hauled away, wondering at the accession of weight, but when they saw the Doctor's head level with the window, panic-stricken they let go their hold of the rope, and away went Doctor and basket to the bottom.
No bones were broken, and nothing came of it, the Doctor being rather ashamed of the part he had played in the matter.
It was said of Russell, as Napoleon said of Ashton Smith, that he was "le premier chasseur d'Angleterre." His love for sport made him always a poor man. On one occasion he invited a young curate to breakfast with him, and preach for him. After breakfast two likely-looking hunters, perhaps a little screwy, were brought round and steadily mounted.
"No time for going round by the road," said Parson Jack; "we will ride to my church across country, and so save a couple of miles."
Off they rode. The curate presently remarked, "How bare of trees your estate is," as they crossed lands belonging to Russell. "Ah!" responded the sportsman "the hounds eat 'em." Coming to a stiff gate, Russell, with his hand in his pocket, cleared it like a bird, but looking" round, he saw the curate on the other side crawling over the gate, and crying out in piteous tones, "It won't open." "Not it," was the reply, "and if you can't jump a gate like that, I 'm sure you can't preach a sermon. Good-bye."
But he was not only a mighty hunter, he was also an excellent parish priest and a fine preacher, though not always depending on his own sermons. He was
