Fancy most of our party with beards, and
hair of their heads an inch long, with
shoulders generally disposed to be high and
round, and figures short in the waist and
baggy below it, and you have us to a
shade.

Bless my heart, what a Babel of tongues!
Frenchmen are nearly all great talkers, and
the politest of them rather suffer you to speak
than listen to you, being wholly occupied with
what they are going to say next themselves;
so I submit to be caught quietly by an excited
little man, whose beard keeps wagging as I
listen respectfully and somewhat drowsily to
a hubbub of sounds which proceed from it,
each seeming to ,end with a sharp note of
interrogation, which I know his countrymen
far too well to answer. A good listener is
always popular, but a good listener in France
will find himself endowed with every good
quality under the sun by a host of delighted
admirers, and though he may never open his
mouth, except for a monosyllable, will be set
down as witty, wise, and eloquent.

After about half-an-hour's waiting, in which
I am sure I earned the undying gratitude of
the garrulous little gentleman with the beard,
the sluggard came in, the carriages came
round, and away we went, wrapped up well
in cloaks with hoods to them, an Algerine
garment very comfortable and popular in
France. Away we went all chattering
together, and each with a fresh lighted cigar,
I did not pay much attention to the other
carriages, but I remember that the one in which
I was seated was a low phaeton, which made
a great deal more clattering than would have
pleased Mr. Petre; so low, that the tails of
the two high-actioned weeds of horses came
familiarly over the splash-board. Never mind,
I dare say we shall get there safely; if not, I
am glad to see the ground looks soft, and
there are no deep ditches; otherwise I should
hardly like to notice the " all alone " sort of
look of our coachman, as he shouts out to the
high-actioned weeds—" Ah chameaux! Sois
sage! Sois sage! and holds his whip and loose
reins at arm's length, somewhat as Britons do
a carving knife and fork.

It is pitch dark too, but on we go clattering
and jolting, and bumping over the ground,
but the high-actioned weeds still keep straight
and steady. The word chameau, as applied
to them, becomes less frequent, and the motion
makes me drowsy. When I freshen up again
in consequence of a tremendous jolt, I hear
by the country waggons which come tinkling
by, and the " Bon jour, mes bourgeois" of the
peasantry, that the day has begun; and opening
my eyes, here we are, safe and sound, at our
shooting quarters.

It is a house in the centre of a village, and
as our phaeton drives up there is a great
shouting and running; and some five-and-
twenty beaters, who I find already assembled,
come out and take off their hats, and talk
all together, each more anxious than the
other to tell us what he thinks as to the
weather and our chance of sport. And,
mercy on us! if the regular sportsmen of our
party were a motley group, the eye of man
never looked on a more oddly got up
ragamuffin crew than these.

But first let us breakfast. How nice the
room looks, where I notice with quite a pang
of appetite that everything is laid for breakfast
—sausages, and omelettes, and crêpes,
pancakes, and hot milk and coffee in clean white
jugs. The blazing wood fire, in the grateless
fire-place, which I do and always did persist in
liking better than a coal one, throws a ruddy
light over the polished oak, and brass fittings
of the room; the glasses snugly ranged upon
the shelves glitter as it touches them, and
brighten with a thousand colours. In the
room is still the eternal chattering, and all
sorts of preparations going on at the spare
table, gaiters buckling on, guns polishing
up and loading, powder flasks filling, and
cap boxes opening; and without is the bay
and yelp of the hounds—a very stirring
scene.

Bless my heart, how full of gristle and
onions these sausages are that looked so
brown and promising, like young hopes!
Let us try the omelette; that is sure to be
good. A glass of wine too; I never drink
it at breakfast anywhere but in France,
but there it comes quite naturally. Come
here, little dog: what, are you going with
us? Why, I am sure you are too little to
have anything to say to a wild-boar. You
wag your tail: you don't think so. Well,
little dog, here is a bit of brown bread for you.
I must not give you any sausage, though I
can't eat it myself, for it would spoil your
nose; and if you wish to be a sporting dog
you must pay the penalty of ambition. Look
at that pale-faced lad who has made himself
uncomfortable by smoking cigars which don't
agree with him, because he thinks it military;
and be consoled, little dog.

There sounds a horn! With all my
heart, though I foresee some of us will knock
up, starting so soon after breakfast, if there
is anything like work before us. There they
go; the last buckles are buckling, the last
straps fastening, and cigars lighting; and
away tramp, tramp, splash, stumble, bundle,
fall up again, tramp, tramp, through mud and
mire, up to our knees. The pace is beginning
to tell, I knew it would, on that fat gentleman
who ate so many sausages, and on the
thin hero of the cigars; I observe that both
fall behind, and we shall not see them again
until we are going home, when theywil lappear
mysteriously, and claim the honours of the
day. Some others follow their example, as
the ground grows heavier, and we get deeper
into the wood; especially those who have most
bright-coloured straps and bands about them,
most impossible hornsand game pouches. They
have had their pleasure—all they care about
—in putting on their clothes, and do not half