_How to make a Mare go._

"Money makes the mare to go," is a very old proverb. Very few men have read the original poem upon this subject, except they have met with a very old volume of Crashaw's Poems.

"Will thou lend me thy mare to go a mile?

No, she is lame, leaping over a stile.

But if thou wilt her to me spare, I'll give thee money for thy mare.

Ho! ho! say ye so?

Money makes the mare to go."

But one of the Doctor's patients was an old active fishmonger, of the name of Sturgeon; one well to do indeed in his line, a hundred years ago. There are a great many who now supply the London market, without any of that hard road work from Greenwich to Billingsgate. Now trains run to and fro, and fish are alive in London from the smacks. But it was smack and go, then, with carts every morning, one after the other in succession, loaded almost top heavy. Then there was unpacking, packing and off for the coaches, Times, Phenomena, Telegraph, Exeter Mail, Yorkshire Old Blue, and a host of others, to supply provincial fishmongers, &c. and great houses in the country.

But Mr. Sturgeon had, by command of his surgeon, to drive no longer. But Doctor Gambado insisted upon it, that he must ride on horseback. Now Mr.

Sturgeon had a very favourite mare, which could trot well in harness; but could not be persuaded into any but a slow pace, if any one rode on her back.

"What would I not give," he said to the Doctor, "if she could be made to go."

"Well," said the Doctor, "money makes the mare to go; and I have no doubt old John Tattsall, who was never yet at a loss what to do with horseflesh, would soon put you into the way of making your mare to go."

"What! with me on her back?"

"Oh, yes! and another besides, if wanted."

John was duly consulted.

"Well, Mr. Sturgeon, I see no difficulty in the matter. It requires only a little courage on your part, and I am sure you will find it answer you purpose well. You have nothing to do, but exercise a little ingenuity in your own line. When you are next at Greenwich, just take a good strong lobster, with a pair of tremendous claws; fasten him by the tail to the inside of your fishmonger's coat, and let his head and clinchers hang out against the mare's flank. Sit you firm in the saddle, with your feet well out of the black pincher's way. One gripe, and the mare will go like a shot; nor will she stop to let you pick up your hat and wig; but wherever her stable is in town, you will see she will never stop till she reaches it."

The trial was made, and

Away went Sturgeon, like a shot,-- Away, away! The mare could trot; And so she did,--nor did she pause.-- John Tattsall gained the world's applause; For one sharp bite upon the side, And such a gripe of hair and hide, The monster held within his claw, That Sturgeon scarce could hold her jaw.

With head uplift, and leg up high, The mare, like swallow, seemed to fly, And soon, from Sturgeon's round bald pate, The wig and hat flew o'er the gate; But on rode Sturgeon, made to know How well to make a mare to go.

CHAPTER X.

_The Tumbler, or its Affinities._

We cannot narrate all the varieties of patients the Doctor had to deal with. We leave the ladies' cases out of the question, though he strongly recommended to them his great receipt--a ride on horseback.

Of all the difficult cases the Doctor had to deal with, was that of a little stingy, dyspeptic, middle aged pin-man, retired from business, and resident in Pimlico.

He was never satisfied. No one could convince him that he was not a good rider, though he had caused more broken-kneed horses in one month, than any other rider had made in twelve months. He literally went by the name of Tumble-down-Pincushion. It was no use furnishing him with a good horse; down it would come before long, and the little man would roll over like a pincushion; pick himself up, and declare it was the fault of the horse.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

He would exasperate his Doctor, and his Doctor's friend, by pretending to show them how a man ought to sit on horseback; and truly, if ever there was a contrast visible, it was in the upright figure of John Tattsall on horseback, and Mr. Jeremiah Hinchman, the retired pin-man of Pimlico. John always knew how to make the most of a horse. Mr. Hinchman never did make any thing but the least of himself and of his horse also.

There was a strange affinity between his horse and himself,--at least, between him and one, a favourite rat-tailed sorrel gray. If it tumbled down, it was never disturbed: it was so accustomed to the affinity with the ground, that its knees became hardened with a species of horney excrescence, that seldom showed any thing but dirt, if it did tumble.

Nor did the little man either, for having a remarkably light weight in the saddle, and a prominent disposition to bend over his horse's neck, he generally cast a very light summersault in his exit from the seat to the ground.

"I wish," he said one day to Mr. Tattsall, in no very amiable mood, "I wish you would put me in some way of not falling off the tumble-down-horses which you sent me."

"Sir," said Tattsall, "I would not let you ride a horse of mine, till you had paid for it as your own, or paid me the price of it, by way of insurance against the surety of his being a tumbler in your hands. You say you are suited with a very quiet tumbler, and one that takes it easy when he is down. You want yourself to be made to take it as easy as your horse; and, now, sir, to prove my readiness to serve you as a customer, and to serve you well too, I will put you into a way of having such affinity with your horse, that you shall tumble off no more."

"If you do," said Mr. Hinchman, "I will forgive you for having sent me twenty horses, not one of which could keep its legs, or keep me on his back."

John was not easily puzzled.

"Sir," said he, "you must manage the thing your own self. Only just hear my proposed plan. Let an incision be made in two places upon each flap of the saddle; let a thong pa.s.s under the saddle-flap, and tie it yourself over your knee. You will then never fall off; but be enabled to keep your seat until your horse shall rise again with ease, and you thus prove the truth of the motto

The Tumbler, or its Affinities.

Affinity is defined by Johnson, to be relation by marriage, as opposed to consanguinity,--by others, as relation or agreeableness between things. No one could think of Mr. Hinchman being of the same consanguinity as his horse Tumbler, but as a relation of agreeableness between two things, in this latter, the tumbler had his affinity with his master.

Thus they kept the road together, Whether fine or foul the weather; And when they tumbled, both went down; And when they rose, they both went on.

So on they went, and all men's eyes Saw Tumblers with Affinities.

CHAPTER XI.

_How to do Things by Halves._

There is an old saying, and generally considered a good one: "Never do things by halves." But there are exceptions to every rule, and the sending a banknote by halves, is one of them; and a very good exception too. We wish anyone who reads this, would only be induced to send to the Publisher half a bank of England note, and get it acknowledged by the Author, for the good work he has in hand, even in this publication; and he will be sure to be rejoiced to receive the other half as well, and acknowledge that things done by halves, may answer a better purpose than the being done all at once.

Meet an old friend half way, and I'll warrant you they will go together the other half ten thousand times more pleasantly than if they had both met only at the journey's end. Still, in a general way, things done by halves do not always fit, so as to make the whole agreeable. They may become so conjoint as to be agreeable to each other; but who does not like to see a good house built all at once, rather than patched from time to time? Who likes to see a church half restored, and half a ruin?

So, who likes to have half the heart of his sweetheart, and never to have the whole. Let him learn to have a whole heart himself, first, and he will be sure to possess the whole heart of another, and fulfil the whole law.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Alderman Goodbeheard, who had been one of Doctor Gambado's patients, delighted, when in the country, to see the hounds; but being a very portly person, and not one of the highflyers in the field, he told John Tattsall, that he wanted a horse that would get over gates and styles, without taking a flying leap. He must have one that could creep over them, by putting first his forelegs on, and then his hind, so as to give him time to lean forward and to lean backward, without those sudden jerks, which he had seen some gentlemen get in the saddle. He did not mind his horse breaking a bar or so, provided he did no mischief to himself or to his rider; for, as the Alderman generally rode along convenient roads and footpaths, he wished to do so with comfort to himself and convenience to his creature.

"I see, sir," said John; "you want a creeper, that will do things by halves."

"Exactly so, sir! exactly so, sir!"

"I can suit your worship well, only you must keep a whip, constantly to ride behind you, just to teach the animal to do as he was taught, to do things by halves."

"If you can find me a lad to do this, I should be glad to have him in my service."

"I have a groom in my service, who would just suit your purpose. He has, in fact, been the trainer of the animal to do just that kind of thing."

"Capital! capital! I will furnish him with scarlet coat and cap, boots and spurs, whip and saddle, and pay him 2 2s. per week, until the end of the hunting season, when you may have him again to train other horses how to do things by halves."