HAND 



to fail in his horsemanship at the finish, and so, 

 when he came to jump his last fence, negotiated 

 it with no less skill than daring — grim, quiet, 

 resolute, strong of seat, and firm of hand. The 

 latter quality seems, however, much the rarer of 

 the two. For ten men who can stick to the saddle 

 like Centaurs, you will hardly find one gifted with 

 that nicety of touch which horses so willingly 

 obey, and which, if not inborn, seems as difficult 

 to acquire by practice as the draughtsman's eye 

 for outline, or the musician's ear for sound. 

 Attention, reflection, painstaking, and common- 

 sense can, nevertheless, do much ; and, if the 

 brain will only take the trouble to think, the 

 clumsiest fingers that ever mismanaged a bridle 

 may be taught in time to humour it like a silken 

 thread. 



I have been told, though I never tried the 

 experiment, that if you take bold chanticleer from 

 his perch, and, placing his bill on a table, draw 

 from it a line of chalk by candle-light, the poor 

 dazed fowl makes no attempt to stir from this 

 imaginary bondage, persuaded that it is secured 

 by a cord it has not strength enough to break. 

 We should never get on horseback without 

 remembering this unaccountable illusion ; our 

 control by means of the bridle is, in reality, little 

 more substantial than the chalk-line that seems to 

 keep the bird in durance. It should be our first 



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