, 
CHAP. x1! DEATH OF MY FIRST STAG. 169 
\ CHAPTER XXI. 
\ Death of my first Stag 
Wuers is the man who does not remember and look back with 
- feelings of energy and delight to the day, the hour, and the wild 
scene, when\he killed unaided his first stag? Of course, I refer 
only to those'who have the same love of wild sport, and the same 
enjoyment in the romantic solitude and scenery of the mountain 
and glen that I have myself: shooting tame partridges and hares 
from the back of'a well-trained shooting-pony in a stubble-field, 
does not, in my eyes, constitute a sportsman; though there is a 
certain interest attached even to this kind of pursuit, arising 
more from observing the cleverness and instinct of the dogs 
employed, than in killing the birds. But far different is the 
enjoyment derived from stalking the red deer in his native 
mountain, where every energy of the sportsman must be called 
into active use, before he can command success. 
Well do I remember the mountain side where I shot my first 
stag, and though many years have since passed by, I could now, 
were I to pass through that wild and lovely glen, lay my hand 
on the very rock under which he fell. 
Though a good rifle-shot, indeed few were much better, 
there seemed a charm against my killing a deer. On two occa- 
sions, eagerness and fear of missing shook my hand when I ought 
to have killed a fine stag. The second that I ever shot at, came 
in my way in a very singular manner. 
I had been looking during the chief part of the day for deer, 
and had, according to appointment, met an attendant with my 
gun and pointers at a particular spring in the hills, meaning to 
‘shoot my way home. This spring was situated in the midst of a 
small green spot, like an oasis in the desert, surrounded on all 
sides by a long stretch of broken black ground. The well itself 
was in a little round hollow, surrounded by high banks. 
