Deer-stalking has been denominated ‘the pastime of princes;’ and it is a sport that calls for pluck, patience, and endurance on the part of those who undertake it. From daybreak to sundown has been often spent in circumventing the monarch of the mountain; and often, after a hard day’s work, the noble hart has got the better of his pursuers, and found his way to a place of safety. The deer is difficult of access, being a most suspicious and wary animal, with a wonderfully acute power of scent and sense of hearing. The antlered stag has to be watched from afar with a powerful telescope, the anxious stalker and his gillies requiring to be circumspect in all their movements. As an intelligent forester told the writer: ‘You have to creep on your stomach like a serpent; you have to crouch as you go like a collier at work; while to make sure of your prey, you may have to make a tour of a couple of miles, even though you are just about within range. You must force your way through the morass, and must, if necessary, walk for a few hundred yards up to your middle in water—that is all in the way of business, sir, when you go deer-stalking. A slight rustle, the displacing of a stone on the mountain-side as you laboriously creep or climb to overlook your quarry, and your chance is gone; the deer being perhaps miles away before you can realise the fact that you have disturbed him.’ These words contain an epitome of the work of deer-stalking. A stag will note a man a long way off, and will, when he does so, most probably at once take alarm and run for his life. The sense of smell which has been bestowed on these animals is wonderful; wind carries the scent to them unbroken, and whenever they have ‘got the wind,’ as it is called, of man, or any other source of disturbance, they are sure to move off to a place of safety. When once a herd of deer is disturbed, they will take themselves away to a distance; and it is generally a considerable time before they settle down again to rest or feed in quietness. The red-deer is excessively shy, and, as we have been trying to show, easily frightened. The melancholy note of a flying plover, the crowing of a cock-grouse, or the bustling past of a mountain hare, will sometimes cause him to gallop in a state of alarm for a mile or two before he pauses to see what has happened; and consequently, it is generally the policy of the devoted deer-stalker to discourage the rearing of grouse or hares in his deer-forest. The desire for possessing ‘fine heads’ causes some of the best specimens of the tribe to be shot at an early stage of the season, a stag-royal being a prize greatly coveted. It is a somewhat curious feature of the economy of a forest that so few horns are found. The deer sheds its horns every year; but what becomes of most of those that are shed is not very accurately known, the number found not being in anything like proper proportion to the number that must be shed. The horns, as a general