My fortunate day with the Fitzwilliam was in their open pasture

My fortunate day with the Fitzwilliam was in their open pasture

My fortunate day with the Fitzwilliam was in their open pasture

My fortunate day with the Fitzwilliam was in their open pasture, Huntingdon country. My head-quarters were at the celebrated Haycock, which is known, or ought to be known, to every wandering fox-hunter, standing as it does in the middle of the Fitzwilliam Hunt, within reach of some of the best meets of the Pytchley and the Warwickshire, and not out of reach of the Cottesmore and Belvoir. It is much more like a Lincolnshire Wolds farmhouse than an inn. The guests are regular habitués; you find yourself in a sort of fox-hunting clubhouse, in a large, snug dining-room; not the least like Albert Smith’s favourite aversion, a coffee-room; you have a first-rate English dinner, undeniable wine, real cream with your tea, in a word, all the comforts and most of the luxuries of town and country life combined. If needful, Tom Percival will provide you with a flyer for every day in the week, and you will be sure to meet with one or two guests, able and willing, ready to canter with you to cover, explain the chart of the country, and, if you are in the first year of boots and breeches, show you as Squire Warburton sings, how To sit down in your saddle and put his head straight.