The same gentleman also possessed a beautiful bay mare called Jenny, remarkable for her sweet temper and pretty loving ways. She was a great favourite with the doctor’s daughters, and would ‘shake hands’ when asked, and kiss them in the most engaging manner, with a sort of nibbling motion of her black lips up and down the face. She would follow any one she liked about the fields, answer to her name like a dog, and would always salute any of her favourites on seeing them with that pretty low ‘hummering’ sound so common with pet horses, but never heard from those subject to ill-treatment. But, with all these graces, the pretty and interesting Jenny had several peculiar antipathies, in one of which she too somewhat resembled a dog Wag (to be noticed in a future article), and that was a marked dislike to the singing voice of one particular person, a lady, a relative of the doctor’s. This lady often went to the stable to feed Jenny with lettuces or apples, and they were always the best of friends; but so sure as she began to sing anything, Jenny instantly forgot her good manners, lost all propriety, and exhibited the usual signs of strong equine displeasure, although she never took the smallest notice of the singing or whistling of any other person, treating it apparently with indifference. One day, as the doctor was driving this lady out, he suggested, by way of experiment, that she should begin to sing. In a moment, Jenny’s ears were down flat, and a great kick was delivered with hearty goodwill on to the front of the carriage; and more would doubtless have followed, had not the lady prudently stopped short in her vocal efforts; when Jenny was herself again, and resumed her usual good behaviour.