THE BLACK COCK. 149 



Once, when waiting in the Fichtel Grebirge till the 

 daily snow-storms should cease, and so enable me to 

 go out with my gun after a splendid cock of the wood, 

 for love of v/hom I had travelled many a weary mile, 

 I sat down and chatted with the son of the forester 

 about the woods and the mountains, and the brave 

 creatures I had hunted there, and many other matters 

 thereunto belonging. And he listened to tales of the 

 chamois, and of the deliofht of movincr alono^ the moun- 

 tain-ridge in pursuit, and of the vast realms that were 

 there — eternal solitudes — and of the chasms you had 

 to pass, and of the dangers that beset your steps, so 

 that you stepped among the crags and across the snow- 

 fields with Death ever as your companion ; — he listened 

 to all this seemingly not without interest, yet when I 

 had finished the recital, he replied : " Well, I dare say 

 it is pleasant enough to be after a good chamois, and 

 to bring him down at last ; but what is that compared 

 to waiting for the black cock, and hearing his call, and 

 to watch him fluttering round and round, and to listen 

 to the rush of his wings ? Why, there's nothing like 

 it ! The mountains, and the chamois, and the red-deer 

 are exciting enough, no doubt ; but, for my part, I 

 cannot think the sport can approach even in its delight 

 that of waiting at dawn in longing expectation of my 

 favourite black cock's chuckle ! No, no, there's nothing 

 like that ! " 



L3 



