io8 HUNTING RECOLLECTIONS. 



Somewhere about this time our maid left to 

 be married, and my mother said we could have 

 the housemaid to take her place. Her name 

 was Mary Anne, up to this time, but soon after 

 her promotion, we were staying in a house where 

 the butler, the essence of refinement, invariably 

 called her Mary Hann, and from that time she 

 was always known as Mary Hann. Before she 

 arrived at the great distinction of being acknow- 

 ledged by a butler (in point of fact she had 

 never been out of Rochford Hundred, being the 

 daughter of what used to be termed " a good 

 farmer's man,") an invitation came from an old 

 friend of my mother's to stay at a smart place in 

 Northamptonshire. We held a council of war, 

 and came to the conclusion that there was no 

 other course open, except to take Mary Ann. 



The full horror of the situation did not 

 dawn on us till we got into the fly at Kettering 

 for the seven mile drive to the house where we 

 were going, and Mary Ann was seated opposite. 

 I recognised what was in store for us. Her face 

 was round, red, and poHshed ; her gown was 

 plum colour ; a round velvet hat and feather and 

 much jewellery completed her attire ; and she 

 had a sick headache. Even after years, I 

 always associate journeys and sick headaches 

 with Mary Ann. 



My mother, on the verge of despair, kicked 

 me, and I responded with interest, knowing full 

 well that every mile was bringing the dreaded 

 moment of our arrival nearer. Well, it came at 

 last. A groom of the chamber, the butler and 

 three young footmen — I think the latter were 



