by Anna Sewell

  To my dear and honored Mother,
   whose life, no less than her pen,
   has been devoted to the welfare of others,
   this little book is affectionately dedicated.

   Black Beauty

 
  Part I

 
  01 My Early Home

    The first place
         that I
            can well remember
                was a large pleasant meadow
                       with a pond of clear
                     water in it.

    Some shady trees
        leaned over it,
           and rushes and water-lilies
            grew at the deep end.

    Over the hedge
           on one side
         we looked
               into a plowed field,
           and on the other
             we looked
                   over a gate
                       at our master's house,
         which stood by the roadside;
        at the top
               of the meadow
            was a grove
                   of fir trees,
           and at
               the bottom
             a running
               brook overhung
                   by a steep bank.

    While I was young
         I lived
               upon my mother's milk,
           as I
            could not eat grass.

    In the daytime
         I ran by her side,
           and at night
             I lay
                   down close by her.

    When it was hot
         we used
              to stand
                   by the pond
                       in the shade
                           of the trees,
           and when it was cold
             we had a nice warm
                   shed near the grove.

    As soon as
         I was old enough
              to eat grass my mother
            used to go out
                  to work in the daytime,
           and come back
               in the evening.

    There were six young colts
           in the meadow
          besides me;
        they were older than
             I was;
        some were nearly
               as large
             as grown-up horses.

    I used
          to run with them,
           and had great fun;
        we used
              to gallop all
                   together round
                       and round the field
                   as hard as
             we could go.

    Sometimes we
        had rather rough play,
           for they
            would frequently bite and kick
                   as well as gallop.

    One day,
           when there was
               a good deal
             of kicking,
         my mother whinnied to me
              to come to her,
           and then she said:

    "I wish you
          to pay attention to
         what I
            am going
                  to say to you.

    The colts
         who live here
            are very good colts,
           but they are cart-horse colts,
         and of course
             they have not learned manners.

    You have been well-bred
           and well-born;
        your father
            has a great name
                   in these parts,
           and your grandfather
              won the cup two years
                   at the Newmarket races;
        your grandmother
            had the sweetest temper of
                   any horse
             I ever knew,
           and I think you
              have never
                  seen me kick or bite.

    I hope you
        will grow
               up gentle and good,
           and never learn bad ways;
        do your work
               with a good will,
           lift your feet up well
             when you trot,
         and never bite or kick
             even in play."

    I have never
          forgotten my mother's advice;
        I knew
             she was
                   a wise old horse,
           and our master
            thought a great
                 deal of her.

    Her name was Duchess,
           but he often
              called her Pet.

    Our master was a good,
           kind man.

    He gave us good food,
           good lodging,
         and kind words;
        he spoke
               as kindly to us as
             he did
                   to his little children.

    We were
           all fond of him,
         and my mother
               loved him very much.

    When she saw
           him at the gate
         she would neigh with joy,
           and trot up to him.

    He would
          pat and stroke
               her and say,
         "Well,
               old Pet,
             and how
                is your little Darkie?"

    I was a dull black,
           so he called me Darkie;
        then he
            would give me a piece
                   of bread,