MAN AND HIS HORSE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21153, 9 April 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

MAN AND HIS HORSE.

A DEBT ILL PAID.

BY M'ATANGA

Phar Lap's deai;h has moved half a world to regret. Even those who look askance at " the sport of kings," to say nothing of the horde of tipsters who patronise it by telephone and know horses only by mispronounced names, have felt a twinge. Tho feeling is natural, inborn by unreckoned centuries of association between man and Least. What if Phar Lap's lot was to liecomo a counter in a mad game of chance, part of its claim to renown being that it breeds little men ? That was his misfortune, not his fault; and the fact remains that he was a splendid specimen of his kind, handsome and fleet and better-tempered than most of tho folk now suffering a pang because ho can never briig them another dividend. They will have other means for their tortuous delight: one good horse more or less will not make a lasting difference in their race for wealth. But to think of this fine creature so swiftly overtaken by the rider on the pale liorso of the Apocalypse is painful. His ears have never itched for the fame he won, nor has he been avariciously ill-content with tho rations that were his little daily portion of whatever winnings came the way of his stable. Others have lost infinitely more than he, yet tho pity suddenly aroused has gone to him first and surest.

Somehow, Phar Lap has gathered to himself the finer feeling that goes out from very truly human heart to tho dumb friends of man, and maybe that is his special recompense for this tragic climax of his career. Dominant, perhaps, has been thought of the superb qualities so soon brought to the dust. Said Sir Thomas More. " For stateliness and majesty, what is comparable to a horse?" and in the mood of that word the news of this loss has been received. But the pity has been as sincere and pervading. Service in War.

Our ago too readily forgets, in its easy enjoyment'of mechanical propulsion, what civilisation—in its toil even moro than in its pleasure—owes to the horse. It is a prodigious debt. For witness, look back and back through literature, far beyond the days of science, into the dim dawn of art; you will almost everywhero find horses, and they aro always serving humankind. Take the hoi-ses out of history and it is scarcely able to move. And so down the years to our yesterday. Now wo aro culpably forgetful. The blame is as great as the story is long. Carried and drawn by these dumb helpers, man ha;; journeyed through untold years to achievement and comfort. Their service has been, to some peoples,' indispensable. Even man's inhumanity, to man, exercised in his wars—for all wars aro civil wars—has laid heavy toll upon these unprotesting servants. Motors are taking the place of mounts, and this toll will bo lightened: but it has been grievously and often thoughtlessly exacting. Out of the South African War came ono of tho best reminders of this harsh employment, and the obligation of remembrance it has loft. This is M. C. Keane's " The Blind, Obedient Dead." Nothing better came from the fluent pen laid down for tho last time a year or two ago. It opens, you remember:

Their bones lie glistening on the veldt, their shoes are rusted red, They are gone where spur and rifle are at rest. Good dreams to all that legion of the blind, obedient dead; Good pasture in their islandß of the biest! On the Highway.

There aro other epitaphs to war-horses, and they have a noble place in letters. But it is the patient, indefatigable service in peace that makes the horse most memorable in history. Many mounts are more sure of earthly immortality than is Phar Lap. Some of their names are almost household words yet, but honour as great clings to others whose names are lost. What of William Cobbett's faithful beast? Bred on a farm, refused by the navy, enslaved awhile at an attorney's desk, reaching the dizzy height of a ser-geant-major in the army, Cobbett " sighed for a sight of the world," and he got his desirs mainly astride a horse. His " Rural Rides " tells how and where. That horse served the world well. And there is another horse, or rather a succession of mounts, deserving memorial in English story. It is John Wesley's horse. Without that aid the revival of religion that saved not only England, hut Europe, could never have been experienced. There's a debt to a horse! The church of Wesley's founding was certainly born in a university, but it was just as certainly rocked and brought up on horseback. For John Wesley was of England's most famous horsemen. For fifty years he rode through England, travelling an average of four thousand miles a year, daring highwaymen as well as mobs, and going over roads unspeakably bad. Often he was seen riding, book in hand, the bridle lying upen his horse's neck. He argued on horseback, he preached on horseback, he oven slept on horseback; and he showed a regard for his beast that was exemplary. One day, near Bristol, he had an unfortunate collision with a cart driven by a driver, and was shot clean over his horse's head. He did not at once go home to treat his bruises with his " sovereign balm " of warm treacle. Instead, he rode on to his appointment, where he preached upon a specially chosen text: " Thou, Lord, shalt save both man and beast." That linking of man and beast was characteristic of his regard for his horse. If is not surprising that he believed and preached that there was a heaven for animals. " The Passing of the Horse." Tho horse is not superseded, but that fato draws very near in many countries. Punch, that most serious of all English journals, given to note and interpret current events with as bright a pair of eyes as ever peeped out of print, had some years ago a significant picture. It was in the days when the horseless carriage. as the motor-car was called before it captured American speech as the " automobile " and bec.-yne plain " car " in downright English, came first upon the road. A motorist in difficulties; the chaffeur on hi:, back half-hidden beneath his astonishing contraption as ho searches for the cause of his break-down; his passengers sitting, much dismayed, and a little bored, s till in their seats, while flying past, he;td in air and hoofs lifting merrily, an upstanding trotter magnificently draws a splendid dogcart, the face of its single occupant wreathed in smiles. " The Passing of the Horse " was all that gave verbal point to the picture. Punch has moved with the times. "V oil will find the motor-car to-day where in its pages the horse used to be. Some day our children's children may look with wonder on the pictures that tell of that strange past. As things are, such as Phar Lap and Dobbin have lingered on the stage to serve human ends for a while longer. To them we c,m pay a little of tho debt owed to the myriad generations of their docile tribe. Cod wot we have littlo enough of grateful tenderness. Our Prince of Wales, who knows and loves a horse, mado a youthful vow. " When I am King." he said, " I shall make three laws: (1) That no one shall cut puppies' tails, because it hurts them so. (2) That there shall be no more sin in the country. (3) That nobody shall use bearing-reins, because they hurt the horses." You would extend the code, no doubt, bui th; it's a find start.