site side of the Dart, half hid by the high fern and boulders that covered the hill, was watching with a keen eye the movements of the hunters as they slowly moved off in the direction of Benjay Tor. A couple of lank hounds lay at his feet, fast bound to the stump of a furze bush, and there kept in silent subjection by the frequent use of a long hazel rod he carried in his hand; while under his two arms he held, with the grip of a vice, a brace of wiry terriers, which, if their looks belied them not, gave token of being fierce customers for the stoutest fox that ever entered a mountain cairn.

'There, lads, yeur time's a come now,' he said, dropping his longfaced yellow terriers gently to the ground, and uncoupling the impatient hounds from the furze-stump to which they were bound. 'Yeu'll zoon warm the jacket ov un, I reckon; and, dog or vixen, ''twill be rough times vor un, ef he hang'th one minute avore ce ' in thikky holt.'

Having thus expressed his confidence in his forces, like some great general going into action, Tom Franks descended the hillside at a rapid trot, and crossing the Dart at a well-known point where the river is all but bridged over by boulders of gigantic size, he soon gained the clitter of rocks so recently deserted by the Squire and his hounds. But before he could manage to reach the holts, both hounds and terriers had disappeared in their recesses, and instantly, while he was clambering to the cone of a prominent rock, the din of a fierce war rose to the air, and bid him keep a bright look-out on the surrounding scene.

'Hammer and tongs! they'm hard at un, and out he's bound to 'come-scat!' he almost yelled with delight, as he secured his footing on the summit of the granite boulder. In another instant the fox had bolted, and Tom's Tally-ho!' might have been heard at Holne Cot. Thrice over he repeated the wild signal; but, for the purpose he had in view, he might well have spared his lungs, for every note of the first halloo vibrated on the Squire's ears like an electric shock. Then, as the rocky vale re-echoed the cry, wheeling his horse round as on a pivot, he and Ben Head, with every hound at their heels, dashed back together, cheering on the pack to the wild scream.

In less than two minutes they were well on him; and in ten more this gallant old moor fox, stiffened by his long toil, was run into, and converted at once into

'A hundred tatters of brown.'

But before the Squire and Ben, encumbered with their horses, could reach the rugged spot, Tom Franks, by dint of scrambling, running, and jumping, had joined the worry, and as, with ecstatic delight, he seized the white-tagged brush and waved it high in air, he delivered a prolonged 'Who-whoop!' so wildly, that every sleeping echo in the distant Buckland woods must have been roused by the cry.

The square figure of the man, rather below than above the middle

height, and the unmistakable fox-skin cap he invariably wore, enabled the Squire to recognise him at the first glance; and if, from the recollection of the many vulpecidal acts of which Tom had been guilty, Mr. Raleigh's first impulse was to denounce him there and then as a reprobate and offender only worthy of the gallows, it suddenly occurred to his mind that both Mr. Host and Frank had assured him that Tom, by their persuasion, had been more than half converted from the error of his ways, and that if he (the Squire) would but hold out the olive-branch, Tom might be won over to a right faith and better practice.

The successful finish, too, to the day's sport, and the blooding of the hounds after so hard a run, seemed to act like magic on the Squire's temper; for, to Ben's inexpressible wonder, he heard him address Tom not only in a kindly tone, but in jubilant terms, on the result of the day's sport.

After explaining how he had taken the liberty to bolt the fox and call back the hounds, and then, gratified on hearing the Squire's hearty commendation both of his own and the terrier's work, Tom took courage and said with the utmost humility, Yeur honour hath on'y got to zay the word and yeu'm kindly welcome to they dog's and my sarvice for gude and all; and what's more, ef I can on'y zee a bit o' sport wi' yeur honour's cry, I'll gie up they kippers ' and churchwarners, and never kill a fox more for they fellars; naw, nit zo long as I live.'

'The Squire was so taken aback by this unexpected proposal on Tom's part, implying not only a renouncement of his vulpecidal sins, but the offer of his services thenceforth in favour of the legitimate chase, that at first he could scarcely credit his own ears, nor satisfy himself that the proposal was a bona fide one on which he could really depend. But his doubts vanished like a dream when Tom, respectfully handing the brush, said, with a hopeful expression of countenance, Dr. Host, yeur honour, hath a promised me a gude 'horse tu ride; and zaith that ef so be yeu wid think fitty to let me 'han'le the tarriers, I should then zee a power more sport, and be none the wuss for wages than I be now. Zo, I hop' yeur honour 'will give me the berth.'

'Ay, that I will, Tom, and make the berth as comfortable as I 'can for you,' replied the Squire, unfeignedly delighted to secure the services of a man who, for so many years, had been the most destructive enemy to foxes ever known in that country.

In little more than a month from that day Tom found himself in possession of one of the best cottages, close to the kennel, on the Watercombe estate; and there, with his wife, children, and terriers clustered round his own fireside, no lord in the land could boast of fewer cares or more enjoyment of life, at home or afield, than Tom Franks.

STAG-HUNTING.

'Hunting is the noblest exercise,
Makes men laborious, active, wise,
Brings health, and doth the spirits delight.
It helps the hearing and the sight:

It teacheth arts that never slip

The memory-good horsemanship,

Search, sharpness, courage, and defence,
And chaseth all ill-habits thence.'

So sung glorious old Ben Jonson, and who shall say that he was not right? Few, we believe, would care to in the present day; for if ever the chase was held in high esteem, it is so now. Nevertheless our manners are so far changed from those of our forefathers, that the beasts of chase they held in the highest estimation are but lightly esteemed by us, while the villain fox, who with them received no law or mercy, and was simply knocked on the head when and where he could be found, is not only looked upon as the most worthy object of pursuit to be found in the British Islands, but held in such esteem that to slay him in a hunting country by another means than the legitimate one is considered little short of a crime. As the country was cleared of forest and became more open, fox-hunting gradually took the place of stag-hunting until this right royal sport, for such it really is, about five and twenty or thirty years ago was wellnigh falling altogether into abeyance; and the deer, long since extinct in all other parts of England, were then, by royal order, exterminated from the New Forest, and had become very scarce on Exmoor. Good friends, however, in the latter country, came to the rescue : owners on private property preserved the deer, tenants soon followed their landlords' example, and rode after the hounds instead of molesting, or allowing others to molest them; so that in one corner of England can the sport, which has most probably been handed down to us from the days of Nimrod (he of Nineveh, not the 'Quarterly'), be still seen in perfection. It quickly, under the régime of Mr. Bisset, the present worthy and respected Master, became literally a passion with the inhabitants of Devon and West Somerset, or rather we should say that the passion for it was revived, so that deer have increased and multiplied to a great extent; and from being the last remnant, as it were, of old English sports going gradually but surely to extinction, the fame of it has spread throughout England, and men come from north, south, east, and west to join in it, and of course bring with them horses, servants, and all those means of disbursing money which an Englishman now takes with him on his travels. Of the popularity of the sport we need say nothing; it is firmly established; but one hint we may give, we trust, without offence to any one, which is, that deer do damage, which has to be paid for, and hounds and horses are not kept for nothing. We know not whether strangers are allowed to subscribe to the hounds, but they can at all times, if they have the will, find the way

to make the reminiscence of their appearance in the country a pleasant one. We are not sitting down to write a description of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds; that has already been done, and well done, but rather to endeavour to point out to our readers the difference they will find between stag-hunting and fox-hunting-a difference which, we fancy, is scarcely enough appreciated, and which has ere now led to unfavourable remarks with regard to the former sport.

First, then, let us tell our hard-riding readers, if we have the luck to have such, and we hope many scores monthly take up the greenbacked volume, that they must by no means look for the quick find and eager start that is so much appreciated in the grass countries. The law is, in stag-hunting, that the oldest and heaviest deer, generally synonymous terms, must be found hunted, and, if possible, killed. This is the true science of woodcraft, as handed down to us for generations; hence the necessity of tufting, which we have so often heard abused and decried. No doubt it is annoying to see deer after deer break covert and the hounds stopped because the old stag,' well known by the harbourer to be there, refuses to make his appearance; but if those who go to meet staghounds would accept the tufting as a part and parcel of the proceedings instead of as a mere preliminary, as too many of them do, they would rejoice in the skill of the men and discipline of the hounds, which enables one of the most difficult of sporting feats to be accomplished, instead of looking on it simply as so much time wasted and a bore. For those who have never hunted anything but carted deer, which are little better or worse than an animated bunch of red herrings with a will of their own (a very obstinate will it is sometimes), so far as true sport is concerned, it is almost impossible to conceive the cunning and resources of an old stag to save himself from being forced from his covert. Neither hare or fox ever tries so many wiles to escape his pursuers as a stag, and often he will range the covert until not another deer is left in it, run the streams, and 'soil' again and again before making up his mind to set his head over the open. This, of course, gives both hounds and huntsmen a great deal of work, for it is only by keeping constantly at him when once on his legs that this end can be achieved. However, when he has made up his mind to go, he is not easily blanched,' and, moreover, he has a point to make, and make it he will; so, we know, will the fox, but he is not nearly so bold in doing it as a stag. It will be seen that drawing for a fox and tufting for a deer is a totally dissimilar affair, and no comparison can, in our estimation, be instituted between them. The huntsman to foxhounds simply draws the most likely places with his whole pack, hunts the first fox he finds, as a rule (unless a brace break at once), and kills him, if he can. The staghunter takes a few hounds, four or five couple generally, and from a covert full of deer, and often of very great extent, singles and forces into the open the particular stag he wishes to hunt. Can any one question which is the most scientific operation, and requires the deepest knowledge of woodcraft? There is no finer sight in the world than

an old stag when leaping forth to view in all his majestic beauty: he stands at gaze a moment, and then gliding into his long easy stride, which looks so slow, but really is so fast, so takes advantage of the inequalities of the ground that he is out of sight apparently on an open plain ere you can believe it. Turn your head but a moment and he is lost to the eye until set up, or fresh found at least.

Do you think he was afraid of us? Not one jot. A friend told us he saw one found near Eggesford, who broke into the field where the horsemen had all been drawn up in line, gazed at them a moment from the boundary fence, and then trotted along from end to end, like a general revieving a regiment of cavalry, and away. It is not easy for any one who has not passed his life amongst them to tell a good deer from a light one, or to see what his rights are; so that if you are a stranger, your wisest plan is to hold your tongue: if you can distinguish a stag from a hind with certainty at some little distance, it is about as much as you will do at first. Nevertheless, that our readers may know how deer should be termed at different ages, a point on which many would be glad of information, if they only knew where to go for it, we transcribe the following from the Boke of 'Hunting, a part of the Boke of St. Albans,' written by Lady Juliana Berners, prioress of Sopewell Nunnery, near St. Albans, in the thirteenth century, and first printed at St. Albans in 1481:

6

'And to speke of the hert, if ye will it lere,
Ye shall call him a calfe at the first yere,
The second yere a broket; so shall he be

The third yere a spayard, lerneth this at me;
The fourth year calles him a stagge, be any way

The fifth yere a grete stag, my Dame bade you say.'

Manwood, in his Forest Laws,' also bears out these terms, except that in the fourth year he calls him a staggard, in the fifth a stag, but adds, that in times past the foresters and woodmen were wont to 'call him a stag at the fourth yeer, and not a staggard, as we do now. And also at the fifth yeer they do call him a great stag. And 'so they were wont to give him a difference by this word stag and great stag. And whereas some do think that a stag of 'what age soever he be, shall not be called a hart until the King 'or Queen do hunt him; that is not so, for they are all greatly ' deceived that so do think; for after the fifth yeer of his age he 'should no more be called a stag but a hart. And as Budæus saith, ' at six years of age, then a hart you shall him call; so that if a stag 'come to be six years of age, than he is a hart.' In Devonshire they are now called first a calf, then a knobbler or brocket, afterwards a spire or pricket, in the fourth year a staggart, in the fifth a stag or warrantable deer, at and after six, a stag or hart, as we learn from the Chase of the Wild Red Deer.' Hinds are first year a

calf, the second a brocket's sister, or hearst, in the third a young hind, or hind.

When the stag has been unharboured and fairly driven into the open, the fox-hunter will notice another material difference from