THE EOYAl BUOKHOUNDS. 



Observing in the columns of ^BelPs Life' that the 

 Royal Buckhounds were to meet at Gerrard's Cross 

 on the following Monday, I resolved to have a ride 

 over that which I consider the best part of the Queen's 

 country, supposing the deer to go in the direction 

 of Chalfont or Amersham. With this intent I jour- 

 neyed to Windsor, and straightway made for the 

 well-known and old-fashioned hostelry, the White 

 Hart, a place of entertainment I have known any 

 time these forty years. Now there are divers sorts 

 of hotels ; some of them conducted by joint-stock 

 companies, where everything is limited, including 

 the comforts of the visitors and the profits of the 

 shareholders, the result of mismanagement. Not 

 so is the principle on which the White Hart is 

 conducted, for here, as in days past, everything is 

 first-rate and inviting, and I could not help contrast- 

 ing the style of this establishment and its substantial 

 comforts with the parade and pretensions of some 

 of the palatial hotels which nowadays compete with 

 individual enterprise. 



As I sit at breakfast I see the Royal pack journey- 

 ing leisurely down the hills, eii route for the meet. 

 Then this exceedingly quiet — not to say dull — abode 

 of royalty, is for a moment enlivened by the harmonious 

 strains of the Guards^ band, as it wends its way 



