THE SQUIRE OF ASWARBY 



Treadwell was the only huntsman who attended ; and, as the 

 hearse moved off, the hounds set up that sort of deep wailing 

 sound, not singing and not chiming, which quite went through 

 the followers and the crowd who stood at the distance to see 

 the last of their old friend, and seemed, even to the whips, 

 like a sound they had never heard before. It was no unfitting 

 requiem for him. He is buried at Knipton, about a mile from 

 the kennels, and just under Granby Wood, the end of that 

 unbroken woodland chain which he has made ring again so 

 often in cub-hunting time. His grave is just on the left as 

 you enter the gate, and at the end of the fortnight it seemed 

 quite green, and daisies were growing ; in fact, we did not 

 even see that it was a new one, and when we had gone round 

 and found Tom Goosey's at the end of the chancel, we were 

 obliged to ask a little girl where it was. Many besides our- 

 selves will visit that spot, and although the name of Will 

 Goodall is not likely to be preserved in that strange song 

 and funeral picture which have made Tom Moody's so his- 

 torical, it will sink into the heart of every sportsman, present 

 and to come, with a far deeper and more enduring signifi- 

 cance. He leaves eleven children behind — eight sons and 

 three daughters. The eldest son is with a veterinary surgeon 

 at Tuxford ; the second, Stephen, has just gone into his 

 Grace's stables ; the third. Will, is destined for the hunting 

 saddle, and so is most probably the fifth ; while the fourth, a 

 boy of nine, is at the Blue-coat School. The others are quite 

 young, one of them only a baby fourteen weeks old. Mrs. 

 Goodall is going to live at Croxton Park, in a house which 

 has been kindly placed at her disposal by the Duke." ^ 



The hunt got up a subscription for the widow and children, 

 and friendship did the rest. It is said by an old and leading 

 member of the Belvoir Hunt that during his last illness 

 Goodall was frequently visited by his master the Duke, and 

 his friend Sir Thomas Whichcote, and they asked the dying 

 man, for such they knew he was, if anything troubled him. 

 Then Goodall unburdened to them his dread of leaving his 

 large family but ill provided for. The Duke said he would 

 * Sporting Magazine^ June, 1859, p. 398. 

 219 



