The Rev. J. Russell's Terriers. 167 



deeper and more secluded haunts of Shotover Wood. But 

 before he had reached Marston, a milkman met him with a 

 terrier, such an animal as Russell had as yet only seen in 

 his dreams ; he halted as Actaeon might have done when 

 he caught sight of Diana disporting in her bath, but, unlike 

 that ill-fated hunter, he never budged from the spot till he 

 had won the prize and secured it for his own. She was 

 called Trump, and became the progenitress of that famous 

 race of terriers which from that day to the present have 

 been associated with Russell's name at home and abroad, 

 his able and keen coadjutors in the hunting field. An oil 

 painting of Trump is still in existence, but as a copy 

 executed by a fair and talented artist is now in my 

 possession, and was acknowledged by Russell to be not 

 only an admirable likeness of the original, but equally good 

 as a type of the race in general, I will try, however 

 imperfectly, to describe the portrait as it now lies before 

 me. 



" In the first place, the colour is white, with just a patch 

 of dark tan over each eye and ear, while a similar dot not 

 larger than a penny piece marks the root of the tail. The 

 coat, which is thick, close, and a trifle wiry, is calculated to 

 protect the body from wet and cold, but has no affinity 

 with the long rough jacket of a Scotch terrier. The legs 

 are straight as arrows, the feet perfect, the loins and con- 

 formation of the whole frame indicative of hardihood and 

 endurance, while the size and height of the animal may be 

 compared to that of a full-grown vixen fox. ' I seldom or 

 ever see a real fox terrier nowadays,' said Russell 

 recently to a friend who was inspecting a dog show 

 containing a hundred and fifty entries under that denomi- 

 nation; ' they have so intermingled strange blood with the 



