

144: REMINISCENCES OF A HUNTSJIAN. 



in the scramble the dead fox sank. On seeing this, I 

 recalled the hounds ; and well knowing that some of 

 the men who hunted with me would try to deny the 

 death of the fox, I sent my second horseman to the 

 miller at Oakley Mill, to tell him to watch well his 

 gates, particularly when he raked them clear of the 

 debris of the flood ; for he, in all probability, would 

 find a dead fox that I that day had killed. The fol- 

 lowing morning being a hunting-day, I was from 

 home early ; and among the field, the question was, 

 "Why, Berkeley, why did you not come round with the 

 hounds?" "Because," I replied, " I had nothing to 

 come across the water for." " Why, the fox," they 

 said, " was sure to be gone to Clapham Park ; so we 

 all went round." I then told them I had killed him ; 

 which assertion was met by dubious shakes of the 

 head, although I told them I saw the hounds catch 

 him and drown him. "Where's his brush?" said 

 one. " In the water with him," I replied, " where 

 you may fish for it." After a good deal of joking 

 about it, the matter dropped ; we had a good day's 

 sport; and when I returned to Harrold, the miller 

 had brought the body of our old friend, which, sure 

 enough, had been carried to the bars of the flood- 

 gate put to keep back the weeds. It was not a satis- 

 factory triumph ; but so ended the Moulsoe fox. 



I found a fox at Knuston Hall, where that good old 

 sportsman, Sir Peter Payne, then resided, who took 

 me an unusual line over the open for Yardley Chase, 

 selecting, in his line, several cottage gardens and odd 

 places, sheep-folds, &c. He bothered me much with 

 repeated checks, with little to guide me in guessing 

 where he was going, and eventually, after a good run, 

 beat me. Some time afterwards, I found him at 



