SHOOTING IN SPAIN. 199 



But the sun is going down, the dogs are awaking, and the 

 quails are calling; let us take our guns and return." 



I made many other shooting expeditions in the neigh- 

 bourhood of Seville, which presented more convenient occa- 

 sions to study the language and manners of the people than 

 remaining in the city. Indeed, some other attraction than 

 the sport I met with was necessary to induce me to brave 

 the heat of the sun, the horns of the bulls, and the carabines 

 of the heroes of the high roads ; for how was it possible to 

 take much pleasure in returning with the invariable string 

 of quails ? Indeed, this kind of sport, with only one sort of 

 game in perspective, was totally devoid in the long run of 

 all charm and variety. Quails, quails, always quails, was as 

 bad as the French king's complaint of toujours perdrix, and 

 indeed the same refrain in miniature. 



I attempted on one occasion to change this kind of shoot- 

 ing, and substitute the mountains for the plain. I had been 

 informed that upon the wooded hills, which form the last 

 descent of the Sierra Morena on the Seville side, there were 

 rabbits and red partridges ; and, accordingly, accompanied by 



my faithful companion, M. L , I made an excursion in 



search of them ; but after having left the greater part of our 

 clothes and some of our skin amidst the impenetrable thorns 

 of these mountain thickets, and reduced both ourselves and 

 dogs to a state bordering on inanition from fatigue and heat 

 we returned as light, indeed lighter than when we started, 

 and regretted we had been foolish enough to leave the cool 

 and refreshing banks of the Guadalquiver. 



