied in anger, and in most applications it should be simply as a reminder. I have known horses that were quite lazy, and refused to move above a very slow pace, when their riders or drivers had no whips or spurs, but a single touch of either, at starting, rendered further use unnecessary. A lady's saddle horse requires a slight touch of the whip as an indication to take certain steps or to change from one pace to another. The best horsemen do not ride without spurs, but they very rarely use them, and then only for some real reason.

There is no need for the spurs to be sharp; in fact they had better be blunt, as the chances of injuring the horse are thus diminished.”

George asked how he could teach Major to follow him when he got off to walk a short distance, as frequently happens.

“For instruction on that point,” said Mr. Graham, “I will refer you to Mr. Rarey's book, where very clear instructions are to be found. They are copied on page 298 of 'The Book of the Horse.'”

George hunted up the paragraph and read as follows:

“Provide yourself with a gig-whip and three or four carrots cut in slices. Lead the horse out in either a halter or a common watering-bridle. A closed barn or riding school is the best place for all instruction, because there is then nothing to distract the horse's attention, but a quiet lane will do as well. Begin by fondling your horse, talking to him in horse-language, and giving him one or two bits of carrot, for which, if he has not been fed recently, he will be eager, and begin to push his nose into your hand for more. Then commence by leading him forward and backward with one hand, holding the gig-whip trailing behind you with the other, calling to him by name, if he has one, all the time, as thus:—Come—come along, come along, old fellow, touching him up gently or sharply, as the case may be, on his hindquarters, with the point of the gig-lash to drive him forward, and fondling or rewarding him as he comes to your hand. He will soon learn to press forward to avoid the flick of the whip behind, and to come to your shoulder to be caressed and rewarded. Instead of flying from you, he will learn to seek safety by your side, and follow you anywhere.”

“The whip has something to do with the instruction,” George remarked, as he read the foregoing paragraph to Charley.

“Yes,” said the latter, “but you see there are more carrots and caresses than whips. Here's something about the use, or rather the misuse, of the whip which I have just found in Our Animal Friends. The writer appears to know what he wants to say.”

“The whip is the parent of stubbornness in a high-spirited animal, while gentleness will win obedience, and at the same time attach the animal to us. It is the easiest thing imaginable to win the affection of animals, and especially horses. An apple, a potato, or a few lumps of sugar, given from the hand now and then, will cause the horse to prick up his ears at the sound of his owner's footstep, not with fear, but with a low whinnying note of pleasure. The confidence of the noblest beast thus gained, will lead him to obey the slightest intelligent tone of voice or indication of the bit. There is no such thing as balkiness to be found in a horse thus treated; he shows a desire to obey, whereas a few lashes of the whip, smartly applied, if he be a horse worth having, will arouse in him a spirit of retaliation and stubbornness that may cost the owner hours of trouble, and possibly danger, to life and limb. Horses are made gentle by kindness. They believe in the 'master' they love, and his voice will calm them in a moment of fear, or induce them to struggle forward, even when overladen, and when a whip would be sure to bring them to a stubborn standstill.

“No man knows the true value of his horse until he has won his regard and confidence, as it were. The whip will never know this. A kind hand and gentle voice will act like magic. Thus we have known women who could handle and drive horses that would almost invariably show vicious traits in the hands of a male driver.”

“And here's a good story,” said George, “which is copied from the Cornhill Magazine:

“'All horses have their fancies, and know perfectly well whom they have to deal with. I am just now exercised with Whitefeet. One day I found her in the drawing-room. To reach it she had walked into the house by the front entrance, and after traveling a corridor some forty feet long, had passed through three door-ways. There she was, examining furniture, smelling knick-knacks, and looking out of the window. I expected a scene, since she was as good as wild, having never been made acquainted with saddle, bridle or shoe. Yet she behaved like a young lady, not only daintily walking about among chairs and tables without damage, but exhibiting solitary self-consciousness, especially when she came to look at herself in the mirror. This she did with much interest, getting first one side of her face and then the other into the most appreciable position. It seemed to me that she smiled. When she had gazed her fill I said. 'Now come out, my dear.' Then she put her warm, velvety nose into the hollow of my uplifted hand and followed me, as I walked backward like a courtier into the paddock. And yet a professional breaker had found her hard to manage. She was evidently too refined for him, and resented his coarse manners. Horses show deliberate resentment. Years ago we had two piebalds, Marquis and Tag. I have a portrait, but knew them not, as they lived before I was born. You might—it was so related to me when a boy by my elders—call Tag anything but a 'blackguard.' Tradition says that an incredulous guest, having been told this, one evening after dinner, went up by himself to Tag, before breakfast the next morning, and quietly said: 'Tag, you are a blackguard.' He was thankful to get into the house with only half his coat torn off his back. Tag flew at him, open-mouthed, at once.'”

“The intelligence of horses in England is not monopolized by the high bred ones,” said Charley after listening to the account of White-feet in the parlor. “Here's what an Englishman says of the London omnibus horses!—

“'I like riding on an omnibus; it is the best way to see London, and I often sit by a 'bus driver's side to the end of his stage and back. So I see a good deal of the 'bus horse, and I find in him an animal who well repays watching. Most people know that he understands the conductor's bell; but few know how well he understands it. The London 'bus driver is a very Jehu, but his cattle need very little driving. I see them stop when the bell rings, and I see them start when it rings again, even when it does so within two seconds. Yet, when the 'bus is in full roll, and the conductor rings twice, to show the driver that he is 'full inside,' the horses know the double ring and never pause in their stride. Again, the 'bus horse knows the policeman's signal. I am driving down Oxford Street. At the corner of Bond Street, an old lady wants to cross the road. The policeman holds up his white-gloved hand and the horses stop, automatically, not pulled up by Jehu. The lady safely across, the policeman jerks his thumb forward, and the horses start again. A heavy dray is in front. Without sign from Jehu, the horses swerve to right and circumvent it. I sometimes think the conductor might drive by merely pulling his bellcord, and so save the driver's wages. Further, these sagacious beasts know all their stoppings; they know the import of the cue 'higher up,' and they know the clatter of the released brake. Observe, too, how skilfully the 'bus-horse picks out the dryer portion of the wet and slippery wood pavings. And see him cleverly skate down Waterloo Place, after a shower of rain or water-carts, with heavy 'bus behind him. What other animal could do the like?'”

“From a loaded omnibus horse, to a New York street-car horse, is a very natural step,” remarked George. “Listen to this account by Supt. Hankinson of Mr. Bergh's society, of the appreciation of kindness, which was manifested by some car-horses that had been turned out to rest on a farm near the city:

“'Among the animals were three which appeared to have formed an attachment for each other, for no matter where one went, the others would follow. One of the officers had plucked several apples from a tree on the grounds, and while eating the fruit the horses approached, and stood in line before him. The first, a sorrel, had a most perfect face, and evidently came from the best stock. The other two appeared to be of ordinary breed; but all were completely run down physically, by reason of the hard work they had done while engaged in dragging street cars. The poor creatures looked longingly at the officer as he ate the fruit, and when the sorrel was given a piece of an apple, the other two took positions, one on the right, the other to the left, with the sorrel well in front.

“'The sight of the group would have gladdened the heart of an artist. Their wistful looks beaming from beautiful eyes, as the officer preceeded to cut an apple into three parts and distribute it among them, would have pleased a sympathetic mind. When the last piece of apple was disposed of, and the officer moved to another part of the field, he was followed at a respectful distance by his dumb acquaintances, and from place to place, wherever duty required his presence, the three horses would accompany him, as if to show their appreciation of the simple kindness which had been shown them. A stone wall, about four feet high, divided the field from the highway leading to the place where the Society's patrol wagon, had been left, and when the officers had finished their work, they passed through a gate opening into the road. Sorrel and his companions did not propose, however, to be left in any such a summary manner, and followed along by the stone wall, until further progress was stopped by a high wooden fence.

“'When about half-way down the road, the officers heard sounds of furious galloping, and, to their amazement, the sorrel came dashing up, having leaped the stone wall, a feat which his companions either could not or would not venture to do. He followed after the officials until great results from his work. Superintendent Hankinson said recently, in an interview with a newspaper reporter:

“'We have not in these days the disgusting exhibitions of cruelty and brutality that disgraced civilization a quarter of a century ago. You rarely see lame horses dragging heavily loaded trucks or cars now. You seldom hear of men brutally beating their horses. People are no longer sickened by the spectacle of horses covered with bleeding, festering sores. The cattle yards are better and cleaner and healthier than they ever were. The swill-milk stables are gone. Dog fights and cock they had reached the vehicle, when he was captured and led back to the paddock.'”

Charley agreed with his brother that it was an interesting story. Their comments upon it naturally led to a discussion of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, which has been mentioned in a preceding chapter.

“You know it was founded by Mr. Bergh,” said Charley, “and before his death that gentleman had the satisfaction of seeing very fights are not as numerous as they were, and there is even an element of humanity in the brutal sport of pigeon shooting.

“'I have no hesitation in affirming that this changed condition of affairs is wholly due to the labors of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The Society was organized to work just such a reform, and I am sure the public will bear me out in the statement that its efforts have been crowned with success.

“'Just let me instance some phases of cruelty that were very common in this city in the early days of the Society, but which are very rarely heard of now:

“'What an ordinary spectacle it once was to see a horse, dragging a heavily laden cart or truck, fall from sheer exhaustion in the street! And the brutal driver would take a rung from his cart and beat the poor animal in the most horrible manner about the head and body. That spectacle is very rare in these days. Drivers of horses are particular now not to overload their trucks, and they think a good deal, if the horse happens to fall, before using a cart rung on him.

“'You remember, too, how certain dealers in poultry used to go through the streets carrying fowls by the legs and letting their heads drag along the sidewalk. Nowadays fowls are transported about the city in crates.

“'Bit burrs are not quite as numerous now as they were some years ago. They were quite a 'fad' in society once. They were made of leather about three inches in diameter, and one such was thickly studded with long, sharp tacks. These burrs were fastened to the bit and placed on each side of the horse's mouth. They were a constant source of agony to the horse, but they pleased society because they made the horses jump and prance as though possessed of an exuberance of animal spirits. The horse's attitude and antics were magnificent, but it was magnificent agony, for those tacks tore and lacerated the tender flesh about the mouth in the most horrible manner. That burr was a most diabolical instrument of torture.

“'Another society 'fad' which the Society stopped, or rather ameliorated, was the practice of clipping horses as cold weather approached. The Society's officers frequently saw teams that had just been clipped standing in front of houses in Fifth Avenue or before the big dry-goods establishments for hours, shivering with cold. Of course, they looked very neat and glossy, but the deprivation of the animal's covering was a horrible cruelty.

The Society's protest had its effect, and those who clipped their horses after that had the humanity to provide them with blankets.

“'Glanders and farcy, those contagious diseases, incurable in man as well as in beast, are not by any means as prevalent as they once were. And this is owing to the work of the Society in compelling people to keep their stables in good condition. Those diseases are the result of neglect, bad food, and damp, ill-ventilated stables.

“'Through the efforts of the Society an element of humanity has been introduced into the treatment of the cattle sent to New York for slaughter. The treatment these poor creatures got at one time was simply barbarous. We have officers at all the stock yards and abattoirs, and they make it their business to see that the animals are properly fed and cared for, and that their quarters are kept in a cleanly, healthy condition. A great reform has been consummated, too, by the Society, in the method of transporting live stock.

“'And speaking of live stock, reminds me of an incident that happened in the early days of the Society. Mr. Bergh—and how we all will miss him now that he is gone—was going through Chambers Street one day, when he saw two men leading a cow and her calf. The calf was literally skin and bones. There was a rope about the cow's neck and another about the calf's. The cow's udder was fearfully distended with the milk within it, and the calf made continual efforts to get at it, but the man pulled the poor little thing away. Well, Mr. Bergh stopped the man, took the rope from the calf's neck, and the moment he did so the famished thing made a dash for that distended udder and drank its fill. The men protested, but Mr. Bergh was inexorable, and he stood there during twenty minutes, the center of a crowd of five hundred people, while the poor calf got the first good square meal of its life.

“'Dog fights and cock fights—brutal, cruel, demoralizing exhibitions—were quite a feature of metroplitan life at one time, but are, happily, becoming more and more rare. People who like that so-called 'sport,' to indulge their propensity are now found to sneak off like so many thieves or felons to some stable or loft in the country, and there have their 'fun' in the constant fear of interruption by Mr. Bergh or of the police.

“'The Society, at one time, had great trouble with the street railroad companies, which persisted in driving lame, crippled, sick and disabled animals; in salting their tracks and overloading their cars to a fearful degree. But there has been a marked reform in all these particulars, and I think I can say the car horses of the city to-day are in very good condition.

“There can be no doubt that the twenty-two years of the Society's existence have been fraught with great good to the animals that minister to the needs of man. Our Society has grown to enormous proportions, and has branches in every State and city, and almost every town and village, in the country. Since its organization the Society in New York has prosecuted 13,850 cases in the courts, suspended 35,108 disabled animals from work, humanely destroyed 24,099 horses disabled past recovery, and removed 4444 disabled horses from the streets in its ambulances. Last year the Society prosecuted 797 cases of cruelty in the courts, suspended 3456 disabled animals from work, destroyed 2546 disabled horses, destroyed 1102 small animals disabled past recovery, removed 522 disabled horses from the streets in ambulances, and received and investigated 3773 complaints.

“It must not be supposed that the existence of so many cases of cruelty indicates an increase in the cruel treatment of animals; the large figure is rather due to the greater facilities the Society now possesses for the detection of such offences.

“Our paid officers are of course limited in number, but every humane person in New York can be said to be a detective of the Society. We receive a great many complaints, investigate them thoroughly, and then report to the complainants the result of such investigations. People write to tell us a certain man is in the habit of beating his horse or of feeding swill to his cows, or that a dog is dying in a vacant lot up-town, or that boys are in the habit of stoning birds in a certain locality. All these things we look into, and when we catch the guilty parties practicing the cruelty complained of we arrest and prosecute them. With all these aids it is clear the work of the Society has been very much simplified and more thorough, but it can be much more so by a further cooperation of the public. That we look for and hope to obtain.”

Our young friends agreed that Mr. Bergh had done a great work which should be commemorated by a monument in his honor. “Magnificent monuments have been erected to men far less deserving than he,” said Charley. “If the animals whom he befriended could contribute, many thousands of dollars would be subscribed at once. All the more noble was his philanthropy, because the objects of it could never know their benefactor.”

Charley and George were not long in possession of their horses before they discovered that quite an attachment had been formed between Cobweb and Rover, which was followed by a similar friendship between Major and Dash. Whenever the horses were taken out for exercise the dogs accompanied them and seemed to enjoy the run very much. At night the dogs slept in the stalls with the horses, coiling up under the manger while the steeds were standing, but nestling down among their feet or close to their bodies when they were lying down.

“That's nothing remarkable,” said Mr. Graham, when the boys told him of the equine and canine friendships.

“Dogs and horses are very often mutually attached and sometimes are able to be of service to each other.”

“How is that?” Charley asked.

“There is a story told of an English gentleman who had a fine hunting horse, which was so fond of a greyhound that he was always uneasy when the latter was out of sight. The gentleman used to call at the stable to have the dog take a walk with him, and when he did so the horse always looked after him and neighed uneasily. When the dog returned to the stable he always ran immediately to the horse and licked his nose, the horse returning the greeting by rubbing the dog's back.”

“One day when the groom had taken the horse out for exercise the dog followed, and during the promenade he was attacked by a larger dog which threw him down and was rapidly getting the best of the encounter. Thereupon the horse threw back his ears, and in spite of the efforts of the groom to restrain him, he rushed at the strange dog and seized him with his teeth. He took a good grip of the dog's back that made him quit his hold on the greyhound, and then he shook him till the skin gave way. Under these circumstances the strange canine was not disposed to renew the attack on the greyhound, but ran off as fast as his wounds would permit. As he did so the horse pranced about very proudly, and was evidently quite happy at being of service to his smaller friend.”

“I've read,” said Charley, “about a horse and cat that were great friends, the cat generally sleeping in the horse's manger. When the horse was going to have his oats, he used to take the cat very gently by the skin on her back, just as cats pick up their kittens, and lift her into the next stall, so that she wouldn't be in his way while he was eating his food. How he learned that cats should be lifted in that way was a mystery, but he certainly did it so that he never hurt her in the least. She seemed to understand it perfectly, and whenever he put her out of the manger she stayed away till he had eaten his oats. He always liked to have her about him, and she frequently climbed on his back and seemed perfectly at home there.”

“Here's a story,” said George, “about a race between a colt and a locomotive, and according to the account, it was a lively race. It was printed in the Pittsburgh Despatch, and here it is:

“'Information comes of a remarkable and exciting race between an express train, on the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad, and a three-year-old colt one day last week. The colt belongs to Vince Carpenter, at Limestone Station, in Carter County, Kentucky. When the express train arrived at Limestone, on the day in question, the colt stepped on the track in front of the engine, and when the train started the colt started also, keeping some distance ahead of the engine until a large trestle was reached at the next stopping-point, a distance of five and a quarter miles from Limestone. The colt started over the trestle, but fell down, and the race came to an end. The engine stopped, a rope was attached to the colt and it was removed from the track.

“'In the race of five and a quarter miles, which was reported to have been made in the short time of thirteen minutes, the colt jumped several cow gaps, crossed numerous small trestles, and ran around one or two bridges.'”

Charley's mention of the friendship between a horse and a cat naturally turned the conversation in the direction of cats, and led to several stories about those domestic favorites. We will give some of these anecdotes in the next chapter. Before the conference broke up, George asked a question which he had seen in a newspaper: “Is there any future life for animals?”

Mr. Graham said he had never given the subject a thought, and had no opinion to offer. He read the following, which was written for Our Dumb Animals by George T. Angell, in answer to the question, in the very words in which George had asked it:—

“We answer, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, thought there was. So did those eminent Christian Bishops, Jeremy Taylor and Butler. Coleridge advocated it in England, Lamartine in France, and Agassiz in America. Agassiz, the greatest scientist we ever had on this continent, was a firm believer in some future life for the lower animals. A professor of Harvard University, has compiled a list of one hundred and eighty-five European authors who have written on the subject. Among the leading clergy in Boston, who have publicly expressed their belief in a future life for animals, are Joseph Cook, Trinitarian, and James Freeman Clark, Unitarian. Some years ago a man left by will for Mr. Bergh's Society, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Relatives contested the will on the ground that he was insane because he believed in a future life for animals. The judge, in sustaining the will, said that he found that more than half of the human race believed the same thing.”

“Why do I love horses? Listen, and I will tell you,” said a gentleman, whom the author of this volume has known for nearly twenty years. He is a prominent man of business in New York, but modestly declines to have his name in print, so we will call him Mr. A..

“When a boy, living at home on a Vermont farm, my father owned a pair of spirited grays, one being a special pet, never seeming weary and never refusing to go anywhere or to do any service asked of him. His mate was of the other sort, sulky, ugly, and a thorough shirk. My pet had formed a strong personal attachment for me, would always whinney when he heard my step, in fact seemed to have the love of a dog for his master.

“Coming down the mountain with a heavy load, by a road plowed out for a single track, and snow three feet and more deep on either side, we met an old gentleman and lady in a single cutter, who could not or thought they could not, turn from the road to allow us to pass.

“The off horse, the ugly one, refused to turn into the snow, and I stepped forward of him, taking him by the head, standing in the snow half my depth. Instead of accepting my invitation to follow my lead, he reared and came down upon me, throwing me on my back, with my head just out from under his chest, both of us lying at full length in the snow.

“Now my pet showed his love and that he saw where the trouble lay. Taking his mate by the side of the lip in his teeth, he lifted him up upon his fore feet, then supposing his duty done, let go his hold, when at once the rascal came down again, this time with one knee upon my chest, nearly crushing it in, and making breathing almost impossible.

“The old gentleman and lady screamed, and I feared fright of my horses would be an added danger, but instead, no wise man's head was ever clearer as to duty in time of danger, than was that of my equine friend. Taking his mate again by the side of his lip and with a strong grip of his teeth, he lifted and held him sitting on his haunches as a dog would have done, and with one fore foot bowed out on either side of me. Getting hold of the harness I dragged myself from under my captor, when Billy showed in no doubtful manner that he meant all he had done. His whinney was like a cry of joy. He called to me, danced, rubbed his head against me, and showed plainly as language could have done that instinct and love had joined in saving my life. Was it reason or instinct or inspiration.

“It seemed like a dog's thoughtful, unselfish love, but in the story of horses, I have never known such devotion. Now you know why I love horses, and why cruelty to one of them is, to me, like a cruel injury to a true friend.”

A lady, with whom the author of this volume is well acquainted, writes as follows on this subject:

“I think that blinders ought to be abolished by law, but if we cannot get rid of them that way, every friend of the horse should exert all possible influence to induce people to abandon their use. When I first obtained my horse 'Tatters' he had never been driven with an open bridle, and had never been used under a saddle, but he had the reputation of being exceedingly gentle and afraid of nothing except the steam railways and the elevated cars. The statement was correct, as he would stand up and strike toward them with his front feet, snorting and trembling in great terror. I needed a horse both for riding and driving, so I ventured to try him under the saddle before purchasing.

“I am not a very fearless person, as you know, so I went through all the prescribed rules laid down for horse-breakers, such as giving him the saddle to smell and examine before placing it on his back, putting the skirt of my riding habit under his nose to rub with his upper lip and feel of in his own way, which he did very thoroughly, taking about seven minutes before he seemed entirely satisfied. After mounting and riding round the ring once, I feared Mr. 'Tatters' was balky, for if I wanted him to pass between other riders he would stop suddenly and refuse to move on until a space of six or eight feet was made for his horseship to pass, then he would trot along quietly until the same thing occurred, and so on, until I bethought me that perhaps he was under the impression that the carriage was behind him. I then wheeled him around two or three times in as small a space as possible, at which he showed considerable fear and he kept a sharp look out for splinters.

“After about two weeks of this performance daily a fine afternoon tempted me to a ride in the park. Then the question of 'blinders' came up, and each of the 'horsey' people at the stable contributed his quantum of caution to the effect that Tatters would shy at everything and run away for nothing the first time he went out and saw much, but I argued there was no help for it; one could not put blinders on a saddle horse, and there was a heap of courage in remembering that Tatters had not worn blinders when he went to the blacksmith's to be shod.

“I shall never forget the delightful afternoon we—Tatters and I—had. Tatters enjoyed the prospect of the fun—turning his head from side to side, and every little while heaving a great sigh of satisfaction which every lover and owner of a horse recognizes and understands.

“Our usual run now is around the reservoir and park, then up to Macomb's Dam bridge. Glad of company when it is congenial, good company for each other when alone. One day, being with a friend who wished to ride over to the Riverside Drive, I assented, forgetting for the moment that we must pass under the elevated railway in order to get there from Seventh Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fourth Street. Fearing ridicule, I would not turn back after assenting to the proposition; so, taking an extra firm grip of the saddle and with a good deal of thumping in the region of my watch-pocket as we approached the dredded object, and assuring Tatters in the sweetest tones possible that 'Nothing will harm the boy! Missis wouldn't let anything hurt her Tatters,' etc. etc.—imagine my surprise when Tatters, after looking up at the passing train and then turning his head first to the left and then to the right, seeing where the train and the noise came from and where it went, quietly walked along under it perfectly satisfied.

“I at once made up my mind that if he could see the objects which worried him we should get along better together, so I determined that I would take the blinders off the next time he went in harness. The people at the stable where I keep him tried, in every way, to discourage my doing so. 'He will be scared and run away when he sees the carriage behind him, and will kick and smash it to pieces.' 'It will never be safe for you to do it.' 'He will see everything at the side of the road, and you can't drive him at all that way,' and so on, without end. But; I had a woman's obstinacy and determined to try him.

“When they found I would have my way they said I must have him handled by a trainer and driven in a breaking cart until he was accustomed to the open bridle.

“So it was arranged, and I made an appointment with the trainer. Tatters was harnessed into the breaking cart, and with a good stout kicking strap attached. Then the trainer—looking as though he dreaded the job—took the reins and mounted the seat—carefully watched by about twenty grooms, who had come out on the sidewalk to see the fun, and were offering bets on the result. The trainer drove from Fifty-ninth Street up the Boulevard about a dozen blocks and back again, passing under the elevated trains each time. Tatters never behaved better in his life. 'Now,' I said, after walking him around the phaeton with the top first up, and then down, 'harness him into it and drive him up the Boulevard and back again,' and the trainer did so, with the same result. Then I got into the phaeton alone and drove around Central Park and up over the bridge at the end of Seventh Avenue, and Tatters never showed the least alarm, and he did not worry and sweat when going fast, as before; but, on the contrary, seemed to enjoy the novelty. He has never been driven with a blind bridle since, and never will be as long as I have him. He certainly goes better than ever before, he is no longer afraid of the trains on the elevated railway, he used to be scared when bicycles came up alongside of him, and now he pays no attention to them.

“It seems to me that when a horse can see anything properly he doesn't mind it half as much as when he hears a noise and can't see what is making it. Horses are slow in understanding, but once convinced they never forget. When we are near a railway or anything else that is likely to frighten him I talk to Tatters and let him take his own time to see what it is, and then he concludes he isn't to be harmed, and pays no attention to it the next time he sees it. He is a great pet; he eats out of my hand and is very careful not to let his teeth harm me, he recognizes my voice, points his ears and whinnies whenever I go into the stable and say, 'Where's my Tatters?' He appreciates every little kindness, and seems to try to do his best to please me. We are great friends; I always try to understand what he is thinking about, and act accordingly. No one can win the confidence of a horse without being kind to it, and above all—-patient.”—S. A. D.