300 MANAGEMENT OF HOUNDS. 



** Wait a bit, he will soon come out." After waiting 

 half an hour or more in fidgety expectation, Master 

 Tommy is gratified by seeing an animal emerge, which 

 anything but meets his notions of what a stag should be. 

 " Law, pa, is that a stag ?" " Yes, my dear ; what did 

 you think it was !" " Only look, it has got no horns — 

 it looks more like a donkey, pa ; the stags in my picture 

 book have all got fine horns, and look so grand. Oh, 

 pa, it must be a donkey after all." " Hold your tongue, 

 Tom, and don't talk so loud, or her Majesty's huntsman 

 will hear you." — Exit pa. 



Tommy ain't satisfied, so he attacks mamma next. 

 ** Why do they cut the stag's horns off, ma — it makes 

 him look so foolish ?" " Why, my dear, if his horns 

 were not cut off he might run them into your papa's leg 

 or stomach, and that would be a very serious thing, you 

 know. Tommy." " Well, ma, I shouldn't like riding 

 after such a poor thing as that." 



I was present at the grand meeting in the New 

 Forest, some few years ago, when the royal pack went 

 down for a week's wild deer hunting. The first meet I 

 shall not easily forget. It appeared to be a gathering 

 together of all nations and languages. Such a motley 

 group of equestrians I never before set eyes on. Soldiers, 

 sailors, tinkers, and tailors ; every animal, from a donkey 

 to a dray horse, being put in requisition. The numbers 

 were computed at from one to two thousand. Davis, 

 the huntsman, on recognising a brother of the craft in 

 the crowd, lifted up his hands as if in supplication to rid 

 him from the mob. As the hounds moved off at a 

 pretty brisk trot through the trees, the motley assem- 

 blage began to disperse, and even at this early period 



