Sheep-breeding was not one of the most important branches of farming in my part of Worcestershire: the land is too stiff and wet, they thrive much better on the Cotswolds or the chalk downs of Hampshire. At one time I visited the latter county every summer, attending the big fairs like Overton or Alresford, for the purpose of buying 100 draft ("full-mouthed") ewes from one of the best flocks. It was very interesting in the early morning, reaching Overton by rail from Basingstoke, where I had passed the night at the Red Lion with £300 in bank-notes under my pillow, to see the gipsies in the village asleep on the ground under their vans, the girls sometimes awake, combing their hair, and beautifying themselves in readiness for the pleasure fair where they were to appear in charge of the shooting-galleries and competitions. A short walk, with only time for a passing glance at the speckled trout near the bridge over the Itchen, which I never omitted, took me to the sheep-pens on the hill-top where the fair is held. One could see the flocks, with their shepherds always _in front_ and the dogs behind, winding along the narrow lanes, which, from all directions, lead to the hill, in a cloud of chalky dust, flock after flock with only a few dividing yards between them. It is advisable to reach the fairground thus early, to see the sheep before they are penned; they can be much better inspected in the open than when packed close together, and a more reliable opinion of their condition can be formed. From the aesthetic point of view the grand old shepherds interested me most, dignified, patriarchal men, with a reserve of strength of character evident in their rugged features, and the patience and hardihood that takes little heed of exposure to every variety of weather. The sheep were sold by auction, and when I had bought a pen of 100, generally from Lord Ashburton's flock, paid the auctioneer's clerk as soon as possible and received a ticket permitting the release of the sheep, as the roads in all directions are soon crowded, I induced the shepherd to help in driving them to the railway-station. He was always a dear old fellow, and full of interesting information. On reaching the station we packed the sheep into three open trucks, so close that they could not jump out, and despatched them to Worcestershire, whither they would arrive about noon the following day. We never had a mishap with them on the journey, but they were terribly thirsty on reaching Aldington, and made straight for water immediately.