168 REMINISCENCES OF A HUNTSMAN. 



totally independent on each other. I remember the 

 first time I ever saw Jack Stephens in the field was 

 when he was with Mr. Osbaldeston. Mr. Gaskill 

 was out, who once rode a magnificent burst with me, 

 when with my hounds at Cranford I fiDund an out- 

 lying stag, that I think had escaped from one of my 

 barns where I kept them, to the woods about Pinner. 

 We ran straight over the Harrow Vale for Hayes, 

 and each of us stopped our horses. I mention the 

 presence of this gentleman, to tell a very funny thing 

 said to him that day by " the Squire." It was a 

 vixen fox, very heavy, that the hounds were running; 

 she ran very short, and the Squire was sharp for 

 her death ; he did something in aid of it, when Mr. 

 Gaskill said, in a voice of deprecation, " Oh, Squire, 

 Squire, it's a Y." "Well, d— n me!" cried Mr. 

 Osbaldeston, " what of that ? there are W's enough 

 left for you." 



They killed that fox, and I thought I never saw 

 anything so slack and spiritless as the giving of the 

 fox to the hounds, or anything much more indiife- 

 rent than the hounds were about her. Jack set his 

 foot on the fox in the middle of a field, and rated 

 any hound who came near him ; and having padded 

 and brushed her, took her carelessly up, held her 

 over his head, holloed to the hounds, and when they 

 were only half around him, tossed her down. It 

 was as much as they would do to break her up. 

 This carelessness on the death of a fox is bad; a 

 huntsman, for the sake of his hounds, can't quickly 

 make too much of him ; he should not be long about 

 it, but what he did do should appear to be done with 

 delight, and the hounds should be roused to excite- 

 ment. I always placed my back against a tree, or 



