The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 17 



to tan, his figure tall, spare, and well-set up, standing six 

 feet two in his socks. I can picture him now as I have seen 

 him many times when he came in from hunting, standing in 

 front of the fire enjoying his tea and poached eggs. He dared 

 not sit down, for if he did he immediately fell asleep. I have 

 even seen him fall asleep at dinner if he had anyone sitting 

 next him that was inclined to be dull. 



He had no love for politics, literature, or music, but loved 

 horses, hunting, and society in general, delighting especially in 

 the society of young people. 



He filled his house for every race-meeting and every dance 

 that was within driving distance, though he did not race at all 

 himself, but was one of those tolerant folk who like to see 

 other people enjoying themselves, even if the particular form 

 of amusement does not greatly interest them. He danced 

 with the gayest and youngest, seldom missing an item on the 

 programme, thoroughly enjoying twiddling round and round 

 with a little string-halt action peculiar to himself, which ap- 

 peared to give him pleasure. Owing to making himself very 

 agreeable he never lacked partners. 



I think Acklam itself deserves a little recognition. It was a 

 nice old Elizabethan house standing in well-timbered grounds 

 and approached by two avenues, one stately and dignified, 

 entirely of grass, with a double row of magnificent elms down 

 each side. The other drive was the ordinary gravel affair. 



Owing to the number of valuable cattle enjoying themselves 

 on the pasture about the grass avenue, some formidable and 

 tiresome iron gates had been placed at intervals, attached to 

 rather high iron railings. When riding, these were a nuisance, 

 as we generally let our horses have a good gallop on the turf, and 

 they resented being pulled up while we fiddled opening and 

 shutting gates. 



The house was altogether an awkward one to visit at night, 

 as in addition to the many gates there was a sunk fence between 

 the lawns in front of the house and the grass avenue. The 

 fence was crossed by a bridge at one side with gates. 



Once after some wedding festivities, when our coachman was 

 endeavouring to drive us home with a spirited pair of Irish 

 horses, he mistook the road and proceeded to drive over the 

 sunken fence in the dark. Fortunately the horses were in a 



c 



