318 REMINISCENCES OF A HUNTSMAN. 



I could see his antlers and the tip of one ear, and, 

 guessing his head, I fired ; but, as often happens in a 

 partial view of the head, the ball grazed it only, when 

 the buck made a convulsive bound or two towards 

 us, and HoUoway shot him through the brain. 



On finding that I had been entrusted with the kill- 

 ing of some of the royal deer, my first object was to 

 get a good bloodhound. Now we often see things 

 with long ears, and of the right colour, but which 

 are no more real bloodhounds than a turnspit is a 

 fox-hound ; but I was very fortunate in obtaining 

 from Mr. ]\Iitchel, the chief friend of the animals in 

 the Regent's Park Gardens, — for he is so in every 

 sense of the word, — a bloodhound of about twelve 

 months old, as perfect, when he came to me, in all 

 the attributes of that race, to look at, as I ever be- 

 held. His wrinkled front, narrow forehead, rather 

 sunken eyes, and long, fine, sweeping ears, that never 

 rose, — or cocked, as the saying is, — and which did, 

 indeed, " bathe in dew" when he stooped his head, 

 gave every sign of a true ancestry. In addition to 

 these marks and his long hanging lips, in shape he 

 was perfect. Well rounded in the ribs, and deep in 

 the brisket, his legs and feet were perfection itself; 

 with a loin to heave him along, and a stern to it that, 

 when feathering on a deer, lashed his sides like the 

 tail of a lion in a rage. His colour of the richest 

 black-tan. It was not long before I clipped the usual 

 capital " B." on his left side, and began to make him 

 handy. No easy job at first ; and I soon found that 

 a primary settlement must be made as to who was to 

 be master — he or I. The first bone of contention 

 was his feeding-trough, as, until he had polished it 

 clean, he was in no way inclined to let me have it 



