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Sets out with goods and Passengers from Froom for London, every Monday, by One o'clock in the morning, and will be at the King's Arms Inn, at Holborn Bridge, the Wednesday following by Twelve o'clock at Noon; from whence it will set out on Thursday morning, by One o'clock, for Amesbury, Shrewton, Chittern, Heytesbury, Warminster, Froom, and all other places adjacent, and will continue allowing each passenger fourteen pounds, and be at Froom, on Saturday by twelve at noon.
To be near the spot I went to stay at Shrewton, a downland village four miles from "The Stones"; or rather a group of five pretty little villages, almost touching but distinct, like five flowers or five berries on a single stem, each with its own old church and individual or parish life.
All this proved very entertaining, and I was glad to laugh with the crowd, thinking that after all we were taking a very mild revenge on our hated enemies, the tyrants of the roads. The fun over, I went soberly back to my village, and finding it impossible to get to sleep I went to Sunday-morning service at Shrewton Church.
The road from Shrewton to Amesbury, a straight white band lying across a green country, passes within a few yards of Stonehenge: on the right side of this narrow line the land is all private property, but on the left side and as far as one can see it mostly belongs to the War Office and is dotted over with camps.
But much more for Lady Emily Rich, of whose fate I have now to tell. My friend, Mrs. Shrewton Stanhope, was very reserved, would tell me nothing, even when I roundly said that I had fancied to see her in the park one evening. She had the hardihood to meet my eyes with a blank denial, and very plainly there was nothing to be learned from her.
However by whatever casuistries I might have compassed it I did remain. Let me hope, nay, let me believe of myself that if the postulant had proved to be my friend, Mrs. Shrewton Stanhope, herself, I should either have stopped my ears or immediately retired. But Mrs. Stanhope, I saw at once, was no more than dame de compagnie.
Mrs. G. A. Oliphant, of Shrewton, Wilts, whose kennels include Chatley Blazer and Chatley Beaufort, has of late years been a keen supporter of the breed. Mrs. Oliphant, who is the president of the ladies' branch of the Kennel Club, is a great believer in hounds being workers first and show hounds second, and her large kennels have produced many hounds of a robust type and of good size and quality.
One wet evening in September last I was prowling in a copse near Shrewton, watching the birds, when I encountered a young gipsy and recognized him as one of a gang of about a dozen I had met several days before near Salisbury. They were on their way, they had told me, to a village near Shaftesbury, where they hoped to remain a week or so. "What are you doing here?" I asked my gipsy.
Take this one, for instance, as a specimen of a fairly good seventeenth-century epitaph, from Shrewton, a village on Salisbury Plain, not far from Stonehenge: HERE IS MY HOPE TILL TRVMP SHALL SOVND AND CHRIST FOR MEE DOTH CALL THEN SHALL I RISE FROM DEATH TO LIFE NOE MORETO DYE AT ALL
A little after midnight on the morning of June 21, 1908, a Shrewton cock began to crow, and that trumpet sound, which I never hear without a stirring of the blood, on account of old associations, informed me that the late moon had risen or was about to rise, linking the midsummer evening and morning twilights, and I set off to Stonehenge.
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