The die was cast: Mr. Soofoolysh was to go to Eton: Lady Ditchwassen had inquired most assiduously among her circle of friends and acquaintances for the most fashionable tutor-one who could rejoice in the greatest number of titled scions-and a Mr. Johnstone was recommended; so, on a certain day in July, Allworthy was despatched to make the necessary arrangements. Upon Allworthy ringing at Mr. Johnstone's door at Eton, two gorgeously-liveried footmen ushered him into a well-furnished room, designated "The Study," around the sides of which were arranged many splendidly-bound volumes, where, reclining in an easy-chair, was a tall, handsomelooking young man, with a profusion of brown curly hair, through which he ran his fingers, bedecked with rings.

"Mr. Allworthy, I presume? Pray be seated, sir. John, prepare the luncheon," said Mr. Johnstone.

Allworthy bowed.

"I have just received Lord Ditchwassen's communication," continued Mr. Johnstone; "and I am happy to say I shall have a vacancy after the summer holidays in my house, and it will afford me much pleasure in filling it up with Mr. Soofoolysh-your pupil, I presume?"

Now, Allworthy had, during his drive, built in his own mind a little epitome of his pupil's life. He had expected to find a sympathising spirit in Mr. Johnstone, and, if that had been the case, to unbend his mind by acquainting that gentleman with the youth's virtues, or palliate his follies by assuring Mr. Johnstone they were chiefly owing to the delicate position in which he (Allworthy) had been placed; for the parents, perchance unintentionally, had instilled from their unguarded conversation contumely and disrespect into the mind of his pupil towards him. But the flippant, off-hand manner of Mr. Johnstone soon dispelled these aerial castles from the mind of the worthy tutor, and he could only say he was "sure Lord Ditchwassen would be much gratified by Mr. Johnstone being able to take his

son."

"I suppose, sir," continued Allworthy, "his religious principles are made a momentous question; my most strenuous exertions have been directed to that subject."

"Exactly, sir," lisped Mr. Johnstone; "I understand. You can acquaint Lord Ditchwassen he will attend, on an average-let me see -he will attend chapel six times a week; he will also translate portions of the Greek Testament twice hebdomadary-once, sir, to ME, and once in school."

"Oh," said Allworthy, not knowing exactly what to say; "does he read Cicero ?"

"In private to me," answered Johnstone, "but not in school as yet, as he will only, I should think, be placed in the fourth form."

"In my opinion," said Allworthy, "the great Roman orator has some-I may say many-defects: his ostentatious orations cannot be wholly palliated; for, in my humble opinion, he leaves upon the minds of his readers that he is a good man, but withal a vain man. Again, I may say of the Paduan Livy

"Oh, ah!" said the Etonian, feeling a leetle out of his element, as

a gudgeon would when first reclining on a sand-bank. "We never discuss 'shop' away from the board. Ha! ha! ha!

to the opera this season?"

Have you been

Now, had the gay Mr. Johnstone, the beau ideal in the fashionable world of an Eton tutor, presented a loaded pistol, ready cocked and capped, to Allworthy's periosteum, threatening to pull the trigger if he stirred, he could not have astonished our friend more. He go to the Opera-the pandemonium of vice-a combination of legs and squalls! Oh, God, what horrors!

"No, sir; I never waste my time in such frivolous pursuits.” "Don't you ever go and take a peep at Drury Lane or Vauxhall?"

"Neither, sir," roared Allworthy; " and, as we seem to have settled everything, I will wish you good morning."

"Wont you stay lunch? No! Well, good morning; good morning."

"Odd fish that," soliloquized Mr. Johnstone. "There are really so many sects and persuasions, now-a-days, that there seems to be no subject safe to converse on; the weather even is forbidden during the hay-making season. Well."-And with these opinions hardly concluded, Mr. Johnstone repaired to superintend the gastronomic powers of some fifty boys.

(To be continued.)

THE RED-DEER.

THE SEASON FOR HIND HUNTING IN DEVON AND SOMERSET.

BY M. HESKET.

(Concluded.)

To every pack of staghounds a harbourer is an essential appendant, whose duty is to be not only acquainted with all the coverts in the hunt, but also to know when and where a deer may be roused in any particular wood. To ensure a day's sport, he must be at the coverside some time before daybreak, and mark the feeding grounds, and the racks over which the deer have passed during the previous night; for it is only at this time that he moves from his lair, and therein does he differ from the buck or fallow-deer, who feed in the open by day, and move but little from their particular locality; whilst the former frequently traverse a distance of twenty or thirty miles of a night in search of food or hinds. The harbourer examines all the places where a stag is likely to have been, and, by means of his slot and

other circumstances, can tell for certain whether there are any within the covert intended to be drawn, and whether it is a stag or hind, as well as its size and condition-indeed, without seeing him, he has the means of knowing everything about him, and is able to report with certainty to the master at the meet whether it is a runable stag, fit as well for the table as the chase, that may be roused, or whether he is unfit for sport, And for this no little ability and experience are requisite: he is well stored with all the knowledge and traditions which the ancient foresters have, from time immemorial, handed down to him. Having discovered signs of a deer, perhaps by the slot, he traces it to the cover, and, if he finds that he has entered it, he then proceeds to ring it, in order to ascertain whether he has again left it or not; if, from the absence of fresh-made slot and other circumstances, he finds that he is still there, he will abide the time of the meet, taking care that nothing disturbs the cover; but, should he find the deer unworthy, or that it has left the cover, he will in like manner proceed to others until he is sure that he has harboured a warrantable stag. I should mention that it is not by slotting alone that he has certain indications of the presence of deer, although it is the chief thing on which he relies, for by it he has a very strong criterion according to the state of the weather, &c., as to the time which has elapsed since the deer has passed on, and can tell from it much of its habits-that is, whether it has recently frequented rocky and hilly countries, or been feeding in rich pasture: if the former, the sides of the feet are worn and broken, and the impression accordingly; whilst the slot of a deer accustomed to rich pasture-land is more perfect, and has the pressure more on the heels, from the greater weight of the animal. Besides the indications of the slot, he notices the racks and galleries through which he passes to his lair, and the height at which he crops the tender shoots and leaves; and, if a bough crosses his path, he notes whether he creeps it or not: a young deer will stoop in such a case, but not so the old stag; he bounds over it without concern. It is by this means, and by the fewmishings of the deer and other things, that the harbourer knows exactly all that is requisite concerning them. We shall now leave him, supposing that he has harboured a stag of size, and proceed to the meet.

The hour is ten, and the field are exchanging those kindly and hearty recognitions which are seldom evinced elsewhere. The body of the pack has been safely housed by the huntsman in some barn or binhay hard by, who remains with them until they are wanted. The master has had his brief interview with the harbourer, and the whip has been seen to trot off with two or three couple of old hounds, whose deep jowls bespeak their breed, whilst their strong and straight limbs give assurance that the pace is in them; and now, hark to the cheerful rating of the whip!-it tells one that the tufters (as these few hounds are now termed) are at work and adoing. Presently a mouth opens, and from it proceeds a note more melodious by far than ever the music of Handel or Mozart produced: perhaps it is Melody herself who has just taken the scent, and soon another hits it off; and then another, until they all join in the welcome chorus. Meanwhile some of the old and experienced hunters have taken positions, from

whence they can command the points at which they think it likely the deer will break; but, before he does this, an old stag will try every art to drive the younger deer from the cover, and, if possible, on the same line of scent; and, unless a good watch is kept, he is not unlikely to succeed, for there are generally several in a cover, and he is the last to leave it. I have often seen him put up a younger deer, and, apparently most unconcerned, lie down in a thick part of the cover, whilst the tufters have continued with the scent of the younger one. It is strange to see how coolly a stag moves when first he hears the tufters, which perhaps are close upon him: he stands up, and sniffs the air, calculating, no doubt, his chances, and as it were awaits the hounds as if no danger was nigh, and they are even within a few rods of him, but still he moves with "measured steps and slow," until he appears to be almost within their jaws; then he will bound with the ease inimitable over the bushes, and soon be far in advance of the hounds; but it is long before he leaves the cover-perhaps (and, for our present purpose, we will consider him) the only deer in the cover, and that the hounds are pressing him hard; he will then break cover, and for a moment or two again stand staring about him until again forced onwards by the greater proximity of his enemies and a splendid sight it is to see a stag go away, with his head erect and a most noble bearing and now the sapient brethren of the hunt have also the means of judging of his fitness for the chase, which is soon told by his step and carriage, as well as by the number of his rights, &c.; if he has brow, bray, tray, and three upon top, or even two only, he is a runable stag. The tufters are stopped, and the body of the pack brought up and laid on the slot. I need not continue my description of the chase which ensues, it being marked by most of the incidents of field and flood which other hunts afford, save that it is through a country more wild and romantic, and the chase is longer and straighter. The deer having tried in vain, during his course, such covers as he thinks will afford him a substitute, now keeps to the open-now he tries his craft to elude the hunter, who finds sometimes that he has more than his match-perhaps he will take "soil," as it is termed, and either swim or walk down a river for half a mile or more, being careful that in his progress he does not touch any overhanging bough, by means of which his scent would be carried to the hounds. When fairly pressed he will seldom omit recourse to a river, which is always a sure help to him; sometimes he will sink his whole body in a pool, shaded by trees, whose boughs kiss the stream, and, by throwing back his head, suffer only his nose to appear above water, by which means he often eludes the hunter, who there finds it most difficult to discover him. Many instances are known of his thus escaping altogether, and not emerging until long after hounds and huntsman are far away; but oftener he finds that he has no rest for the sole of his foot either on land or in stream, and is forced to come forth only to fall a victim to his enemies. Sometimes he will lie down in the lair of other deer which he has forced onwards; and in order that the hounds may not scent him, gather up his feet under his belly, and suppress his breath so that they will often pass within only a few yards of him, and never vent him. So crafty are they, that a stag

has even been known to leap into a thick whitethorn, and thus avoid the hounds: these and a thousand other things does he often resort to ere he is taken; but seldom can he altogether elude the pack when once they have fairly settled upon him; at length he must be brought to bay by them, and the most inaccessible pool will he select for his last struggle: perhaps it is on all sides protected by natural objects, save on that which he defends with his noble front. And what real sportsman would deny him this poor defence? Now fancy him surrounded by the hounds, each uttering music the most melodious; and then the struggle between them and the more daring portion of the field for the honour of taking him; still, however, they are all repelled by the bold dashes which he makes at them; but it is his last defence, and he at length is taken, amid the congratulations of the field, each and all delighted by the finale.

I have before described the scene of taking and breaking up a deer with these hounds, and will not therefore repeat it. I will only add that it possesses charms which are not enjoyed by other hunts, especially those which run an uncarted deer in a country strange to him. No; give me the wild, the free, the ever free stag-one that has never felt the touch of mortal hand-and let me rouse him in his native glen, and kill him in his own bright, sunny country; and the world may enjoy their other pastimes, free from my participation or envy.

I must, before I conclude, add an extract from an old work concerning the ceremonics adopted by our progenitors at the death of a stag, after a run with hounds. It is as follows:

"The first ceremony, when the huntsman comes in at the death of a deer, is to cry, Ware haunch!' that the hounds may not break in to the deer which being done, the next is the cutting his throat, and then blooding the youngest hounds, that they may the better love a deer, and learn to leap at his throat; then, the mort heing blown, and all the company come in, the best person who hath not taken say before is to take up the knife that the huntsman is to lay across the belly of the deer, some holding by the fore-legs and the huntsman drawing down the hind-legs, the person who takes say is to draw the edge of the knife leisurely along the middle of the belly, beginning near the brisket, and drawing a little upon it enough in length and depth to discover how fat the deer is; then he that is to break up the deer first slits the skin from the cutting of the throat downwards, making the arber that so the ordure may not break forth; and then he paunches him, rewarding the hounds.

"In the next place he is to present the same person who took say with a drawn hanger, to cut off the head of the deer; which being done, and the hounds rewarded, the concluding ceremony is, if it be a stag, then one blows a triple mort, and if a buck a double one, and then all who have horns blow a recheat in consort, and immediately a general whoop-whoop.

"In many cases, formerly, leasing was observed; that is, one was held across a saddle or on a man's back, and, with a pair of dog couples, he received ten pounds and a purse—that is, ten stripes (according to the nature of the crime, more or less severe) and an eleventh, that used to be as bad as the other ten, called a purse. Some of these crimes were as follows: coming too late into the fieldmistaking any term of venery, &c. ; these are of the lesser sort: the greater are, hallooing a wrong deer, or leaving the field before his death, &c."