312 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
ounce of practice is worth a pound of precept. Valour our author 
holds to consist of two parts, pluck and nerve, and the difference 
between them he illustrates with an anecdote, which we venture to 
repeat, at the risk of being deemed retailers of that class of story 
known as “ fine old crusted.” 
“*You shiver, Colonel—you are afraid,’ said an insubordinate Major, 
who ought to have been put under arrest then and there, to his com- 
manding officer on the field of Prestonpans. ‘I am afraid, sir,’ answered 
the Colonel, ‘and if you were as much afraid as ] am you'd run away!’” 
The Colonel, as we are told, had lots of “ pluck,” but, as he was 
honest enough to admit, a deficiency of “ nerve.” 
Some critical notes on Irish hunters and thoroughbreds are 
followed by two chapters devoted respectively to riding to fox- 
hounds and riding aé stag-hounds. But let not the reader think 
that it is in any jeering spirit the distinction is drawn. The latter 
is no less sport than the former, as Major Whyte-Melville has 
proved in his own experience, though to be sure he has sought it 
rather in pursuit of the perfectly wild animal over the moorlands 
of Somerset and North Devon than racing “ the calf” in company 
with Her Majesty’s Staghounds and a London crowd. How hard 
the work can be may be gathered from the sentence quoted from 
Lord Wolverton—“ The worst of a deer is that you can’t leave off 
when you like. Nobody will believe you if you swear it went to 
ground !” 
We cannot conclude this notice without mention of the illustra- 
tions. The process of printing we believe to be that known as 
“autotype,” but in this instance it can scarcely be called a success. 
There is a somewhat blurred and greasy appearance about the 
plates, which we feel to be unfortunate for much of Mr. Giberne’s 
drawing. We say “much” advisedly, as we do not consider 
Mr. Giberne to be at all equal in his productions. The fall at the 
brook (p. 32), and the “flyer” (p. 242), are well and spiritedly 
drawn, but the enquiring-looking animal in “ thrown out” (p. 198) 
we confess reminds us rather of the rocking-horse type, than of 
even the mildest horse to be found amongst the crowd at a 
suburban meet. 
