332 THE OLD BERKS HUNT 



We ran into him in a deep ditch three or four 

 fields further on. Jim Rich had an arm round his 

 neck in a trice, as if he had been at it all his life. 

 There can have been only twenty or thirty people 

 up with us at the end. 



All my Beaufort guests were there, I am glad to 

 say. William had had quite enough of it. He tires 

 himself from his implacable energy. I gruelled him 

 at Faringdon, where I had some poached eggs. Inn 

 (the Crown, kept by Mrs. Craddock) full of talkative 

 and happy hunters. We all thought Joe Moore's 

 horse was going to die when we got him into the 

 stable. A stiff brew of hot ale and whisky was 

 being administered when I left. It was as much as 

 I could do to get William home the two or three 

 miles I had to go to Kitemore. He dwelt like lead 

 upon his own footsteps. We were both very glad 

 to see Samways, Only a couple short, I think, and 

 the men's horses did pretty well, in spite of their 

 moderate performance at Rosey Brook. 



Rocksavage (the Marquis of Cholmondeley) out, 

 and preserved a knowing air of mystery throughout. 

 It is a pleasure to see him ride over a country. 

 Ease and power combined. His horse always gets 

 the best possible chance, and always seems to take 

 it. He said he thought the hounds were fat. I 

 daresay they are. They certainly are good ones to 

 eat. 



Not a very brilliant point, but we circumvented 

 a lot of country, and I think the people of the 

 district all enjoyed it. We were treated with great 

 hospitality and kindness. Brown, who hunts the 

 Old Berkshire, and Orr-Ewing, the Master, had 

 thought of everything possible to help us in every 

 way. 



The Queen's Hounds had not been in this part 

 of the world for seventeen years, when Lord Cork 

 brought them down. 



