214 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



her within twenty yards of me, I never could catch 

 a glimpse for a snap-shot ; so all the good I could 

 achieve I did, and that was, when she had disco- 

 vered me and turned away, I dashed into the cover 

 after her with as great a crash as possible, view- 

 hallooing, and doubling my horn, to cheer on the 

 cowed and lagging hounds. At last, in horror, I 

 knew that she had passed my position without any 

 hounds on he'r line at all, and that the English fox- 

 hounds were silent, and the old French babblers at 

 all sorts of tricks to amuse themselves, escape contact 

 with the savage game, and deceive their admiring 

 masters. 



The old French hounds — occasionally singly, at 

 other times in pairs — came leisurely walking past 

 me in full cry, when no animal larger than a mouse 

 or a rabbit had ever passed ; for of that I was more 

 than once certain, by the maiden surface of the path, 

 unimpressed by any slot whatever. Sometimes they 

 would clamour by with an English hound staring 

 at them in utter bewilderment ; and at last all 

 tongues became hushed, and some of the English 

 hounds came up to me and sat down, as much as to 

 say, " The boar is not in the cover, so you may as 

 well take us home." Four or five English sportsmen 

 could have overlooked the ground enough to have 



