Country Life
By IAN NIALL YESTERDAY I found myself standing still to watch a horse and cart go past, so unusual has the sight become. The horse was a rather old one of the Shire breed, and I thought of the Clydesdales my grandfather bred, horses I had led to the trough, ridden upon or sat behind. It is misleading to go to a horse show and think that horses are anything but rare animals. The work horse is rare enough to make one turn and look when its heavy footfalls sound on the road. Having always had a warm affection for the work horse, the heavy plough team, I some- times think we deserve to be left without oil and be forced to turn again to the animal that did our cultivating and harvesting work for so long. Ours is a hard-hearted world, to be sure, when we can so easily discard our faithful servants and feed them to the dogs. but so it goes.
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