WHEN I was a boy, I worked for a farmer, and was given a span of horses to plow with, one of which was a four-year-old colt. The colt, after walking a few steps, would lie down in the furrow. The farmer was provoked, and told me to sit on the colt’s head to keep him from rising while he whipped him, “to break him of that notion,” as he said. But just then a neighbor came by. He said, “There is something wrong here; let him get up and let us examine.” He patted the colt, looked at the harness, and then said, “Look at this collar; it is so long and narrow, and carries the harness so high, that when he begins to pull it slips back and chokes him so he can’t breathe.” And so it was; and, but for that neighbor, we would have whipped as kind a creature as we had on the farm, because he lay down when he couldn’t breathe.—Selected.