154 W-VRWICK WOODLANDS. 



THE OUTLYING STAG. 



It was still pitch dark, although the skies were quite 

 clear and cloudless, when Harry, Frank, and the Com- 

 modore re-assembled on the following morning, in Tom's 

 best parlor, preparatory to the stag hunt which, as de- 

 termined on the previous night, was to be their first sport- 

 ing move in the valley. 



Early, however, as it was, Timothy had contrived to 

 make a glorious fire upon the hearth, and to lay out a 

 slight breakfast of biscuits, butter, and cold beef, flanked 

 by a square case-bottle of Jamaica, and a huge jorum of 

 boiled milk. Tom Draw had not yet made his appear- 

 ance, but the sound of his ponderous tramp, mixed with 

 strange oaths and loud vociferations, showed that he was 

 on foot, and ready for the field. 



"I'll tell you what. Master A ," said Archer, as he 



stood with his back to the fire, mixing some rum with 

 sugar and cold water, previous to pouring the hot milk 

 into it — "You'll be so cold in that light jacket on the 

 stand this morning, that you'll never be able to hold your 

 gun true, if you get a shot. It froze quite hard last night, 

 and there's some wind, too, this morning." 



"That's very true," replied the Commodore, "but devil a 

 thing have I got else to wear, unless I put on my great 

 coat, and that's too much the other way — too big and 

 clumsy altogether. I shall do well enough, I dare say; 

 and after all, my drilling jacket is not much thinner than 

 your fustian." 



"No," said Harry, " but you don't fancy that I'm going 

 out in this, do you ? No ! no ! I'm too old a hand for that 

 sort of thing — I know that to shoot well, a man must be 

 comfortable, and I mean to be so. Why, man, I shall put 

 on my Canadian hunting shirt over this" — and with the 

 word he slipped a loose frock, shaped much like a wagon- 

 er's smock, or a Flemish blouse, over his head, with large 

 full sleeve?, reachinsr nlmost to his knees, and belted round 

 his waist, by a broad worsted sash. This excellent gar- 

 form the teat, any day, which the Southern writer scofled at a.s 

 utterly impossible. 



Scrope on Deerstalking will show to any impartial reader's satis- 

 faction, that stags in the Highlands are rarely killed within 200 and 

 generally beyond 300 yards' distance 



