A representation of Corneille’s tragedy of “Andromeda,” in 1682, occasioned great excitement in Paris, owing to the introduction of a “real horse” to play the part of Pegasus.  The horse was generally regarded as a kind of Roscius of the brute creation, and achieved an extraordinary success.  Adorned with wings and hoisted up by machinery, he neighed and tossed his head, pawed and pranced in mid-air after a very lively manner.  It was a mystery then, but it is common enough knowledge now, that the horse’s histrionic skill is founded upon his appetite.  Kept without food for some time the horse becomes naturally moved at the sight of a sieve of corn in the side-wings.  His feats, the picking up of gloves and handkerchiefs, even the pulling of triggers, originate but in his efforts to find oats.  By-and-by his memory is exercised, and he is content to know that after the conclusion of his “business” he will be rewarded with oats behind the scenes.  The postponement of his meals attends his failure to accomplish what is required of him.  Of old, perhaps, some cruel use of whip and spur may have marked the education of the “trick-horse.”  But for a long time past the animal’s fears have not been appealed to, but simply his love of food.  Horses are very sagacious, and their natural timidity once appeased, they become exceedingly docile.  An untrained horse has often shown himself equal to the ordinary requirements of the equestrian manager after only four days of tuition.

Pope satirised the introduction of horses in Shakespeare’s “Henry VIII.,” revived with great splendour in 1727, when a representation was given of the coronation of Anne Bullen, and the royal champion, duly mounted and caparisoned, proclaimed his challenge.  But for many years the appearances on the stage of equine performers were only of an occasional kind.  It was not until the rebuilding of Astley’s, in 1803, that the equestrian drama became an established entertainment.  An extensive stage was then added to the circus, and “horse spectacles,” as they were called, were first presented.  A grand drama called “The Blood-Red Knight,” produced in 1810, resulted in a profit to the proprietors of L18,000, a handsome sum, seeing that the season at that time only extended from Easter to the end of September.

The triumphs of Astley’s excited the envy of the Covent Garden managers.  Colman’s drama of “Blue Beard” was reproduced, with Mr. Johnson’s imitation elephant and a troop of real horses.  The performance was presented on forty-four nights, a long run in those days.  There was, of course, much wrath excited by this degradation of the stage.  A contemporary critic writes:  “A novel and marked event occurred at this theatre on this evening (18th of February, 1811), which should be considered as a black epocha for ever by the loyal adherents to wit and the Muses.  As the Mussulmen date their computation of years from the flight of Mahomet, so should the hordes of folly commence their