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"His hope's in the open;" and plenty
His wish will re-echo with joy-
Lads who come out by ten and twenty
To honour" a broth of a boy."

"His hope's in the open"-You sir!
On that fiery, fidgetty bay!
Contrive now to keep “as you were,”
Or the odds are he'll ne'er get away.

"His hope's in the open;" and, granted
But once from the cover quite clear,
That fire may, perhaps, be more wanted
Than it is, sir, at present, just here.

"His hope's in the open." Good hounds,
Yoick on, there! Get to him, my lads!
Push him out of these cub-hunting bounds,
And teach him the use of his pads.

"His hope's in the open;" for Barmaid
And Marplot are making him feel
It's a mighty poor fun, I'm afraid,
To stop 'em by running his heel.

"His hope's in the open;" at least,

"The Heditor's "hinted that same; Though his friend, like an underbred beast, As yet don't evince dying game.

"His hope's in the open;" his heart,

By the Gods! too, to back him 's begun!
Hark holloa! Now, then, for the start!
He's away and we're in for a run!

THE HIGH-METTLED RACER.

PLATE II.-BREAKING.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM À PAINTING BY J. P. HERRING, SENR.

"St! st! and round he goes again. There's action, Sir, and there's a stride for a young 'un-st! st! Gently, now, gently, my little boy! That's it, that's the way to do it-only once or twice more as even as that, and we'll take fifty to one he wins the Derby outright."

Or, as a facetious friend is about to remark, "we are ready to back him before he's backed."

The troubles of our hero, the high-mettled one, have already commenced, although the A. B. C. of his education has perhaps more matter for surprise in it than any actual ill-usage or hard-faring,

The mere breaking of a thorough-bred colt intended for the turf is indeed, in comparison, a very easy and simple process to that of the hunter, hack, or harness-horse. In the first place, the race-horse that is to be, or ought to be, is generally far more familiar with men and men's habits, at the time he takes his first walk with the lounging rein running from his head, than the majority of lower-bred and less prized young stock. From the very moment he leaves the side of his dam, if not before, he is gently introduced to a head-collar; and through its agency, to a gradual acquaintance with a variety of stable discipline and etiquette-instruction, for the most part, so well and so opportunely imparted, as to imbue the pupil with a feeling of regard rather than of fear for his pastor and master. The daily civilities interchanged at feeding time, the patting and petting that leads on to the at first somewhat objectionable piece of toilet-practice performed with a mane-comb, and thence to the terribly nervous operation of Master Vulcan the blacksmith-paring his feet out-render the cavesson, when at length it does come, far less serious and awkward in use than might otherwise be expected. A little more coaxing, with a plentiful allowance of temper and discretion in our head lad (who, in justice it should be said, is chiefly chosen for these qualities), and away walks the Derby horse, with a stare and a strut highly expressive of the noble race we trace him to, and the mighty deeds he means to achieve.

And when once we have him out on open ground, when we have walked him quietly up and down for an hour or so, how haughtily -aye! and how awkwardly he avails himself of the little more line given, as the jolly angler would word it. Now for a first run round the ring; and away he goes, trotting as high as a Piccadilly cab-horse, and then stopping short as suddenly and as obstinately as a Pennsylvanian bondsman. Come, Sir! come, try again; and at the first gentle flourish of the whip, he rushes off with a bound, a snort, and a strength that threaten to break the arm of the Hippodamus, or the neck of the enslaved one himself. But there, that's of course far too fine and flashy to last long, at least just yet; and accordingly, after a few more irregular circuits, he settles down to a rather labouring canter, which again gradually subsides into a short, sobbing, tired trot. It is evidently hard work; and so, as our aim is rather to train that fierce spirit than altogether subdue it, we'll lessen the length of our hold on him, once more get tête-à-tête, and then offer a few words of consolation in the Tilly Slowboy tongue and tone, that at present rage throughout town and country.

So far, and all would appear straight-forward enough; and yet what an awfully fussy, curious, mysterious piece of business we have seen some fellows make of breaking and bitting a colt. Your regular provincial breaker, for instance, with his bundles of rusty bridles, dumb jockeys, reins, straps, martingales, circingles, and so forth, without end; with what importance, if you'll only observe him, he at length does condescend to make a beginning! and what a time, if you'll only allow him, it will be before he ever makes an ending! What a quantity of beer and gin he will require during his progress with the Young Venison or Brother to Birdcatcher! and what a number of

hands he'll keep employed in keeping him company when he is out, and when he is in too, if that's all. Horse-breaking, like horse-clipping, as a profession, is going rapidly out of fashion. Once upon a time, and no man was competent to take up either one or the other; but some servant, too lazy or too drunken to remain in a good place, and who having more impudence than industry, and maybe more readiness than steadiness in his composition, caught up the idea and the occupation forthwith. His very idleness is about his best recommendation. Breaking a colt, it is known, amongst other things, will take up some time and tolerably undivided attention: of one of these our friend has generally a very fair share; and as of the other no doubt he can convince us he has, he sends for his paraphernalia, and dates his week, month, quarter, or twelvemonth from that hour. Only, as we fear too frequently, suffered to have altogether his own way, and that said way will soon show itself to be the high-one-making the young-'un, as he will explain to you "with a grave solemn face," handy at meeting and passing a coach or a waggon, and so perpetually leading him from the King's Arms to the Feathers, then back to the Arms, and on to the Old Lion or Blue Boar, as the case may be. Beyond a doubt, all horses, for whatever they may be intended, should be accustomed to the road and its incidents; but we are equally certain that often and often the practice is extended to an abuse, that causes far more evil than good. No man needs more temper, we repeat, than the breaker; and naturally the more he drinks, the less command has he over it; the slightest thing at such a moment (when half, or more than half-sprung) will be amply sufficient to bring out the full force of his beastly brutality, and woe then to the unfortunate animal committed to his discretion. By way of effect, and to show off to his pot-companions, he will often begin to fight with and savage his charge in sheer wantonness. As we once saw a breaker, who had indeed in his day been a very fair jockey and successful trainer, set-to beating a filly about the head with his whip, till unable to endure it any longer, she broke away, dragged him a few yards, and then entirely freeing herself, charged a heavy gate with the lounging rein twisted between her legs-two badly broken knees and a hip down being the result. This man was in every respect a capital example of the ills arising from the road system. Keep him in your own park, meadows, or training-ground, and no one could manage the most difficult colt with more coolness, care, or effect; but once from under your eye-that is, once with the chance of drink-and no lad of a fortnight entered but was far more safe and competent to undertake his duty.

Considering not only the naturally high courage and proverbially high condition of the race-horse, but also the fearful scene of riot and confusion the very name of a race-course suggests, a familiarity with all kinds of sight and sound is quite as needful for the thorough-bred as the half-bred colt. This, however, is best acquired in company, and with a man on the back rather than at the head of the uninitiated;

Many of our readers will remember poor Nimrod's story of the worthy at Chillington, who made a seven years' job of breaking "the colt."

the novelties thus encountered will be deprived, through the mere force of "follow-my-leader," of the greater part of their terror striking qualities; and even when it does come to a decided refusal to meet them, the pulling, hauling, and forcing will be enacted with considerably less danger and to a much quicker and better purpose. It is a nervous, temper-trying thing, certainly, to see one of "the highly-promising " species balancing himself and his rider on the top of some six foot road-side bank, in his efforts to shirk that awful affair, a stage waggon; but it is a great deal more annoying still, we calculate, to watch him funking his heart out after you have stood training, trying, and engaging. In this matter, though, we find we are getting a little premature; at present, our colt-when we have once had a taste of him, we'll give him a name-need scarcely be taken off the downs we catch a sight of him on; in a day or two more we will venture to change the mere circingle for a saddle itself, and then "over that," as Cowslip says in the farce, we must in due time contrive to insinuate some clever lad with a good heart and a light hand. By then we can almost number him as one of the string, and till then, by the advice of Messrs. Herring and Hacker, we await to pull the string, change the scene, and invite our little dears 66 to see what they shall see.'

LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS.

THE HORSE IN HEALTH AND DISEASE. By James W. Winter. (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1846.)-Litera.y reviews and criticisms are now a portion of the business of magazines and newspapers; and, as the rule, it may be said of them that they are fair or false, in a right spirit or a wrong, gentle or discourteous, according to the character of the journal or periodical in which they appear. There are exceptions, indeed; but never, save in such publications of the lowest class, do you find personal incivilities offered to the author, instead of a notice of his work to the reader. It is surely a grievous thing to see so noble an organ as the press prostituted to the purposes of small spite. The press of a country is, so to speak, a sixth sense of the community. They understand by it; and as it leads, they come to just or unjust conclusions-they form useful or mischievous opinions-they adopt wholesome or hurtful views, not only of the subjects submitted to them, but of the agents. And is it not especially lamentable that a few unprincipled publications should bring a certain amount of discredit on the whole family of which they are the prodigal sons? Why should a blockhead, pitchforked by some unhappy accident into the editorial chair of an insignificant periodical or journal, damage the character for integrity of every work of the class, or the taste of those into whose hands his venomous effusions fall? Is the time distant when all who read will have learnt to distinguish between the literary pauper and him who can afford to live on terms with his brethren in letters?

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