DEER-nOUKD.] 



THE DOG, AND ITS VARIETIES; 



[deee-hound. 



wa3 at his heels, and immediately seized his 

 hock with such violence of grasp, as seemed, in 

 a great measure, to paralyse the limb, for the 

 deer's speed was immediately checked. 



" ' Buskar' was not far behind ; for soon after- 

 wards passing ' Bran,' he seized the deer by the 

 neck. Notwithstanding the weight of the two 

 dogs, which were hanging to him, having the 

 assistance of the slope of the ground, he con- 

 tinued dragging them along at a most extraor- 

 dinary rate, in defiance of their utmost exer- 

 tions to detain him, and succeeded more than 

 once in kicking ' Bran' off. But he became 

 at length exhausted; the dogs succeeded in 

 pulling him down, and, though he made seve- 

 ral attempts to rise, he never completely re- 

 gained his legs. On coming up we found him 

 perfectly dead." 



The Highland chiefs of former days were 

 wont to hunt the stag with all the pomp and 

 magnificence of Eastern sovereigns. Under the 

 plea of a deer-hunt, they would sometimes as- 

 semble four or five thousand of their clan, os- 

 tensibly for the purpose of driving the deer 

 into their toils, but, in reality, for very diff'erent 

 purposes. Walter Scott, if our memory serves 

 us, alludes to this circumstance in his Waverley. 

 When the government found out the secret of 

 these " gatherings," they were suppressed by 

 an act oi" parliament. 



The elegant appearance of the stag has al- 

 ways procured for it great admiration ; and 

 although he is a native of many parts of Europe, 

 he is supposed to have been originally intro- 

 duced to this country from Erance. 



By way of contrast to the animated prose 

 description of Mr. Scrope, we present our 

 readers with another, equally animated, al- 

 though in the " poetical vein." 



The stag, too, singled from the herd, where long 

 He rang'd, the branching monarch of the shades, 

 Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed 

 lie, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, rous'd by fear, 

 Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. 

 Against the breeze he darts, that way the more 

 To leave the lessening murderous cry beliind. 

 Deception short ! though fleeter than the winds 

 Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountains by the north, 

 He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, 

 And plunges deep into the wildest wood. 

 If slow, yet sure adhesive to the track. 

 Hot streaming, up beliind him come again 

 Th' inhuman route, and from tlie shady depth 

 Expel him, circling through his ev'ry shift. 

 412 



He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing sees 



The glades, mild opening to the golden day ; 



Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends 



He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. 



Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 



To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides ; 



Oft seeks the herd : the watchful herd, alarm'd, 



With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. 



What shall he do ? His once so vivid nerves, 



So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 



Inspire the course ; but fainting, breathless toil, 



Sick, seizes on his heart ; he stands at bay ; 



And puts his last weak refuge in despair. 



The big round tears run down his dappled face ; 



He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack, 



Blood-happy, liang at his fair-jutting chest, 



And mark his beauteous chequer'd sides with gore 



It must be acknowledged that there is some- 

 thing exceedingly exciting in the hunting of 

 the larger kinds of animals, whether on horse- 

 back or foot, with dog or gun. Princes of 

 every age and country have been remarkable 

 for their love of the chase ; and one who, 

 within these few years, has obtained no little 

 celebrity in the eyes of the political world of 

 Europe, is a devoted lover of the chase. Victor 

 Emmanuel, of Italy, is one of the most enthu- 

 siastic hunters of the day. He has hunting 

 quarters in the vicinity of the Alps — those 

 stupendous mountain ranges which realise to 

 the imagination all that Byron has written of 

 "mountain majesty." When he sets out for 

 these quarters, as a body-guard round the 

 royal cavalcade, there walk about forty or fifty 

 of the hardiest mountaineers of these districts, 

 armed with rusty fowling-pieces, and destined 

 to beat the bush, and drive the game to the 

 sportsmen. The king is habited in a broad- 

 brimmed wideawake, and a grey hunting-suit 

 of coarse woollen cloth, all of one colour, 

 agreeably to fashion. He looks a kind of 

 bluft' Henry VIII. of England, equally stout, 

 darkly sunburnt, with a deep, almost livid, red, 

 round and behind the ears, bristling with 

 moustaches, stretching from the lips all across 

 the face — not a man to be loved or valued by 

 those who do not look below the surface. The 

 tents destined for himself and his party he has 

 pitched about an hour's walk up a valley, deep 

 in a glen shut in by bare rocks — a whole craggy 

 wilderness, the refuge of chamois and bouque- 

 tins. With the exception of the character of 

 the game, tliis is thoroughly Scotch. 



Eor a long time this heroic sovereign seemed 



