CHAPTER XXI. 



Two Amusing Stories of Sporting 

 Parsons. 



IN THE Spring of the year we occasionally 

 took hounds over to Mallerstang, a wild, 

 romantic valley that cannot boast of a town 

 or even a village. It consists of several small 

 scattered farm-houses with Mallerstang Crags on 

 one side and Wild Boar Fell on the other, and at 

 the top of it springs the river Eden. Both 

 Mallerstang Crags and Wild Boar Fell were 

 favourite spots for a litter of cubs. We mostly 

 drove over in the evening prior to the day fixed 

 for the meet. The hounds were ]pnt up at an inn, 

 and we started at six o'clock in the morning in 

 time for the drag of a fox. 



