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Two more excellent hounds than those to which we have referred were perhaps never cast upon a stream; yet were they so distinct in their excellence, that for finding and killing an otter the one would have been almost valueless without the assistance of the other; Midnight being so remarkably clever upon a trail, and Waterloo an unerring marker; but both, vice versâ, comparatively useless. From their first entry both hounds showed so strong a predilection for the scent, that they were reserved especially for the service and to this cause may be dated their peculiar excellency and devotion to the sport. But why one hound should have followed so exclusively the trail of the otter, while the other's energies were concentrated upon a mark, is a question which we cannot venture to solve; nor indeed would anything be gained by its solution: suffice it to say, that the natural tendency of both inclined them to pursue the otter in preference to other game, and that they simply differed in their mode of pursuit.

It has been already observed that both these hounds were foxhounds -pure high-bred foxhounds. They were exceptions to their class; and their excellence was the more remarkable, inasmuch as they had adopted a system of hunting the very reverse from that to which by nature they were inclined. Guided by superior instinct, they soon learned that steadiness in their work led them to victory; that the enemy was a muddling, poky beast, seeking refuge in stratagem and strongholds, rather than in going the pace, and trusting, as a fox would do, to his own stoutness. With them there was a total suppression of that ardour which constitutes the main feature of a foxhound; no flashing ahead upon the wings of the wind; no careering upon scent like wildfire o'er the dry savannahs; but cautiously and searchingly did they examine each root and shelving bank, rather after the fashion of a curious weasel, than that of the noble energetic animal to which they belonged. Still victory was theirs; and it was so because they adapted themselves to the animal they hunted; and if foxhounds could only be found more frequently to follow the steady system, they, from their constitution, strength, perseverance, and determination, would be the hounds of all others best calculated to pursue the otter with vigour and success. such is not the case: there is not one foxhound in a thousand that will take kindly to the work he must change his nature before he can hunt and kill the otter. Nevertheless we do meet occasionally with hounds whose talents are so varied, and whose sagacity is so superior, that it

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matters not what game they pursue: they are equally clever upon all, as the following anecdote will illustrate :—

The Squire of Llanharran, a fine old-fashioned sportsman of the byegone school, had promised to give the best dog-hound in his kennel to his friend Mr. D, the Squire of Tyisha, in return for a hound which he had formerly received from Mr. D--—'s kennels.

Mr. Dwas then on a visit at Llanharran; and after a close inspection of the hounds, both in kennel and the field, he addressed the squire in the following terms:

"Well, Squire, as you have been kind enough to offer me the choice of a hound, I will take Rouser: he is exactly my stamp of hound, and I admire his style of working much."

"Very well, Mr. D," responded the squire; "I must first consult my huntsman, and will then give you an answer respecting him."

At that moment the two squires were sitting on their steeds, and enjoying from a gentle eminence a noble sight below them. The hounds were in full chase, carrying a fine head over a rough moorland, and dashing forwards in desperate fashion, after their sinking prey : Rouser was at the top; and Hector, on the plains of Troy, never led his troops with more brilliancy than did our gallant hound on this occasion. The owner's eye kindled with pride as he surveyed the animating scene; while the appetite of the other was whetted to such an extent that he could scarcely suppress his feelings of admiration, nor conceal his anxiety as to the future possession of the leading hound. The chase swept forwards; but that passage in the sport never has been, and never will be effaced from the memory of both as long as life lasts.

When dinner was ended in the evening of that day, and the social bottle had traversed its bright circuit of mahogany at least two or three times, imparting in its passage an increase of joy and harmony on each occasion, Mr. D. again returned to the charge and said, “Well, Squire, how about Rouser?"

You shall hear," said the squire; and touching a bell, he ordered the huntsman to be sent for, upon whose appearance the following dialogue ensued:

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Johnnie, is Rouser a good hound-is he good for a fox?"

Yes, Sir, he is a good hound: a fox never had a bigger enemy!" "Is he good for a hare?"

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Yes, Sir: roads, fallows, and sunshine are all alike to him: he can hunt her when no other hound can own the scent."

'Is he good for an otter ?"

"Yes, Sir, for trail or bubble you can always depend on Rouser: I never heard him tell a lie in his life."

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Very well, Johnnie: Rouser is good upon fox, hare, and ottergood for anything and everything :" then turning to his friend, he said, you shall have the hound, Mr. D

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Johnnie's face now lowered for the first time he was an old and valued servant, and accustomed to throw his tongue rather freely when the occasion suited him; so he at once suggested to the squire the total abandonment of his hunting establishment :

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Then, Sir," said he, "if you give away Rouser, you may as well give away the whole pack!"

Mr. D―, however, was not to be outdone in generosity; he used Rouser for the remainder of the season, bred from him, and then returned him to the squire and his faithful Johnnie.

In the year 1844, when the P.M.P. otter-hounds were in the highest state of perfection, there was a bitch-hound amongst them, whose style of hunting the otter was somewhat remarkable: she had an unusual antipathy to water, and, though exceedingly fond of the scent, could never be prevailed upon to venture beyond her depth in search of it. When the otter was found, the bank was her position; thence relying upon her exquisite nose, she frequently did such service as redeemed her from the draft to which she would otherwise have been consigned. The otter never approached her side of the river without being immediately marked; and although her mode of doing business was not altogether secundum artem, yet she relieved the other hounds from a vast deal of drudgery; and when they were becoming fagged and beaten by deep water and a long struggle for victory, she tripped along the bank and guided them with fatal certainty to the last bubble of the

enemy.

It has not unfrequently happened that Ruby has been found to be on the wrong side, while the otter clung pertinaciously to the opposite bank of the river on such emergencies we have known a gentleman present take her in his arms, and swim across with her, determined rather to humour her fancies than lose her valuable services. Early impressions are seldom effaced, if at the time they are occasioned by extraordinary fear or danger; and such was the case with Ruby. The very first day she was entered the hounds found an otter in a weir-pool, around the sides of which the eddy-stream was running with strong and impetuous rapidity. The old hounds were sensible enough to avoid the current, and struck out into the quiet water; but the young ones were incessantly carried 'neath the wattle-work of the weir, and with no little difficulty kept their heads above water in their perilous situation; at length Ruby was so exhausted that she must have been drowned had it not been for the timely intervention of a gentleman, who with a running noose fastened to the end of a long pole fished her out, and rescued her from the jaws of death. The effects, however, of the accident were never forgotten; and from that day forth she could not be induced to venture into anything like deep water.

Artificial as the sport of otter-hunting is to the hound, it requires that he should be possessed of no small amount of sagacity to unravel the various intricacies which characterize the chase of the otter. Among the many shifts which the wild animal will practise when closely pursued by hounds, is that of escaping from his hover in so subtle a manner as not to be missed by the hounds which are then marking him; and it is constantly the case that many minutes will elapse before the hounds discover any difference in the scent, or cease to throw their tongues with as much confidence as they did at first, when the animal was really before them. The otter being at the extreme end of the hover, and in a place which, from his size, the hounds cannot reach, lies with nothing but his nostrils above water; then, when an unusual disturbance takes place, either from a pole or terrier, and he is obliged to quit his retreat, he sinks himself quietly, dives under the legs of the hounds, and makes the best of his way up stream or down stream for

some other hover. This stratagem is a very puzzling one for hounds, and frequently ends in the escape of the otter; those, however, which have had much experience in the sport, will ever and anon quit the mark, and endeavour by swimming to and fro through the pool to wind the bubble which rises to the surface; but if they cannot thus satisfy themselves that the otter has bolted, they will again return to the mark, and throw their tongues afresh, and that too with the animation of hounds which have their game close before them. But the chief dependence is on the eye of man on such occasions: he it is whose keen observation and long experience enable him to detect the rising bubble under almost any circumstances; and on him devolves the task of clapping on the hounds from the dead to the living scent; lifting them judiciously, yet never intruding his own services, except when his hounds are in difficulty. Man, however, cannot always distinguish between the different scents, and decide if his hounds are throwing their tongues upon the scent of where the otter has been, or where he actually is; if a single hound spoke, he might do so; but where numbers are speaking at once the thing is impossible; their eagerness is so increased by jealousy, and their manner altogether exaggerated. The famous Sellick, in speaking of the perfection of his pack on a certain occasion, declared that in no point did they show their superiority over his former packs so much as in the quickness with which they quitted a hover immediately after their game had bolted. Hounds that tye much are a great nuisance; nevertheless, in the pursuit of the otter the evil is a far less one than that of flashing too much ahead. Old age, and the habit of poking over and over again amongst the same hovers and haunts, induce a disposition to tye; and there are few hounds which have had a long acquaintance with the scent that do not dwell unnecessarily upon it, and carry the slow-and-sure system a little too far. Many men, however, are pleased to think that the music of the hounds is not the least agreeable part of the business; and if this be their main object, the hound that throws his tongue repeatedly upon old and worn-out scent is the animal best adapted for such fancies: the more a hound dwells, the more musical does he become, but usually the less serviceable. We once had an ancient Southern hound whose mellow voice it was a treat to hear; but unfortunately he was so fond of it himself that, like many a good singer, he wearied the listener with its constant sound. So long as there was a particle of scent on the river, old Rattler threw his tongue incessantly; and so deep and musical was the note that the countrymen called him the "Old Basoon:" it sounded in the rocky and mountainous glens which he hunted like a peal of distant thunder; it awakened a thousand echoes, and imparted a charm such as no ear could listen to without sensation. The first time we traversed those glens after his death, there was not a country. man that did not inquire for the old hound, and deplore the absence of his noble tongue from the tuneful choir. The sounds of "sylvan war" have a thrilling effect upon the senses; and it may be questioned if any organ enjoys the fascination of hunting in so high a degree as that of hearing. A story is told of "the celebrated Saunderson, Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge, who was entirely destitute of sight, but continued to hunt until very old: his horse was accustomed to follow that of his servant, and the satisfaction of Saunderson was ex

treme when he heard the cry of the hounds and the huntsmen, and which he used to express with all the eagerness of those who, possessing their eye-sight, could consequently be more gratified by the incidents which occurred in the pursuit.'

It was said by a gentleman who from age and experience was well qualified to speak on the subject, that "The life of man is too short to acquire a perfect knowledge of the science of hunting ;" and if the many intricacies which attend every department of the sport be considered, there is no doubt that what he said was true. Otter-hunting itself is a distinct branch of the science, the study of which requires the attention of an observant mind before it can be fully understood. Practice -incessant practice is the best schoolmaster; but, after all, a man may be a perfect otter-hunter in one country, and yet know very little of his business in another-and for this reason: he is supposed to be thoroughly acquainted with his own rivers; knows every bend of the stream, every hollow bank, and every willow tree that can hold an otter; whereas, in a strange country he is as much at sea as the mariner without his compass, or the traveller without a guide. The rivers must be traversed over and over again before they can be known; and they must be known before they can be properly hunted. What Horace says with respect to poetry, is equally true with respect to hunting :

"Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam,
Multa tulit fecitque puer, sudavit et alsit."

The following sketch of an old otter-hunter, taken from life, will not be uninteresting to those whose love of hunting leads them to read these scratch-pack papers :-About ten years ago, there lived on the banks of the Avon, in Devonshire, the once well-known Paul Luscombe. His father, dying at an early age, left a small inheritance in Paul's possession, which enabled him to "start a cry," and adopt a pastime, the pursuit of which had been his first and highest ambition from his very childhood. A couple of young staghounds, drafted from the Anstey kennels, added to an old southern hound bitch which had already found many an otter, was the pack upon which he depended for immediate work; and these, with a terrier of undeniable quality, were cast upon the streams of his neighbourhood as soon as the first blush of spring announced the approaching season. Success, as Paul knew, could not be expected to crown his earliest efforts in pursuit of an animal, the existence of which was considered as almost fabulous by many a neighbour; but, at the same time, he felt assured that if he paid his devotions patiently and perseveringly at the shrine of his favourite goddess, she would eventually accept the sacrifice. His novitiate, spent upon the bright and sparkling streams of his native country, was truly a laborious one; but still the prospect of future sport buoyed up his spirits, and he laughed at the labour. During the first season he walked upwards of two thousand miles of river and never killed an otter: rocks, woodlands, and cataracts interposed their obstructions, but a martin-cat was not more active than Paul, and he surmounted all difficulties. Trails-hot burning trails-were of daily occurrence; but such at present was his inexperience, that he and his pack were fain to accept a mere foretaste of the sport without enjoying the finish. Still, the vis venatica carried him on with unabated ardour; his hounds had taken kindly to the game,

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