9S England's oldest hunt. 



places, of spells and ghosts with all the sincerity of tirm belief. 

 In his own fields ho was annoyed by " the sperrit of a woman 

 in white," which he threatened to a neighbour he would 

 shoot kk if he set ecu on't ageean." The neighbour seriously 

 counselled him to be guilty of no such indiscretion, adding, 

 ** them things is all reet if ya deean't mell on 'em." 



Almost a sign and omen was the following apparition 

 the old man had, of which he told me a few days ere he was 

 put into what was to be his death bed. I told it thus in a 

 sporting journal at the time : — He was almost the last of the 

 old school — so far as Bilsdale went he was the last — and his 

 thoughts had evidently been dwelling upon former days, for 

 he said, " Ah were gahin' yam fra Chop Yat t' other neet 

 when Ah gat lost. It were pick dark, an' Ah'd gitten wrang 

 some hoo. Seea Ah sat doon turner a tree. Nobbut a bit- 

 lied Ah been sittin' when a golden leet appeared. Sike a 

 grand, bonny leet. Ah were capped, ait sat fair stagnated. 

 All at yance awd Dick Spink cam up iv his velvet cap and 

 kerseymere leggins, and with him were George Bell's father. 

 All sVd Ve leyketa'a'espokken tiv 'em, bud Ah c'u'dn't git 

 nowt owt. Ah saw where Ah was an' got messell yam." 

 The old man said he was not afraid, for he knew " neyther 

 on 'em wad hurt him." Ere long he w T ent to join them in 

 that happy hunting-ground, which in their innocence they 

 would be certain to gain, for we shall be judged according 

 to our light and environment. 



I have already said he died as he lived — ever talking of 

 hounds and foxes. When the doctor put his stethoscope to 

 his heart, he asked " Can you hear a fox barking in my heart 

 doctor ? " He felt his end was near, however, and as the 

 old dalesfolk who remembered Bob as an old man when they 

 were children, came in to see him, he urged them, with all 

 the tender affection of a father making provision for the 

 children he was to leave behind, " Nivver ti let t' awd hunt 

 gan down." There is something pathetic about all this 

 wonderful love of hunting found in the last of a genus of 

 strange opposites. So at last on June 17th, 1902, at six 

 o'clock in the evening, Robert Dawson, sportsman, whip, 



