Our first hunting experience now came off. Some staghounds—the King’s, if I remember rightly—came down for a day or two’s sport in our part of Berkshire, and a deer was to be turned out on the downs, a few miles from our house. Accordingly the coachman was to take us both. I was to go before him on one of the carriage horses, made safe by leather strap which encircled us both, while George rode Moggy. He was anxious to go unattached, but on the whole it was considered better that the coachman should hold a leading rein, as no one knew how Moggy might behave with the dogs, and no one but I knew how completely she would have to do as he chose. We arrived safely at the meet, saw the deer uncarted, the hounds laid on, and lumbered slowly after, till they swept away over a rise in the downs, and we saw them no more. So, after riding about for some time, the coachman produced some bread and cheese from his pocket, and we dismounted, and hitched up horse and pony on the leeward side of an old barn. We had not finished our lunch, when suddenly, to our intense delight, the stag cantered by within twenty yards of us, and, by the time we were on horseback again, the hunt followed. This time George and Moggy made the most desperate efforts for freedom, but the coachman managed to keep them in tow, and so the hunt went away from us again. I believe it was in consequence of George’s remonstrances when he got home that it was now settled he should be allowed to go to the next meet of the foxhounds in our neighbourhood without a leading rein. This is his account of that great event, in a letter to his grandmother, almost the first he ever wrote. Those of you who have been brought up in the country will see how respectfully he always treats the fox, always giving him a capital F when he mentions him. “UFFINGTON. “DEAR GRANDMAMA, “Your little dog Mustard sometimes teases the hawk by barking at him, and sometimes the hawk flies at Mustard. I have been out hunting upon our black pony, Moggy, and saw the Fox break cover, and the hounds follow after him. I rode fifteen miles. Papa brought me home the Fox’s lug. I went up a great hill to see the hounds drive the Fox out of the wood. I saw Ashdown Park House: there is a fine brass nob at the top of it. Tom and I send best love to you and grandpapa. “I am, your affectionate grandson, “GEORGE HUGHES.”