THE WILD PONIES OF EXMOOR. 



the feat was cleverly performed, pony and pony-catchers 

 were to be seen all rolling on the ground together; the 

 pony yelling, snorting, and fighting with his fore feet, 

 the men clinging on like the Lapithee and the Centaurs, 

 and how escaping crushed ribs or broken legs it is im- 

 possible to imagine. On one occasion a fine brown 

 stallion dashed away, with two plucky fellows hanging 

 on to his mane: rearing, plunging, fighting with his 

 fore feet, away he bounded down a declivity among the 

 huge rocks, amid the encouraging cheers of the specta- 

 tors : for a moment the contest was doubtful, so tough 

 were the sinews, and so determined the grip of Davy, 

 the champion ; but the steep bank of the brook, down 

 which the brown stallion recklessly plunged, was too 

 much for human efforts (in a moment they all went 

 together into the brook), but the pony, up first, leaped 

 the opposite bank and galloped away, whinnying in 

 short-lived triumph. 



After a series of such contests, well worth the study of 

 artists not content with pale copies from marbles or 

 casts, the difficulty of haltering these snorting steeds 

 equal in spirit and probably in size to those which drew 

 the car of Boadicea was diminished by all those un- 

 caught being driven back to the pound ; and there, not 

 without furious battles, one by one enslaved. 



Yet even when haltered, the conquest was by no 

 means concluded. Some refused to stir, others started 

 off at such a pace as speedily brought the holder of the 

 nalter on his nose. One respectable old gentleman, in 

 gray stockings and knee-breeches, lost his animal in 

 much less time than it took him to extract the sixpence 

 from his knotted purse. 



Yet in all these fights there was little display of vice ; 

 it was pure fright on the part of the ponies that made 



