Hunting the Wild Stag. 89 



mind as I looked upon the stalwart form of this 

 noble sportsman : — 



" Riglit boldly lie rides like a good man and true, 

 "\^'itll his bounds on ahead, and the stag in full view, 

 And the broad valleys ring with his loud houp halloo, 

 And the sound of his horu in the morning — " 



for a short time only elapsed before the hounds were 

 laid on, and we were away at a rattling pace, crossing 

 the boundary wall that encircles Mr. Knight's vast 

 tract of moorland, crossing an arm of the river Lynn, 

 leaving Larkborough on the left, swinging round to- 

 wards Oare, and finally losing at Chalkwater, in the 

 direction of Badgworthy, after a clipping little spin 

 over the heather, up and down the steep hills, and 

 through the densely-wooded combes, in pursuit of 

 this warrantable stag, who, however, left us in the 

 lurch, after which the hounds went home to Exford. 



Riding homewards, we experienced the delights of 

 this variable climate; drenching showers came in 

 rapid succession, and long ere we reached Exford we 

 were wetted to the skin, for when it rains in Devon- 

 shire or Somersetshire there is no mistake about it. 

 So grand is the sport, however, and so enjoyable the 

 life that is spent in these lovely counties, that a 

 little more or less of water is a thing of no import, 

 the natives being extremely hospitable, with a ten- 

 dency to offer cherry brandy, dry sherry, or the 

 whiskies of Scotland and Ireland on the slightest 

 provocation, either of which I found a preventive of 

 cold and an antagonist of rheumatism. 



