DISCRETION 



in vain. Perhaps the old horse knows me as 

 well as I know him, and thinks also that he 

 knows best. I am bound to say he never fails 

 me when I trust him, but he likes his head let 

 alone, and insists on having it all his own way. 

 When his blood is really up, and the hero of a 

 hundred fights considers it worth while to put 

 forth his strength, I am persuaded he is even 

 bolder than his junior. 



Not only at the fences, however, do we require 

 discretion. There is a right way and a wrong of 

 traversing every acre of ground that lies between 

 them. On the grass, we must avoid crossing 

 high ridge-and-furrow in a direct line ; rather let 

 us take it obliquely, or, if the field be not too 

 large, go all the way round by the headland. 

 For an unaccustomed horse there is nothing so 

 trying as those up-and-down efforts, that resemble 

 the lurches of a boat in a heavy sea. A very 

 true-shaped animal will learn to glide smoothly 

 over them after a season or two, but these in- 

 equalities of surface must always be a tax on 

 wind and muscular powers at best. The easiest 

 goer in ridge-and-furrow that we have yet seen 

 is a fox. Surely no other quadruped has nature 

 gifted with so much strength and symmetry in so 

 small a compass. 



Amongst the ploughs, though the fences are 

 happily easier, forethought and consideration are 



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