CHAPTEE X. 



HUNTING THE WILD STAG IN DEVON AND 

 SOMEKSET. 



IRD of the wilderness, blithesome and 

 cnmberless, sweet be thy matins o'er 

 moorland and lee/' were the apolo- 

 getic words I addressed to the lark, 

 " shrill messenger of morn," for having distm'bed 

 him from his repose in the pm-ple heather, as I 

 galloped at a racing pace across Winsford Hill en 

 route to a "meet" of the Devon and Somerset 

 hoimds, on a lovely morning during a recent visit 

 to Dulverton. I would have said something equally 

 pretty to the blackcock which I roused from the 

 cover and sent whirring away over the the wide 

 expanse of common, had he not startled me and 

 my nag by the suddenness of his uprising, which 

 disturbed my usually well-balanced mind, but served, 

 nevertheless, as a caution against careless riding, 

 and proving the necessity of taking a firm grip of 

 the saddle when riding full speed up to one's horse's 

 knees in heather. 



Notwithstanding that I had eighteen miles to ride 

 to cover, I could not resist the temptation of losing 

 a few minutes, whilst I paused at the top of an ex- 



