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Updated: May 20, 2025
Edward Braydon, you know had gone out with the gentleman who lives on the floor above to play cards, and he said he was going to be gone nearly all night, and my niece I'm Mrs. Braydon's unmarried aunt from Poughkeepsie and I'm down here visiting them my niece was called to Long Island yesterday by illness it's her sister who's ill with something like the bronchitis.
Braydon and a grey-coated private watchman and a procession of half-clad figures following along after him. Where was the mysterious intruder? Ah, there he was, huddled up in a far corner alongside the bed as though he sought to hide himself away from their glaring eyes. And at the sight of what he beheld Mr. Bob Slack gave one great shocked snort of surprise, and then one of recognition.
It may safely be said that a man who can command hounds in the Braydon and Swindon district will find the "shires" comparatively plain sailing. The wall country of the Cotswold tableland is exactly the reverse of the vale.
But a ride in Braydon or in the Bicester "Claydons" will convince us that a stouter stamp of horse is necessary to combat a deep, undrained clay country. We must now leave the sporting Thursday country of the V.W.H. and turn to Friday.
It is often stated that blood horses are the best for galloping through deep ground. This is true in one way, though not on the whole. Thoroughbred horses are practically useless in this sort of country; their feet are often so small that they stick in the deep clay. A horse with small feet is no good at all in Braydon.
On Thursdays Cirencester commands Mr. Miller's Braydon country. This country is a very great contrast to that which is ridden over on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and requires a very stout horse. It rides tremendously deep at times; and the fences, which come very frequently in a run, owing to the small size of the enclosures, are both big and blind. It is practically all grass.
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