Press enter after choosing selection

A Musical Horse

A Musical Horse image
Parent Issue
Public Domain
OCR Text

Whon I was a boy, my father owned a sorrel mare, which was callcd Tib. Sho was ordinarily sluggish, but possossed good speed and groat power. Sbe ncver frighteued at anything, and, aside from her laziness was a good beast, except on particular occasions, when she, without any apparent cause, would refuso to go. For a long time she was subject to the usual treatment of balky animáis - severo whipping, pounding, torturing, etc. But my father and the hired man gavo it up as a bad course, and she was relcased from tli is harassment. A close observation of her tantrums led me to the conülusion that she was subject to paroxysms of the nervous system, growing out of electrical changos of the atmosphere. She was always true to draw or travel in bright, clcar, blue sky spring or summer weather ; and for tho dozen years that we owued her wo were nevor troubled with her in a cold, frosty, still, wintor's day. But on a summer's day, wheu the electric fluid passed rapidly from the earth's surface, and dyspeptics would look liko committing suicide, aud rheumatics would predict a chango of atmosphere, when the thuuder-caps white and gorgeous as an East-Indiau palace lifted their heads in the north-wcst, betokeuing the clash of a coming storm, theu look out for old Tib. She would suddenly stop in the furrow, iu the haivest-field or highway, and pitchfork tines, or apple-tree clubs, or buudles of fired straw under her bolly, could not start her. Like a sentinel at his post, she was deaf to all urgencies and appeals save one. That would start her after awhile. The same result would be witnossed iu a winter's day, when the air was from the south and thawy. So she was a'ways worked with these reservatious, for she was not always reliable. After we had owned her about eight years, my father hired a man by tho namo of John Hart. He was a pious inan, and liked above all things to sing. One bright August morning we were drawing in wheat, aud old Tib had been draftcd into harness. She had worked well till about four o'clock in the afteraoon, when suddenly, as wo were loading, there caine a clap of thunder from an almost ' Clear sky " on our ears, and we saw in the west a cloud littlo bigger than a man's hand, portending rain. We were not far from the barn, and hoping to get loaded and iuto the barn before the rain reached us, the sheaves were thrown on by two men, and loaded by Hart with great dexterity. Our hopes were quite sanguine that Tib would be reasonable tlns time- first, be cause sho had had hard thunder-shower experience enough to know that it was not pleasant to her, nor at all obliging to those employiug her ; second, because she was " homeward bound," and a little eifort would put us all under dry cover She made no hostile demonstration tiil the raek was loaded, wheu, at the usual word, she refused to budge one inch. The men proposed to pound her, but my father forbade, but suggested to Hart to sing. II e had a full, manly, melodious voicc, which rung from his throat iu tones sweet aud beautiful ; and he know all tho ballads from Robin Hood to Yankee Doodle, and the Methodist hymns from " Blow the trumpet " to " How happy are they." 'Twas a sceue for Turner's pencil. In the west lay thuader-caps white as snow, like Pelion upon Ossa. North and south the rain had flanked us like the wings of an army. Here and there feil a big raindrop, harbiuger of more, whilst around the load stood the hired men aching to pound old Tib into minee moat. Hart was on the load. " Sing," said my father. Hart bogan aud sung a hymn, cvery two lines of which was a chorus of, " Blow ye the trumpet, blow ! öing Glory, liallelujali !" and his eye dilated and his breast heaved, aud he forgot that behind him, but a little way off, was thunder and lightning enough, rightly expended, to ':blow up " half of creation ; and that before him wns a crazy old maro within ten rods of a good barn, too mud, or too upset, how ever, to make her way to it. lic thought of his mission, which was to siug God's praise 'mid flashing firo and thunder stroke, and he filled his mission full. " Sing away !" cried my fatber, " sing away. Hart, the old nag is releuting ! I sec it iu her eye ; and the tip of her ear is playing to your maaio like the lingera of a niaiden to a guitar. She likes the Hallelujah strain. It soothes her brain, which seethes under this thunder liko lead in a red hot cauldron. Ha, ha ! give her the rein ; she'll go - hurrah ! we're in time - there has been no such singing siucc Timotheus saug at the fcast of Alexander." Wo had made a discovery. Hart's voico would control the old mare in hor tantrums, like the lyre of Orpheus the trees; and whilst he lived with my father, a Methodist hymn would always start hor. She was a Methodist from instinct, and Hart declared that Tib kuew a ] Methodist from a Presbytcrian hymn iustauter.- Dr. Jackson. 5i2T Probably tin reason why the way of the transgressor is hard, is, that it is so much travcled. Fy&T An unbound book might appropriately say to a calf or a sheup, " I wish I were in your skin ! " E-jU" " Husband, if an honest man is God's noblt'St work, what is ui honest womau 'r " Hts rarest, dear." L"S" A western paper announccd the illness of ita editor, piously adding : " All good paying subsoribers are rcijiiestcd to nientiou him in their prayers. The others need not, ' as the prayt'rs of the wicked avail uotliing,' acoqrding to good


Old News
Michigan Argus