LAST SCENE OE ALL. 



"What shall he have that killed the deer? His 

 leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him 

 home."" That was the merry refrain of the foresters 

 bold in days of yore, when people were not so squeam- 

 ish in respect to the sports of the field as they are 

 nowadays. It must not be supposed, however^ that 

 I am about to offer an apology for stag-hunting, or 

 to speak with bated breath of one of our national 

 amusements. On the contrary, 1 am going to pro- 

 claim the doings on the last day of the season of the 

 Royal buckhounds ; recount the exertions of the pre- 

 mier huntsman, Frank Goodall ; tell of the proceed- 

 ings of Edrup, Hewson, and Bartlett, his tried and 

 trusty " whips,^^ and of many a good man and true 

 who, like myself, take pleasure '^ in chasing the wild 

 deer and following the roe,^' and, when he cannot 

 do that, is content to have a clinking good gallop with 

 " The Queen^s ^^ whenever an opportunity offers. 

 There have been some feeble attempts of late by pre- 

 judiced people — a minimised minority, happily — to 

 disparage sport of every description, and stag-hunt- 

 ing in particular. 



False allegations of cruelty have been put forward 

 by the ill-natured or ignorant ; but the verdict is 

 " Not proven," and never will be, I hope, in my time. 

 Posterity never having done anything for me, must 



