332 ikinos of tbe 1l3untino='jFiel5 



' Typhus ? ' asked the bishop, unable to hide his look 

 of alarm. 



' Iss, that's it ; seem'th to me that's what the doctor 

 ca'd it. 'Tis a whisht job, fai.' 



The bishop clutched his hat, and, with little ceremony, 

 took his departure, and, although he announced his 

 intention of repeating his visit at a more convenient 

 season, he never again set foot in the parish of 

 Knowstone. 



' When the bishop had fairly disappeared,' Russell 

 used to add in telling the story, ' Froude put on his 

 long gaiters and went out hunting for the rest of the 

 day.' 



' I told 'ee so, Jack ; I know'd he'd come,' he said 

 to Russell, the first time he met him after that event. 

 ' But there, he's never likely to come again ; the air 

 of Knowstone is too keen for him, I reckon.' 



The time was to come when Russell himself had 

 to appear before the same Right Reverend Father in 

 God, with what result I shall tell presently. Devon- 

 shire swarmed with fox-hunting parsons at that time. 

 The Rev. John Boyce of Sherwell, whose feats with 

 the Devon and Somerset Staghounds are remembered 

 to this day, was a typical specimen of the good old 

 sporting parson, and the following story is told of 

 him : — He gave instructions to the clerk to give out 

 at morning service a notice that there would be no 

 service in the afternoon — giving his reasons, for the 

 private ear of the clerk and not, of course, for publica- 

 tion. But this was how the clerk made the announce- 

 ment : ' This is vor to give notiss, theer be no sarvice 

 to this Church this arternoon, caus' maester is a goin' 

 over the moors a stag-huntin' wi' Sir Thomas (Acland).' 



