THE DEER KIND. 



263 



From the conclusion of rutting-time, which is 

 November, he feeds in heaths and broomy pla- 

 ces. In December they herd together, and 

 withdraw into the strength of the forests, to 

 shelter themselves from the severe weather, 

 feeding on holm, elder-trees, and brambles. 

 The three following months they leave herd- 

 ing, but keep four or five in a company, and 

 venture out to the corners of the forest, where 

 they feed on winter pasture, sometimes ma- 

 king their incursions into the neighbouring 

 corn-fields, to feed upon the tender shoots, 

 just as they peep above ground. In April and 

 May they rest in thickets and shady places, 

 and seldom venture forth unless roused by ap- 

 proaching danger. In September and Octo- 

 ber their annual ardour returns; and then 

 they leave the thickets, boldly facing every 

 danger, without any certain place for food or 

 harbour. When, by a knowledge of these cir- 

 cumstances, the hunter has found out the re- 

 sidence, and the quality of his game, his next 

 care is to uncouple and cast oflf his hounds 

 in the pursuit : these no sooner perceive the 

 timorous animal that flies before them, but 

 they altogether open in full cry, pursuing ra- 

 ther by the scent than the view, encouraging 

 each other to continue the chase, and tracing 

 the tlying animal with the most amazing saga- 

 city. The hunters also are not less ardent in 

 their speed on horseback, cheering up the 

 dogs, and directing them where to pursue. 

 On the other hand, the stag, when unharbour- 

 ed, flies at first with the swiftness of the wind, 

 leaving his pursuers several miles in the rear; 

 and at length having gained his former coverts, 

 and no longer hearing the cries of the dogs 

 and men that he had just left behind, he stops, 

 gazes round him, and seems to recover his 

 natural tranquillity. But this calm is of short 

 duration, for his inveterate pursuers slowly 

 and securely trace him along, and he once 

 more hears the approaching destruction from 

 behind. He again, therefore, renews his ef- 

 forts to escape, and again leaves his pursuers 

 at almost the former distance ; but this second 

 effort makes him more feeble than before, and 

 when they come up a second time, he is un- 

 able to outstrip them with equal velocity. 

 The poor animal now, therefore, is obliged to 

 have recourse to all his little arts of escape, 

 which sometimes, though but seldom, avai 



him. In proportion as his strength fails him, 

 the ardour of his pursuers is inflamed ; he 

 tracks more heavily on the ground, and this 

 increasing the strength of the scent, redoubles 

 the cries of the hounds, and enforces their 

 speed. It is then that the stag seeks for re- 

 fuge among the herd, and tries every artifice 

 to put oflTsome other head for his own. Some- 

 times he will send forth some little deer in 

 his stead, in the mean time lying close him- 

 self, that the hounds may overshoot him. He 

 will break into one thicket after another, to 

 find deer, rousing them, gathering them toge- 

 ther, and endeavouring to put them upon the 

 tracks he has made. His old companions, 

 however, with a true spirit of ingratitude, now 

 all forsake and shun him with the most watch- 

 ful industry, leaving the unhappy creature to 

 take his fate by himself. Thus abandoned of 

 his fellows, he again tries other arts, by dou- 

 bling and crossing in some hard beaten high- 

 way, where the scent is least perceivable. 

 He now also runs against the wind, not only 

 to cool himself, but the better to hear the 

 voice, and judge of the distance, of his impla- 

 cable pursuers. It is now easily perceivable 

 how sorely he is pressed, by his manner of 

 running, which, from the bounding, easy pace 

 with which he began, is converted into a stiff 

 and short manner of going; his mouth also is 

 black and dry, without form on it; his tongue 

 hangs out ; and the tears, as some say, are 

 seen starting from his eyes. His last refuge, 

 when every other method of safety has failed 

 him, is to take the water, and to attempt an 

 escape by crossing whatever lake or river he 

 happens to approach. While swimming, he 

 takes all possible care to keep in the middle 

 of the stream, least, by touching the bough ol 

 a tree, or the herbage on the banks, he may 

 give scent to the hounds. He is also ever 

 found to swim against the stream; whence 

 the huntsmen have made into a kind of proverb, 

 That he that would his chase find, must up with the 

 river and down with the wind. On this occasion 

 too he will often cover himself under wuter, 

 so as to show nothing but the tip of his nose. 

 Every resource, and every art being at length 

 exhausted, the poor creature tries the last 

 remains of his strength, by boldly opposing 

 those enemies he cannot escape; he there- 

 fore faces the dogs and men, threatens with 



