here hunting is a practical reality and necessity
as a means of subsistence, upon which the hunter depends, and not as a
mere pastime to kill a few hours, or to endeavour to obtain a little
excitement. Very much has been written by those who have never tasted
the real sport of the wilderness, in favour of the artificial production
in our own land, or those have advanced their opinions who from
imperfect knowledge of the art, or from a mere glimpse of some of the
minor sports of foreign lands, have found nothing in it to gratify them,
whilst from long habit and practice these same men were habituated to
English sports. Such persons are not competent judges, and cannot be
impartial writers. Let us ask those who, having been accustomed to our
English field sports, and having enjoyed all the pleasure of a good day
among the turnips, have watched with delight the cautious Rover, or the
keen-nosed Fan,--who have lived in the front rank during a twenty
minutes' burst over the grass land, enclosed with ox-fences, have at the
death been there,--and such will undoubtedly tell us it is good sport,
and very exciting. But let these same witnesses tell us what were their
feelings as, treading cautiously the rough and tangled buffalo or
elephant track, they first comprehended the singular feeling of being
utterly alone in the forest, dependent not only for success, but safety,
upon their own unaided caution and skill. How fully, too, they
appreciated the scene, when a glancing flash of something seemed to dart
from out of a tree-fork on to the ground beneath, whilst the light,
graceful leopard was recognised as his gorgeous-spotted coat flashed in
the sunlight! How thoroughly in harmony seemed the whole scene, as the
brilliant trogan or crimson-winged lowry skimmed amidst the festoons of
forest vines! The social chattering monkey on the distant branches has
long since seen the intruders into his domain, and now performs antics
and acts in a manner so like those which illiterate human beings would
practise under similar conditions, that we are not surprised at the
opinion of those who trace man's origin to his tailed caricature. It is
not, however, in the trees, or in the actual living creatures
themselves, that all the interest need be concentrated: the very path we
tread is a page deeply written. The ploughed field, meadow, or road of
England rarely produces much that is noticed as the hunter rides over
them. The forest path