134 MEMOIR OF 



the following letter, which, for the uncommon 

 day's sport it records, is entitled to a prominent 

 place in this memoir : — 



**One evening soon after the hounds had 

 been fed, w^io should ride to our door at 

 Iddesleigh but Billy Morris, a great chum of 

 mine, then a small boy living with his father 

 and mother at Fishley, but afterwards a dis- 

 tinguished swordsman, and one of the glorious 

 Six Hundred in the Balaclava Charge. 



'"I've a holidav to-morrow, Mr. Russell,' 

 he said, 'and I've come to ask if you will kindly 

 bring out your hounds, and show me a day's 

 sport.' 



'"With all my heart,' I replied; 'but I have 

 promised your father's tenant at Norleigh to 

 kill a hare for him ; so come and meet me 

 there at ten o'clock.' 



'"I'll be there to a minute,' he said, thank- 

 ing me w^armly, and then galloping off on his 

 pony, 'big with hope.' 



" It was a wretched morning — a regular 

 downpour of rain — and no one came to the 

 meet but dear little Billy and Lord Clinton's 

 steward from Heanton. Well, the hounds found 

 a hare, and killed her; found another, and 

 she went as straight as a line to Gribbleford 

 Bridge, on which we also killed her. 



"'Now' said Billy, 'just throw them into 

 uncle's covers ; there's a fox there, I know.' 



