class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[6]"/> of Astley’s, began to exhibit a way of making a horse lie down, which bore as much resemblance to Mr. Rarey’s system, as Buckstone’s or Keeley’s travestie of Othello would to a serious performance by a first-rate tragedian. Mr. Cooke pulling at a strap over the horse’s back, was, until he grew, by practice, skilful, more than once thrown down by the extension of the off fore-leg.

Indeed, the proof that the circus people knew neither the Rarey plan, nor the results to be obtained from it, is to be found in the fact, that they continually failed in subduing unruly horses sent to them for that purpose.

A friend of mine, an eminent engineer, sent to Astley’s, about two years ago, a horse which had cost him two hundred pounds, and was useless from a habit of standing still and rearing at the corner of streets; he was returned worse rather than better, and sold for forty pounds. Six lessons from Mr. Rarey would have produced, at least, temporary docility.

Monsieur Baucher, in his Méthode d’Equitation, says, speaking of the surprise created by the feats he performed with trained horses,—“According to some, I was a new ‘Carter,’6-* taming my horses by depriving them of rest and nourishment: others would have it, that I tied ropes to their legs, and suspended them in the air; some again supposed that I fascinated them by the power of the eye; and part of the audience, seeing my horses (Partisan, Capitaine, Neptune, and Baridan) work in time to my friend Monsieur Paul Cuzent’s charming music, seriously argued that the horses had a capital ear for music, and that they stopped when the clarionets and trombones ceased to play, and that the music had more power over the horse than I had. That the beast obeyed an ‘ut’ or a ‘sol’ or ‘staccato,’ but my hands and legs went for nothing.

“Could any one imagine that such nonsense could emanate from people who passed for horsemen?

“Now from this, although in some respects the same class of nonsense that was talked about Mr. Rarey, it does not seem that any Parisian veterinary surgeon staked his reputation on the efficacy of oils and scents.”

M. Baucher then proceeds to give what he calls sixteen “Airs de Manége,” which reflect the highest credit on his skill as a rational horseman, using his hands and legs. But he proceeds to say—“It is with regret I publish the means of making a horse kneel, limp, lie down, and sit on his haunches in the position called the ‘Cheval Gastronomie,’ or ‘The Horse at Dinner.’ This work is degrading to the poor horse, and painful to the trainer, who no longer sees in the poor trembling beast the proud courser, full of spirit and energy, he took such pleasure in training.

“To make a horse kneel, tie his pastern-joint to his elbow, make fast a longer line to the other pastern-joint, have this held tight, and strike the leg with the whip; the instant he raises it from the ground, pull at the longeing line to bend the leg. He cannot help it—he must fall on his knees. Make much of the horse in this position, and let him get up free of all hindrance.

“As soon as he does this without difficulty, leave off the use of the longeing line, and next leave both legs at liberty: by striking him on the shins with the whip, he will understand that he is to kneel down.

“When on his knees, send his head well to the off-side, and, supporting him with the left rein, pull the right rein down against his neck till he falls to the near side; when down at full length, you cannot make too much of him; have his head held that he may not get up too suddenly, or before you wish him. You can do this by placing your right foot on the right reins; this keeps the horse’s nose raised from the ground, and thus deprives him of the power of struggling successfully against you. Profit by his present position to make him sit up on his haunches, and in the position of the ‘Cheval Gastronomie.’”

The difference between this and Rarey’s plan of laying down a horse is as great as between Franklin’s kite and Wheatstone’s electrical telegraph; and foremost to acknowledge the American’s merits was M. Baucher.

So little idea had cavalry authorities that a horse could be trained without severity, that, during the Crimean war, a Mademoiselle Isabel came over to this country with strong recommendations from the French war minister, and was employed at considerable cost at Maidstone for some months in spoiling a number of horses by her system, the principal features of which consisted in a new dumb jockey, and a severe spur attached to a whip!

It is true that Mademoiselle Isabel’s experiment was made contrary to the wishes and plans of the head of the Cavalry Training Department, the late General Griffiths; but it is not less true that within the last two years influential cavalry officers were looking for an improvement in training horses from an adroit use of the whip and spur.

From the time of Alexander the Great down to the Northumberland Horse-Breaker, there have been instances of courageous men who have been able to do extraordinary things with horses. But they may be divided into two classes, neither of which have been able to originate or impart a system for the use of ordinary horsemen.

The one class relied and relies on personal influence over lower animals. They terrify, subdue, or conciliate by eye, voice, and touch, just as some wicked women, not endowed with any extraordinary external charms, bewitch and betray the wisest men.

The other class rely on the infliction of acute pain, or, stupefaction by drugs, or other similar expedients for acquiring a temporary ascendancy.

In a work printed in 1664, quoted by Nolan, we have a melancholy account of the fate of an ingenious horse-tamer. “A Neapolitan, called Pietro, had a little horse, named Mauroço, doubtless a Barb or Arab, which he had taught to perform many tricks. He would, at a sign from his master, lie down, kneel, and make as many courvettes (springs on his hind-legs forward, like rearing), as his master told him. He jumped over a stick, and through hoops, carried a glove to the person Pietro pointed out, and performed a thousand pretty antics. He travelled through the greater part of the Continent, but unfortunately passing through Arles, the people in that ‘age of faith,’ took him for a sorcerer, and burned him and poor Mauroço in the market-place.” It was probably from this incident that Victor Hugo took the catastrophe of La Esmeralda and her goat.

Dan Sullivan, who flourished about fifty years ago, was the greatest horse-tamer of whom there is any record in modern times. His triumph commenced by his purchasing for an old song a dragoon’s horse at Mallow, who was so savage “that he was obliged to be fed through a hole in the wall.” After one of Sullivan’s lessons the trooper drew a car quietly through Mallow, and remained a very proverb of gentleness for years after. In fact, with mule or horse, one half-hour’s lesson from Sullivan was enough; but they relapsed in other hands. Sullivan’s own account of the secret was, that he originally acquired it from a wearied soldier who had not money to pay for a pint of porter he had drunk. The landlord was retaining part of his kit as a pledge, when Sullivan, who sat in the bar, vowed he would never see a hungry man want, and gave the soldier so good a luncheon, that, in his gratitude, he drew him aside at parting, and revealed what he believed to be an Indian charm.

Sullivan