It is related, we know not on what authority, that a novel kind of jockeyship was once tried with triumphant success in one of those cases we are here speaking of. A well-known nobleman, so runs the tale, had a wild horse which nobody could ride. “I know not what your lordship can do with him,” said some one, “but to set the monkey on his back.” So they put a pad on the horse, and clapped the monkey upon it with a switch in his hand, wherewith he belaboured the horse, and set him into a furious kicking and galloping, but pug still kept his seat. The horse lay down on the ground; but when he threw himself on one side, the monkey was upon the other. He ran into a wood to brush his rider off; but the monkey dodged from side to side so as to avoid every tree and bush, until at last the horse was so sickened and fatigued and broken spirited, that he ran home to the stable for protection. When the monkey was removed, a boy was put in his place, and managed the horse with ease. The animal never gave any trouble afterwards. Old books of farriery mention a plan for taming intractable horses, which, we believe, has gone out of fashion only on account of the trouble attending it. We should be glad to see it revived, for we are inclined to think it would be attended with very good results. The horse was tethered in his stall, with his tail to the manger, prevented from lying down and kept without food or sleep for forty-eight hours or more; men, who relieved each other by turns, being stationed at his head to rouse him whenever he began to dose. This method was the same in principle as that by which falconers used to tame their hawks; and there can be little doubt that the discipline which could subdue those savage and impetuous birds, would have been no less efficacious in bringing down the unruly temper of the more generous quadruped. We have now to speak of certain horse-taming exploits, which have in them a strong tincture of the marvellous, but which are, nevertheless, authenticated by undeniable evidence. At the Spring meeting of 1804, Mr. Whalley’s horse, King Pippin, was brought on the Curragh of Kildare to run. He was a horse of the most strangely savage and vicious disposition. His particular propensity was that of flying at and worrying any person who came within his reach; and, if he had an opportunity, he would turn his head round, seize his rider by the leg with his teeth, and drag him down from his back. For this reason he was always ridden with what is called a _sword_; this is a strong flat stick, having one end attached to the check of the bridle, and the other to the girth of the saddle—a contrivance to prevent a horse of this kind from getting at his rider.