THE GRAVE OF THE SILENT HUNTER. 197 
and that warm haven; then it is that conscience speaks 
through the downcast life, and we are forced to realize the 
prtual savagery of this miscalled “sport;” we have a fore 
taste of the aches and pains of the poor animals we have been 
chasing through the deep snow all day, already in our own 
chafed and suffering limbs, with the sure knowledge that the 
fruition is not yet, but must come when we rise sore, stiff and 
shivering, from, perhaps, a frozen couch in the morning. Ah, 
how the weary miles do stretch! It is in vain that a few 
spasmodic notes are sounded upon the curled bugle at our 
side; the echoes take on such stunning reverberations amongst 
the bare cliffs, that we are awed into silence! How many 
vows against cruelty to animals, against the indulgence of 
such tiger-passions, are muttered as our despair gathers with 
exhaustion. The moon wheels yp her glittering disk, and 
at another time we should have been wild with delight to 
watch the glory of the shine her coming lays along the spark- 
ling earth, and through the dark armed trees; but now, alas! 
it only taunts with its splendor; it cannot make the way 
more short! On, on we plunge; the miles grow longer, and 
the noble horse begins to stagger beneath his double load, 
and then the shuddering apprehension comes that he may 
give out, and leave us to trudge the live-long night through 
the snow to keep from freezing. If the fatal sleep overtake 
us, we must lie down and die, with our poor horse for a pillow, 
and the filmed eyes of the noble buck we slew fixed in a stonied 
gaze upon our own as they are glazed by the cold wind. Mad. 
dened by such horrid images, and nerved by despair, we raise 
the bugle to our stiffened lips once more ; loud, long and high 
the peal rings out, shrill asa death-cry. My sagacious horse 
has stopped of his own accord, holding his breath, while with 
pricked ears he listens. Hark! that faint distant sound! Is 
it echo! He stamps his foot with an impatient neigh, and 
with blazing eyes and erect crest springs forward. No mcre 
staggering now,—fatigue is gone ; it requires all my exhausted 
