Chapter III: The Origin of the Pacer (1)

Dar cum er tur’bul freshet up on Bigby Creek one year
An’ old Marse Noah ’lowed de moon was hangin’ mighty queer,
An’ if it didn’t change its chune an’ get up on its horn
Dar was gwineter be a freshet jes’ es sho’ es you was born!
Sho’ ’nuff it tuck to rainin’ an’ it kivered all de groun’,
An’ de crick it got to risin’ an’ er spreadin’ all erroun’
Till it crip up in the stable whar de ole gray mule wus stayin’
An’ skeered ’im so he jined de church an’ got right down to prayin’.
But dat didn’t stop de freshet, Nachur’ bleeves in er variety—
An’ de good Lord He don’t bank much on dis ober-sudden piety—
So He made it rain de harder—O He was mad es pizen’—
For de rain it kep’ er fallin’ an’ de crick it kep’ er risin’!

Sed de mule onto de yudder stock: “Dear frien’s, you all am sinners,
Better think mo ’bout yore mortal souls an’ less erbout yo’ dinners!
’Tis cla’r to my min’ sum ob you dun clean furgot yo’ raisin’
Er follerin’ arter idul gods—or mebbe chicken chasin’!
Dar’s Tom Hal and de Donk’y jes es wurldly es kin be, sah!
Dar’s jes’ one virchus man heah and its plain dat man am me, sah!
You kno’ yo’selves I’ve nurver had no meannes’ to attone fur,
I goes by whut de good book sez an’ nurver throws a stone, sah!”
He skeered ’em so he got ’em all to start up a camp meetin’,
An’ sech er crowd you nurver seed a wailin’ an’ a weepin’,
But dat didn’t stop de freshet—O de Lord was mad es pizen—
An’ de rain it kep’ er fallin’ an’ de crick it kep’ er risin’!

Den de ’possum cum frum out de woods, de coon from out de holler,
De ba’r frum out de canebrake an’ de horg frum out de waller,
De Speckled Bull, de Billy Goat—dey all cum in a hurry—
An’ got religion den an’ dar, for all ob ’em wus skurry!
So de mule he babtize ebry one—ebry son an darter—
“Salvation it am free,” he sed—“an’ dars no eend to water!”
Den Brudder Hal pass ’roun de hat to bild de Lord a fence, suh!
De Donk’y jine de church choir an’ bin in it eber sense, suh!
De bull dey make de Eunuck of—de Billy Goat de elder—
To hold de sister when she shout—an’ Billy he has held ’er!
But dat didn’t stop de freshet—O, de Lord wus mad as pizen—
An’ de rain it kep’ er fallin’ an’ de crick it kep’ er risin’!

Den sed de mule, es up he riz from prayer, an’ Satan tussle:
“Dar’s sech a thing es savin’ grace, an’ sech a thing as hustle!
It’s plain we’ve missed de track ob good Ole Marster’s secret wishes,
An’ if we all don’t bild er ark we’ll soon be food for fishes!”
So dey bilt er ark ob gopher-wood—de mule dey ’lected Noah—
Becase he tell ’em years ago he was in de ark befoah.
An’ dey bilt it strong an’ snug an’ tight—de crick it kep’ er risin’—
To hold ’em all dat creep or crawl—from de snake onto de bisin!
An’ den dey all chip in dey grub—de mule a bar’l ob brandy—
An’ wink his eye an’ laf an’ say: “Dese snakes cum mighty handy!”
But dat didn’t stop de freshet—O, de Lord wus mad as pizen—
An’ de rain it kep’ er fallin’, an’ de crick it kep’ er risin’!

Den de mule he float de ark out near de hill dey all wus founded,
An’ tell ’em all to swim for it or stay dar an’ git drownded!
“An’ lem me tell you now, my friends, I want no half-way racin’—
Dar’s jes’ one way for you to swim, an’ dat’s to swim a-pacin’.”
An’ den dey all struck Nachur’s gait—de snake led de processhun!
De coon, de b’ar, de eliphunt—dey swum like all possesshun!
All but Tom Hal, he stood an’ snort so sassy like an’ plucky,
An’ swore he wouldn’t pace at all—dat he cum frum Kentucky.
But when de water riz up an’ he see dat bar’l ob brandy
He bust de record gittin’ dar—an’ dun it mighty handy!
An’ when Ole Marster seed de gait, an’ dat dey all hed dun it,
He let ’em all go back to earth an’ live and breed upon it.
So dey all went back er pacin’, frum de bug unto de bisin,
An’ de rain it quit a-fallin’, and de crick it quit er risin’!

—OLE WASH.

It will be news to many of my readers when I tell them that the pacing gait is the oldest and most natural gait of the horse, and that the old pacer was the thoroughbred of antiquity, the companion of kings, the warhorse of mighty warriors, the animal that carried on his back the daughters of Pharaoh and the princesses of Babylon. And yet, when this gait began to outcrop among the trotters, making that grand type of the racehorse known as “trotting-bred pacers,” hundreds of people have been wondering “Where did it come from?” Let us see from whence it came:

There is no real difference in form between the trotter and the pacer. The theory of “structural incongruity” will do to talk about, but as a matter of fact there is no such thing, and a pacer paces and a trotter trots, not from his shape, but his head—his instinct.

When the curtain went up on antiquity, horses were pacing. They paced because it was the natural gait of the animal, the trot of later years being the artificial gait. We know that the horses of the ancients were small—pacing ponies—and the running horse was not developed until centuries after.

The oldest civilizations of which we have any record of the horse are the Egyptian and the Babylonian. On the tombs the horse was always carved pacing. The frieze of the Parthenon was the work of the great artist Phidias. His horses were pacers. Five hundred years before the Christian era the great sculptors of Greece and Rome put some of their greatest work into statues of horses—all pacers. Relics of some of the very earliest Greek friezes are still preserved in the British Museum and show the horses to be pacing. At the beginning of the Christian era the Romans had conquered the Britons and the horses they found there, or carried there, they called “ambulatores”—amblers—and during the five hundred years that Rome ruled the island these horses were the favorites for the saddle and light driving. In 1215 A.D. the barons wrenched from King John the famous Magna Charta, the great seal of which is a knight in armor, mounted on a pacing horse. In a previous chapter we have told how Sir Walter Scott describes them and how for centuries the pacing horse—the ambler—the jennet, was the favorite, if not the only saddle horse of the knights and ladies and the nobility.

Could such a horse have been a scrub? For many years there has lived in England a wealthy American who is an artist and a fond lover of horses—Mr. Walter Winans. I am indebted to Mr. Winans for many valuable discoveries about the pacer, the first of them being his letter and illustrations showing the original drawings from the Egyptian tombs, these carvings being copied by Mr. Winans while studying ancient Egyptian sculpture.

Some years ago, Mr. Walter Winans, of Brighton, England, sent me sketches of bas-reliefs taken from Egyptian tombs. While never having had before the pleasure of seeing a cut of the bas-reliefs sent to the writer by Mr. Winans, I have known of their existence and have repeatedly called attention to the fact that the past history of the pacer demonstrated beyond a doubt that he was a horse of the noblest blood, the war-horse of ancient battles, the companion of ancient kings and princes. The fact that he has been able to do what he has done is convincing proof of a past greatness somewhere in his breeding—a scrub would have died at the wire long ago. If “society” is looking for something that is blue-blooded, with a hoariness that no other blue-blooded can boast of; that is eminently respectable to a degree bordering on classical mythiness; that is more ancient than the pyramids and more respectable in lineage than the longest pedigree of Norman knight, I respectfully refer it to the pacer. My only regret in the matter is that the recognition, by “society,” of distinguished lineage, illustrious achievements and present worth cannot be a subject of mutual acknowledgment and congratulation.

Brighton, Eng., Jan. 23.

Dear Trotwood: I have brought the pacer to more than four
thousand years ago. Prof. J. E. Marey, Professor of the College
of France, has just published a book called “Le Movement,”
dealing with the correct drawings of men and animals in motion.
He gives two engravings, of which I enclose pen copies, one
of them from an Assyrian bas relief, the original of which
is in London, England, British Museum; the other is a copy
of an ancient Egyptian Bas-relief at Medynet-Abou, in Egypt.
They both represent horses pacing. Prof. Marey says (freely
translated from the French). “Examples of a pacing gait are
here accurately represented. It is of all gaits the easiest to
observe, and therefore to draw, on account of the symmetry of
movement.... Trotting, which is so often represented in modern
works, seems rarely to figure in that of the ancients.”

I noticed lately in one of your contemporaries, which goes in
for “society,” a suggestion that pacing races should not be
held on days that trotting is indulged in, so as not to offend
road riders (a long list of which it gives), who dislike to see
a pacer. It is a good thing that these road riders did not live
four thousand years ago, or they would have been shocked to
see all the rulers and great men of Assyria and Egypt driving
pacers. The ancient Romans called trotters “tormentores,” on
account of the way they shook them up, riding without stirrups.

Referring to the pictures again, the reason the figures
holding the symbols of authority (the half-circles) and the
groom at the horses’ heads being so small, is because that in
ancient Egyptian conventional art figures were not drawn in
their proper proportions, but large or small, according to the
importance of the person represented.

The Assyrian pacer looks as if he must be the champion stallion
of the period.

Yours truly,

WALTER WINANS.

I agree fully with Mr. Winans concerning the form of the Assyrian pacer above. Fewer can show up today with a finer turned muzzle, face and neck, or show more strength, beauty and symmetry in form than the one in the outline above. Concerning the cobwebbed suggestion of the “society” paper about pacers being barred the track on trotting days, I beg to assure the author of the above letter that the brilliant idea died a-borning. There is plenty of brains and progressive spirit yet left among the managers of American trotting associations, and these gentlemen prefer rather to increase than to diminish the interest in the light harness horse. The pacer and the trotter are indissolubly linked together—in interest, destiny and blood. They have, too, much of the same breeding, too many kindred ties. Joined, as they are, by so many common ancestors, united as they are by so many great horses, no number of society asses can now pull them asunder.

In discussing this subject later, Mr. Winans wrote:

“There is one difference between a trotter and a pacer which
I can show in sculpture, which has never been shown before by
any artists, as painters cannot show it. I mean the upright,
locomotive-like progression of a trotter and the side stride
of the pacer. In a picture the difference of the gaits can
only be shown by the position of the legs. In sculpture we
can show how a trotter puts down his feet on each side of
the imaginary line drawn on the ground straight under him,
in the direction he is going, as the following illustration
will show.

“But this is not true with the pacer. On the contrary, he
puts his feet right on the line, as the following diagram
will show:

“I can better explain myself by the following: If I model a
horse standing still, and then cut off the two left side legs
and model fresh ones in the act of being lifted up, so as to
represent one position of the pace, I would have to push or
bend the body of the horse over to the left till a plumb line
from the center of his body would hang down to touch a line
drawn on the ground from his two feet touching the ground,
but if I wanted to make a trotter from the same model of a
standing horse, I could make the fresh legs without having
to bend over the body to either side.

“It is curious that the bronze statuettes of the pacer would
not stand firm unless I bent the body over, which shows that
nature knows just how to place animals so that the center
of gravity should be right. Horses in the instantaneous
photograph positions balance on their legs, but if I
model in the conventional position of the run, I have
to put a prop under the bronze horse’s belly, like most
artists do.”

The subject of the proper balancing of harness horses is generally recognized as one of the most important in the business, and it is highly probable that more otherwise good drivers fail there, in the proper management of their horses, than in any other thing. Properly balanced, the battle is half over in the training of a naturally speedy horse.

The idea suggested in the letter above, if true, as it undoubtedly appears to be, naturally suggests that a very different system should be adopted in the proper balancing of pacers and trotters. It is impossible, of course, to tell how much the individuality of each horse would assert itself in attaining the ends sought in this direction, but so far as the mere matter of avoirdupois is concerned, it will be seen that on general principles the pacer, on account of moving a rear and fore foot at the same time, can come nearer having both shoes on those feet equal, than the trotter, where the aim should be to equalize the alternate feet.

It is very plain the balancing required for one will not do for the other, and horsemen who think they know all about a pacer from successful handling of trotters will find out their error. For my own part, I believe it requires less skill to balance a pacer than a trotter, for the reason that, because of his simple action he can come nearer wearing the same weight on all feet than any other horse. As proof of this I have only to refer my readers to the fact that nearly all the very fast pacers carry but little weight, equally distributed, and require little protection.

This correspondent has placed us under additional obligations by enclosing us a pen drawing, executed by himself, on a trip into Northern Russia, which we reproduce below, and which he calls “a typical pacer from Finland, Russia, used by the peasants for farm work, fourteen hands high.” As Finland is in the northern part of Russia, beyond the latitude where the native horses of any country grow much higher than fourteen hands, the height is not to be wondered at; and as the peasants of Finland are of the poorer classes the natural inference is that the pacer is a natural product of northern Europe, and, no doubt, may be found in their native state in many, if not all, of these countries, such as Siberia, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, The Netherlands, and even North Germany.

“There is no native trotter in England,” writes Mr. Winans. “That is to say, there is no breed of horse that can beat the very low standard of 3:30. The so-called Norfolk trotter is too slow and is never used for racing purposes in England. To supply this dearth of trotters, they had to import from Russia and the United States. Now, a fast trotter from the States costs more than the class of men who go in for trotting in England cared to pay, so pacers, which could go in three minutes or a little better, were got over instead, and as the difference between trotting and pacing is not understood in England, they got to be called trotters, and raced as trotters. As a proof of their not understanding pacers, a big dealer in horses saw a friend of the writer’s driving an American pacer and said, ‘There, that is what I call trotting in good form!’ The other country the English import trotters from is Russia. Now, in Russia there are two sorts of trotters, the ordinary Orloff carriage horse, which can go close to three minutes, if a good one, and the racing Orloff trotter, which can go up to about 2:20. Now, the latter are too expensive, so the ordinary Orloff carriage horses were imported. It was soon found that they were not fast enough to have any chance even against very poor American pacers, so the American pacer became the trotter of England. This refers to the high class, or what corresponds to the free-for-all trots. There is another lower-down class of trotting which is by far the most common in England. The races, or generally matches, take place on the road, and the police (it is forbidden to race on the roads) often put a stop to the races, and they have to be arranged discreetly. The matches are announced on some such lines: ‘Mr. So-and-So’s pony, Tommy, matched for $25 to trot two miles on the So-and-So road against Mr. So-and-So’s pony, Billy.’

“By the way, till quite lately a trotter in England was always a pony; they did not talk of trotting horses, but trotting ponies. For this class of racing the ponies are some 12½ to 14½ hands high and driven to very heavy, old-fashioned sulkies. The ponies used are not English-bred, but what are called in England ‘Russian’ ponies. They are not really Russian, but come from Finland. These ‘Finnish’ ponies are a distinct breed. They are on an average 14½ hands high or under, strongly built, with thick, short necks, very good feet and legs, bushy tails, and very hard mouths. They are generally all shades of sorrel, dun or chestnut, many with donkey marks down the back, and light-colored manes and tails, and they are for the most part natural pacers. These are the horses that are used in St. Petersburg for the public droshkies which ply for hire and are very cheap. Some can go close to three minutes, with an occasional one close to 2:40, and are imported wholesale into England for light tradesmen’s use. In Russia they are also used by the peasants for farm work.

“The Orloff trotter is quite free from pacing. The many I have driven have never showed the least sign of pacing, with one single exception; this horse was not one of the racing Orloffs, but one of an ordinary carriage pair. I think he had a cross of the ‘Fin’ pony, by his shape. He used to pace when jogging, but I never tried to get any speed at the pace out of him.

“The little ‘Fin’ ponies are very fast occasionally for their size. As an instance, we had a black pair of Orloffs when I was last in St. Petersburg, which used to pass everything on the road. It is the custom there, when you have fast horses, to brush with anything you meet. One day a victoria, drawn by two little dun-colored ‘Fin’ ponies, with some ladies in it, came along. We turned out to pass them and they ran right away from us, which no big pair had been able to do all the summer. This particular pair trotted, but as I said before, most of them are pacers, and these are what race in the minor races in England as ‘trotting ponies.’”

The conclusion is evident—the pace is the natural and probably the first fast gait of the horse.

(To Be Continued.)

Educating the Horse

By DR. J. C. HENNESSEY, RENO, NEVADA.

The horse is conceded to be the most intelligent of animals, the best friend to man, and until recently the most universally used and most necessary; yet the same animal is also the most universally abused. Men hitch the poor animals in harness that is sometimes too small, or too large, as the case may be, and in consequence he rebels and refuses to pull a load when by doing so he suffers torments by chafing, or from choking, if the collar be too small. This is all that is necessary to stigmatize the poor brute as being balky, and unless some humane person happens to run across the animal it will be spoiled, and no one will take it as a gift. Now, as a matter of fact, the horse that absolutely refuses to be treated thus is the horse that has the right material in him and the one that will give you most service, providing you treat him right. The horse I own was such an animal and was given up as a “runaway” and “kicker.” Yet he is now so gentle that he will absolutely refuse to run away on any pretense whatever. Upon hearing that a fine looking but “mean” horse was for sale, I took occasion to visit the owner and learn something of the “outlaw.” After seeing the animal, even after I had learned that he had been in runaways and had broken up at least four buggies, I bought him for $150, but not until I had made a phrenological examination and found that the horse was particularly well supplied, as I thought, with good horse sense. I could see that his disposition was “keyed” up pretty high and that trait combined with a broad forehead and a good eye, suited me, and was what I always select in an animal. The price was as nothing, when we consider that he was a Woodnut by Nutwood, and that his sire sold for $22,000, and his grandsire for, I think, considerably more.

I only drove the animal a few times before he was as gentle as a lamb and has never committed one unkind act while I was with him. He now performs twenty tricks and is trained to hunt, and enjoys it. I shoot over his head and he waits for me to get the game. He will stop when he sees a rabbit and expects me to shoot it. If you want your animals to be kind to you you must first treat them kindly. After driving this “runaway horse” for a few months my wife and I drove across the mountains on a hunting trip. On going down a steep grade the buggy upset and we were both thrown out, but the wild horse absolutely refused to run away. He would have been as kind to his former owner if he had been treated properly. You can tyrannize over some people, while others will fight back, and it is just so with animals.

A horse never forgets anything, and if he is badly scared in a certain place, he will show the same fear if brought back to that place a year afterwards. A horse will develop the same disposition as the man who drives him, and if the man is nervous and fretful, by continually jerking the lines and striking the horse with a whip, he instills this irritability into the poor horse, and sooner or later the animal starts up too soon, and, expecting to be whipped, runs off at the top of his speed, perhaps killing somebody. Of course, the poor horse is to blame for this (?). Sometimes he is hitched so close to the wagon that he cannot trot without striking his hocks against the vehicle and, thinking he is being abused, he will run away. If the traces are too tight he will suffer from sore shoulder or sore neck.

Never allow a blacksmith to spring a shoe in a place by pressing down and nailing. Have him take the shoe off and straighten it on the anvil. Do not allow him to cut the frog away as it furnishes nourishment and moisture to the hoof. Don’t check your horse too high unless you wish him to be knee sprung. In shoeing horses some people are of the same opinion as is John Chinaman when buying boots. They want to get all the material they can for their money and in shoeing a horse too heavy you not only ruin his gait, but cause him to get tired sooner than he otherwise would. In driving, control your animal by speaking to him. By following this method and being kind, not allowing yourself to lose your temper, you will be surprised at the control you will have over your horse in a short time. If the animal wishes to run away there is no man strong enough to hold him. You cannot stop a runaway by sawing on the bit, but if you will not lose presence of mind and not get excited, you can stop any horse and cure him of trying to run by the following method: Grasp the lines tightly and pull as tight as you can. Let one line slip through your fingers (not losing it entirely), and pull hard with the other, which will bring the horse’s head around to the side. If you hold his head in that position you will throw him down as the legs will become mixed by thus drawing the head to the side. If you leave his head free once more he will stagger but not fall and will have great respect for the driver who can thus mix him up. This is something that every one should know, as no horse can run unless he can have his head in front of him. To control him it is necessary to jerk the head quickly, and the driver must keep the horse from turning around, thus upsetting the rig. Should your horse get frightened at any object, do not whip him; scold him and drive him carefully up to the object and he will eventually become so gentle and observing that he will recognize objects and not get frightened at them.

Should he get away from you do not get into a passion and beat the animal as soon as you get him again, for he will always remember it and you might be miles away from home and should he get loose, you will have to walk, as he will not care for another beating and will leave you “alone in your glory.” On the other hand, if you are kind to him you can go among a band of wild horses, and yours will leave them for you.

Horses know more than they are given credit for and have been known to carry their master home when the owner was intoxicated and unable to walk after getting there. A great many horses are spoiled by the driver forcing them to do something when the horse does not know what is wanted of him. Show him what you wish him to do and he will do it. Never fool your horse and always praise and reward him for doing good. Horsemen will tell you that it spoils a horse to teach him tricks. Does it spoil a child to educate him? My buggy horse that performed twenty tricks was thought to be a spoiled horse but at the State fair I could not get a race for him with trotters and had to enter him with pacers that were going in :17, :19 and :20. He was never driven better than :26, but did not make a break, and won handily in straight heats, and the last was :24. In trying to beat him they ran him into a fence, and on the back stretch locked wheels, making him drag the other under the wire in :24. That did not excite him, because I had educated him and he came back the next heat (fourth) in :24 in a jog. By educating your horse, you give him courage, make him brave, and he becomes almost human, just like Lou Dillon when, in a mighty drive she becomes part and parcel of the greatest educator of animals who ever existed—Millard Sanders. The old familiar quotation, “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air,” is exemplified time and again, when we see trainers driving animals with a world of speed, not knowing how to shoe, handle or drive them. Would education spoil these men? Training, gaiting and educating a horse is a mathematical problem, and the man who can teach a little each day and who understands that by increasing the action in front means something to the hind hoofs, and by slowing up the action behind means something to the front hoofs just as it does to multiply and subtract, is the man who takes the purse at the race meeting even if he does not make a hit in his workouts. When you wish to train to perform tricks, start in with the easiest one first and begin in the following way:

The first and easiest trick to teach a horse is to say “no.” Stand on the left side and with a tack prick him gently on the withers. He will shake his head. Ask him a question, at the same instant you prick him, and after awhile he will get so used to the inflection of your voice that he will shake his head every time you ask, without the use of the tack. To teach him to say “yes” prick him on the breast. Be gentle, so he will not get in the habit of snapping at you. For instance, ask him if he likes politics and he will shake his head “No.” Ask him if he reads Trotwood’s Monthly, and he will nod his head “Yes.” Next, teach him to lie down. Some teach this trick by the aid of ropes. The easiest way is to take the horse out of the stall, or, better, after a drive, just after unhitching, while he is sweating, lead him to the corral and say “Lie down, sir.” He will obey, because he wants to roll. After he gets up give him some sugar and pet him. After doing this several times he learns what is wanted of him and finds that by obeying he gets his sugar. Next, you wish him to kneel. This is easy, as he must always kneel to lie down. By holding the rope, you can allow him only to kneel after which you give him sugar and pet him.

To teach him to sit up it is first necessary to make him lie down. Then say, “Get up, sir.” By holding the rope, allow him to get up on the front feet only. Next you wish him to open a box. Get one with hinges and have the lid extend a little over the box. Allow him to eat out of it several times, being sure to close the lid frequently while he is eating. He will see you throw the lid back and in a short time will do so himself, that he may eat the grain. After this be sure to pet him. In a short time you can send him from a distance to the box and he will open the lid. To teach him to kiss you is the easiest of all. If he likes candy, as all pets do, place a piece in your mouth, and he will reach for it. Say, “Kiss me, sir,” and he will attempt to get it. He will become accustomed to the command, after a few times and will obey the order without the candy. Next you wish him to stand on a barrel. Lead him to a box, about five or six inches high, being sure to have it solid so it will not turn. After getting him as close to it as possible, raise one hoof and place it on the box, then raise the other and place it by the first, after which give him the usual reward. As he gets used to this trick increase the height of the box until you have it as high as you wish and he will climb up to get the sugar. Teach him to shake hands by picking up his hoof and, at the same time, giving the command, “Shake hands, sir.” To teach a horse to tell his age or the time of day, or to multiply, subtract or add numbers is the hardest of all and requires a great amount of maneuvering on the part of the trainer. Get him impatient and he will paw the ground with his hoofs. Pat him every time and he soon learns what you want. The hard part is to make him stop at the right number. Of course there is a key to this and an easy method may be used. I stand close to my horse and nudge him with my elbow when I want him to stop. For instance, I ask him to multiply 7 × 2, and he paws 14 times. To have him stop I nudge him just after he paws the thirteenth time, and he stops on the fourteenth. Train him to stop, to turn corners, and to turn around in this way: When driving go the same way a number of times, always turning to go home in the same place and being careful to turn slowly. Say, “Whoa,” and then, “Turn around, sir.” After a little coaxing with the rein he will do this. In a little while he will know what is required of him every time you ask him to turn. Get him used to your gun by driving him with an open bridle and, for the first few times, shooting back from the buggy. By proper handling he will, after a time, stop when you level your gun to shoot or, as my horse does, when he sees anything to shoot at. Teach your horse to play tag, by giving some person his sugar and having him run from the horse. The animal will learn to put his ears back, show his teeth and run for the sugar. This should only be taught horses that are perfectly gentle, as it makes them cross. When they find people are afraid of them they always enjoy frightening them. Many horses are considered of no value because their owner does not know how they should be shod. I shall be pleased to answer any communications from people who wish to know how to shoe horses, how to avoid interfering, forging, or any of the bad habits horses may have. All can be rectified if people only know how. Remember you can only teach a horse through kindness. As soon as you lose patience he will be spoiled.

In driving an animal, if you treat it kindly and do not lash it with the whip when there is no occasion for doing so, it will become attached to you and will cool down in a moment of danger or excitement, as it feels that you are its friend and going to protect it; whereas, if you were in the habit of abusing it you may get into a “tight place” and the horse will get excited and perhaps kill you. This is something that people should understand, and how much more satisfactory it is to have your animals watch for your home-coming and have them run to greet you than to have them afraid and shrink and expect the lash every time you move. Teach your animals to be courageous, and then whatever they do they will go through on their courage and not by the whip. My animal was very fast and I hired a trainer to train him for the track. I gave him instruction not to whip the horse, and being headstrong thought he knew it all, so one day he struck him with the whip and was immediately kicked out of the cart. The horse ran for about fifty yards and stopped. I informed the trainer that he received his just deserts and he never drove him again. In this instance the horse knew more than the man, and I have seen many such instances. It is not right that we abuse animals, and we should not be permitted to do so. They are willing to obey us and will always do so if we give them a chance and I am delighted when I see a horse that will have the courage to resist ill treatment. Some people check their horses up to the skies and never put the check down when they tie them, but leave the poor animals tied to a post for hours with their neck stretched so that they are in constant pain. It would be a good law that would cause such men to suffer the same punishment.

It is a very wrong thing to feed a horse too much hay. It only distends the stomach, and gives the animal an ungainly appearance. Feed him regularly, and four quarts of oats is a good feed for a buggy horse.

When purchasing a horse, stand directly in front of the animal and look at front hoofs. If they toe-in, buy; but if they toe-out, do not accept as a gift, as every time he picks his hoofs up, if he is going fast, he will strike his shin or knee, whereas, if he toes in, he will pick them up from his knees and never interfere and you will not be under the necessity of placing boots on every time you wish to speed him. They should toe out behind and in that case they spread and pass their front hoofs when going fast and will not “forge” or strike their quarters. It is a very common thing for a horse to trot along and by forging you can hear them a block away. The click, click is caused by the hind feet striking the front ones, and is very annoying, and at the same time is very bad for the horse. You can remedy this by shoeing in front with all the weight in the toe, causing him to pick up the hoof quicker and thus getting it out of the way of the hind shoe when it comes along. If he interferes behind, shoe with weight on the outside to spread the hoofs. A horse should be shod every four or five weeks, as the hoof grows and the shoe interferes with its expansion.

* * * * *

No man can be great who does not believe in himself.

EMANCIPATION

[The author of this poem passed away a few years ago—“Gone in
the morning and there was no night there.” This immortal poem
deserves to rank with that other—“There is no death.”—Ed.]

Why be afraid of Death, as though your life were breath?
Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!
Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.
Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?
Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet, sleeping you are dead
Till you awake and rise, here—or beyond the skies.
Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,
Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?
The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind—
A day, and you will meet—a night and you will greet!
This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath
And know the end of strife and taste the deathless life,
And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,
And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.

M. D. BABCOCK.

With Old Wash.

OLD WASH’S LITTLE PREACHER.

The other day I was whistling that coon song:

“All coons look alike to me.”

The old man was poisoning potato bugs on our second crop of Irish potatoes. It was getting along “t’wards de shank of de ebenin’,” as I had heard him so often express it, and I have noticed about that time that the old man is always hunting for some excuse to stop working. “Dar am jes’ two sho’ nuff fools in dis wurl,” I have heard him say—“one am de man dat wucks all de time an de yudder am de ’oman dat don’t wuck at all.”

I was not surprised, then, to see the old man set down his can of Paris green and water and give vent to a prolonged laugh. I have learned that the way to catch the old man is to get him when he is “fit and ready”—the same as a horse when he is expected to break the record—and I might carry it further and say you can’t always tell when he is ready. But there are certain signs you can go by.

And so the old man has signs, too—that he is ready to go a heat in an old time yarn—and one is when the sun gets low and the bugs high—when a watermelon is waiting in the spring trough and the sheep on the hill begin to come out from the shaded woods for their evening meal in the meadow—now cooling with the condensing shadows of a setting sun.

The sign he gives is a furtive glance around and a big, chuckling laugh.

I had cut around the melon with my pocket-knife, and broken it open on a big rock, which left the jagged, juicy heart bulging out in a tempting lump. But I divided as equally as I could, under the circumstances, and as we sat in the shade of the elm by the big spring I shoved him his half and said:

“Now that’s for what you were laughing at just now—out with it.”

“I doan’ blame white folks fur sayin’ all coons look alike, fur I tried it onct and I thou’t I knowed my own kid—thou’t ef it cum to de scratch I cu’d do lak a hoss an’ tell ’im by hees smell, ennyway. But when I wus put to de test I foun’ dey not only all look alike, but smell alike, too—an’ dar’s whar I cum mighty nigh gittin’ into de wuss scrape I eber got into.”

“Way back in slabery time, when a young p’ar ob niggers ’ud marry, de rule wus dey was to lib wid de gal’s muther ontwel de fust chile was bohn. Ole marster useter la’f an’ wink an’ tell me it wus a trick ob de white folks to mek ’em hurry up wid de fus’ chile! Jinerally we didn’t need no hurryin’ for ole Daddy Stork is mighty kind to young folks, ’spesh’ly niggers, which wus p’uffectly nat’ul, you know—rangin’ all de way in his visertachuns frum a few weeks arter de suremony to es menny months—fur no nigger dat had enny manhood an’ independence wanted to be pendin’ on his wife’s mammy enny longer den he cu’d h’ope it! Den arter de chile wus bohn de marster ’ud gib a log-rollin’ an’ a house-buildin’—jinerally on a Sad’dy arter de crop wus laid by—an’ all de niggers frum de joinin’ farms ’ud cum ober, fetch dey wives an’ babies, an’ whilst de men cut logs an’ put up de cabin, de wimmen and gals ’ud quilt de young p’ar a quilt or two an’ cook a big dinner ob gumbo soup and green cohn an’ bakin an’ greens. An’ if de baby dat de young fo’ks had was a boy de rule was dat Marster had to fling in a good big lam’, es er kind ob a free gratis prize fur ’em gittin’ a boy, an’ den Lord, boss, de barbycue an’ de stew we did hab! In dem days enny man in Tennessee cu’d ’still de fruit ob his own orchard and not pay no rivernew, an’ Marster had a nigger named Pete Gallerway dat cu’d beat de wurl’ makin’ apple-brandy. Ebery fawl he’d ’still Marster twenty gallons an’ it ’ud stay in de cellar twell de naixt fawl, an’ Lord, boss, by dat time it wus dat kind o’ stuff dat es you drunk it in dis wurl’ it seem ter kinder tel’fone to de angels in de naixt! It was so ra’ar an’ ripe you cu’d jes’ put de stopper outen de bottle in yo’ boot-legs an’ cudn’t keep from cuttin’ de pigeon-wing to save yo’ life an’ er singin’ dat song we sung den—

“‘Cum down ter Tennessee—
(Ride er ole gray hoss)—
Yaller gal’s de gal fur me—
(Ride er ole gray hoss)—
Kiss her under de Mulberry tree—
(Ride er ole gray hoss)—
O my, nigger, don’t you see
Better cum ter Tennessee!’

“I tell you, boss, dey kin preach all dey please agin good licker an’ de famblys it busts up, but I’ve knowed menny a man to git a drink jes in time ter keep outen a divorcement. I don’t see how sum men cu’d lib wid de wives dey got ef dey cud’nt tak a drink an’ furgit dey mizz’ry now an’ den! Wal, in erbout three moons it was my time to hab a house-buildin’ an’ I was mighty proud ob de job. Dinah was kinder dissociated kase she’d sat her h’art on de fus’ baby bein’ yaller. Er ’oman, ob course, ain’t got no reason fur enny thing—dey jes’ goes by instinct, I reckin—an’ de onlies’ reason she had for spectin’ an’ wantin’ a yaller baby was dat she was allers mighty fond ob sorrel hosses an’ she natur’ly hoped her fust child ’ud be a sorrel. It cum black, of course—jes’ lak me, an’ arter I opened his mouth an’ seed he hed one tooth already cum an’ ernudder comin’ an’ wus reddy fur eatin’ de fus’ day, I knowed he wus Bre’r Washingtun up ter the thu’d an’ fo’th jinerashun. But Dinah she tuck it mighty hard an’ lowed she’d nurver git over he’s not bein’ a sorrel wid black p’ints!

“I say he was black, but did yo urver see a right young nigger? A buzzard, you kno’, is hatched white an’ turns black, an’ so er nigger is bohn red an’ turns black. It’s funny but it’s so. A simon-p’wore nigger when bohn is red with a leetle bunch of woolly h’ar on his head, an’ five holes in his face, de two leetle ones in de center bein’ whar his nose gwineter be. Dey ain’t no mistakin’ his mouth, fur dat’s de bigges’ part of his vizerbles, an’ in jineral lang’widge you mout say it curls up on de north an’ is bounded by hes h’ar, an’ curls down on de south an’ is bounded by his belly-ban’. He’s red, ’ceptin’ de skin of his head, which is sorter yaller, but on the thu’d day he gin ter turn black jes’ above de eyes, and in a few weeks he’s all black ’ceptin’ de bottom of his hands an’ feet, his wottles an’ hock fethers, de tip ob his stomach an’ de spot whar he sets on all day.

“Wal, arter de cabin was put up an’ de sun had set, de big stew wus sarved wid apple brandy an’ den, Lord, de fun sho’ started! Course I c’u’dn’t be in it much—de dancin’ an’ juberlashun under de trees—case I was de keeper ob de lams, it bein’ my house-raisin’ an’ my fus-bohn. Now de keeper ob de lams is dis: de wimmin folks allers bring dey babies along ter de dance an’ de house-raisin’ an’ when de house is up an’ de floor laid an’ night cums an’ de games begins, de babies is all suckled an’ laid out, ebry one on his own sheepskin, on de flo’ of de new house fur ter go to sleep, an’ de daddy ob de new-bohn kid is called de keeper ob de lams an’ must set dar an’ watch ’em an’ nuss ’em whilst de yudders eat an’ play. It’s hard, but it’s de onwritten law, an’ de objec’ am to give de new daddy a lesson in pashents an’ nussin’ an’ keerin’ fur chilluns.

“Wal, dey was forty on ’em, mighty nigh de same age, wid a fair sprinklin’ of sorrels an’ browns, whilst sum look lak dey mouten be made outen new saddles an’ jinger cakes. It went agin me mightily to be pestered wid all er dem new colts wid dey projeckin’ ways, but I had a big bottle of apple brandy an’ tuck a little consolashun frum it now an’ den myse’f, an’ eb’ry time a kid ’ud wake up, I’d jes gin ’im a stiff drink ob apple brandy an’ stick de big toe ob de kid jes’ above him in hes mouth ter suck on twell he dosed off. Dey was three long rows on ’em. I’ll sw’ar, boss, ef onct I didn’t hab ’em all konnected dat away lak links in a sausage. Dat an’ de brandy focht ’em eb’ry time an’ I was jes’ chucklin’ ter myse’f at whut a fine nuss I was, an’ dat I c’u’d soon be able to go out an’ hug de gals, too, when dey all commence to hab de jim-jams in dey sleep—seein’ snakes an’ things an’ howlin’ an’ wigglin’, an’ frum de way some on ’em’s eyes bulged out dey must er had ellerfants an’ rinocerasses arter ’em, too. Wal, suh, I broke fur de stable an’ got a quart bottle ob stuff we gin de mules fur de colic—asserfedity an’ h’artshorn, ladernum an’ tu’pentine, all mixed—an’ den I got de vinerger funnel to git it down, an’ I drenched eb’ry one on ’em wild dat mule medercine, stuck eb’ry one’s toe in de naixt one’s month an’ put ’em ter sleep ergin.

“Sum on ’em didn’t wake up fur a week, but dat ain’t de tale I’m tellin’ now.

“I tuck ernuver drink outen de bottle an’ den I happen ter see one ob de lam’s dat struck my eye. He was de preacher’s kid, whose daddy, a yaller feller, ole mistis had l’arned ’im to read an’ write an’ he tuck to preachin’, and his lam’ wus a bright sorrel wid flax mane an’ tail, an’ as he was erbout de size ob my little coon I thou’t I’d play a joke on de wimmin folks, bein’ es how Dinah was sot on habin’ a yaller kid. So I ups an’ changes de clothes an’ puts de yaller preacher’s lam’ on our sheepskin an’ ourn on de yuther’s pallet. Wal, suh, de mo’ I thort of it de funnier it seemed, an’ den I laffed twell I nearly wake ’em up again an’ tuck ernuver drink an’ went in ter swap ’em all off. I’d pick out two erbout de same size an’ sex an’ changed dey clothes an’ bed, an’ when I got through dere wa’nt nary one on’ em dat u’d know hisse’f from de naixt one, an’ es dey all smelt erlike I didn’t see how dey mammies was eber gwine ter git ’em straight ergin. Course I ’spected a lot ob fun when de games broke up an’ I tuck ernuver drink an’ fix fur ter see it. But hit seems de niggers played on twell one o’clock an’ forgot all erbout time ontwell one ob de patteroles—de mounted poleece dot kept niggers from prowlin’ at night in dem days—rid up wid a hickory whip an’ tole ’em it wus time fur to go to bed. Dis skeered ’em so dey all lit out an’ eb’ry ’oman jes’ bundled up her baby an’ left, an’ not one ob ’em knowed de difference. Es dey all libbed from one ter ten miles aroun’ on de farms, thinks I, dar’ll be lots ob fun in de mawnin’! Dinah tuck ernuver look at hern befo’ she went to sleep, an’ den I heurd her whoop: ‘Glory,’ she said, ‘my chile is done turned yaller—glory—glory!’ She heard of it bein’ done onct befo’ an’ b’leeved it. Wal, I seed she had her h’art sot on it so bad I ’lowed I’d let it go at dat, ’specially es dey nurver had been a preacher in de family, but all er mine hed tuck to hoss racin’ an’ Dinah was so happy over it she c’u’dn’t sleep.