CHAPTER III 

 CHASING THE ROE 



" I WATCHED a roe," says St. John, in a well- 

 known passage of his " Wild Sports of the High- 

 lands," " stripping the leaves off a long bramble 

 shoot. My rifle was aimed at his heart, and my 

 finger was on the trigger, but I made some excuse 

 or other to myself for not killing him, and left 

 him undisturbed. His beauty saved him." I 

 am afraid that with most sportsmen on the war- 

 path the sporting aspect is apt to prevail over 

 the aesthetic, and they do not often show the same 

 forbearance as the genial author of the brightest 

 of sporting records ; but if beauty could prevail 

 to soften the heart, no animal would be more 

 likely to reach old age than a roebuck. 



What a beautiful thoroughbred -looking crea- 

 ture he is a very fairy of the woods ! A roe, 

 threading his path through birch and bracken, 

 or standing for a moment in some open glade 

 with graceful head turned towards the intruder, 

 looks, what he is, no trespasser, but tenant in fee 

 by right of birth and prescription as one of the 

 oldest inhabitants. His big brother the stag is 



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