THE STAG IN THE RUTTING SEASON. 39 



Indeed I imagine that an incipient volcano would make 

 some such noise. 



The throat of the stag swells now to an unusual size. 

 Week after week goes by, and his appearance at last 

 gives token of his spendthrift waste of strength and of 

 wild excess. His once sleek sides are sunken in, his 

 broad back has dwindled into narrowness, and a sharp 

 ridge is visible along its length. The haunches that were 

 so full and rounded have hollows in them, the head is no 

 longer stately and erect, nor in the creature's whole mien 

 and bearing is there more of pride and majesty. The 

 voice has grown thick and husky, and a hoarse sound, 

 void of strength or fullness, is uttered at distant inter- 

 vals. Senility has taken the place of youth ; and of 

 strength, decrepitude. At such time it is comparatively 

 easy to get near the stag, for he sees and hears nothing, 

 and, if I may use the expression, is reduced almost to a 

 state of imbecility. I have myself crept along the ground, 

 and got from bush to bush until I was near enough to 

 have brought him down with a pistol-shot. 



It is in truth astonishing that the stag should be so 

 long-lived as he is ; for the whole year through, with the 

 exception of at most two months, he is either taxing his 

 nature to the utmost, or striving to recruit his strength 

 through an inclement and unpropitious season. The 

 rutting is over j and now, with lantern body and but the 

 ghost of his former self, he has the raw winter months 

 before him. There is no green pasturage where he may 

 appease the cravings of hunger ; the ground is covered 

 with deep snow ; nor can he get at the young corn, which, 

 were it not thus hidden, would furnish a most dainty 

 banquet. He is obliged to have recourse to the rind of 

 the young trees, and to nibble the tips of the last shoots 

 and twigs. Poor nourishment this for a famished worn-out 



