The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H. 155 



checking outside some stables belonging to a large country 

 house. The hare seemed to have completely evaporated until 

 an old groom appeared in the stable door carrying a bucket 

 which he phlegmatically turned up as if to throw away water, 

 but instead of water out jumped the hare. The groom had seen 

 her steal into the stable and quietly jump into the empty 

 bucket. 



On another occasion when I was out, there was a check in 

 an orchard late one frosty evening, when it was freezing so hard 

 we thought there would be no more hunting for a long time to 

 come. The way hounds checked suggested that the hare 

 might be squatting somewhere close at hand, so the master and 

 whipper-in dismounted and entered the orchard on foot ; but 

 the grass was quite short and there did not seem cover enough 

 to hide a mouse. After searching in vain, the master regarded 

 the hare as lost, and happened to sit down for a moment on the 

 trunk of a fallen apple-tree. As he sat, his attention was drawn 

 to a tiny trickle of steam rising into the frosty air through a 

 little hollow knot apparently leading into the solid trunk of the 

 tree, but examination showed that the tree was hollow and the 

 ha,re inside. 



The best run Mr. Honey had with the Marland was with a 

 little Jack hare at the end of the season. They ran for an hour 

 and a half from Berry Farm to Bursdon in Langtree parish, 

 where they killed. It was a five-mile point and nine as hounds 

 ran, with only two checks, while the jumping provided by the 

 frequent banks was enough to satisfy anybody. 



Every man who hunts regularly, especially if he rides un- 

 broken or half-broken colts, has his fair share of falls, but all 

 Mr. Honey's have been more or less good-natured tosses, except 

 one which came near to being his last. The Dartmoor hounds 

 had had a good run of over an hour and were just about to run 

 into their fox. Mr. Honey was pushing on as fast as he could so 

 as to be in at the death, although, of course, his horse was fairly 

 blown. Horse and rider began to descend a steep tor, which is 

 about the last thing he can remember clearly. Whether the 

 horse stepped on a slide of loose stones, or put its foot into a 

 hole, is now impossible to say ; anyhow, it fell, turning a com- 

 plete somersault and landing right on top of its rider. 



Mr. Honey thought its neck must be broken, as it never 



