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THE physiognomy of the horse is an interesting subject. Those who have made it their study can read the animal’s passions and purposes in his face. The following hints on this topic are chiefly from Professor Youatt:—

The eye enables us with tolerable accuracy to guess at the animal’s temper. If much of the white is seen, he is not to be lightly trusted. The mischievous horse is always slyly on the look out for opportunities to indulge his malice, and the frequent backward direction of the eye, which makes the white most perceptible, is only to give surer effects to the blow which he is about to aim.

The quality of the horse’s vision differs from that of man. The former can take in a wider range in consequence of the lateral position of the eyes and their distance apart; and when the animal, with its head down, is quietly grazing, it can see objects with facility in every direction round it. Man’s vision is more limited in range, but it is probable more acute, because the black lining of the human eye renders it a more perfect camera obscura, and gives more vividness to the pictures formed within it. The lining membrane of the horse’s eye is of a beautiful sea green colour, in consequence of which it absorbs so much the less light, and thereby affords increased power of vision in the night. Every rider must be aware from experience that his horse can discern surrounding objects, when the gloom of evening conceals them from his own eyesight. All animals who have to seek their food by night have the interior of the eye more or less bright; in the wolf and the dog it is grey; and in all varieties of the cat species it is yellow; the eyes of the lion have been compared to two flaming torches in the night. There are individuals of the human race called Albinos, whose eyes look red like those of ferrets, from the absence of the usual black pigment, and these persons are almost blind by day, but see with ease in what to other men seems thick darkness.

“Many persons erroneously suppose that the flow of tears, caused by bodily pain or emotions of the mind, is peculiar to man. But Shakspere says of the wounded stag:—

“The big round tears

Coursed one another down his innocent nose

In piteous chase;”

and horses are repeatedly seen to weep under acute pain or brutal usage. Mr. Lawrence, speaking of the cruelty exercised by some dealers in what they call “firing” a horse before he is led out for sale, in order to rouse every spark of mettle, says, “More than fifty years have passed away, and I have before eyes a poor mare stone blind, exquisitely shaped, and showing all the marks of high blood, whom I saw unmercifully cut with the whip a quarter of an hour before the sale, to bring her to the use of her stiffened limbs, while the tears were trickling down her cheeks.”

The size, setting on, and motion of the ear, are important points. Ears rather small than large, placed not too far apart, erect and quick in motion, indicate both breeding and spirit; and if a horse is in the frequent habit of carrying one ear forward, and the other backward, and especially if he does so on a journey, he will generally possess both spirit and continuance. The stretching of the ears in contrary directions shows that he is attentive to every thing that is passing round him; and while he is doing this he cannot be much fatigued, or likely soon to become so. It has been remarked, that few horses sleep without pointing one ear forward and the other backward, in order that they may receive notice of the approach of objects in every direction. When horses or mules march in company at night, those in front direct their ears forward, those in the rear direct them backward, and those in the centre turn them laterally or across; the whole troop seeming thus to be actuated by one feeling which watches the general safety.

The ear of the horse is one of the most beautiful parts about him, and by few things is the temper more surely indicated than by its motion. The ear is more intelligible even than the eye; and a person accustomed to the horse can tell, by the expressive motion of that organ, almost all that he thinks or means. When a horse lays his ears flat back on his neck, he most assuredly is meditating mischief, and the stander by should beware of his heels or his teeth. In play the ears will be laid back, but not so decidedly or so long. A quick change in their position, and more particularly the expression of the eye at the time, will distinguish between playfulness and vice.

The hearing of the horse is remarkably acute. A thousand vibrations of the air, too slight to make any impression on the human ear, are readily perceived by him. It is well known to every hunting man, that the cry of hounds will be recognised by the horse, and his ears will be erect, and he will be all spirit and impatience, a considerable time before the rider is conscious of the least sound. Need any thing more be said to expose the absurdity of cropping? The cruel and stupid custom of cutting off the ears of the horse began (to its shame be it said!) in Great Britain, and was so obstinately pursued for many years, that, at length, it became hereditary in some cases, and a breed of horses born without ears was produced. Fortunately for this too often abused animal, cropping is not now the fashion. The practice of lopping off two-thirds of the tail, is more excusable, on the ground of convenience to the rider. In wet weather and miry roads, the switching of a long drabbled swab is not desirable. The question of long tails or short tails, is a question between comfort and beauty of form. Now, much as we may value the former, we think it ought not quite to overbear all consideration for the latter; and we are glad to see that in this instance, too, fashion is beginning to side with reason and good taste.

The lips of the horse are his hands; they serve both as organs of touch and as instruments of prehension, as may be seen when the animal is feeding. He gathers up his corn with them, and collects the grass into a tuft before he bites it. The lips should be thin, but firm and regularly closed. Flabby, pendulous lips indicate weakness or old age, or dulness and sluggishness.

It is thought, perhaps, with some degree of truth, that indications of character may be drawn from the shape of the nose: but the rules in this case are the reverse of those applicable in judging of human noses; for, in the horse, the prominent Roman nose bespeaks an easy, good-tempered kind of beast, but rather of a plebeian order of mind and body; the horse with a straight, or Grecian nose, may be good or bad tempered, but not often either to any great excess; but a hollow nose (a cocked one, as we should say, in speaking of the human face) generally indicates some breeding, especially if the head is small, but occasionally accompanied by a vicious, uncontrollable disposition. “There is another way, however,” says Mr. Youatt, “in which the nasal bones do more certainly indicate the breed; viz., by their comparative length or shortness. There is no surer criterion of a well-bred horse than a broad, angular forehead, prominent features, and a short face; nor of a horse with little breeding than a narrow forehead, small features, and lengthened nose. The comparative development of the head and face indicates, with little error, the preponderance of the animal or intellectual principle.”

As the horse breathes only through the nose, it is important that the openings into that cavity should be free, and capable of dilating sufficiently to allow of the passage of a large volume of air when the animal is put to his speed. The expanded nostril is a striking feature in the blood horse, especially when he has been excited and not overblown. What a sudden effect is given to the countenance of the hunter, when his ears become erect, and his nostrils dilate, as he first listens to the cry of the hounds, and snorts and scents them afar off! And the war-horse—“the glory of his nostrils is terrible!”

The following anecdote, related by Professor Kügler, of Halle, proves both the sagacity and the fidelity of the horse:—A friend of his, riding home through a wood on a dark night, struck his head against a branch of a tree, and fell stunned to the ground. The horse immediately returned to the house they had left, and which was now closed, for the family had gone to bed. He pawed at the door until some one rose and opened it, and then he turned about; and the man, wondering at the affair, followed him. The faithful and intelligent animal led him to the place where his master lay senseless. A still more interesting incident, of a similar kind, occurred in this country:—A little girl, the daughter of a gentleman in Warwickshire, playing on the banks of a canal which runs through his grounds, fell into the water, and would in all probability have been drowned, had not a small pony, which had long been kept in the family, plunged into the stream, and brought the child safely to land.

Mr. Jesse gives an instance of what may fairly be called the sensibility of the horse, and his keen perception of danger. A friend of his was riding a horse one day in India, attended by a spaniel which had long been its companion. The dog ran into some long grass, and came out crying and shaking its head; the horse, contrary to his usual custom, not only avoided the dog, but showed the utmost dread of his coming near him. The dog soon died, and upon examination it was found that he had been bitten in the tongue by a venomous snake.

But the horse’s sensibility is not a selfish quality; he often displays the most generous solicitude, to avoid injuring other creatures. It is not an uncommon thing for a fallen soldier to escape without one touch of a hoof, though a charge of cavalry pass over his prostrate body, every animal in the line leaping clear over him. An old horse belonging to a carter in Strathnegie, Fifeshire, had become particularly familiar with the ways of children, for his master had a large family. One day, as this animal was dragging a loaded cart through a narrow lane near the village, a young child happened to be sprawling in the road, and would inevitably have been crushed by the wheels, if the sagacious old horse had not prevented it. He carefully took up the child by the clothes with his teeth, carried it for a few yards, and then placed it on a bank by the wayside, moving slowly all the while, and looking back as if to satisfy himself that the wheels of the cart had cleared it.

Gregarious in the wild state, the horse retains the same sociable disposition in domestication, and shows a great aversion to be left alone. This companionable temper appears very pleasingly in the field, in the gambolings of horses with each other, in their manifest curiosity when a strange horse comes in sight, and the animated gestures and neighings with which they try to strike up an acquaintance, and, above all, in the little kind offices they perform mutually. It is an every-day occurrence to see two horses gently scratching each other; and Mr. Jesse speaks of it as a well-known fact, that in hot countries where the blood of the horses is heated by the climate, they are in the constant habit of bleeding each other, and sometimes of bleeding themselves, by biting the neck or the shoulder. So strong is the horse’s aptitude for friendship, that he will attach himself to almost any kind of animal rather than remain solitary. White, of Selborne, relates an instance of this kind between a horse and a hen. These two incongruous animals spent much of their time together in a lonely orchard, where they saw no creature but each other, and by degrees an apparent regard sprang up between them. The fowl would approach the quadruped with notes of complacency, rubbing herself quietly against his legs, whilst the horse would look down with satisfaction, and move with the greatest caution and circumspection lest he should trample on his diminutive companion. In the portrait of the celebrated Godolphin Arabian is seen a cat, which was his inseparable companion in the stable, and died really broken hearted for his loss. Another race-horse and cat were great friends, and the latter generally slept in the manger. When the horse was going to have his oats, he always took up the cat by the skin of her neck, and dropped her into the next stall, that she might not be in his way while he was feeding. At all other times he seemed pleased to have her near him. Eclipse was fond of a sheep, and Chillaby, called from his great ferocity, the Mad Arabian, whom only one of the grooms dared to approach, and who savagely tore to pieces the image of a man purposely placed in his way, had his peculiar attachment to a lamb that used to spend many an hour in butting away the flies from his friend.

“A gentleman of Bristol had a greyhound, which slept in the stable along with a very fine hunter of about five years of age. These animals became mutually attached, and regarded each other with the most tender affection. The greyhound always lay under the manger beside the horse, which was so fond of him, that he became unhappy and restless when the dog was out of his sight. It was a common practice with the gentleman to whom they belonged, to call at the stable for the greyhound to accompany him in his walks: on such occasions the horse would look over his shoulder at the dog with much anxiety, and neigh in a manner which plainly said—‘Let me also accompany you.’ When the dog returned to the stable, he was always welcomed by a loud neigh—he ran up to the horse and licked his nose; in return, the horse would scratch the dog’s back with his teeth. One day, when the groom was out with the horse and greyhound for exercise, a large dog attacked the latter, and quickly bore him to the ground; on which the horse threw back his ears, and, in spite of all the efforts of the groom, rushed at the strange dog that was worrying at the greyhound, seized him by the back with his teeth, which speedily made him quit his hold, and shook him till a large piece of the skin gave way. The offender no sooner got on his feet, than he judged it prudent to beat a precipitate retreat from so formidable an opponent.”

Another instance of attachment between a horse and a dog is related by Capt. Brown in his “Biographical Sketches:” “My friend, Dr. Smith, of the Queen’s County Militia, Ireland, had a beautiful hackney, which, although extremely spirited, was at the same time wonderfully docile. He had also a fine Newfoundland dog, named Cæsar. These animals were mutually attached, and seemed perfectly acquainted with each other’s actions. The dog was always kept in the stable at night, and uniformly lay beside the horse. When Dr. Smith practised in Dublin, he visited his patients on horseback, and had no other servant to take care of the horse, while in their houses, but Cæsar, to whom he gave the reins in his mouth. The horse stood very quietly, even in that crowded city, beside his friend Cæsar. When it happened that the doctor had a patient not far distant from the place where he paid his last visit, he did not think it worth while to remount, but called to his horse and Cæsar. They both instantly obeyed, and remained quietly opposite the door where he entered, until he came out again. While he remained in Maryborough, Queen’s County, where I commanded a detachment, I had many opportunities of witnessing the friendship and sagacity of these intelligent animals. The horse seemed to be as implicitly obedient to his friend Cæsar as he could possibly be to his groom. The doctor would go to the stable, accompanied by his dog, put the bridle upon his horse, and giving the reins to Cæsar, bid him take the horse to the water. They both understood what was to be done, when off trotted Cæsar, followed by the horse, which frisked, capered, and played with the dog all the way to the rivulet, about three hundred yards distant from the stable. We followed at a great distance, always keeping as far off as possible, so that we could observe their manœuvres. They invariably went to the stream, and after the horse had quenched his thirst, both returned in the same playful manner as they had gone out.

“The doctor frequently desired Cæsar to make the horse leap over this stream, which might be about six feet broad. The dog, by a kind of bark, and leaping up towards the horse’s head, intimated to him what he wanted, which was quickly understood; and he cantered off, preceded by Cæsar, and took the leap in a neat and regular style. The dog was then desired to bring him back again, and it was speedily done in the same manner. On one occasion Cæsar lost hold of the reins, and as soon as the horse cleared the leap, he immediately trotted up to his canine guide, who took hold of the bridle, and led him through the water quietly.”

“A gentleman,” says Mr. Jesse, “who resides near Southampton, had a retriever, a large half-bred Newfoundland dog, that had formed a friendship with a horse, which, at the time I am referring to, was turned out into a paddock near the house. The dog, hunting one day by himself, was caught in a snare by the leg, and after struggling some time, during which its cries were heard, he disengaged himself so far from his confinement as to break the string of the snare, the wire being still attached to the limb. In this situation he was observed by my friend and his host to go to the horse in the paddock, and seemed at once to make him aware of his distress. The horse gently put his nose down to the dog, and the dog having licked it, lifted up the leg to which the snare was attached in a manner which could not be mistaken. The horse immediately began to try to disengage the snare, by applying his teeth to it in a gentle and cautious manner, although he was unable to succeed in removing it. This is by no means a solitary instance of the sympathy which animals show for each other when in distress.”

Man may fully avail himself of this amiable disposition of the horse; it is rarely the latter’s fault if he and his owner are not on the best possible terms. How often has the horse been found grazing by the side of his drunken prostrate master, whom he would not leave. “We have seen,” says Mr. Blaine, “a child of five years old purposely sent by the wife of the coachman to quiet an unruly and noisy coach-horse, for to no other person would he yield such obedience; but a pat from her tiny hand, or her infantile inquiry—‘What is the matter with you?’ was sufficient to allay every obstreperous symptom. But it was to her only he yielded such submission, for otherwise he was a high-spirited and really intractable animal. Often has this child been found lying asleep on the neck of the horse, when he had laid himself down in his stall, and so long as she continued to sleep, so long the horse invariably remained in his recumbent position.”

There is something almost mysterious in the manner in which the horse contrives to pick his way in safety through dangerous and deceitful ground, and to discover and avoid perils of which his master is quite unsuspicious. In all doubtful cases the animal’s head should be left free, that he may put his nose to the ground, and examine it by touch, as well as by sight and hearing (the muzzle is the peculiar organ of touch in the horse), and he will then seldom fail to judge promptly and unerringly whether or not he may venture to proceed. But even when the animal is confined in harness and restrained from the free use of all his faculties, he sometimes exercises his wonderful instinct in the happiest manner. In the very month in which we are writing (January, 1846), several hundred feet of the viaduct of Barentin over the Rouen and Havre railway came down with a sudden crash. Just before the fall, Monsieur Lorgery, flour merchant of Pavilly, was about to cross one of the arches in his cabriolet, when the horse stopped short and refused to pass. M. Lorgery struck the animal with his whip, but all in vain—he refused to stir. At the moment while his unsuspecting driver was still urging him on, the fall took place.

It is partly owing to the faculty of discerning the obscurest traces of a frequented, or at least a practicable road, and partly to that tenacious power of memory which enables a horse to recognise a road he has once traversed, that bewildered travellers, from the days of knight-errantry downwards, have found it good policy to throw the reins on their steed’s neck, and trust themselves implicitly to his guidance. Along with this retentive memory the horse combines a very business-like observance of habit and routine. The author of “The Menageries” knew a horse which, being accustomed to make a journey once a week with the newsman of a provincial paper, always stopped at the houses of the several customers, although they were sixty or seventy in number. But further, there were two persons in the route who took one paper between them, and each claimed the privilege of receiving it first on the alternate Sunday. The horse soon became accustomed to this regulation; although the parties lived two miles asunder, he stopped once a fortnight at the door of the half-customer at Thorpe, and once a fortnight at that of the half-customer at Chertsey; and never did he forget this arrangement, which lasted several years, or stop unnecessarily after he had once thoroughly understood the rule.

The docility and intelligence of the horse are abundantly shown in the feats he is trained to perform in the Circus; but those which he is self-taught are still more interesting. Lord Brougham in his “Dissertations” says, he knew a pony that used to open the latch of the stable door, and also raise the lid of the corn chest; and he notices the instance of a horse opening the wicket-gate of a field by pressing down the upright bar, as a man would do—“actions,” he observes, “which the animals must have learned from observation, as it is very unlikely that they were taught.” Such feats are not uncommon; but the following is, we believe, unique. In 1794, a gentleman in Leeds had a horse which, after having been kept up in the stable for some time, and turned out into a field where there was a pump well supplied with water, regularly obtained a quantity therefrom by his own dexterity. For this purpose, the animal was observed to take the handle into his mouth, and work it with his head, in a way exactly similar to that done by the hand of man, until a sufficiency was procured.

The force of habit is particularly strong in the old hunter and in the war-horse. The Tyrolese, in one of their insurrections in 1809, took fifteen Bavarian horses, and mounted them with fifteen of their own men; but in a skirmish with a squadron of the same regiment, no sooner did these horses hear the trumpet and recognise the uniform of their old masters, than they set off at full gallop, and carried their riders, in spite of all their efforts, into the Bavarian ranks, where they were made prisoners. But inveterate habits are contracted in peace as well as in war, domi militiæque, a truth which was curiously exemplified in a case that fell under our own observation. Some ladies of our acquaintance in Essex bought a very respectable, middle aged, black-coated horse, to draw their four-wheeled open chaise, driven by their own fair hands. At first they were greatly pleased with their bargain; the horse was as strong as an elephant, as gentle as a lamb, and as sedate as a parish clerk. But he soon gave proof of very ungenteel propensities. No sooner did a public house come in view than he would rush up to the door, in defiance of whip and rein, and persist in remaining there a reasonable drinking time, thereby exposing the reputation of his mistresses to very shocking surmises. It afterwards came out that he had learned these ways of a jolly old farmer in whose possession he had been for some years.

There is a story told of a famous trotter belonging to a butcher, which attracted the admiration of a gentleman by its splendid action, and was bought by him at a very high price. But no long time elapsed before the purchaser came to the conclusion that he had been taken in; the horse was decidedly a dull, lazy brute; it was all over with his fine trotting; and the butcher who sold him was, no doubt, aware that the animal laboured under some unsoundness that destroyed his former high qualities. The gentleman took the horse to its former owner, and indignantly denounced the fraud that had been practised upon him. The butcher listened in silence to the stormy harangue, and then turning to one of his men, who was leaving the shop with a tray of meat on his shoulder, he said to him, “Here, Dick, jump up, just as you are, and let us see if the horse can’t trot a bit.” The man did so, and off started the horse in the very best style. The gentleman was amazed and confounded: “I can never make him go like that!” he said. “That’s a pity, sir,” replied the butcher; “you see it is not his fault. But I’ll tell you what it is; you just please to mount, and let me put a tray of meat on the saddle before you, and then I warrant you’ll say he goes fast enough!”

Horses often exhibit a good deal of cunning. The late General Pater, of the East India service, was a remarkably fat man. While stationed at Madras, he purchased a charger, which, after a short trial, all at once betook himself to a trick of lying down whenever he prepared to get upon his back. Every expedient was tried, without success, to cure him of the trick; and the laugh was so much indulged against the general’s corpulency, that he found it convenient to dispose of his horse to a young officer quitting the settlement for a distant station up the country. Upwards of two years had subsequently elapsed, when, in the execution of his official duties, General Pater left Madras to inspect one of the frontier cantonments. He travelled, as is the usual custom in India, in his palanqueen (a covered couch carried on men’s shoulders). The morning after his arrival at the station, the troops were drawn out; and, as he had brought no horses, it was proper to provide for his being suitably mounted, though it was not very easy to find a charger adapted to his weight. At length an officer resigned to him a powerful horse for the occasion, which was brought out duly caparisoned in front of the line. The general came forth from his tent, and proceeded to mount; but the instant the horse saw him advance, he flung himself flat upon the sand, and neither blows nor entreaties could induce him to rise. It was the general’s old charger, which, from the moment of quitting his service, had never once practised the artifice until this second meeting. The general, who was an exceedingly good-humoured man, joined heartily in the universal shout that ran through the whole line on witnessing this ludicrous affair.

SIR ROBERT GILLESPIE’S DARING FEAT.

Courage is a quality of great importance in a horse, and some possess it in a high degree. It is worthy, too, of remark, that there is often something more than mere natural indifference to danger, something of an intellectual character in the courage of the horse. He learns to overcome his fears. At the sight of a tiger a horse has been known to become wholly paralysed with terror, and incapable of resistance, or even of flight; and yet this instinctive dread of mortal foes can be eradicated by education, and a reliance on the protection of man. A remarkable proof of this is, that the hunting leopard is allowed by the well-trained horse to spring on his back, either behind or before his master, when he goes a-field in pursuit of game. One of the most signal instances of courage on the part of horse and rider, and of perfect concert between both, is that recorded of the late Sir Robert Gillespie and his Arab. Sir Robert being present on the race-course of Calcutta during one of the great Hindoo festivals, when many thousands are assembled to witness all sorts of shows, was suddenly alarmed by the shrieks and commotion of the crowd. On being informed that a tiger had escaped from his keepers, he immediately called for his horse, and, with no other weapon than a boar-spear snatched from one of the by-standers, he rode to attack this formidable enemy. The tiger was probably amazed at finding himself in the middle of such a number of shrieking beings flying from him in all directions; but the moment he perceived Sir Robert, he crouched in the attitude of preparing to spring upon him; and that instant the gallant soldier passed his horse in a leap over the tiger’s back, and struck the spear through his spine. It was a feat requiring the utmost conceivable unity of purpose and movement on the part of horse and rider, almost realising for the moment the fable of the centaur. Had either swerved or wavered for a second, both had been lost. But the brave steed knew his rider. The animal was a small grey, and was afterwards sent home as a present to the Prince Regent.

Sir Robert fell subsequently at the storming of Kalunga. Another horse of his, a favourite black charger, bred at the Cape of Good Hope, and carried by him to India, was, at the sale of his effects, competed for by several officers of his division, and finally knocked down to the privates of the 8th dragoons, who contributed their prize money, to the amount of £500 sterling, to retain this commemoration of their late commander. The charger was always led at the head of the regiment on a march, and at the station of Cawnpore was usually indulged with taking his ancient post at the colour stand, where the salute of passing squadrons was given at drill and on reviews. When the regiment was ordered home, the funds of the privates running low, he was bought for the same sum by a gentleman, who provided funds and a paddock for him, where he might end his days in comfort; but when the corps had marched, and the sound of the trumpet had departed, he refused to eat, and on the first opportunity, being led out to exercise, he broke from his groom, and galloping to his ancient station on the parade, after neighing aloud, dropped down and died.

It is not surprising that an animal endowed in so high a degree as the horse is with mental and moral faculties, should occasionally be subject, like man, to derangement of these faculties. The disordered actions, the fury, the caprices, and the vices which are sometimes shown by the brute, are in the highest degree analagous to certain forms of human insanity. The following anecdotes are related by Mr. Youatt, on the authority of Professor Rodet, of Toulouse:—

A horse, seven years old, was remarkable for an habitual air of stupidity, and a peculiar wandering expression of countenance. When he saw any thing he had not been accustomed to, or heard any sudden or unusual noise, whether it was near or at a distance, or sometimes when his corn was thrown into the manger without the precaution of speaking to him or patting him, he was frightened to an almost incredible degree; he recoiled precipitately, every limb trembled, and he struggled violently to escape. After several useless efforts to get away, he would work himself into the very highest degree of rage so that it was dangerous to approach him. This state of excitement was followed by dreadful convulsions, which did not cease until he had broken his halter, or otherwise freed himself from his trammels. He would then become calm, and suffer himself to be led back to his stable, nor would any thing more be seen but an almost continual uneasiness, and a wandering and stupid expression of countenance. He had belonged to a brutal soldier, who had beaten him shamefully: but before he fell into that man’s hands he had been perfectly quiet and tractable.

A Piedmontese officer possessed a beautiful mare, and one that would have been in all respects serviceable, but for a peculiarity that rendered her exceedingly dangerous: that was a decided aversion to paper, which she recognised the moment she saw it, and even in the dark, if two leaves were rubbed together. The effect produced by the sight or sound of it was so prompt and violent, that she several times unhorsed her rider. She had not the slightest fear of objects that would terrify most horses. She regarded not the music of the band, the whistling of the balls, the roaring of the cannon, the fires of the bivouacs, or the glittering of arms. The confusion and noise of an engagement made no impression on her; the sight of no other white object offended her. No other sound moved her, but the view or the rustling of paper roused her to madness.

A mare was perfectly manageable, and betrayed no antipathy to human beings, to animals of other kinds, or to horses, except they were of a light grey colour; but the moment she saw a light grey horse she rushed towards it and attacked it with the greatest fury. It was the same at all times and everywhere. She was all that could be wished on the parade, on the route, in the ranks, in action, and in the stable; but if she once caught a glimpse of a grey or white horse she rested not until she had thrown her rider or broken her halter, and then she rushed on the object of her dislike with the utmost fury. She generally contrived to seize the animal by the head or throat, and held him so fast that she would suffocate him, if he were not promptly released from her bite.

Another mare exhibited no dread except of white inanimate objects, as white mantles or coats, and particularly white plumes. She would fly from them if she could; but if unable to accomplish this, she would rush fiercely upon them, strike at them with her forefeet, and tear them with her teeth.

One of these horses, the second, was by long and kind attention divested of its insane terror, and became, perfectly quiet and useful; but the other three bid defiance to all means of cure, and to coercion amongst the rest. The cases of all four were as decided instances of monomania, or insanity confined to one object, as ever were exhibited in the human being.