86 Seventy Years a Master. 



There are some foxes, it is said, that no 

 hounds can kill. I recall one that was famous 

 in my boyhood, and my father gives the story 

 in his '* Life of a Foxhound " : — 



" There was a fox in the Brampton country which, 

 from its great resemblance to the picture of the wolves 

 in Lloyd's Wild Sports in the Norths we had named ' Mr. 

 Lloyd.' The Cambridgeshire Hounds ran him eight 

 seasons before they could get hold of him. They were 

 in Brampton Wood one morning when I said to the 

 Master : * I hope they won't get on to poor old Lloyd 

 to-day.' 



" ' I don't know him,' said he. ' If he goes over the 

 ride show him to me.' 



" ' Then,' said I, ' You must not turn your head, 

 for he goes over these broad rides like a streak of greased 

 lightning.' 



" There were two or three went across, and, at 

 length, bounce he came into the middle of the ride, and 

 with another bound he was over and gone again. 



" ' That's him ! ' I shouted. 



'* ' Oh, yes,' said the Master. ' There is no mistaking 

 him, for he is as long as a cart rope, and as black as the 

 devil.' 



" However, his hour came at length. They found 

 him one day in Limage Wood, and after four hours and 

 twenty minutes the hounds went down into Ellington 

 Meadows hy themselves^ for every horse was brought to a 

 walk. Then a * tally-ho ' farmer who was in the 

 meadow, seeing him come with his back up, scarcely able 



