224 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



about 150 yards from me, with old Musto hallooing 

 and roaring at his hocks, as if he had legitimately got 

 there. On came the pack, about 100 yards behind 

 Musto, and M. d'Anchald viewed the boar, and, as 

 he thought, his fast old favourite leading brilliantly 

 and honestly half a mile ahead of the whole pack. 

 The wind was right, everything was right, for my 

 killing this boar ; but Musto spoilt it, as these false 

 old French skirters and babblers are for ever doing, 

 but which it is totally impossible to induce my friends 

 to believe. 



Well ! away we went, the hounds dividing on two 

 of the boars, but, the lines crossing, they got together 

 again, when, from none of us getting a shot, and 

 these boars being either one year old, or a hete de 

 compagnie ; two years, or what the French term a 

 ragot ; or even up to a quartanier, or four-year boar, 

 not old enough to be impeded by their weight, they 

 ran us to a standstill without the chance of a shot. 

 A terribly long, hard day we had, the hope of a shot 

 leading me on, trusting to be able by a bullet to 

 reduce a boar to a level with the hounds, and thus to 

 obtain a victory. *^ Hope," in this instance, did in- 

 deed " tell a flattering tale ; " so, calling on our horns 

 to each other, after the fashion of a broken covey of 

 partridges, to collect ourselves, and to bring up the 



