S3 OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS. 



Becoming bolder, I do it again — harder. 



No ; she doesn't feel it. 



Suppose I ... I tremble at the thought . . . considering 

 I haven't ridden for three years— suppose I ... hit her on 

 the hind quarters ? 



I sit lirmer than ever, brace myself for an effort, and, 

 imagining that the result will be to find myself, the next 

 moment, flying among the branches of the trees, I hit her — 

 very gently, and, so to speak, slily. 



No effect. 



Oho ! Noiu I don't mind increasing the force. Another. 

 Another, harder. Vv''ithout any kick, or rearing, she simply 

 throws up her head, and suddenly, trots. 



All my rock-like firmness is shaken out of my knees at the 

 first movement, and the stirrups seem to have let themselves 

 out a good half-inch. Nearly off sideways, but recover 

 myself somehow. 



From this she goes into a canter. I seem to roll a good 

 deal in the saddle, and I should say Clumber & Co.'s view of 

 me would be absurd. The saddle appears to slide forward, 

 and there is nothing of the horse in front of me. I can only 

 describe the sensation by saying that it seems to me, that, 

 should the horse like to double itself up from the front, it 

 could slip its fore-legs through its own girths, and get away 

 from under its own saddle, leaving me on it on the road, as 

 easily as possible. 



Happy Thought. — Sort of Davenport-Brother Horse. 

 Good trick for a circus. 



