222 STAG-HUNTING ON EXMOOR 



there have been sundry occasions when, for stout- 

 ness of heart and a kind of obstinacy of courage, 

 the men of the west of England had no need to 

 suffer by comparison with any. To many of us 

 now, alas, the home of our fathers, the haunts of 

 our boyhood, are no longer daily present ; but 

 the exile's memory is strong and vivid, and, aided 

 as is natural by not infrequent visits to them, 

 yields abundant pleasure in the contemplation of 

 spots hallowed to us by fond associations, the 

 tombs of our sires, the scenes of early passion, and 

 perhaps above all, to him of man's estate, the otter 

 bank and Exmoor. 



Stronger than death, more lasting than love of 

 woman, is the passion for the chase, and of all 

 those who ride to hounds, the hunter of the wild 

 deer of Devon must surely bear the palm for all the 

 qualities that go to make up the sportsman ; and as 

 I have been challenged to show that this at least is 

 no empty boast, nor figment of the brain, I proceed 

 to tell, for all but those who know it better than 

 I, how the men of Devon hunt the wild red deer. 



It was ordained that I should be the first of my 

 race born out of Devon, and there was perhaps 

 allotted to me lacking that birthright a keener 

 relish for all that Devon yields, so that a certain 

 home-sickness will often befall me, which that 



