Many authorities on riding tell us that a horse's jump is simply a higher stride of his gallop; from this notion I beg entirely to dissent. In leaping, a horse first raises his forehand upwards with a half rear, both feet quitting the ground at the same instant, the height he rises corresponding to the angle at which he takes off. Secondly, from his hind legs he propels himself forwards, both hind legs moving together, and, if he is a good jumper, well under him. If leaping, therefore, is to be compared to any other action of a horse, it must resemble a plunge gaining ground to the front. There is no possible gain in teaching, however, by comparing a horse's leap to his any other movement. Instinct tells him what to do in order to clear his legs of the obstacle, and, like walking or galloping, the action is by no means artificial, inasmuch as a thoroughly unbroken young horse loose in a paddock will jump through a gap on an ill-kept farm (if his dam makes the running) with precisely the same action as a finished hunter; and, therefore, in one sense I endorse the dictum once expressed to me by an Irish farmer when I asked his opinion as to the natural paces of a horse. His reply was, "Sure some of 'em goes no way natural, but just the way you don't want thim to go; and there's some of thim that nothing's so natural to as to ate a lot of good oats a man never sees the price of again. Thim's bad ones. But if you're spaking of a good maning, rale Irish horse, the most natural pace he has is to jump well." I quite agree, bar the word pace, that jumping to a horse is as natural as any other instinctive action. The weight, however, to be carried, and the mode in which that weight is distributed at the critical moment, makes a material difference to both horse and rider. Therefore, the early leaping lessons should be confined to causing the pupil to do as little as possible to impede the action of the horse, while she preserves her due balance. Like the breaking of a young colt in the case of a pupil learning to ride over a fence, if you ask too much at once or confuse the learner, you obtain nothing but discomfiture.