HUNTING THE WILD RED DEER. 



" The busy reapers sheaves are binding", singing 

 loudly o'er the plain ; and the silent brook is winding, 

 through the fields of golden grain '' as I wend my way 

 to Dulverton, in order to hunt the wild red deer with 

 the Devon and Somerset Staghounds. Widely 

 different were the conditions under which I last hunted 

 the stag, the occasion being the meet of the Queen's 

 Hounds at Barleythorpe, at the close of the past 

 season, when Lord Hardwicke brought down Goodall 

 and the Royal pack, to give the dwellers in the Shires 

 a taste of their quality. Then the corn was green, 

 the hedges bare, the brooks bumpers, and the 

 " country '^ fetlock deep ; so that out of a field of 

 nearly 1000 well- mounted men assem^bled at Lord 

 Lonsdale's to see the uncarting of the deer, but a mere 

 handful put in an appearance at the finish, a run of 

 two hours and thirty-three minutes over the grass in 

 the vicinity of Ranksboro' Grorse having sufficed to 

 bring many to grief, whilst those who went the pace 

 soon found it a case of " bellows to mend/' 



With the recollection of this rattling run fresh in 

 my memory, and a lively remembrance of my mount 

 on " Beverley," who carried me like a bird, I listened 

 with grave attention to a suggestion that it would not be 

 a bad way of passing the time until cub-hunting begins 

 if I were to pay a visit to the Somerset and Devon, 



10 



