elastic which is capable of expansion up to a certain
point. When vigorously tugged at, it is no longer elastic, but as
unyielding as ordinary string. Good hands maintain its elasticity, bad
ones convert it into string. A sympathetic touch on a horse's mouth can
only be made by "good hands." A musician, if he is an artist, will
accompany a weak-voiced singer so sympathetically that the sweet though
not robust notes of the voice are heard to the best advantage: he is a
man with good hands. A heavy-fisted player, desiring to show his command
over the instrument, will try to turn the accompaniment into a
pianoforte solo, and the nice notes of the struggling singer will be
entirely drowned by noise. He is like the heavy-handed, unsympathetic
rider.

VOICE.

For pleasant riding, it is essential that the horse should understand
his rider's orders, which are usually given to him only by the reins and
whip. However efficiently a lady may use these "aids," the fact remains
that a good understanding between herself and her mount is better
established by the voice than by any other means. With a little vocal
training any ordinary horse, when going fast, will pull up more promptly
and with greater ease to his mouth and hocks, by a pleasantly uttered
"whoa," than by the action of hands and reins. Young horses, like
foxhound puppies which are taken out for the first time, show great
reluctance to pass moving objects; but if the rider speaks encouragingly
to her mount in a tone of voice that means he must go on, he will try
his best to obey her, although his attention may be divided betwixt fear
and duty. As a reward, his rider should give him a few pats on the neck
and speak encouragingly to him, and she will doubtless find that he will
make a bolder effort to obey her voice when he again finds himself
confronted with a similar difficulty; because he will associate his
first escape from apparent disaster with her voice, and will in time
have such confidence in her guidance that a word from her will be quite
sufficient to assure him that all is well. When riding bad horses at my
husband's breaking classes abroad, I found it best not to speak to them;
for a bond of friendship had not been established between us, and I
noticed that the sound of my voice often stirred up their angry passions
by reminding them, I suppose, of some former rider who had scolded them
while ill-treating them. It was unsafe even to pat and try to be
friendl