1 84 STAG-HUNTING ON EXMOOR. 



and past her. A strange exultant smile lights up the 

 faces of the little group on the road, a smile such as 

 men wear only amid the maddening clamour of baying 

 hounds. The excitement finds vent in loud "Who- 

 hoops ! ' ' and Arthur proclaims his triumph through 

 the shrill notes of the horn ; but voices and horn are 

 alike inaudible as the carcase is solemnly borne across 

 the road into a field for the final obsequies. The fatal 

 stab to the heart was dealt as soon as our hind was 

 taken, and now the hounds must be given their portion. 

 *' Look at that ! " exclaims the sporting farmer as the 

 body is turned over and the legs are seen standing 

 stark and stiff in the air. "Ay, properly runned up, 

 poor thing," answers Arthur, who is busy anatomis- 

 ing. " Bn'sher," he adds, suddenly turning round, 

 " Br/sher, bother your old head, you'm always after 

 the venison." And Brusher, who has stolen forward 

 and begun licking the haunch, with a specious appear- 

 ance of the most innocent intentions, beats a hasty 

 retreat, not without a taste of whipcord. Then the 

 hounds' portion is made over to them and speedily 

 demolished, and Arthur proceeds to look after his 

 own — namely, the head — which is deftly severed, and 

 promptly seized, but as promptly dropped, by an ad- 

 venturous puppy, under an awful reproach of " Rooman, 



