219 



CHAPTER XI. 



" And now to this day when the storm is on high, 

 And the clouds over Berkeley low'r, 

 There are those who affirm that an agonized cry, 

 With a thundering hoof as the wind sweeps by, 

 May be heard at the midnight hour." 



Witch of Berkeley.— G. F. B. 



As it will now be my province to speak of wild-fowl 

 shooting on a grander scale, the reader will per- 

 haps pardon me for a digression, in taking him to 

 Berkeley Castle, to describe the sports there. No- 

 thing can be more ample than the hunting establish- 

 ment in men, hounds, and horses, nor more perfect 

 than the show of foxes. A great many of those in 

 the vale round the Castle are artificial or turned-down 

 cubs, but, of course, with the stock always left after 

 a hunting season there are many natural or wild 

 litters. The hills above the vale are natural to foxes, 

 and so are the Cheltenham hills, where they are wild 

 and stout enough in all conscience. There are gene- 

 rally five men in caps with the hounds, in scarlet, 

 (alas ! not in " tawny coats,") a huntsman, two 

 wdiippers-in, and three men on second horses. As I 

 have said before, I think the huntsman, Harry Ayris, 

 one of the best men with hounds I ever saw. To 

 give the reader some idea of the amount of foxes I 

 have seen in the vale, I remember taking Mr. Drax 

 from Charborough Park to Berkeley Castle in October, 

 to convince him that at Berkeley, where there were 

 so many pheasants and hares, there were forty foxes 



