236 THE COUNT BRINGS DOWN A STAG. 



Le moyen de tuer sans balle ! Now, then, I put in the 

 powder of cannon, and there goes de balle upon the top 

 of it mort de ma vie ! I now kill all the stag in Scot- 

 land, expect a leetle, and you shall surproise much." 



He was a bad prophet, for he still went on, missing as 

 before, amongst winking hill-men and grinning gillies. 

 At length, however, the sun of his glory (which had been 

 so long eclipsed) shone forth in amazing splendour. " For- 

 tune," says Fluellen, " is painted upon a wheel, to signify 

 to you (which is the moral of it) that she is turning and 

 inconstant, and mutabilities and variations : " and the turn 

 was now in the Count's favour, for she directed his un- 

 willing rifle right towards the middle of a herd of deer, 

 which stood "thick as the autumnal leaves that strew 

 the brooks of Yallombrosa." Every thing 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. " Hah, hah ! " forward ran the 

 Count, and sat upon the prostrate deer triumphing. " He 

 Men, mon ami, vous etes mort done ! Moijefais toujours des 

 coups surs. 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 that nature has denied to all save 

 the French nation, he held a pinch to the deer's nose : 

 " Prends, mon ami, prends done." This operation had 

 scarcely been performed, when the hart, who had only 

 been stunned, or perhaps shot through the loins, sprang up 



