The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-12-25
The Death of the Stag.

Suddenly the faintest sound of a horn comes on the wind from or abreast of us. Moment by moment 1t grows louder. and Is joined by the low baylng of the hounds as 1t moves on ahead. Nearer and nearer 1t comes. the tired note of the fierce hounds, the sounding of the horn, telling in It's own language that "all Is we'll" that now the stag has doubled, or crossed a stream. or turned the hounds off the scent altogether. We start forward at sharp trot, when cry from the off, cer makes me pull up and look Into the woods. There Is cracking of dry twigs just off the road, and there, not thirty yards away, going back towards the meet. Is a huge stag He seems perfectly at ease in his elastic gait, his head held up proudly, turning now and then to catch the sounds of pursuit and he clears fallen trees and little brook-beds with great bounds that seem mere play to him. At sight of us he stops with a jerk that startles both of us. and turning in his tracks, stands with his head high in the air like a beautiful statue. Then, catching nearer sound of the hounds, he clears the road at a bound. hardly stone's- throw from us, and Is gone.
 It Is only a moment when riders and nd the road, and in another instant. in among the trees fifteen couples of wild hounds trail up to the point where the deer leaced the road. There Is a per- feet tumble of sounds, notes that tell of a lost scent from the horns, and hun dred questions from the men, asking if we saw him, or which way he went: and then, before I can realize 1t, the keen-scented animals have trailed across the road, recovered the scent, and the whole mad crowd Is gone.
 After this the sounds again dwindle away. Then there is another change of course, and the notes grow louder. We go down into a carrefour. turn up to- wards the direction the run Is taking, and on turning a corner we break the pack in view. %HA,
 We go sweeping along with the rest in a moment. All around me through the thick trees dogs break into view and disappear. Now and again I can see pink coat or shiny horse, and then things begin to whirl. The thick trees, the little gladss, the ravines and dry brook-beds fly by. shut. my eyes at a wall of trees ahead and hold on, waiting for what may come, when suddenly we dash out of the woods on to beautiful rolling plain.
 Straight before us is the stag; but what change His mouth is open, his tongue hangs down loosely, his antlers are stretched back on his shoul- ders. and at every few leaps his legs give way under him and let him down on his knees. Picking himself up, he tries to go on bravely, but his race is done All strategy is gone now-given place to straight race for life, and he turns instinctively towards a pool in the hollows. But the hounds are on him in the water, grabbing his legs and pulling down his horns. They struggle so wildly with each other and the stag that they all sink into the water, until the piqueurs dismount. and with their whips and commands force them to stand back. when one of them with quick stroke serves the stag and puts an end to his sufferings. And out over the hills, in among the trees. away to