lyS MEMOIR OF 



A turn in his favour by the wheel of fortune 

 soon gave him a suitable opportunity. Mr. J. 

 Morth Woolcombe happening to join him one 

 morning, "they found," in Russell's words, "a 

 right real Dartmoor Hector, and away he went 

 for his native moorland, straight as a bee-line; 

 but he never set foot on it, for we ran into him 

 about a mile short of his haunts. Just before 

 we killed him, he crossed some enclosures, and 

 the hounds coming back to us, I held up my 

 hands and said, ' Stand still, gentlemen, pray I 

 the fox is in this held.' It was not two acres 

 and it was plough. 



" ' Nonsense ! ' cried Woolcombe ; * we should 

 see him if he were.' 



" * He is here, I tell you, if I know my 

 hounds.' And in a moment they seized him 

 within a few yards of his horse's feet. 



" ' His delight was unbounded ; he begged 

 me as a particular favour to go home by 

 way of Ashbury, invited the whole Held into 

 the hall, drew cork after cork of champagne, 

 toasted the little Iddesleigh pack and their 

 master, and promised similar hospitality when- 

 ever they killed a fox within reach of his 

 domain. 



" He kept his word too up to a certain time, 

 when, for some reason I never could fathom, he 

 sent his brother Robert over to Iddesleigh to 

 negotiate for the purchase of my whole pack. I 



