HUNTING. 127 



•sional grooming. Fifteen minutes after my 

 return from hunting, my horse — sheeted and 

 comfortable — is feeding quietly in his stall, 

 enjoying his food and rest ; instead of 

 standing in some wet corner of a cold yard, 

 with his unhappy head tied up by an un- 

 sympathizing rope, and a fussy groom worry- 

 ing his tired body with a noisy display of 

 most unnecessary zeal. And this is as 

 it ought to be. Horses are like human 

 beings, — they like to rest when wearied, and 

 their chief desire — if we would only beheve 

 it —is to be left alone. But we are incre- 

 dulous, and so we hang about them, and 

 fuss and worry the fagged and patient crea- 

 tures who would fain appeal to us for a 

 cessation of our attentions. 



There are few things more truly delightful 

 than a mutual understanding and affection 

 between horse and rider, and this can easily 

 be arrived at by kindness and care. I have 

 a hunter— Bigwig, son of The Lawyer — who 

 follows me all over the place, knows my 

 voice from any distance, rubs his nose 

 down my dress, puts it into my pocket to 



