HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 77 



Every day Manley Baker, mounted on the 

 mare, and myself on Tiger (some one asked a 

 friend of mine if this horse, Tiger, could jump). 

 " Jump ? I should say he can ; he can cHmb a 

 tree or go down a well." But there was one 

 thing Tiger could not bear, and that was a plain, 

 simple hurdle ; he would sooner push his way 

 through the blackest and ugHest of fences before 

 he would jump a hurdle, and many a time I have 

 been simply furious — he would canter up : when 

 I thought I was going all right, he would stand 

 still and with his head hanging over the top — 

 and yet such a horse to ride through a run I 

 have never known ; nothing tired him. He 

 knew all about hunting, and turned with hounds 

 like a knife, and he was always right. It was a 

 pleasure to stand at the corner of a covert 

 waiting for the fox to break. I knew at once 

 when the fox was away ; he caught sight of him 

 long before I did, and he would keep as still as 

 a mouse till hounds were well on the line ; then 

 away he went with a bound, and I don't think 

 it would have been an easy job to stop him. 



But, to go back to Conspiracy : Tiger rather 

 looked down on her performance, but he did his 

 best to help her. The time I write of was 

 twenty-two years ago, when there was only one 

 house between Hockley House and Stone's 

 shop, and we could scamper over the fields and 

 fences as we pleased; and from Hockley Hall 

 Wood to Murrel's Farm there was nothing but 

 big, black fences. Manley Baker was always 

 considered a first-rate man on a horse, and there 

 is no doubt about it : he rode the race well. 



