ox was
marked to ground the church bell was rung as a signal, summoning every
man who owned a pickaxe, a gun, or a terrier dog, to lend a hand in
destroying him. We are talking of two or three hundred years ago, when
the stag was the animal usually hunted by hounds on the Cotswolds and in
other parts of England.

Our village is a favourite meet of the V.W.H. foxhounds. An amusing
story is told of a former tenant of the court house--a London gentleman,
who rented the place for a time. He is reported to have made a special
request to the master of the hounds, that when the meet was held at "the
Court," "his lordship" would make the fox pass in front of the
drawing-room windows, "For," said he, "I have several friends coming
from London to see the hunt."

In a hunting district such as this the owners and occupiers of the
various country houses are usually enthusiastic devotees of the chase.
The present holder of the "liberty" adjoining us is a fox-hunter of the
old school. An excellent sportsman and a wonderful judge of a horse, he
dines in pink the best part of the year, drives his four-in-hand with
some skill, and wears the old-fashioned low-crowned beaver hat.

We have many other interesting characters in our village; human nature
varies so delightfully that just as with faces so each individual
character has something to distinguish it from the rest of the world.
The old-fashioned autocratic farmer of the old school is there of
course, and a rare good specimen he is of a race that has almost
disappeared. Then we have the village lunatic, whose mania is "religious
enthusiasm." If you go to call on him, he will ask you "if you are
saved," and explain to you how his own salvation was brought about.
Unfortunately one of his hobbies is to keep fowls and pigs in his house
so that fleas are more or less numerous there, and your visits are
consequently few and far between.

The village "quack," who professes to cure every complaint under the
sun, either in mankind, horses, dogs, or anything else by means of
herbs, buttonholes you sometimes in the village street. If once he
starts talking, you know that you are "booked" for the day. He is rather
a "bore," and is uncommonly fond of quoting the Scriptures in support of
his theories. But there is something about the man one cannot help
liking. His wonderful infallibility in curing disease is set down by
himself to divine inspiration. Many a vision has he seen. Unfortunately
h