MR. VICKERMAN S HORSES 



JW 



hands, I turned him out on my brother's farm in Essex to " end 

 his days in peace." He managed to get to some spring-tares 

 and ororofed himself so o-reedily that he died. 



" Chancellor." 



The chestnut gelding in the picture had been ridden by his 

 owner to the place appointed near to the fixture, and was about 

 to return home after some instructions given to the groom. 

 His height was 15.1, with good substance. He had carried a 

 lady, as hack only, until he had bucked her off, whereupon 

 I became his purchaser. He had plenty of pluck and courage, 

 but had never seen a hound nor a fence. 



In those early youthful days I had a theory which I carried 

 into practise, viz., that it was as natural for a horse to jump as 

 to trot or gallop, and that it only required nerve on the part of 

 the rider to make him, at once, into a hunter. Intending to 

 hunt with the Essex hounds the ensuing season, and not then 

 residing in the county, I sent this horse and another to the 

 " Sun and Whalebone," Harlow Bush, kept by that good old 

 sportsman, Jem Cassidy, formerly jockey, and afterwards trainer 

 to the Marquis of Exeter. 



Having been forewarned of some of the eccentricities of the 

 Master, Henry John Conyers, I rode up to him at my first 

 meet, and prefacing that I understood there was no Secretary 

 to the Hunt, I added that I proposed to have the pleasure of 

 hunting with his hounds and would be glad to be informed of 

 the name of his bankers. He was all smiles and politeness. 

 " Thankee, sir, much obleeged to you, sir. My bankers are 

 Messrs. Childs of Temple Bar." 



We had a good day's sport, two or three good runs, but the 

 ditches very blind and deceptive. I acted upon my theory and 

 rode " Chancellor " to the front, with the inevitable result that I 

 had three or four falls, regular " crumpellers." Mr. Conyers 

 happening to see one of these falls and hear of the others, 

 called out, in feigned alarm, to those around him, " Will none 

 of you take care of that little gentleman in the cap.-* He has 

 asked for the name of my bankers, but I fear he will never live 

 to get there." This story stuck to me for fully twenty years 

 afterwards. 



"Chancellor" speedily matured into a brilliant hunter. 

 Jem Cassidy declared that he was about the best, for his inches, 

 that he had ever ridden with hounds. 



The stud groom in the picture was as good in his way as 

 the horses. His name was Frederick Beckington and he 



