II 

 My First Stag 



I WAS staying with Prince at a castle (or 

 " Schloss," as they call it there) in Bohemia, 

 not a hundred miles from Prague. 

 It was autumn. The time when the oak trees 

 put on their red and yellow livery, and the stems 

 of the birches gleam white through the golden 

 showers of leaves that come rustling down, and 

 only the sombre pines stand dark and unchange- 

 able amid the changing foliage. 



The time when the dew lies thick on the grass, 

 and the mist rises dense and damp, and the even- 

 ing air feels chilly, and the stars grow clearer and 

 brighter, and one knows that summer is dead and 

 that winter is coming. But it is a glorious season 

 to the sportsman ; for with the first frost that 

 whitens the ground and nips and scatters the fading 

 leaves comes the rutting-time of the stags, when the 

 silent woods re-echo with the hoarse roar of each 

 gallant champion as he sends forth his challenge to 

 his rivals. 



Behold then a party of two, consisting of the 



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