STAGS AND GIRAFFE.
Reading edition
The deer family is rather numerous, and found in many different parts of the world. Reindeers abound in some parts even of Spitzbergen, and with musk oxen can find their food even under the winter snows of the Parry Islands. The wapiti and heavy large-headed elk or moose, retreat before the advancing civilisation of North America. The Indian mountains and plains have noble races of deer. No species, however, is more celebrated than our red deer. The giraffe is closely allied to the stag family. The Arabs name it the seraph, and indeed, that is the origin of its now best-known English name. Visitors should beware of going too near the male, for we have seen the dent made by one of the giraffe's bony knobs on a pannel close to its stall. We have heard of a young lady, who entered the garden one of those summer days when straw bonnets had great bunches of ripe barley mingled with artificial poppies as an ornament, and, going too near the lofty pallisade, found to her confusion and terror that the long lithe tongue of the giraffe had whisked off her Leghorn, flowers and all, and had begun leisurely to munch it with somewhat of the same gusto with which it would have eaten the branch of a graceful mimosa.
Earl of Dalhousie and the ferocious Stag.
Mr Scrope relates an instance of unprovoked ferocity in a red deer at Taymouth, in which the present Earl of Dalhousie might have been seriously injured.
"In October 1836, the Hon. Mr and Mrs Fox Maule had left Taymouth with the intention of proceeding towards Dalguise; and in driving through that part of the grounds where the red deer were kept, they suddenly at a turn of the road came upon the lord of the demesne standing in the centre of the passage, as if prepared to dispute it against all comers. Mr Maule being aware that it might be dangerous to trifle with him, or to endeavour to drive him away (for it was the rutting season), cautioned the postilion to go slowly, and give the animal an opportunity of moving off. This was done, and the stag retired to a small hollow by the side of the road. On the carriage passing, however, he took offence at its too near approach, and emerged at a slow and stately pace, till he arrived nearly parallel with it. Mr Maule then desired the lad to increase his pace, being apprehensive of a charge in the broadside.
"The deer, however, had other intentions; for as soon as the carriage moved quicker, he increased his pace also, and came on the road about twelve yards ahead of it, for the purpose of crossing, as it was thought, to a lower range of the parks; but to the astonishment and no little alarm of the occupants of the carriage, he charged the offside horse, plunging his long brow antler into his chest, and otherwise cutting him.
"The horse that was wounded made two violent kicks, and is supposed to have struck the stag, and then the pair instantly ran off the road; and it was owing solely to the admirable presence of mind and sense of the postilion, that the carriage was not precipitated over the neighbouring bank. The horses were not allowed to stop till they reached the gate, although the blood was pouring from the wounded animal in a stream as thick as a man's finger. He was then taken out of the carriage, and only survived two or three hours. The stag was shortly afterwards killed."[256]
The French Count and the Stag.
Mr Scrope, in his "Deer-Stalking," describes a grand deer-drive to Glen-Tilt, headed by the Duke of Athole. Many an incident of this and subsequent drives was watched by "Lightfoot," who was present, and whose pictures, under his name of Sir Edwin Landseer, have rendered the life of the red deer familiar to us, in mist, amid snow, swimming in the rapid of a Highland current, pursued and at rest, fighting and feeding, alive and dead, in every attitude, and at every age.
In this encounter, the Duke killed three first-rate harts, Lightfoot two, and other rifles were all more or less successful. A French count, whose tongue it was difficult to restrain,—and silence is essential to success in the pursuit,—at last fired into a dense herd of deer.
Mr Scrope adds,[257] "Everything was propitious—circumstance, situation, and effect; for he was descending the mountain in full view of our whole assemblage of sportsmen. A fine stag in the midst of the herd fell to the crack of his rifle. 'Hallo, hallo!' forward ran the count, and sat upon the prostrate deer triumphing. 'Hé bien, mon ami, vous êtes mort, donc! Moi, je fais toujours des coups sûrs. Ah! pauvre enfant!' He then patted the sides of the animal in pure wantonness, and looked east, west, north, and south, for applause, the happiest of the happy; finally he extracted a mosaic snuff-box from his pocket, and with an air which nature has denied to all save the French nation, he held a pinch to the deer's nose—'Prends, mon ami, prends donc!' This operation had scarcely been performed when the hart, who had only been stunned, or perhaps shot through the loins, sprang up suddenly, overturned the count, ran fairly away, and was never seen again. 'Arrêtes, toi traître! Arrêtes, mon enfant! Ah! c'est un enfant, perdu! Allez donc à tous les diables!'"
Venison Fat.—Reynolds and the Gourmand.
Northcote[258] says—"I have heard Sir Joshua Reynolds relate an anecdote of a venison feast, at which were assembled many who much enjoyed the repast.
"On this occasion, Reynolds addressed his conversation to one of the company who sat next to him, but to his great surprise could not get a single word in answer, until at length his silent neighbour, turning to him, said, 'Mr Reynolds, whenever you are at a venison feast, I advise you not to speak during dinner-time, as in endeavouring to answer your questions, I have just swallowed a fine piece of the fat, entire, without tasting its flavour.'"
Stag-trench at Frankfort-on-the-Maine.
Goethe was born at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, August 28th, 1749. In his autobiography[259] he says—"The street in which our house was situated passed by the name of the Stag-trench; but as neither stags nor trenches were to be seen, we naturally wished to have the expression explained. They told us that our house stood on a spot that was once outside the town, and that where the street now ran had formerly been a trench in which a number of stags were kept. The stags were preserved and fatted here, because the Senate every year, according to an ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag which was always at hand in the trench for such a festival, in case princes or knights interfered with the city's right of chase outside, or the walls were encompassed and besieged by an enemy. This pleased us, and we wished that such a lair for tame wild animals could have been seen in our times. Where is there a boy or girl who could not join in the wish of this man, who has been called the first European poet and literary man of the nineteenth century?"
Giraffe.
"Fancy," said Sydney Smith to some ladies, when he was told that one of the giraffes at the Zoological Gardens had caught a cold,—"fancy a giraffe with two yards of sore throat."
In one of the numbers of Punch, published in 1864, the quiz of an artist has made the giraffes twist their necks into a loose knot by way of a comforter to keep them from catching a cold, or having a sore throat. He has very audaciously caused to be printed under his cut, "A Fact."