oted by Nolan, we have a melancholy account
of the fate of an ingenious horse-tamer. "A Neapolitan, called Pietro,
had a little horse, named Mauroco, doubtless a Barb or Arab, which he
had taught to perform many tricks. He would, at a sign from his master,
lie down, kneel, and make as many courvettes (springs on his hind-legs
forward, like rearing), as his master told him. He jumped over a stick,
and through hoops, carried a glove to the person Pietro pointed out, and
performed a thousand pretty antics. He travelled through the greater
part of the Continent, but unfortunately passing through Arles, the
people in that 'age of faith,' took him for a sorcerer, and burned him
and poor Mauroco in the market-place." It was probably from this
incident that Victor Hugo took the catastrophe of La Esmeralda and her
goat.

Dan Sullivan, who flourished about fifty years ago, was the greatest
horse-tamer of whom there is any record in modern times. His triumph
commenced by his purchasing for an old song a dragoon's horse at Mallow,
who was so savage "that he was obliged to be fed through a hole in the
wall." After one of Sullivan's lessons the trooper drew a car quietly
through Mallow, and remained a very proverb of gentleness for years
after. In fact, with mule or horse, one half-hour's lesson from Sullivan
was enough; but they relapsed in other hands. Sullivan's own account of
the secret was, that he originally acquired it from a wearied soldier
who had not money to pay for a pint of porter he had drunk. The landlord
was retaining part of his kit as a pledge, when Sullivan, who sat in the
bar, vowed he would never see a hungry man want, and gave the soldier so
good a luncheon, that, in his gratitude, he drew him aside at parting,
and revealed what he believed to be an Indian charm.

Sullivan never took any pupils, and, as far as I can learn, never
attempted to train colts by his method, although that is a more
profitable and useful branch of business than training vicious horses.
It is stated in an article in "Household Words" on Horse-Tamers, that he
was so jealous of his gift that even the priest of Ballyclough could not
wring it from him at the confessional. His son used to boast how his
reverence met his sire as they both rode towards Mallow, and charged him
with being a confederate of the wicked one, and how the "whisperer" laid
the priest's horse under a spell, and forthwith led him a weary chase
among the cross roads, till