334 LE BARON. 



men in thy pursuit ; but so it is, at least so it was 

 in 1823. 



A visit to a friend called me, that year, to Dun- 

 kirk. Now this said Dunkirk, though well enough 

 as a town, is not exactly the locale where a man fond 

 of hunting would wish to find himself, in the month 

 of December. Knowing, however, that there was 

 something like a pack of hounds near St. Omer's, and 

 intending to take that town en route^ I took over two 

 horses: these, with a Flemish mare I purchased to 

 draw my buggy, constituted my stud in France. I 

 had, however, not knowing how the St. Omer hunt 

 might turn out, taken the pink, the leathers, et cetera, 

 with me. At Dunkirk I was introduced to Monsieur 

 le Baron — who was considered, as I heard, the great- 

 est chasseur of the place, and had his loge de chasse a 

 few miles off. He talked of his piquer, his chie?is de 

 chasse, his horses, and God knows what, inviting me 

 to accompany him a la chasse the next day, and 

 promising to call and take me, as I concluded, to the 

 MEET. On the baron's departure, my friend, who had 

 politely excused himself from joining us, smiled most 

 suspiciously; but on my asking if the baron really 

 meant it, he assured me he did, but had the honesty 

 to say I should not exactly find Tom Oldaker and 

 the Berkeley : this I was quite aware of, but must 

 candidly confess I expected to meet hounds of some 

 sort. I could not get a word more in explanation 

 from my friend, so told my man to take on my horse 

 in the morning, and determined to see the thing out. 

 I was discussing my cotelette at nine o'clock, when 1 

 heard a carriage drive up to the door. Jumping up, 

 with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a bit of the cotelette 

 on the end of my fork in the other, like Morhleu on 



