ared very marvellous to my mind,
until I one day unintentionally performed something similar on a small
scale with the hunting-knife.

I was out hunting in the Elk Plains, and having drawn several jungles
blank, I ascended the mountains which wall in the western side of the
patinas (grass-plains), making sure of finding an elk near the summit.
It was a lovely day, perfectly calm and cloudless; in which weather the
elk, especially the large bucks, are in the habit of lying high up the
mountains.

I had nine couple of hounds out, among which were some splendid
seizers, "Bertram," "Killbuck," "Hecate," "Bran," "Lucifer," and
"Lena," the first three being progeny of the departed hero, old "Smut,"
who had been killed by a boar a short time before. They were then just
twelve months old, and "Bertram" stood twenty-eight and a half inches
high at the shoulder. To him his sire's valor had descended
untarnished, and for a dog of his young age he was the most courageous
that I have ever seen. In appearance he was a tall Manilla bloodhound,
with the strength of a young lion; very affectionate in disposition,
and a general favorite, having won golden opinions in every contest.
Whenever a big buck was at bay, and punishing the leading hounds, he
was ever the first to get his hold; no matter how great the danger, he
never waited but recklessly dashed in. "There goes Bertram! Look at
Bertram! Well done, Bertram!" were the constant exclamations of a crowd
of excited spectators when a powerful buck was brought to bay. He was
a wonderful dog, but I prophesied an early grave for him, as no dog in
the world could long escape death who rushed so recklessly upon his
dangerous game.[1] His sister "Hecate," was more careful, and she is
alive at this moment, and a capital seizer of great strength combined
with speed, having derived the latter from her dam, "Lena," an
Australian greyhound, than whom a better or truer bitch never lived.
"Old Bran," and his beautiful son "Lucifer," were fine specimens of
grayhound and deerhound, and as good as gold.

There was not a single elk track the whole of the way up the mountain,
and upon arriving at the top, I gave up all hope of finding for that
day, and I enjoyed the beautiful view over the vast valley of forest
which lay below, spangled with green plains, and bounded by the
towering summit of Adam's Peak, at about twenty-five miles' distance.
The coffee estates of Dimboola lay far beneath upon th