THE HOUSE IN THE AUTUMN. 
629 
consequently the necessity for a corresponding change in their na¬ 
tural clothing is not required, in these cases we do not find the 
difference before described: they coat well all the year through, 
their condition continues unaffected, and their energies are alike 
perfect at all times and seasons. Oh, but this is because they 
are so well bred,” wdll be the remark that inevitably follows this 
account; and I give the man joy w^ho thinks he can controvert it, 
coming as it will from a class of men, who in general know as much 
about general principles and the laws of nature as amounts to-- 
But no reffections; the fact is, however, that the same thing might 
as easily be done with a Shetland pony or a dray-horse, but, as the 
same necessity does not exist for its being done, it is generally 
thought impossible to do it. 
Leaving, however, these cases out of the question, let us see 
what takes place in ordinary circumstances. Our favourite hack, 
that most valuable and most difficult to obtain of all the varieties 
of the horse, does not, on coming out of the stable, look exactly as 
we could wish : his coat is not precisely in its place, his legs look 
rather rough, and altogether he is not comme il faut.” Still he lays 
back his ears, gives his usual recognizing glance of the eye, and is 
as free and ready for work as ever, and we decide, therefore, tliat 
it is mere fancy, and every succeeding mile he goes make us more 
convinced of it. Towards the end of our ride, however—say five- 
and-twenty or thirty miles—we again get a little fidgetty: if he 
pulled before, he pulls a little less now; if he had a very light 
mouth, we can now feel him a little in hand. He does not dry on^ 
his return as usual, and appears to have forgotten the way home, if 
we may judge from its failing to excite him to do the last mile 
rather better than the first. We, of course, do not fail to give an ex¬ 
tra injunction to get him fresh, but we take care also to see it done, 
and then trust that all is right. The next morning, however, his 
coat stares, his skin is dry, and he has all the appearance of having 
been left in an inn-yard standing in a draught for an hour on the 
preceding evening, instead of having had an extra hour’s work be¬ 
stowed upon him. He feeds well, however, and appears in as good 
spirits as ever; but to-day he does not do his work so well, he 
perspires more, and, instead of being dry before his return, makes 
it no easy matter to dry him after; and in this way he will gra¬ 
dually go on, becoming more languid, less pleasant in his work, 
rougher in his coat, and more profuse in his perspiration—getting 
sworn at by the groom, because, as he tells us, two or even three 
hours after our return, his labour has been all in vain, and he is 
nearly as wet as when he came into the stable. This process will go 
on an uncertain time, depending on the constitution of the animal, 
until, nature having effected the necessary change, he again rallies, 
