In my last (note 213), I offered to my companions at the Tatler’s Waste-bin a list of all those landscapes of that fine man and lord-lieutenant of Huntingdon, Capability Brown, for which I had records of an active deer park.
Returning from a refreshing afternoon in Slough to a fresh delivery of correspondence on the hall table, I was just in time to catch a note from the Tyne as it slid from the top of the pile onto the floor. It was Mr O with news from Northumberland, and a question: did Capability Brown ever plant avenues?
Mr E is an old acquaintance, a blustery pipe-smoking man, who swims with his big hands wheeling like paddles and puts me in mind of an old smoke-stack rust-bucket as he battles his way out of the sea. At any rate, he has written from Cromer to say that there’s no point in a park that doesn’t have deer in it.