44 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



abutting the edge of the luxuriant wild, or copsewood 

 forest. Oh ! what a balmy, easily breathed, and 

 invigorating air; how soft the sky, and how green 

 the fields and woods. I looked on them all with a 

 heartfelt veneration ; and if I wished for eyes that 

 were far away, and thought on hours which I had 

 shared with them in beautiful prospects something 

 like the one now before me, that did not enervate the 

 sportsman's arm, nor render me less anxious to bring 

 a boar to bay. 



The meadows I gazed on, in olden times had been 

 an immense lake, I suppose of nearly two or three 

 hundred acres of water, and had formed the defence 

 on one side of the chateau, its waters being carried 

 round on the other side by a ditch, protected at the 

 flanks by towers. From the cellars of the chateau I 

 subsequently ascertained that a subterranean passage 

 extended a considerable distance, opening out into 

 the dense forest, but at this time unexplored on 

 account of malaria and other impediments. " Oh 

 w^hy," I once upon a time exclaimed to my friend 

 M. d'Anchald, " did you not keep up the lake, for 

 the sake of the wild swans, and all the varieties of 

 fowl and fish upon and within it?" 



*^ The bullocks are better," was his reply ; '' a 

 bullock to an acre is better than the ducks." And 



