BONNE CHASSE, MONSIEUR?" 



/ / 



feet high, and not open at the bottom. '' That's tlic place," 

 says the guide, " send the dogs in." But the dogs wont 

 go in. Ponto looks at it and declines the honour ; Albert 

 goes in and speedily comes out again ; the bitch gets caugl'it 

 halfway and cries piteously ; it is no go. " Then I'll go in 

 myself," says our plucky friend, and in he dashes ; but 

 pluck, though equal to Cribb^s, is of no use against pricks ; 

 he struggles, shoves, and tumbles on, swearing awfully, 

 until getting irretrievably mixed up with a compound of 

 briar, gorse, and thorn, tria jimcta in uno, he falls head- 

 long, having achieved some ten yards with a piece of 

 twenty acres stretching away before him. Evidently no 

 go for him too. Confound the country ; this gorse will 

 never do, will keep the game for everlasting, and nothing 

 but a pack of rhinoceroses can beat it ; let us try the 

 general country. So on he goes, nothing despairing ; beats 

 places which in England would fill his bag, without finding 

 a feather; makes prophecies without number, which all 

 turn out false ; gets abused by the peasants, whom he thinks 

 the most outlandish savages he has ever seen; is scan- 

 dalized by a farmhouse, w^here he goes, hoping for a glass 

 of ale freely given, but getting instead a glass of milk, and 

 returns to his inn with one partridge, his clothes well torn, 

 and in a very bad humour, not improved by his host say- 

 ing " bonne c/msse " when he exhibits his ^' perdrix,^^ diow'mg 

 plainly that it is rather a rarity. 



I had often heard of a place called St. Sil, in the moun- 

 tains, as very famous for game, and had purposed going 

 there, but the distance (some thirty miles) prevented me. 

 Meeting, however, with a friend who had a carriage, and 



