And it came to pass that，as I was standing by the door of the barrack stable，one of the grooms came out to me，saying，“I say，young gentleman，I wish you would give the cob a breathing this fine morning.”
“Why do you wish me to mount him？”said I，“you know he is dangerous.I saw him fling you off his back only a few days ago.”
“Why，that’s the very thing，master.I‘d rather see anybody on his back than myself；he does not like me；but，to them he does，he can be as gentle as a lamb.”
“But suppose，”said I，“that he should not like me？”“We shall soon see that，master，”said the groom，“andif so be he shows temper，I will be the first to tell you to get down.But there’s no fear of that；you have never angered or insulted him，and to such as you，I say again，he‘ll be as gentle as a lamb.”
“And how came you to insult him，”said I，“knowing his temper as you do？”
“Merely through forgetfulness，master：I was riding him about a month ago，and having a stick in my hand，I struck him，thinking I was on another horse，or rather thinking of nothing at all.He has never forgiven me，though before that time he was the only friend I had in the world；I should like to see you on him，master.”
“I should soon be off him：I can’t ride.”
“Then you are all right，master；there‘s no fear.Trust him for not hurting a young gentleman，an officer’s son，who can‘t ride.If you were a blackguard dragoon，indeed，with long spurs，’twere another thing；as it is，he‘ll treat you as if he were the elder brother that loves you.Ride！he’ll soon teach you to ride，if you leave the matter with him.He‘s the best riding master in all Ireland，and the gentlest.”
The cob was led forth；what a tremendous creature！I had frequently seen him before，and wondered at him；he was barely fifteen hands，but he had the girth of a metropolitan drayhorse；his head was small in comparison with his immense neck，which curved down nobly to his wide back：his chest was broad and fine，and his shoulders models of symmetry and strength；he stood well and powerfully upon his legs，which were somewhat short.In a word，he was a gallant specimen of the genuine Irish cob，a species at one time not uncommon，but at the present day nearly extinct.
“There！”said the groom，as he looked at him，halfadmiringly，halfsorrowfully，“with sixteen stone on his back，he’ll trot fourteen miles in one hour，with your nine stone，some two and a half more，ay，and clear a sixfoot wall at the end of it.”
“I‘m half afraid，”said I，“I had rather you would ride him.”
“I’d rather so，too，if he would let me；but he remembers.the blow.Now，don‘t be afraid，young master，he’s longing to go out himself.He‘s been trampling with his feet these three days，and I know what that means；he’ll let anybody ride him but myself，and thank them；but to me he says，‘No！you struck me.’““But，”said I，“where‘s the saddle？”
“Never mind the saddle；if you are ever to be a frank rider you must begin without a saddle；besides，if he felt a saddle，he would think you don’t trust him，and leave you to yourself.Now，before you mount，make his acquaintancesee there，how he kisses you and licks your face，and see how he lifts his foot，that‘s to shake hands.You may trust himnow you are on his back at last；mind how you hold the bridlegently，gently！It’s not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he wishes to be off.Mind what I tell youleave it all to him.”
Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot，too fast，however，for so inexperienced a rider.I soon felt myself sliding off，the animal perceived it too，and instantly stood stone still till I had righted myself；and now the groom came up：“When you feel yourself going，”said he，“don‘t lay hold of the mane，that’s no use；mane never yet saved man from falling，no more than straw from drowning；it‘s his sides you must cling to with your calves and feet，till you learn to balance yourself.That’s it，now abroad with you；I‘ll bet my comrade a pot of beer that you’ll be a regular rough rider by the time you come back.”
And so it proved：I followed the directions of the groom，and the cob gave me every assistance.How easy is riding，after the first timidity is got over，to supple and youthful limbs；and there is no second fear.The creature soon found that the nerves of his rider were in proper tone.Turning his head half round he made a kind of whining noise，flung out a little foam，and set off.
In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the Devil‘s Mountain，and was returning along the road，bathed with perspiration，but screaming with delight；the cob laughing in his equine way，scattering foam and pebbles to the left and right；and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.
Oh，that ride！that first ride！most truly it was an epoch in my existence；and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and regret.People may talk of first loveit is a very agreeable event，I dare saybut give me the flush and triumph，and glorious sweat of a first ride，like mine on the mighty cob！My whole frame was shaken，it is true；and during one long week I could hardly move foot or hand；but what of that？By that one trial I had become free，as I may say，of the whole equine species.No more fatigue，no more stiffness of joints，after that first ride round the Devil’s Hill on the cob.
Oh，that cob；that Irish cob！may the sod lie lightly over the bones of the strongest，speediest，and most gallant of its kind！Oh！the days when，issuing from the barrackgate of Templemore，we commenced our hurryskurry just as inclination lednow across the fieldsdirect over stone walls and running brooksmere pastime for the cob！sometimes along the road to Thurles and Holy Cross，even to distant Cahir！what was distance to the cob？
It was thus that the passion for the equine race was firstawakened within mea passion which，up to the present time，has been rather on the increase than diminishing.It is no blind passion；the horse being a noble and generous creature，intended by the AllWise to be the helper and friend of man，to whom he stands next in the order of creation.
