the groom's?"
"I don't know."
"And he made a good king?"
"First-rate."
"Only think! well, if he made a good king, what a wonderful king the
groom would have made, through whose knowledge of 'orses he was put on
the throne. And now another question, Mr. Romany Rye, have you
particular words which have power to soothe or aggravate horses?"
"You should ask me," said I, "whether I have horses that can be
aggravated or soothed by particular words. No words have any particular
power over horses or other animals who have never heard them before--how,
should they? But certain animals connect ideas of misery or enjoyment
with particular words which they are acquainted with. I'll give you an
example. I knew a cob in Ireland that could be driven to a state of
kicking madness by a particular word, used by a particular person, in a
particular tone; but that word was connected with a very painful
operation which had been performed upon him by that individual, who had
frequently employed it at a certain period whilst the animal had been
under his treatment. The same cob could be soothed in a moment by
another word, used by the same individual in a very different kind of
tone; the word was deaghblasda, or sweet tasted. Some time after the
operation, whilst the cob was yet under his hands, the fellow--who was
what the Irish call a fairy smith--had done all he could to soothe the
creature, and had at last succeeded by giving it gingerbread-buttons, of
which the cob became passionately fond. Invariably, however, before
giving it a button, he said, 'Deaghblasda,' with which word the cob by
degrees associated an idea of unmixed enjoyment: so if he could rouse the
cob to madness by the word which recalled the torture to its remembrance,
he could as easily soothe it by the other word, which the cob knew would
be instantly followed by the button, which the smith never failed to give
him after using the word deaghblasda."
"There is nothing wonderful to be done," said the jockey, "without a good
deal of preparation, as I know myself. Folks stare and wonder at certain
things which they would only laugh at if they knew how they were done;
and to prove what I say is true, I will give you one or two examples. Can
either of you lend me a handkerchief? That won't do," said he, as I
presented him with a silk one. "I wish for a delicate white
handkerchief. That's just the kind of thing," said he, as the Hungarian
offered him a
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