344 Ikings of tbe Ibunting^jfielD 



present exclaimed, ' Yes, Mr Russell is very good in the 

 wood, but I should like your lordship to see him in the 

 pigskin.' 



There is a story told in connection with Parson 

 Russell and his curates which is too good to be omitted 

 here. 



The Reverend William Hocker, vicar of Bucknell, 

 who used to tell the story, was standing at a grocer's 

 shop door in Barnstaple on a market day, when Will 

 Chappie, the parish clerk of Swymbridge, entered the 

 shop, and while his business was being attended to, the 

 grocer thus interrogated him : — 



' Well, Mr Chappie, and have 'ee got a coorate yet for 

 Swymbridge ? ' 



' Not yet, sir, master's 'nation partic'ler ; 'tisn't this 

 man nor 'tisn't that as'll suit un ; , but here's his 

 advertisement ' (pulling out a copy of the North Devon 

 Journal), ' so I reckon he'll soon get one now. 



' " Wanted, a curate for Swymbridge, must be a 

 gentleman of moderate and orthodox views." 



' Orthodox ! Mr Chappie ; what doth he mean b}' 

 that ? ' inquired the grocer. 



' Well,' said the clerk in some perplexity, knowing the 

 double nature of the curate's work, secular as well as 

 sacred, ' I can't exactly say, but I reckon it is a man as 

 can ride pretty well.' 



For a time, indeed, yielding to the entreaties of clerical 

 friends who sided with the bishop, Jack Russell gave up 

 hounds, but life to him without hunting was miserable. 

 Then Mr Henry Fellowes sent six and a half couples, a 

 draft from the Vine. The same friends urged him to 

 send them back. He was about to do so, when his 

 wife, noticing his deep dejection, whispered to him : — 



