In the Middle Ages, before the invention of gunpowder, the chase of the chamois must have been infinitely more arduous than it is to-day. They were usually stalked, and were killed either with the cross-bow or with spears thrown like javelins. These were shafts 9 ft. long with thin tapering lance points, and a skilled man could throw them with fatal effect a distance of forty steps. The great mediæval sportsman, Emperor Maximilian, has left us some quaintly worded descriptions and pictorial representations of chamois stalking and its dangers. He was undoubtedly the first to use the unwieldy ‘fire-tube’ weighing 20 or 22 lbs., with its forked prop and fuse which was carried in the hand, and which had to be lighted with steel and flint before game hove in sight. The only bit of advice smacking of our own luxury-loving much-beservanted sport four centuries later, is the quaint remark of the royal sportsman: ‘that it is a convenient thing to have at one’s side a trusty man with good lungs to keep the fuse alive.’

CHAPTER VII
THE STAG OF THE ALPS

The retrogression of the latter has been much greater than is generally supposed, and it is not till one has investigated the abundant evidence placed at the disposal of those having the necessary opportunities for research that the vast decrease in numbers and deterioration in the size of the animal and of its proud trophy are brought home to one. Months of interesting study are afforded by the perusal in German archives of the shooting diaries of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a period when, as is well known, the love for the noble art of venery swayed the great territorial lords and potentates of Germany, France and Austria to an all-absorbing degree of which it is difficult to form a correct idea in these days of responsible government. Such study of old diaries, kept as a rule with far greater punctilious care and method than was bestowed upon the most important papers of state, brings to light narratives of sport and details about the animals themselves which make comparison with the puny forms, shrunken number, and dwarfed antlers of to-day a matter of suggestive interest. To cite only one instance: is it not startling to read that the Elector of Saxony killed in forty-five years (1611 to 1656)—during which, we must not forget, the Thirty Years’ War was ravaging Germany—no fewer than 47,239 head of red deer, of which 24,563 were stags? Amongst them there were:

whilst as to weight the following figures tell their own story: the heaviest stag (killed somewhat early in the season, August 17, 1646), weighed 61 stone 11 lbs., fifty-nine stags exceeded 56 stone, 651 exceeded 48 stone, 2,679 exceeded 40 stone, and 4,139 exceeded 32 stone. It is interesting to compare with these figures the bag of the descendant of the above potentate—i.e. the late Duke of Saxe-Coburg, an equally keen sportsman, with opportunities, in comparison, much the same as his great ancestor. He, as we find from compilations placed at the writer’s disposal, killed in forty-nine years (1837 to 1886) 3,283 red deer, of which 2,316 were stags, and of these there were one of 24 points, two of 22, four of 20, eight of 18, and 164 of 16 and 14 points; whilst in respect to weight, the best forests of Germany did not return a single stag equal to that of the lowest in the Elector George’s list, i.e. 32 stone. If deterioration continues at the same rate, the descendants of the Duke of Edinburgh, who has now succeeded to the throne of this doughty race of Nimrods, will have to be satisfied with stags of proportions akin to those of the dwarf deer of other continents, which a strong man can hold out at arm’s length.

Such deterioration as the above has not occurred with the mountain stag, for we find that in Northern Hungary and adjacent Bukowina giants of the red deer species, ranging in weight from 35 to 40 stone (clean) are obtainable to this day, while their heads, if not exhibiting such an abnormally large number of tines as those to be found in the great historical collections of antlers of the Continent, where heads up to 66 points are to be seen, are nevertheless as heavy in the beam and as wide spreading almost as the best which the sixteenth century produced. Moreover, one must not forget when examining these famous old collections that they represent a zeal in sport and, in most instances, a lavishness almost incomprehensible in these modern utilitarian days; a lavishness which in many instances wrecked the finances of the ruler and of his country. History tells us that one enthusiast gave a full battalion of his tallest grenadiers for a single pair of antlers two centuries ago, while another offered a sum corresponding to 5,000l. for another famous head, and offered it, moreover, in vain. These are two instances of what perhaps to our remote descendants may possibly not seem a more extraordinary proceeding than the purchase of a few square feet of painted canvas for fifteen times that sum.

If we search for the reason why the stag of the plains has lost so much more ground than his brother from the hills, we come upon the same factor which has worked so much havoc in Scotland, i.e. inbreeding. The forests of Central and Northern Europe (often tracts of enormous extent) were nevertheless much more isolated from other breeding grounds than is the whole system of the South European Alps, where nature has always provided fresh blood with far greater regularity than could possibly be the case in detached forests.

To-day by far the largest heads and heaviest stags are to be found in the mountainous regions of Northern Hungary, where are situated many great sporting estates of the Austrian aristocracy, which afford sport such as is probably to be found nowhere else in the civilised world.

Confining himself to the bags of the last ten years or so, the writer can give the following details. The heaviest stags of all are shot at the famous Munkacs estate of Count Schoenborn, in the Carpathian Alps, where stags with a clean weight of 40 stone 8 lbs. have been killed in the last decade. Their heads are, however, so it is generally averred, not better than those of stags in the adjacent Pilis Mountains and other regions in the Carpathians. The accompanying sketch (No. 1) is an accurate representation of the upper part of a pair of antlers of a stag killed at Radauc in 1882 by Prince Rohan; they are of the following very remarkable dimensions: length of right antler 49⁶⁄₁₀ ins., of left antler 48⁴⁄₁₀ ins. No. 2 sketch represents antlers of a stag shot in the Pilis Mountains in 1884 by the present Duke of Ratibor, the right antler measuring 49 ins., the left 50⁴⁄₁₀ ins., while the spread from tip to tip at widest point is 55⁹⁄₁₀ ins. This is enormous. The remarkable expanse of the crown of a stag shot on the Jolsva estates (Hungary) in 1884 by Prince Philipp of Saxe-Coburg Gotha is shown in sketch No. 3, where the extreme distance between the two most prominent tines forming the crown a to b tapes 20⁹⁄₁₀ ins.

Frequently, as everybody who has dipped into antler lore well knows, the largest heads, so far as length and number of tines go, are not the heaviest in weight; in fact, one might almost quote as a rule that the heaviest heads are fourteen and sixteen tined ones, when the animal has begun to set back. Thus neither No. 1, 2, nor 3 reaches, by 4 lbs. or more, the weight of a 14-pointer killed by Prince Rohan in Radauc, which, with the small fragment of skull-bone which is usually left attached to the antlers, exceeds that of many a fair wapiti head—the giant of the deer species—scaling an ounce or two over 31 lbs. avoirdupois; whilst another 14-pointer, obtained by the late Austrian Crown Prince, weighed little less. To find matches for these modern antlers among old historical heads one has to search among the pick of the old collections, and of these history does not always tell their origin. Take, for example, two famous collections embracing between seven and eight thousand heads, i.e. the historically most interesting ‘Sammlung,’ at the King of Saxony’s castle of Moritzburg, where, in one of the many halls in which are hung these highly treasured trophies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the visitor can see 71 heads, not one of which carries less than 24 points; and, secondly, Count Arco’s numerically even finer collection at Munich. The pick of both collections is in the first named—i.e. a head of the unrivalled spread of 6 ft. 3⁶⁄₁₀ ins., and of the equally remarkable weight of 41½ lbs. avoirdupois. The history of most of the lesser heads in this collection is well known; not so unfortunately the origin of these monster antlers. In spite of many weeks’ researches in the King’s private library and in the Royal archives to which the writer obtained access, it was impossible to trace its history further back than 1586, in which year the head is enumerated in an inventory of the Elector Augustus’s heirlooms, without mentioning whence it came.

Returning to modern times, it must, of course, be remembered that in the localities producing the monster stags of to-day everything is in their favour. In the oak forests on the lower slopes of the mountains they find a mild climate and the best horn-producing food during the winter months, while during the summer they make undisturbed raids upon the rich agricultural valleys below, where they find the wherewithal for many a stone of extra weight, the feudal sway exercised by the great territorial magnates permitting the deer to trespass upon the crops with impunity, and thus grow to be the lustiest of their race. In the higher Central Alps, in Styria, Tyrol, and the Bavarian Highlands, the stags are smaller and their antlers shorter and proportionately less massive, being about the size of the best Scotch heads. In the Alps the inclemencies of severe winters, lack of food as well as lack of shelters, tell upon the growth of the whole race.

In other respects, however, the stag of the true Alps is a grander beast than his lazier and sleeker brother to be found on the slopes of the Carpathians. Scarcer, far harder to obtain, amid surroundings not unsimilar to those which make chamois shooting such keen sport, stalking the Alpine stag has for those who are fond of real mountain sport more attractions than the pursuit of the larger and less wily Hungarian stag.

STALKING THE ALPINE STAG

The home of the Hungarian and of the Alpine stag differs very materially from that of the Scotch deer. The more or less treeless ‘forest’ of Scotland is replaced in the first named locality by superb woods of deciduous as well as of coniferous trees; in the latter by dense pine, fir, and larch woods. These are forests which do not belie their name, and their owners are never forced to kill off stags in order to save a few precious trees, an unpleasant alternative by no means unknown to Scotch lairds.

To the presence of these forests must be ascribed the entirely different mode of stalking pursued in Austria from that known to the Scotch deerstalker. The view over great expanses of open hill land, which is the most typical incident of Scotch sport, is practically unknown on the Continent. In consequence of this, stalking can only take place at a season of the year when the stag betrays his whereabouts by the call or roar he emits at rutting time.

The rutting season of the Alpine stag varies triflingly, but as a rule it may be said to begin about September 25, and to end on or about October 10 or 15. Prior to that time, from the moment when the stag’s antlers are clear of velvet, he is literally unapproachable in the dense thickets he loves to frequent at this period. Though necessarily a high feeder at this season, during which he has to lay up a goodly stock of fat for the exciting and exhausting times of the rut, he nevertheless comes out to feed only at night-time, and he hears as well as scents danger afar. So suspicious is he that, as an old proverb says, ‘he flies from his own shadow.’ To stalk him under such conditions in a densely timbered country is, of course, hopeless; so that his chase during August and the first half of September can only be successfully achieved by driving the forest with beaters (dogs, except for tracking wounded game, being of course very much out of place), and this driving is considered but poor sport by those who have an opportunity of killing the same animal by stalking a few weeks later.

In this stalking, the call of the stag plays a principal part. Unmelodious as is this hoarse challenge for the virile championship of the herd, it is a glorious sound to the ear of the sportsman. Whether heard in timber-line regions of the Alps, or in the tangled depth of German or Hungarian forests, or in the elevated uplands of the Rocky Mountains, it has about it as true a ring of sport as the first music from the pack in covert.

In stalking the Alpine stag during the ‘Brunft,’ as the Austrians call the rutting time, in forests that are strictly preserved, the assistance of keepers saves much time which otherwise would have to be expended by the sportsman in discovering the favourite locality frequented by the stags. Stags when the instincts of the season are full upon them are ‘up and doing’ all night, and the concert made by four or five (and often many more) brave warriors within earshot lasts all night, only to die away as darkness is replaced by daylight.

On clear nights, favoured by a bright full moon (other conditions being equally propitious), it is possible for a skilful stalker to get up to within a score of yards of a calling stag, close enough to fire with a good chance of hitting the beast. A smooth-bore, to which one is well accustomed, firing a spherical 13-bore ball, is for such occasions preferable to a rifle with its fine sights, and as a rule less perfect ‘fit’ for such hazarding. To a novice unaccustomed to this kind of midnight sport a few practice shots at a dummy should precede actual trial, for distances on such occasions are sadly deceptive, and it is remarkable how much of beautiful Nature there is to be hit in the immediate vicinity of one’s would-be prey.

Ordinarily the sportsman does not begin the stalk (during the rut) till just before the break of day. He has to be on the spot at the first signs of dawn, and therefore it is very advisable to pass the night as close to the scene of the stalk as possible. In most preserves small log huts of the most primitive kind are built expressly for this purpose high up on the mountains close to timber-line, and if possible close to some prominent point of rocks or shoulder of the mountain whence the slopes below on both sides can be, as the Germans say, ‘overheard.’ What glorious solos, duets, and trios can the lucky stalker not hear on such occasions, when nought but those weird sounds breaks the great solemn silence of night on the elevated Alpine timber-line regions! And how eagerly does one’s ear follow those sounds as they draw nearer or grow fainter, as the champions, bent on war and love, roam hither and thither on the great pine-clad slope lying in solemn silence at the feet of the midnight watcher!

The rutting stag, ardent with virile passion, is singularly heedless of danger at this season, and were it not for the hinds, who at this period appear to redouble their vigilance, he would be comparatively easy to stalk. In nine out of every ten unsuccessful stalks it is safe to say the failure is attributable to the watchfulness of the hinds, an experience which, it is perhaps needless to say, is by no means confined to the red deer of Europe.

With the exception of a few days at the height of the rut, stags only ‘call’ or ‘roar’ at night-time, and during the early hours of the morning. Not every rutting season affords the same chances for sport. What in the sportsman’s eyes is a good season is marked by its briefness, say ten days, and by a corresponding intensity of its peculiarities. In such seasons, the stag that roars one night at a certain place will, if not disturbed, make himself heard in the same locality the next night. In bad seasons, usually on account of unseasonably warm or wet weather, the stags roam further afield, and ‘roar’ far less regularly, the impelling instincts being apparently less violently aroused. In such cases they will continue the rut fully ten days longer, but far more intermittently than in the former.

The favourite rutting-places, or ‘Brunftplätze,’ of the Alpine stag do not appear, so far as surroundings are concerned, to be subject to any particular rule. They are generally well up on the mountains, not far from timber-line, and ordinarily on clearings or park-like openings of a marshy character, such as often are to be found on the small watersheds separating the head-waters of two glens.

Finally, to speak about the sport itself, it is safe to say that next to chamois stalking it is the keenest sport obtainable on the Continent. Being less uncertain and less riskful, for there is no climbing about it, it is more attractive to the ordinary sportsman, and it leaves perhaps quite as pleasurable memories in the minds of even the most ardent of Nimrods.

Given a fairly well-stocked forest in one of the picturesque regions of Styria, Salzburg, or Tyrol; given clear, frosty, autumn weather, and as your host a fair representative of the truly hospitable and truly sport-loving Austrians, no more delightful last week of September or first week of October can be passed than in the log huts dotted here and there near well-known favourite ‘Brunftplätze’ on the uppermost outskirts of the vast pine forests of the Austrian Alps.

Starting out from your hut, which has given you a welcome night’s shelter, an hour or so before dawn, accompanied if you are a novice by a keeper, you pursue your way silently and noiselessly towards the spot where your quarry has been betraying his presence by lusty notes. Only practised ears can tell exactly where that spot is, for there is nothing more deceptive than the roar of a stag. At one time it seems scarce a quarter of a mile off, two or three minutes later it will sound thrice that distance away, caused by the stag sending forth his challenge in the opposite direction. Moreover, the sound itself, with its deep guttural notes, is by no means always of the same strength.

By the time you have reached the vicinity of the deer, the rays of the rising sun are tipping with a rosy tinge the high snow-clad peaks which form your horizon overhead, and the time when ‘shooting light’ will enable you to finger your trigger is near at hand. If the clearing on which the deer are disporting themselves—as yet only faintly outlined forms—is a large one, you will have more difficulty in getting close to your quarry than if it happens to be merely a glade or park-like opening in the forest.

Now every moment is valuable, for as dawn gives way to broad daylight, the deer are sure to return to the denser forest, where pursuit is infinitely more difficult. If the clearing happens to be an old windfall, or marks the pathway of an avalanche which has laid low the great pines and arves, fallen trunks scattered here and there, or little thickets of young saplings, usually afford means of approach. If you are hardy, and do not mind brushing the rime off the frost-laden grass with your bare feet, your heavy iron-shod boots will about this time be slipped off and the last part of the stalk be performed without them, the best of all precautions against striking stones, or, what is even more treacherously dangerous, treading upon twigs, which snap with an alarming noise. Possibly you may have whispered to you hints similar to the one a keen old keeper once hissed into the ear of an august but inexperienced sportsman, who, in plain view of a fine stag, gaped aghast at the idea of baring his feet to the sharp rocks and frost-coated ground: ‘Don’t be afraid, Highness, of hurting the stones, or crushing the grass; up here God grows a goodly crop of ’em, but he doesn’t make any too many stags such as stands yonder.’[11]

And when finally, with palpitating heart, every fibre in your body set, you have approached your noble quarry, surrounded as you must ever remember he is by keenly watchful members of his harem, brace yourself by a supreme effort for a steady aim; a good stag is worthy of your very best effort. And if you are a true sportsman, and not merely a slayer, stay for a brief moment or two before you end that life, the finger pressing the trigger. The call of a distant foe has just struck the ear of the gallant champion, and with virile impetuosity he steps forth from the circle of graceful hinds to hoarsely answer the challenge to mortal combat. His head is thrust well forward, his shaggy neck distended to twice the natural size, his antlers of noble sweep are thrown well back, one of his forefeet is angrily pawing the ground, whilst his hot breath issues from his nostrils and open mouth upon the frosty air like so much steam; it is a picture which you will never forget.

CHAPTER VIII
THE SCANDINAVIAN ELK

The chase of the elk, one of the few grand wild sports still to be found in Europe, was thought worthy of mention by very old and distinguished writers, but their remarks on the subject are perhaps not likely to be of much practical value to the modern sportsman. The great Cæsar is our authority for the fact that the elk, having no joints to its legs and being therefore unable to lie down, is compelled to take its rest by leaning against a tree. The cunning hunter, continues the noble Roman, takes advantage of this peculiarity, and by sawing most of the trees in a wood frequented by the ponderous beast nearly through, brings about its downfall, when, from inability to rise, it becomes an easy victim. I have not yet tried this method of hunting, which is corroborated by Pliny, when writing of the elk ‘in Scandinavia insula.’ The celebrated naturalist also observes that, owing to the monstrous protrusion of its upper lip, the animal is compelled to feed backwards. Other ancient writers concur in the statement that the elk when pursued is liable to epileptic fits, but that he can occasionally relieve himself from the malady by opening a vein in his ear with his hind foot. I am inclined to believe, having never myself seen an elk in a fit, that now-a-days the remedy is invariably successful; but I find that the author of a small French book, entitled Nouveau voyage vers le Septentrion, and published in 1708, mentions that whilst hunting near Christiania in the company of a Norwegian nobleman, he was fortunate enough to be an eye-witness of the death of the only two elk they found, both of which succumbed, after a severe run, to sudden epileptic attacks, otherwise they would certainly never have been overtaken! He records, moreover, his scornful rejection of one of the elk’s feet, kindly offered by his host as a sovereign preservative against this terrible ‘falling sickness,’ on the not unreasonable ground that the pretended virtue of the foot had been of little use to its original owner.

We thus see that from the earliest times some degree of mystery and special interest has been attached to the habits and chase of the elk, whose obscure existence in the depth of Northern forests, and gigantic uncouthness of appearance, amounting almost to deformity, still seem to indicate him as a survivor from the remote age of antediluvian or primæval monsters.

Owing to the wise protective enactments of the Government, extending over more than half a century, the Scandinavian elk, which although formerly abundant was at one time almost in danger of extinction, has of late years again spread rapidly over a great part of Norway and Sweden, wherever the country is sufficiently wild and wooded to suit its habits. It is indeed found even within a comparatively short distance of the capitals, some of the best elk-ground in Norway being accessible by a short railway or road journey from Christiania; but this is principally in the hands of gentlemen resident in that city, by whom the game in the adjacent forests is often as strictly preserved as that in our coverts at home. It appears, however, that the elk is still almost unknown in the extreme north—that is, within the Arctic Circle. Its range throughout the whole Scandinavian Peninsula, with the exception of rare stragglers, may be fairly reckoned as lying between 57° and 66° 30 N. By the published returns of the ‘Norsk Jæger og Fisker Forening,’ we learn that in 1889, which may be accepted as an average year, elk were killed in eleven out of the eighteen amts or provinces of Norway. North Trondhjem, which includes the wild regions round Stordal, Værdal, Inderöen, and Namdal, was easily first in its return of 303 elk, of which 207 were bulls and 96 cows. Next, but a long way behind, came Akershus (containing the capital, Christiania) with 71 bulls and 47 cows, 118 in all; Hedemarken was third with 109 elk; Christian fourth with 82; Buskerud fifth with 77, and South Trondhjem sixth with 74. The long stretch of Nordland returned only 9 kills; and Finmarken, the Arctic province, not a single one. Altogether about 850 elk on the average are killed yearly in Norway, and in Sweden rather more than double the number. It must be remembered, however, that on the vast estates belonging to the great landowners in the south and centre of the latter country elk are preserved as strictly as foxes or pheasants are in England, and that, at the same time, there is no legal restriction to prevent the sportsman killing during the season as many elk, including calves, as he can, upon any property however small; whereas in Norway he is limited, under penalty of a heavy fine, to one deer for each registered or ‘matriculated’ division of the land, and the murder of calves is altogether forbidden.

The period during which it is legal to kill elk in Norway is nominally from August 1 to September 31, but this general law is subject to much local modification. Thus, in Nordland the full time of three months is still granted; in North Trondhjem it is curtailed to forty days, from September 1 to October 10; whilst in South Trondhjem its duration is for the month of September only. As by the watchful care of the authorities the close-time for any game in any given district of Scandinavia is always liable to extension, it is as well for intending lessees of sporting rights to ascertain exactly the terms of the local enactments, and, if possible, the probabilities of fresh legislation. Some years ago I took a large tract of forest in the province of Jemtland, in Sweden, and had just succeeded, after the first season, in making my quarters fairly comfortable, when the Government passed a law forbidding any elk to be killed in that province for three years. Unluckily the local authorities neglected to enforce at the same time proper supervision in the matter of poaching. A Swede, who acted as hunter for me some years later, coolly confessed that he and his comrades had never had such good sport as during that long close-time. Whilst honest law-abiding men stayed at home and the officials pocketed their salaries and did nothing, the poacher gangs had the immense forest tracts all to themselves, and with the connivance of some of the farmers, who of course had their share of the spoil, were easily able to escape detection. The elk season in Sweden would appear to be subject to local variations similar to those in Norway; in the province of Jemtland it is confined to the month of September only.

Knowing nothing of the American moose, except from reading or hearsay, I am scarcely equal to drawing any comparison between it and the Scandinavian elk. It is, I understand, generally agreed that while the two animals are about equal in bulk, the moose, in the matter of horns at least, has the advantage—ceteris paribus—of its European congener. Nevertheless, the latter, when it has attained its full honours, is capable of furnishing the sportsman with a trophy of which he may well be proud.

Whether, as some experienced hunters maintain, the age of an elk can be fairly determined by the number of points on its antlers, or whether, as others declare, there is absolutely no test by which it can be approximately guessed, beyond the fact that the ruggedness and spread of the coronet and the thickening of the base of the horns and tines are sure indications of old age, it is not for me, in the teeth of such conflicting opinions, to decide, although I have for some years taken especial pains to collect data and ideas on this very obscure subject. But I would suggest, with all due respect to the theories of others, that nature is seldom purely capricious, and that, taking as a basis the normal development of the horns during the first two or three years, which is, as a rule, regular and easily observable, and regarding the large number of elk with antlers of almost precisely the same size and number of points that are annually killed, there does appear to be some method in the growth of the latter, and that it does seem only reasonable that some accuracy of calculation may be attained by those who have constant opportunities, if they will but take the trouble, of verifying it. I fancy that it is only of late years and since a small band of English sportsmen has devoted itself to the regular annual pursuit of the elk in Scandinavia, that the native hunter, the Norwegian at least, has been induced by example to exhibit any interest in the question of horns or to regard them as worthy of special attention: the size of the body and the amount of meat have always been to him of far greater importance. To this day I occasionally hear Scandinavian Nimrods express much incredulous astonishment at the fact that an Englishman has been known to spare a well-grown bull with an insignificant trophy, or a big cow. Quite recently, however, Norway has been invaded by a large number of German sportsmen also bent on the pursuit of the elk, and from all accounts these gentlemen, keen and energetic as they all undoubtedly are, are not, as a rule, prone to err on the side of declining chances. May I then, without polemical design, suggest it as probable that a bull elk attains its prime between the ages of seven and twelve years, when, in the natural course of events, the antlers will have from fourteen to twenty-four points or thereabouts, and that to this general computation there must be, from various causes, many exceptions? It is not too common to find the horns a perfect pair, although they may be symmetrical in their general curves and sweep; one has frequently a point or two more than its fellow. I have seen a single fine very massive head that had no palmation whatever, and on each antler only four tines, but these were of great length and thickness, and strongly resembled on a smaller scale those of the wapiti. The owner of another remarkable head, which I have not seen, describes it as being very powerful, with twenty-three points in all, in double rows on each horn. I find that among native hunters the belief is prevalent that there are two kinds of elk, the one being less massive in build than the other, of lighter colour, and with invariably less palmation; but I take it that such variation is simply due to local influences, and is common to many animals, cornigerous and otherwise.

Be all this as it may, we have at least the fact that the horns of all the elk in Scandinavia do run more or less to points, and that the majority killed have less than eighteen, which number, my experience leads me to believe, English sportsmen, whatever may be their opinions as to growth and age, practically regard much in the light of a ‘royal head’ amongst elk, while with any greater number it might be analogously classed as ‘imperial,’ although neither these nor any other terms that I know of are in use. A head with twelve or fourteen points is reckoned a decent trophy. I have never myself seen one preserved with more than twenty-six, and this was inferior in sweep and general measurements to some which had fewer; on the best which has fallen to my own rifle I count twenty-three. It will be understood that in reckoning points I recognise the claim of every distinct and undeniable excrescence, of whatever size. By the kindness of Colonel C. S. Walker, of Tykillen, Wexford—a keen and successful hunter in India and elsewhere, and my predecessor in the elk forest which I now hold in Norway—I have been supplied with excellent and instructive photographs of some of the best heads he obtained during his four Scandinavian seasons, which have been admirably set up by Keilick, of 59 Edgware Road. They are superior to those in my own possession, and as good all round as any that I have myself seen; but a few have, I believe, been obtained of slightly larger dimensions by English sportsmen in Norway. No. 1 is that of a bull in his prime, with eleven points on each antler. No. 2, that of an old bull described as having light grey long curly hair on his brow and crest, which gave him a very venerable appearance; thirteen points on one horn and eleven on the other. Nos. 3 and 4 are different views of the finest specimen, with twelve points on either side and great development of palmation—a bull also in his prime with no signs of age. The measurements of the latter head are as follows: Height of horns from tip of central brow point to tip of highest back point, 3 ft. 1 in.; height of palmation, exclusive of said points, 2 ft. 6¼ ins., and 2 ft. 5 ins.; curve of inner edge of horns from coronet to tip of inside back points, 2 ft. ½ ins.; width of palmation, centre of horns, 11½ ins. and 10¾ ins.; between tips of inner back points, 1 ft. 11¾ ins.; between inner brow points, 11½ ins.; between tips of fifth points on either side, following curve and across brow, 4 ft. 5⅞ ins.; the same measurement, taut, 3 ft. 5¾ ins.; across skull at brow, 7½ ins.; fifth points, right and left, 6¼ ins. and 7¾ ins.; round coronet, 10¼ ins.; round base of horn, 6⁷⁄₁₀ ins. Sixteen is the greatest number of points I have ever seen on a single horn. This was picked up in the forest, freshly shed, in 1888, and undoubtedly belonged to an old elk of great size which had been known to haunt the district for some years. It is, however, an inch smaller all over, except in width of palmation, than the 12-point horns of which the measurements have been given. I believe that in 1892 I fired at (in a wood so densely set with stems that I had great difficulty in finding a passage for my bullet) and slightly wounded this very elk. Oddly enough he had been wounded in the nose the year before, and within a short distance of the same spot, by my predecessor in the shooting, who was also baulked by the dense growth of the pine-trees. He was by far the largest elk I have ever met with, and my hunter, a Lapp of great experience, assured me that he had never seen one bigger. The conformation of his antlers, so far as it was possible to judge in the obscurity of the wood, was exactly that of the shed horn, the great palmation with its fringe of closely set spikes being very remarkable; but to count the number of the latter during such a brief and exciting interview was impossible. I trust that some time next season I may be able to study them at my leisure, and to decide whether the horns have increased since 1888, or begun to deteriorate. It is certain that with great age, when the vital and generative powers which undoubtedly nourish their growth are impaired, they do go back, often becoming comparatively stunted and distorted. Bad wounds and scarcity of food will produce the same result. The elk sheds its horns during March and April, and the new growth begins to sprout early in June.

The average bodily measurements of a full-grown Scandinavian elk, let us say over seven years old, are as follows: Length from tail to crest, 9 ft. 5 ins.; crest to nose, 2 ft. 5 ins.; height at withers, 5 ft. 8 to 9 ins.; at quarters, 5 ft. 5 to 6 ins.; from belly to ground, 3 ft. 4 ins.; greatest girth, 6 ft. 11 ins. to 7 ft.; round thigh, 3 ft.; round forearm, 1 ft. 11 ins.

The accurate uncleaned weight of so huge an animal it is, of course, impossible, for obvious reasons, to obtain, but it is reported as having occasionally exceeded 1,400 lbs. An average deer will yield from 600 to 700 lbs. of good meat, and a heavy haunch turn the scale at 140 lbs.[12] The height of the bull at the shoulders as compared with the length of his actual body (the two measurements are nearly equal), the massive shaggy neck (on which, however, there is no very conspicuous mane), the enormously long head with its bunch of beard, huge hooked nose and bulbous lip, the rather sloping hind-quarters, and slender legs terminated by immense hoofs, combine to render him a most awkward and ungainly animal to look at; but the rapidity of his movements and his total disregard of the worst obstacles are at times astonishing, and nothing will strike the sportsman more than the way in which, if the golden moment for a shot be lost, the great deer will seem to suddenly and silently melt away like a phantom into the forest.

Another point on which some discussion has arisen is as to what vocal sounds are produced by the Scandinavian elk of either sex during the rutting season, and whether such sounds, if any be uttered, are of habitual occurrence. Personally, during six seasons’ hunting, I have never heard an elk, either male or female, utter any sound whatever; but after long and careful inquiry into the subject, which revealed more antagonism of opinion than even the question of the horns, I have made out, on the clearest evidence, that the bull during the said season gives utterance to a kind of cross between a grunt and a snort, which is often repeated many times in succession, and is audible in still weather at a considerable distance, such sound being unmistakably an amorous call. It is known in Scandinavia as the ‘Lokketone,’ or ‘Lokton,’ and may be heard during the day-time. By equally certain testimony, it is proved that, in moments of rage and defiance, the bull will also roar or bellow furiously. About the call of the cow there is no doubt whatever; she can also, on occasion, produce a loud, harsh roar, intended as an attractive summons to the bull. Colonel Walker mentions his having for some time watched a cow in the very act of uttering this call, after the bull had been shot whilst paying her great attentions. She wholly disregarded the shot herself, and the approach of the shooter, whom she allowed to come within twenty yards before she moved quietly off. When about half a mile away she recommenced her alluring roar, which Colonel Walker describes as ‘like the noise of a very angry bear when you have him where he cannot escape you.’ The cow has also, when separated from her calf, a milder call, nearly similar to that of the domestic animal. The art of calling elk has, happily, never been practised in Scandinavia, and as all the hunting takes place during daylight, and as, moreover, the inhabitants of the interior have a decided objection to being abroad during the dark hours of either evening or morning, this subject, like that of the horns, has probably not received from them much attention. You will find men who have passed all their lives in the wilds of Norway, and constantly hunted the elk, ready to swear that, with the exception of the ‘Lokton,’ neither sex utters any cry whatever. It is somewhat hard to reject altogether the idea that the elk of Scandinavia is, during the rutting season, habitually more silent than the moose is reported to be—but here I get out of my depth.

The first signs that the rutting season is beginning usually reveal themselves about the third week in September, when the hunter will discover in the forest sundry young fir-trees that have been freshly barked and cut to pieces by the horns of the bull. This would scarcely of itself be conclusive evidence, as the bull will occasionally spar with a tree much earlier in the month, possibly to complete the removal of the velvet. I have seen the horns of young elk covered with it as late as the end of the first week. Corroboration will be supplied by sundry shallow scrapings of the ground, the forerunners of the deeper pits which the bull scoops out when his frenzy is more advanced. When, owing to the purpose for which the elk uses them, these pits begin to be so ammoniacally odoriferous as to become guides to even a human nose, then it may be accepted as a certainty that a bull accompanied by a cow is, if not previously disturbed, somewhere in their vicinity.

According to the best authority, the bull only remains with the cow for about three days, after which she will have nothing more to do with him, and beats him off, whereupon he resumes his travels in search of fresh loves. During the whole rutting season, which lasts for about three weeks or a month, and is therefore included to a great extent in the present Norwegian elk season, he eats little or nothing except certain plants of a stimulant character, and becomes, in consequence, reduced to the worst possible condition. At this time he develops a very strong but not particularly disagreeable odour, akin to musk, to such an extent that a hunter might often follow by using his own nose, without the aid of a dog. All the trees and bushes, and even tall grasses against which he brushes during his progress through the wood, are tainted with this peculiar scent. The old bull elks now become very savage and pugnacious, and, not content with attacking each other, will occasionally run at any object they see in motion. My Lapp hunter tells me that when prospecting for elk without a rifle and in the interests of his late employer, he was several times charged by bulls, and had to run for his life and conceal himself in a thicket. But on all these occasions as soon as the elks reached his track and, nosing the ground, recognised the scent of humanity, they in their turn swung round and retreated. It would, however, be foolhardy, if unarmed, to stand their charge, as they might strike the life out of a man with their forefeet, their most dangerous weapon, before their timidity of or respect for the human race generally came into play. An English sportsman of my acquaintance, while returning one evening from an unsuccessful chase, in crossing a small opening in the forest, was charged by a bull, who rushed out of the covert and was only checked at thirty yards distance by a bullet between the eyes.

Both sexes of elk are often seen together by the peasants during the haymaking season, in the forest and near the mountain dairies, and small families, consisting of a cow with one or two calves and a single bull (or possibly a couple), still hold together at the beginning of the hunting season; but as, at the same time, we constantly find a certain number of bulls and cows leading solitary lives, or one or two of the same sex together, the secret of these domestic arrangements is shrouded in some obscurity, and one can only conclude that, as in the case of men, there are some male elk who prefer a roving bachelor life, whilst others have more uxorious and paternal tendencies. I have never been able to discover that the Scandinavian elk has any prominently gregarious instincts under ordinary conditions of existence, although I have heard it stated in Norway that they sometimes unite during the winter into bands of a dozen or more. In some very highly preserved districts, such as the royal forests of Sweden, mentioned later, they are now and then artificially congregated in considerable numbers, and a Swedish gentleman once told me that on a part of his property, at the head of the Gulf of Bothnia, there existed on a stretch of land bounded by two rivers a ‘herd,’ as he termed it, of nearly a hundred elk. But it appeared that in this district, owing to peculiar circumstances and local laws, the deer had not been shot for, I think, over twenty years, and were carefully watched by foresters, so that we have here also signs of compulsory gregariousness; but it is not safe to be dogmatic in this direction. What is more to our present purpose is the certain fact, on which the sportsman may rely, that during the hunting season he will not be troubled or perplexed by any gregarious tendencies on the part of the elk, whether because there are not enough of them or because such is not their habit is of little consequence; he will, I think, discover that a more unsociable and sporadic race of animals, averse to neighbours, does not exist on the face of the earth.

In Scandinavia, now that the use of traps, pitfalls and the like is abolished, there are three legitimate methods of killing elk—namely: stalking with the ‘bind-hund,’ or, as I may render it in English, leash-hound; running with the loose hound; and driving. Of these three methods it may be said that the first is more worthy than the second, and the second than the third. In Norway, owing to the operation of the legal enactment ‘one farm one elk,’ driving is practised on so insignificant a scale as to be scarcely worth noticing. Occasionally, when elk are known to frequent a precipitous mountain, whence it is impossible for them to descend except by certain passes where the guns can be stationed, a few beaters may be employed to move the elk quietly, with a fair prospect of success; but if it should happen that two or more of the passes are within the same holding, some care is necessary to guard against the chance of more elk than the one allowed being illegally killed. A drive of this kind is in Norway termed a ‘klapjagt,’ from the noise made by the beaters. The term is corrupted by British sportsmen into ‘slapjack.’ In certain situations where the ground is favourable, as in a narrow glen or on an isthmus between two lakes, the single sportsman may attempt something of the same kind by the aid of his hunter or attendant, who, making a long circuit, comes upon the elk down wind, and starts them towards the gun in ambush. Nothing more than the wind of man is necessary to move the elk, and the more quietly all these driving operations are conducted the better. The hunter who is wise will always avoid disturbing elk needlessly or wantonly, as they quickly become suspicious of danger, and are apt to travel long distances. In Sweden elk driving has been practised for a great number of years, and sometimes on an immense scale. In Lloyd’s works, ‘Field Sports of the North of Europe,’ and ‘Scandinavian Adventures,’ will be found a detailed account of some of the great ‘Dref- and Knäptskalls,’ arranged in former days by the Master of the Hunt for the delectation of royalty, by which many elk, bears, and other animals were killed. But, as regards this branch of our subject, it will be sufficient to notice very briefly two great drives which have taken place in quite recent times in one of the royal forests near the town of Wenersborg and the mountains of Hunneberg and Halleberg, at the southern extremity of Lake Wenern. Both these great functions were arranged for weeks beforehand, and many hundred beaters employed in sweeping with a gigantic cordon, which was never relaxed by day or night, an enormous extent of forest, and moving the elk gradually to the stations of the guns. The first ‘skall’ took place during the visit of the Prince of Wales to Sweden in 1885, when forty-nine elk were killed during the day; the second, in September, 1888, when, so completely had the stock recovered from the previous slaughter, that in three drives, also on the same day, there were respectively slain twenty-four, twenty-eight (in this case bulls only), and fourteen elk—a total of sixty-six. Great damage had been done by the deer to the young Scotch firs in the forest, which is some excuse for such a massacre.

By the Norwegian law, elk-hunting with the loose dog is in reality forbidden; at the same time, in several districts it is practised to a considerable extent, and with impunity. But it is in Sweden that this style of chase is most in vogue. To begin with, the physical geography of that country lends itself to the sport. The Swedish forest is for the most part of a rolling character, swelling and sinking into hill and dale of respectively moderate elevation and depth, and spreading out into huge morasses and tracts of natural upland meadow with a degree of uniformity that produces tame and somewhat monotonous scenery. Sweden lacks the deep, gloomy gorges, the precipitous or terraced mountain-faces, the boulder-strewn and birch-clad dells of the higher fjeld, and the barren, stony summits which are characteristic of Norway, and amongst which, if a courageous and persevering hound be loosed at elk, there is great danger of his being quickly and entirely lost to sight and hearing. It is said that an elk can go wherever a man can, and, although this may be somewhat of an exaggeration, inasmuch as no elk could climb the Matterhorn, it is nevertheless astonishing what tremendous ascents and descents his long legs can accomplish under pressure, and with what rapidity he will travel for miles over the fjeld, from valley to valley, so that the most active followers of the loose dog would in such a chase be nowhere.

The elk hound belongs to the breed used by the Esquimaux, a small species of which is known in England under the name of ‘Spitz.’ There are two types of this dog, the one being smaller, lighter limbed, and more finely coated than the other; but they have in common the characteristics of thick hair with an undergrowth of wool, sharp noses and ears, and a bushy, tightly-curled tail, like the inner whorls of a fossil ammonite. Their colour ranges through various shades of grey, brindled and foxy, is occasionally pure black or white, or a mixture of the two. A well-bred and thoroughly well-trained elk hound is a valuable animal and hard to procure: 25l. to 30l.—a large sum in Scandinavia—or even more, is not too high a price for a perfect animal, when we consider how much is required of him, how greatly the enjoyment and success of the sportsman depend upon his experience, sagacity, nose, speed and courage, and how considerable is the market value of each animal that by his aid falls to the rifle of the professional hunter: head, hide and meat included, it may be set at from 6l. to 10l. But the leash-hound, to be used only as a stalking dog, seldom commands anything like so high a price, the Scandinavian natives being, as a rule, singularly ignorant or impatient of this style of pursuit. The best leash-hounds are those which are never loosed. This will be easily understood when we reflect that in stalking a thoroughly good dog will be mute under all circumstances, and always temperate, never straining violently at the leader, even when most eager and excited by the proximity of the elk: whereas it is essential that the loose dog should give tongue freely when he finds, overtakes, or bays the deer, in order that the sound may serve as a guide to the shooter. With the constant expectation of being loosed, he can hardly be expected to restrain his emotions when his instinct, or possibly eyesight, tells him that the glorious moment of freedom is, or ought to be, at hand. Few, if any, dogs can play both rôles equally well; it will be found that a hound accustomed to being loosed will, in stalking, invariably strain impetuously at the leader, and that it is not safe to let him view the elk, as he will in all probability whine or bark: on the other hand, one that is rarely slipped will only follow for a few hundred yards, and seldom or never stop a deer. I do not deny that good useful dogs may now and then be found who will acquit themselves tolerably in either character, but I am speaking only of the best of each class. Thoroughly broken and trustworthy dogs are sometimes allowed to range the forest from the first, but as a rule the hound is never slipped until, either from his conduct, or from his own observation of signs,[13] the hunter becomes certain that the elk is not far off, or until he despairs altogether of finding one, and trusts to the dog as a last chance. This is but a too common ending to a day when the forest tract is large and fresh signs of elk not discoverable. A brace of dogs are frequently allowed to run at the same time, but it is a safe maxim that when a single dog notifies that he has found and bayed the elk, a second should not be loosed, as his sudden appearance on the scene will often start the deer off and render him more difficult to stop.

In searching for elk with the dog still in hand the hunter works slowly up and across wind, utilising his knowledge of country to the utmost advantage. The dog at such a time—and this applies equally to both styles of hunting—precedes him at a distance of five or six feet, being restrained by a leader or leash, which is fastened to the harness. The best form of harness consists of a belly-band and chest-strap of softest leather sewn together, and further united by a strap which passes between the dog’s forelegs. The belly-band buckles just between the shoulders, and at this point the leader is attached either to a ring or by a simple knot. Some hunters are content to use an ordinary collar; but this is a wretched plan, as with a dog at all given to pulling it produces choking and eventually injures the wind. When the harness is properly made all pressure is on the strap across the broad of the chest. On catching the wind of elk, or of their fresh spoor, the dog naturally faces towards it, when the hunter must use his judgment as to the right moment for loosing. The part of the loose dog, having once found the elk, is either to bring him to bay, or to cause him so far to slacken his pace that the shooter may be able to get up. Whilst the elk is running at speed, the dog is generally mute in pursuing, but the experienced hunter can tell by his note whether the quarry is moving at a moderate pace or is actually stationary. The old bulls, when they have not got wind of man or been otherwise scared, are often easily brought to bay, and in such a case the hunter may approach almost at his leisure; but younger elk, and cows in particular, are much more difficult to stop, and will, as a rule, travel a considerable, sometimes a great, distance before halting. Deer of all ages are specially shy if they have been roused when lying down. Their daily siesta lasts from about noon—or sometimes, according to weather, an hour or two earlier—until two or three in the afternoon, and consequently hunters with the loose dog generally halt during this period, or at least part of it, and bivouac in the forest. It is said—and, I believe, with some truth—that in those districts of Sweden where the elk are during the season continually hunted in this fashion, they are invariably suspicious, when the hound puts in an appearance, that man is somewhere in the background, and that, even when at bay, they are straining their senses to detect the presence of their real enemy, being of course perfectly aware that the dogs, for all their noise, can do them no harm. It is in any case needful for the hunter, however recklessly he may have been running before, to make his final approach as cautiously and noiselessly as possible; and this is not so easy in a Scandinavian forest, where the ground is usually cumbered with any number of dead trees armed with spikes as sharp as rapiers, of rotten trunks half-buried in moss and rank vegetation, and of dry branches and twigs which crack loudly beneath the over-hasty and incautious foot. In the rutting season indeed such a noise is now and then of some slight service to the hunter. I have known several instances in which, the wind being right, a bull either searching for the cow or suspicious of a rival has run back out of the thicket to see what was approaching, and paid the penalty of his curiosity. Such an incident can of course only occur when the dog is in hand, and the sportsman will do well not to presume upon its very rare advantage.

I recollect a scared elk running twenty English miles, with the dog still sticking to him. After giving me a difficult chance, he broke his bay two or three times during the first hour of the chase, and how many times subsequently I cannot say, as, finding the pace too hot for my age and weight, I stopped and let the hunter, who was young and light and a celebrated runner, go on with my rifle. This happened about 11 A.M., and he shot the elk just before dusk. His dog, dear old Kurrè, was one of the staunchest loose hounds that ever lived; he was, in fact, too good, for if he once got up to the elk he would never leave it until dark, and not always then. On one occasion he held a bull at bay all night, until his master came early in the morning and killed it.

So keen was this dog to keep the attention of the bayed elk on himself, that with a kind of demoniacal glee he would actually roll on the ground just out of reach of his forefeet. When very young he had been struck by an elk, and was supposed at the time to be seriously if not mortally injured; but he recovered himself, went on again, and eventually stopped the bull, which was then shot. With all this ferocious courage there never was a dog more gentle, good-tempered, and well-behaved in ordinary life. When an elk hound, as is certainly not often the case, is possessed of such magnificent staunchness as this, great care must be taken never to slip him at a scared elk, unless the shooter is prepared for, and physically equal to, a long stern chase which may last for some hours. Moreover, others besides the owner of the dog may profit by his grand qualities. The law of Scandinavia permits an elk that has been bonâ fide in the flesh roused on and moved off one property, to be followed at the time on to another and there killed, although one may not so follow the freshest spoor of an animal that is simply travelling of his own accord; there is, however, nothing to prevent the owner of the other property from killing the elk thus moved on to it. I was once hunting near the great lake Kallsjön in Sweden, with Kurrè and his master, when the dog, who was running loose, slipped away unperceived and took up the fresh spoor of elk which he did not overtake until out of our hearing. Having no clue to the direction in which he had gone, we were at last, as evening came on, compelled to go home without him. The next day he was sent back with many thanks by a farmer who lived some miles off, and had heard the dog baying the elk close to a tarn where he happened to be fishing. The man ran home for his rifle, returned to find Kurrè still holding the family of three—bull, cow, and calf—and killed the lot in three shots! No, Kurrè was positively too good. Some dogs are cleverly trained never to cross a large river or a lake in pursuit, which in a land of many waters like Scandinavia precludes the chance of their getting too far away. I believe that Kurrè would have swum the Skagerrak after an elk. But the great majority of elk dogs will give in as soon as the deer really takes to travelling, and too many of them much sooner. The hunter must be careful not to let the leader slip out of his hand when the dog is straining eagerly on spoor, and never to loose him with even only a collar on. Considering that the elk when tackled by the dog will, as a rule, make his way through dense covert and over the most tremendous obstacles in the shape of ‘windfalls,’ where the dog has to keep him company, it will be understood that any even momentary check to the latter’s nimble movements, such as might be caused by a tree-spike catching in the collar, may result in his being disabled or killed. I once, when stalking, fired from the top of a high steep bank at an elk which dropped to the shot and lay motionless. The hunter, who was behind me, thinking the beast stone-dead, foolishly let go the dog, who, with the harness on and the leader trailing, ran down the bank, and when within a few yards of the deer was brought up short by the leader becoming entangled in the branches of a fallen tree. The elk at this moment revived, and was able to rise so far as to squat on his haunches, but the hind quarters being paralysed by a shot in the spine, he could not reach the dog, otherwise he would most certainly have destroyed him, unless I could have dropped him again with a second bullet; but one instant and one blow of the forefoot would have been sufficient for the catastrophe. The hunter, who assured me he had never done so foolish a thing before, was lucky in having the possible result of his first folly brought home to him by so forcible and harmless a lesson.

From what has been said it will be clear that elk hunting with the loose dog is a manly, noble sport, fitted in reality for those who have youth, activity, and decided staying powers. At the same time the race is not always to the swift; experience, cunning, and knowledge of country will effect a great deal, and under certain conditions the elderly hunter may achieve some success; but if the elk really means running, he may as well confess at once that he is not in it, and sit down and light his pipe. But I strongly recommend him to turn his attention solely to stalking with the leash-hound. He will find it scarcely less exciting than the other branch of the sport, and quite fatiguing enough, although it lacks that species of triumph, so dear to Englishmen, which results from success attained by very distressing physical exertion. The serious drawbacks to loose-dog hunting are, first, the common necessity of killing time in the forest—or, it may be, in a ‘sæter’ or hay-house—for some hours and in all weathers whilst the elk are lying down. Secondly, the fact that it is, to a great extent, blind work, that one is entirely dependent on the dog and must run to a sound, that there is little or no opportunity for the science of woodcraft, and none for that study of the object of the chase which is so dear to the stalker. Thirdly, that you cannot run a single deer for any distance without disturbing a great extent of country. Fourthly, that there is the obligation, if not invariably yet nearly so, to kill whatever beast the hound has succeeded in stopping, be it a young bull with insignificant honours or a cow with a calf in tow. The Swedish hunter never gives quarter; his immutable doctrine may be summed up in the words, ‘Meat for the man, and blood for the dog.’ He will not risk disappointing his hound and perhaps ruining his staunchness, nor will he, if he can help it, stultify the whole raison d’être of the chase, nor forego his hankering after the flesh-pots. I do not say that the English sportsman is absolutely compelled to adhere to this merciless creed, but he will find it difficult to withstand. He is the actor in a drama in which the hound takes the leading part throughout until the climax, and for that he is himself responsible; excitement, struggle, endurance, opportunity, these are the several stages; it rests with him what the final one is to be: if failure, well, man is prone to err and so is his bullet; after all, he has done his best and tried to succeed—but refusal! I think he will become conscious, possibly against his will, that this is, under the conditions of such a chase, the most miserable fiasco of all: the chance at last, and tamely to forego it! he will feel that he who acts thus is deserving of that limbo to which Dante consigned the otherwise blameless man who refused the popedom: