86 
PASSIONAL ZOOLOGY. 
relation, did not await the end of it, to offer to the narrator the en- 
ergetic expression of his personal satisfaction. And since that day 
he never meets the orator without renewing the assurance of his 
sympathies and gratitude. At every meeting it is a siege of ca- 
resses, and all sorts of affectionate demonstrations, that seem to 
say, Ah, when will you tell us another of those beautiful hunting 
stories that you tell so delightfully ? 
The setter has more subtlety in his imagination than the running 
dog, with less brutality ; but you would be much deceived in 
supposing that the latter has not also a few tricks in his head. 
There was once an old hound — very old, very old — and so drawn 
up with rheumatism that his master always took him out in a car- 
riage. He was named Carillaut, and belonged to the Count de 
Montrevel, one of the greatest hunters before that last revolution 
which was so fatal to the game and to hunters. Carillaut had the 
reputation of having never in his life been deceived. Whenever 
the slip had been given, and the pack and the piqueurs were em- 
barrassed to find the true scent. Bring Carillaut, said the master. 
Then a dog-servant gently lifted the poor, gouty fellow from his 
carriage, informed him of the difficulty, and placed him, with all 
the respect due to his age, on the debatable ground. 
Carillaut tasted the animal’s scent, made all the other doo^s 
clear out and leave him free, then, decyphering the slip and the 
cunning of the beast with unequaled sagacity. There he is ! barked 
he, or Here, run you fellows that have legs, and try to do bet- 
ter than this. And the pack resumed furiously, and Carillaut 
registered one view halloo more on his list. Now it happened one 
cold, winter evening that the unfortunate Carillaut, whose services 
and glorious wounds had obtained for him the place of honor be- 
side the hearth for the dogs, v/as roused from this lair by a brutal 
pack, eager to warm itself on returning from a hard day’s hunt. 
Another beast would have groaned and whined it out in futile com- 
plaints of this indignity ; but complaint was not among the habits 
of the sleuth-hound ; his natural pride suggested to him a bold de- 
vice. He dissembles and drags himself, unperceived, outside the 
walls to a neighboring thicket. There he opens with furious voice 
the most formidable rallying cry that the echoes of that place had 
