140 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



me to the enjoyment of a crust of bread and some 

 cherry-brandy, produced from the holster of my 

 never-failing entertainer, M. d'Anchald, and to the 

 mental resolution of writing a work on the French 

 and English chase contrasted, with a prayer to the 

 Emperor, humbly to be permitted to dedicate my 

 book to him. Down then came the rain in torrents ; 

 — it had been sufficiently showery to wet us all to 

 the skin ; but, between cherry-brandy and the best 

 great coat that ever was invented for warmth, repul- 

 siveness to wet, as well as durability, made for me by 

 Court Stephenson, of Great Marlborough Street, I 

 was very comfortable, and proceeded to the chateau 

 in a train of the following reflections. 



The French servants, called huntsmen, that I have 

 yet seen, know nothing of their calling. They don't 

 love their duty and hate the wine and brandy flask 

 enough to make them take the trouble they say they 

 take to harbour a wild boar or wolf. Their masters 

 put too much credence in them, and in themselves 

 are ignorant as to the nature of the hound, and the 

 best uses to which that nature can be put. They 

 know nothing of condition ; and as to shape and 

 make, without the perfection of which a hound cannot 

 go, they are equally deficient in knowlege. They 

 never study the possibility of hounds being so matched 



