Reminiscent 



in a phaeton with a somewhat loquacious groom, of an imagina- 

 tive turn of mind, for he gave me a description of what he 

 declared was going on in the hunting field, whilst I confess to 

 have seen nothing but the ploughed land of Lincolnshire with 

 the low well-trimmed hedges and the woods of Brocklesby 

 sacred to the fox. The occasional sound of the horn and the 

 cries "View Halloo!" from the huntsmen, and "He's off I " 

 from the Whip, were my only indications that England's 

 greatest sport was being carried on in close proximity to 

 the roads where our phaeton was leisurely moving about. 

 In the late afternoon, when the riders had all happily returned 

 sound and whole, my husband dilated upon the fine horseman- 

 ship of Mr. Richardson, the perfect command he had of his 

 horse, and yet on what friendly terms they stood to one 

 another. 



But I am not going to descant upon Mr. Richardson's fine 

 horsemanship, and upon the skill he displayed in steeplechasing 

 as well as in the hunting field, where he and his friend, the 

 late Lord Minto, proved such generous rivals — these matters 

 will all have been dealt with by far abler pens than mine. I 

 reserve to myself, however, the pleasant task of dwelling upon 

 the rare qualities of unselfishness, true kindness and modesty 

 that made Mr. Richardson deservedly popular with old or 

 young. 



On many occasions he and his wife, Lady Yarborough, 

 were our guests in our Norfolk home, and as our North-east 

 Coast appealed more and more to them both, they finally 

 became the owners of a charming small seaside residence, 

 where, with their son, Jack Richardson, they spent many happy 

 summer days; the golf course on the Links, with its breezy 

 surroundings and its glorious sea-view, the tennis court in the 

 Pleasaunce gardens, proved great attractions to our friends, 



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