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speak for itself, for there is nothing depicted on the canvas save the 
horse itself in all its beauty without the accessories of landscape, 
background, or sky. And there is more in this matter of make and 
shape than would at first sight appear to be the case. The horse 
with a thick, short neck is likely to make a puller unless he is very 
carefully handled, mouthed, and bitted during the time of his early 
training, while animals with long ewe necks are invariably predis¬ 
posed to unsoundness in the wind. Again, unless there be sloping 
shoulders well let into the body, they do not possess that freedom 
of action, that long swinging stride which is essential to speed as 
well as to the rider’s comfort. If the shoulders be straight, the 
forelegs do not stand or move in such a manner as to secure a 
properly-balanced animal. "While all the four legs should be con¬ 
spicuous for muscular arms and thighs, the cannon-bone, that is, the 
bone from the knee to the fetlock joint, should not be back from 
the knee, but should be short, flat, and sinewy; the pasterns should 
be somewhat long and sloping in order to give play to the foot, 
which should be of sufficient size to bear the weight of the horse’s 
body; and the barrel should be round and well ribbed up. 
It will, I hope, be understood that in the remarks I have ventured 
to make concerning the horse, I have alluded only to the typical 
specimens of the race, for there is as much difference between 
Goliath and Lilliput, as between the magnificent, shapely, pure¬ 
bred animal who “ snorts in his mettle and his pride,” and the 
jaded Rosinante who can scarce sustain the shafts of a four- 
wheeled cab upon its weary broken-down limbs and body. And yet 
what a touching romance is often connected with this latter! 
There was a time, may be, and not so very long since, when the 
now emaciated frame was clothed with muscular flesh and glossy 
coat; when the proud and indomitable spirit, now crushed by hard 
usage and quelled by scanty sustenance, knew no defeat on the 
turf, no rival in the hunting-field; when the neck, now bent and 
bowed in submission to a relentless fate, was carried haughty and 
erect, proud, peradventure, to receive the loving caress of a tender 
hand as the guerdon of triumphs won by flood and field ! Well is 
it for such that the senses they have are steeped in Lethe, and that 
they are incapable of recollecting the light of other days and the 
glories of the past! “ Sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering 
happier things.” Could they then bear in mind the gallant deeds 
they once achieved, or the lavish praises bestowed on their past 
labours, a thousand-fold would be added to the grief and privation 
