20 RADNOR REMINISCENCES 



Then on the ist of November, the opening day of tlie 

 shooting season, Radnor hounds were running a dog fox 

 through "Pick" Harrison's "Seventy-Six" Farm, when a 

 man shot the fox right in front of hounds. Horace Hare 

 was boihng mad, as we all were, and, from the cursing-out 

 the poor devil received, I don't think he will ever shoot 

 another fox. 



On 6th November hounds found a cub in Hatton's 

 Wood, ran him out through Moore's, across into Powder 

 Rocks, then on up the meadows, killing him on the edge of 

 the Bromall Wood in thirteen minutes. 



But to hark back to the business of the day, the opening 

 meet of the Season with its new horses, new boots, new 

 liveries for the Hunt servants, some new ladies (they 

 always help a lot), and some of Mr. Harrison's good hot 

 toddy. 



Happy Creek Farms — never mind if I live to be a 

 hundred, which I won't — will always be associated in my 

 mind with the opening day of a season at Radnor. After a 

 cheery how-de-do from the most hospitable hostess, a 

 breakfast of just the right things to put into a hunting 

 stomach, while sitting at a table with Penn Smith, who 

 tells you, just previous to his starting out for a second 

 round of everything, that he has n't missed one of these 

 breakfasts of Mr. Harrison's since Mr. Mather was 

 Master of Radnor. After this, one begins to feel really at 

 home, and then somebody comes in and says hounds have 

 arrived. You look at your wrist watch and find there are 

 ten minutes yet to spare, so, just to make the day quite 

 complete, you run down the steps into George Harrison's 

 trophy room to take a peep at the best collection of heads 

 in the country. That's a mighty good cigar the old butler 

 gave you, but it's a bit strong, maybe, to smoke before 



