The Uninformed Traveller, Whose Principle It Is Never To Look
At A Guide-Book, Is Surprised To Find That The Small Village
Of Exford Contains No Fewer Than Half A Dozen Inns.
He asks
how they are kept going; and the natives, astonished at his
ignorance, proceed to enlighten him.
Exford is the
headquarters of the stag-hunt: thither the hunters flock in
August, and spend so much money during thir brief season that
the innkeepers grow rich and fat, and for the rest of the year
can afford to doze peacefully behind their bars. Here are the
kennels, and when I visited them they contained forty or fifty
couples of stag-hounds. These are gigantic foxhounds,
selected for their great size from packs all over the country.
When out exercising these big vari-coloured dogs make a fine
show. It is curious to find that, although these individual
variations are continually appearing - very large dogs born of
dogs of medium size - others cannot be bred from them; the
variety cannot be fixed.
The village is not picturesque. Its one perennial charm is
the swift river that flows through it, making music on its
wide sandy and pebbly floor. Hither and thither flit the
wagtails, finding little half-uncovered stones in the current
to perch upon. Both the pied and grey species are there; and,
seeing them together, one naturally wishes to resettle for
himself the old question as to which is the prettiest and most
graceful. Now this one looks best and now that; but the
delicately coloured grey and yellow bird has the longest tail
and can use it more prettily.
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