THE DEER-STALKER. 245 



little more than a speck. It bears to the naked 

 vision the colour of the moss ; seen through the arti- 

 ficial medium, it resembles an animal a jackass. But 

 no ! the antlers (they are just discernible) proclaim it 

 to be what it really is a hart magnificent. And see, 

 not far from it, lie couched a couple of hinds. High 

 beat the hearts of the deer-stalkers and quickly is their 

 council of war concluded. OS they move, not forward 

 in direct line towards the object of their anxiety, but 

 describing, as it were, part of a circle, so as to meet or 

 face the wind, and at the same time keep under cover 

 of one of the knolls or small hillocks already alluded to. 



At length, after much strategy, by crouching and 

 creeping on all-fours, they gain the desired point of 

 concealment. A natural excavation or hollow it is in 

 the moor ground, half filled with black mossy water, 

 and lying about two hundred yards in front of the deer. 

 But see, their quarry is browsing towards them. In a 

 short time, it will approach the mark. Unconscious of 

 danger, it moves along, invited by every successive tuft 

 of herbage to its fate. Three-fourths nearly of the 

 intervening distance have been passed over, and now, 

 suddenly the animal halts, and lifting its stately head 

 snuffs the perilous air. Too late ! The murderous 

 barrel is on the discharge. The bullet is winging its 

 way onwards with lightning speed and unerring accu- 

 racy. It has reached the heart of the antlered 

 monarch. A death-bound a stagger, and all is over. 

 The warm blood gushes from the fatal orifice. The 

 blade of the hunter is at the throat of his victim. 



I have not introduced into this cursory sketch the 

 unleashing of the stag-hound, its angry impatience, its 

 fleet unconquerable pace; nor have I thrown in the 

 figure of its cruelly-wounded chase, unable longer to 



