to secure the wounded, some large deer dogs are let loose from the leash, who run upon the track of the blood, and never leave it until the animal drops, or until they pull him down, or until they bring him to bay in some stream, where they keep him occupied till the sportsman arrives to despatch him. And now, very great care must be taken not to approach him too rashly; for if he should break his bay, and run at the hunter, it is more than probable that the life's blood of both might be poured out together. An instance is mentioned of eleven deer out of a herd of fifteen having been killed by one person, owing to the accidental circumstance of an echo producing the sound of the shot on one side, whilst the flash appeared on the other, so that the deer were unable to determine which way to fly, till the four which were left were driven to desperation, and in that way broke recklessly away from the fancied circle in which they supposed themselves to be enclosed. We have done our best to give some idea of this most interesting sport; but if the reader would have it more perfectly, let him peruse Mr. Fraser's novel, called 'The Highland Smugglers,' and he will there find a picture of it which is as true to the life as it is fascinating in its details.” "The fallow deer is much more limited by Nature in the place of his abode, and in this island, particularly, has been received only by importation. He is supposed to have but two varieties, the spotted and the dark brown. The former is of Indian extraction; the latter was brought from Denmark by James I. They are now, indeed, much intermixed; but in general the spotted race are more the inhabitants of the park. The brown, which is the hardier species, occupy the forest. The latter is the more picturesque animal. The uniform spot of the variegated deer is not so pleasing as one simple brown tint, melting away by degrees into a softer hue, which produces a sort of natural light and shade, as indeed all colours do which blend gently into each other. "Forest deer, though pasturing at large, seldom stray far from the walk where they are bred; and the keeper, who is studious that his deer may not travel into the limits of their neighbours, encourages their fondness for home, by feeding them, in winter, with holly, and other plants, which they love, and browsing them in summer with the spray of ash. When he distributes his dole, he commonly makes a hollowing noise to call his dispersed family together. In calm summer evenings, if you frequent any part of the forest near a lodge, you will hear this hollowing noise resounding through the woods; and if you are not apprised of it, you will be apt to wonder each evening at its periodical exactness. "Deer feed generally in the night, or at early dawn, and retire in the day to the shelter of the woods. Their morning retreat is thus picturesquely described: And 'The day pours in apace, opens all the lawny prospect wide; The hazy woods, the mountain's misty top, "Mr. Pennant tells us, that in Germany the peasants frequently watch their corn the whole night, to preserve it from the depredations of deer. He needed not, on this head, to have carried us so far from home: the borderers of New Forest are equally subject to the depredations of these animals, and are often obliged, when the neighbouring deer have gotten a haunt of their corn-lands, to burn fires all night to deter them. I heard a farmer say, that it cost him five pounds one summer to guard eight acres of wheat. It is a remark among foresters, that all the deer kind are particularly offended by disagreeable smells. The farmer commonly, therefore, smears the ropes with tar which he sets up as fences, and throws fetid substances into his nightly fires, to disseminate the odour in the smoke. "We need not wonder if such depredations provoke acts of violence. Though protected by law, these atrocious marauders very often, and deservedly, suffer death for their offences. "A farmer, however, not long ago paid dear for taking the administration of justice into his own hands on an occasion of this kind. He had frequently lamented the depredations on his corn; and being at all events determined to retaliate, he narrowly observed his fields; and having found the track along which the nightly plunderer advanced, he took his station near it, as evening drew on, with a rifled barrel well loaded. After much listening and many little alarms, he at last heard the bushes crackling and giving way in earnest. He now made himself sure of his prey; and, lying close, he levelled his piece so as just to take the stag as he emerged from the thicket. The night was dark, but, however, allowed him sufficient light to take aim at so large a body. He fired with effect, and had the pleasure to see his enemy fall; but on running to him, he was struck with finding he had killed one of the best horses of his own team." "We knew a case similar to this, but unfortunately much more tragical, which happened in the North of Scotland. There the peasantry are in many districts compelled to watch their crops night after night; and more lamentable mistakes than that of shooting a valuable horse have been sometimes committed. Whilst the people mount guard to defend their crops from the deer, they do so, perhaps, not without a secret hope that the depredators may not fail to come. About two or three years ago, two different parties went out near Fochabers, unknown to each other, each armed with guns, to. keep watch in this way. An individual of one party mistook a man of the other party for a deer, fired at him, and the result was, unfortunately, fatal.” Gilpin, in his Forest Scenery,' says, "Perhaps, of all species of landscapes, there is none which so universally captivates mankind as forest scenery; and our prepossession in favour of it appears in nothing more than in this, that the inhabitants of bleak countries totally destitute of wood are generally considered, from the natural feelings of mankind, as the objects of pity. "Pliny has given us a view of this kind, which, he tells us, he took himself upon the spot. It represents a bleak seacoast in Zealand, before that country was embanked, the inhabitants of which he speaks of as the most wretched of human beings. It is true, there are other wants besides that of scenery which enter into the idea of their wretchedness; but I dare affirm, that if Pliny had found the same people, with all their wants about them, in a country richly furnished with wood, he would have spoken of them in different language. Pliny's picture is in itself so good, and is likewise so excellent. a contrast to the scenes which we are in the habit of witnessing, that I think it worth inserting. I shall rather give the general sense of the passage, than an exact translation of it. "This coast,' says he, lies so much lower than the ocean, that the tides daily overflow it. The inhabitants build their huts on little eminences, which they either find or construct on the shores, and which serve to raise their dwellings just above the water-mark. These dwellings, or rather cabins, when the tide rises, often seem like floating boats; and when it retires, the inhabitants appear like stranded mariners, and their cottages like wrecks. Their harvest is the ebbing of the sea, during which they are everywhere seen running about in quest of fish, and pursuing them in each little creek of the shore as the tide deserts it. They have neither horse nor cow, nor domestic animal of any kind; and as to game, they have not the least appearance of a bush to shelter it. The whole employment of this wretched people is fishing. They make their nets of sea-weed, and dry a kind of slimy mud for fuel. Rain-water is their only drink, which they preserve in ditches dug before their cabins.' "Such is Pliny's picture of this bleak and desolate country. From the very feelings of nature we shudder at it whereas the idea of the forest is pleasing to every one. The case is, though there may be as much real misery amidst beautiful scenery, yet beautiful scenery covers it. Wretchedness is often felt under splendid apparel; but it does not strike us in such attire as it does in rags. "That man was originally a forest animal, appears from every page of his early history. Trace the first accounts of any people, and you will find them the inhabitants of woods, if woods were to be found in the countries in which they lived. Caves, thickets, and trunks of trees were their retreats, and acorns their food, with such beasts as they took in hunting, which afforded them only a precarious supply. "If indeed they lived near a coast like the Zealanders described by Pliny, they obtained a livelihood by fishing. But with the savages of the coast we have nothing to do: our attention is only engaged by the savage of the woods. "While man continued thus an inmate of the forest, it is possible he might have sagacity to build himself a hut of boughs, which he might cover with clods; and yet it is more probable, that while he continued the mere child of Nature, he was contented with the simple shelter which Virgil supposes his common mother furnished the embowering thicket, or the hollow trunk,' as summer or winter led him to prefer an open or a closer cover. Strabo speaks of certain Asiatics, even so late as the times of Pompey the Great, who harboured, like birds, in the tops of trees. And I think the savages about Botany Bay are not represented by our late discoverers in a much more improved condition. These woods the fauns and nymphs once held. Here, too, a hardy race of men subsist; Unversed in all the arts of life, they know Nor how to yoke the ox, or turn the glebe,- |