162 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



is the real climax : in that short exquisite second before 

 the death, — before quite all has been obtained, — when 

 the prize, the reward of all your toil and risk, is surely- 

 won, but not yet possessed, — that is the moment of the 

 highest joy. You fire, — he falls, and you are well pleased ; 

 but the sensation is tame compared to the subtle, qui- 

 vering intensity of what you felt before. 



No true lover of the chase can he be, who estimates 

 his pleasure only by the number he has killed : c The 

 Noble Arte* teaches another lesson. 



Few things are more painful to the sportsman than 

 when, by some mischance or want of skill, he causes an 

 animal unnecessary suffering. Unfortunately the very 

 circumstance I am always so anxious to avoid was after- 

 wards to happen with one of these chamois ; the saddest 

 to witness that ever occurred to me in my hunting ex- 

 periences. 



Giving way to my companion I left the clam, and 

 going along the ridge above it, we crept softly down the 

 mountain-side, so as to get on a line level with the spot 

 where the chamois was standing. The latschen were 

 scattered about everywhere pretty thickly; and it was 

 as difficult to get through the stubborn branches with- 

 out their rustling or rebounding, as it was to see the 

 chamois, even when within shot of them. At last we 

 reached a spot where we could look upon a glade, as it 



" And watch how with caution he cometh forth, 

 And how in his pride of height 

 He walketh erect o'er the sunlit sward, 

 Encircled in golden light. 



" And behold him then stand before you there, 

 In that still forest glade alone, 

 Not a bow-shot's length from your own right hand, 

 And to feel he is all your ovonP 



Verse, by Charles Boner. 



