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Moreover, hunting men, as we said before, are all supposed to be
rich, and as very few ladies are aware that a horse can't hunt every day in
the week, they just class the whole 'genus' fourteen-horse power men,
ten-horse power men, five-horse power men, two-horse power men, together,
and tying them in a bunch, label it '_very rich_,' and proceed to take
measures accordingly.
Let us now visit one of the 'strongholds' of fox and fortune-hunting.
A sudden turn of a long, gently rising, but hitherto uninteresting road,
brings the posting traveller suddenly upon the rich, well-wooded,
beautifully undulating vale of Fordingford, whose fine green pastures are
brightened with occasional gleams of a meandering river, flowing through
the centre of the vale. In the far distance, looking as though close upon
the blue hills, though in reality several miles apart, sundry spires and
taller buildings are seen rising above the grey mists towards which a
straight, undeviating, matter-of-fact line of railway passing up the right
of the vale, directs the eye.


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