curly grey wig, who always lives with them, and whose name, I was told, was Hégésippe Gigonnet. Their carriage is a very popular one: it is laden with all sorts of good eatables, which are liberally distributed to the hungry, and also with brandy, arnica, plaster, and other useful remedies, in case of any simple accident. The ladies' dress was an extravagant imitation of the out-of-door costume of our own Englishwomen the looped-up gown and coloured petticoat beneath; but in spite of every variety of rainbow tint which their gaudy skirts displayed, they presented a dowdy appearance, very different from the smart neat look which a well-appointed Englishwoman has when she is properly got up for walking. They wore ugly bats of fanciful shapes, but one felt at a glance that they were born to put nothing but Parisian bonnets of the latest fashion upon their heads, and to do no real out-of-door work. Presently Monsieur Charles, Monsieur de Saldes, and Jeanne came up, and and then Monsieur Charles was informed of the different tracks that had been found by the limiers. The servants of the hunt are called by picturesque names that all bear some reference to the sport. The huntsman or piqueur (pronounced piqueux) was called Latrace his real name was Martin; there were five valets-de-chien, or whippers-in, on horseback, whose hunting names were La Rosée, La Feuille, Fanfare, La Brisée, La Broussaille; and there was one valel-de-chien on foot, who was called Tempete. La Broussalle and Tempete brought with them about sixty hounds to the meet: some of these dogs were French, but the greater proportion of them were foxhounds got over from England. I jumped out of the carriage and went with Monsieur de Saldes to talk to them. They looked so natural and so sweet, with their heavy jaws and gentle eyes, waving their tails and making good-natured grumbling expostulations with fine bass voices. Monsieur Charles having decided upon the track, about twenty out of the sixty were despatched in separate relays to different parts of the forest where the boar was supposed to be likely to pass. These hounds were older and rather slower than the others, and were called the old pack (la vieille meute). The forty remaining hounds were kept for following the track. Out of these, eight of the very best were selected to make the attack; the rest were divided into relays of about four couple, which were held in leashes by the valets-de-chien. We now all got back into our carriages, and accompanied by a field of about fifty or sixty people began to move towards the spot where the beast was supposed to be. When we arrived there, the eight chiens d'attaque were put into the cover, followed by the buntsman on foot. We coasted along on the outside, guided by the rushing of the animals through the leaves, and the huntsman's cries of Hou!-hou! Après! La voie! (the right road). Volcelet! (here it is). Suddenly he caught sight of the boar and struck up the fanfare of the sanglier upon his horn, the dogs gave tongue, the gentleman dashed off, blowing the sanglier with all their might, the valets-de-chien tore along, almost dragged off their horses by the pulling of the hounds in leash, and we set off at a hand-gallop followed by all the other carriages. It was a charming and a very varied spectacle. There was none of the uniformity of get-up that char acterizes an English field: every one had turned out in different costume; most of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who were personal friends of Monsieur Charles, wore his white uniform with the maroon facings; then there were men in all sorts of cut-away and fly-away coats some in elaborate suits of velveteen knickerbockers; a party of cuirassiers quartered in the neighbouring town appeared in regimentals, and bumped along after the boar in true haute-école style. Suddenly, at the end of one of the long alleys, we saw the boar leap across the road. It was a ragot or middle-sized one, the most dangerous sort of all. Immediately all the horns struck up the fanfare of the ragot, the tearing, dragging hounds were loosed at last from the leashes, and away we all pelted in full chase, the horns blowing the volcelet and the bien-aller with might and main. It was not English sport. I do not know if it was good sport; of this I was no judge, but the excitement of that morning rush through the great glades of the sunlit forest, with the music and the animation of the whole scene, was a thing never to be forgotten. Ursula's eyes were staring wide open for the first time in her life, and Madame Olympe was screaming at the top of her voice. At last they got before us and out of sight, we lost the track, and stopped for about a quarter of an hour, listening in vain for the fanfare to guide us. We then drove wildly about the forest in every direc tion, sometimes faintly catching, sometimes losing again the sound of the horns in the distance. Once the coachman called out, and we all stood up in the carriage as a com pany of stags, startled by the noise, bounded grandly one after another across the road, right in front of us. We were entirely thrown out, and at last came to a halt in one of the green places, not knowing in the least which path to take. We waited here for about half an hour in great despondency, afraid that our day's sport was over, when suddenly Monsieur Charles, followed by Jeanne, Monsieur de Saldes, and five or six gentlemen, came galloping by, blowing the débuché as hard as he could. "To the left! to the left!" he shouted, as he flew past, and we wheeled round, and to the left we galloped too. The débuché meant that the beast had taken to the open. We followed full tilt, got at last to the border of the plain, and saw the boar cross it with the whole field in hot pursuit, and then madly dashing into the river, swim across to a small island in the middle, where he presently landed with the hounds in full cry at his heels, and was lost in the thicket. The sun was going down in a sea of molten gold as the horns played first the bat l'eau (gone to the water), and then the first half of the halali. The river gave back the forms of the men and horses and trees upon the bank with such transparent clearness that they seemed literally living over again in the water. What a scene it was all loveliness and peace! I cannot say how the spectacle of the solemn dying day at once turned the current of my feelings, or how discordant and savage the cries of all those men, hunting a wretched animal to the death, in the quiet face of nature, suddenly became to me. After a few minutes the poor beast emerged at the other end of the island, and still followed by his yelling persecutors, in despair took to the water a second time. Shot after shot was fired at him in vain, as he swam vigorously for the mainland. At last Latrace jumped into the stream as he neared the shore, and stabbed him with his hunting-knife au défaut de l'épaule, in the one vulnerable place the joint just behind the shoulderwhile the horns struck up the last part of the halali, which is never played until the boar is killed. And then we all turned homeward, and under that gentle sky I felt consciencestricken, and rather as if I had been assisting at a murder. It was dark and coldish by the time we got back to the house, and very cheering and pleasant was that large room, bright with candle and fire light, and not less so the cup of tea that dear Madame Olympe made for us. Presently Jeanne, Monsieur Charles, and Monsieur de Saldes came dropping in. Jeanne came up and kissed me very affectionately, as I lay on my big sofa resting and talking to Ursula. "How sweet you smell, child," said I. "It is my violets," she answered. "They are quite fresh still." "Bless me!" cried Ursula, "what can have become of mine? I have lost them! I suppose they must have tumbled down as I was getting in or out of the carriage." She then left her chair, and went away in a very marked manner as Monsieur de Saldes brought me my tea and sat down by me to talk over the impression that French hunting had made upon me. He very goodnaturedly told me a great deal more about it. Boars of all ages are hunted. There are the marcassins or babies, the bêtes de. compagnie and bêtes rousses from six to eighteen months old- the ragotin, which is about eighteen months old-the ragot of two years old the boar in his third year the boar in his fourth year. Then there is the huge solitaire, who lives alone, and for whom they play the royale fanfare, the solitaire miré (an old fellow with his tusks turned down, so that he cannot toss the dogs), and the laie, or female, for whom the fanfare of the meunière is played. -- The first half of the halali is played when the boar is at bay; the second, when he is killed, and he is never killed until he has been at bay. There is also the halali tenante when the boar at bay tosses some of the hounds and then begins running again. If the animal is very fierce, in order to save the hounds the gentlemen will sometimes dismount and prick him with their hunting-knives to cause a diversion. The boar then leaves the dogs and rushes at the men, and there is a general sauve qui peut up trees or anywhere. Sometimes the men as well as the dogs get wounded. Last season Latrace had his leg ripped up by the boar's tusks, and was badly hurt. The cries of vocelet or volcelet, and vlaut vlaut! which are continually heard during the hunt, are corruptions of voilà ce l'est and le viola la haut. The morning after the hunt the missing hounds are tracked out, and found wounded or dead. The men take other dogs with them, whose ears they pull to make them cry, and so attract their wounded and lost companions. The limiers, who find the first trace of the boar, are put into a cart and driven home from the meet by Madame Moreau an old woman about the château who does every sort of odd job sometimes goes to fetch letters and sometimes goes to fetch bread. We met her in the forest going back to Marny, with four When Ursula and I went up to dress for dinner we took no light with us, as we had fire and candles in our own room. At the head of the stair was Monsieur Berthier's room, and just beyond it was a swing-door, which one had to pass in order to get to Monsieur Dessaix's room and ours. On opening this we nearly knocked down Monsieur Jacques, who was standing hidden behind it, and who had not heard us approach. "Oh! Jacques, have I hurt you?" exclaimed Ursula with concern, for it was she who had pushed the door. "But what are you doing there in the dark just behind the door? 66 " or five of the great circular loaves of com- | from an artistic point of view, and as it was mon household bread which the servants eat a Roman Catholic church, not to see any slung like so many necklaces round her ma- reason against it. And Madame Olympe's hogany-coloured old throat. mind was entirely divided between her ecstasy at the notion of hearing Ursula's great voice and grand style in the ample space of a church- where they would have room to spread themselves and her pleasure in the gratification which she knew it would give to the poor Curé to have such fine music for the occasion of his confirmation. Monsieur Jacques had been pacified by my representation that his coming had been altogether unexpected, and that Monsieur Berthier and Monsieur Kiowski were both in possession before his arrival; and he entered with zeal into the details of the programme, and was of the greatest service in selecting and arranging the progression of the pieces. Monsieur Berthier, Monsieur de Saldes and I sat and talked together, and I made the former especially happy by translating for his benefit Ford's speech in the Merry Wives of Windsor- "Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises: and what they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect." He was enchanted with this. "What a genius!" he cried. "How he knows the heart of woman! How he must have known the English woman!" And nothing would serve but he must learn the sentiment by rote in the original tongue: after which he passed the whole evening saying at intervals, "Zen zey ruminaate, Zen zey devaise," and smiling contentedly to himself. The next day he left us for Paris, to the regret of every one, for he was so gentle and amiable that it was quite impossible not to like him. "And such a true gentleman," said Madame Olympe; "so unlike Lady Blankeney, with her eternal 'Countess and Marquis.' She thinks it quite Faubourg St. Germain (to use her own favourite expression), whereas it is precisely Faubourg St. Germain that never does it. Prince or Princesse are the only titles ever given in addressing peopleeverything under that rank is simply spoken to as Monsieur or Madame de Soand-So." It is abominable," he said in a whisper. "They do not love me here. I have had a miserable day I have passed it (all of it!) behind this door. Have you seen his room?" he continued, indicating Monsieur Berthier's. "Have you seen how large it is? twice as large as mine! After you were gone this morning, he and I came upstairs to write. After a little while I heard him go down, and I thought I would peep into his room. I had only time just to see how nice and big it was - for crac! he was up again in a minute. I suppose he had only gone to put his letter in the box. So I jumped back and hid behind the door, and watched till he went down again, and then I took another peep. It is much, much nicer than mine! I have watched him go down three times, and each time I have seen some fresh nice thing that he has." "What dreadful nonsense, Jacques," said Ursula. "He has two jugs a large one and a little one. I have only one small one." "For shame!" she said indignantly. "How could you go into another person's room in that way?" "And a tea-service, and a gilt Cupid on the top of his looking-glass." She took him by the shoulder, and putting him into his own room, shut the door angrily upon his complaints. The evening was spent chiefly in making out the programme for the Sunday's music. Ursula found that she could stick an "O Salutaris" upon the beginning of Stradella's song, which carried her through the first eight bars, after which she boldly merged into "ovunque il guardo io giro, cerco te, guardo te, sospiro," &c. I was sorry that she had determined to do it, but she seemed to look at the matter altogether "But," said I, "does not Jeanne always call Monsieur Charles Marquis? "Yes," she replied, "but that is her sauci- In the afternoon Madame Olympe took will now show you one of a French institution." have distinguished himself in a thousand ways; he has had opportunity after opporAfter a very pretty drive of about three- tunity offered him of doing something with quarters of an hour, we arrived at the châ- his life, but he is utterly devoid of ambition, teau. It was a picturesque old place, in the and his supreme indolence and consistent middle of a very good imitation of an Eng- system of self-indulgence have induced him lish park, and surrounded by a broad moat, steadily to reject them all. It has ended filled with water. Luckily they were all at with isolating him a good deal, for while home, and we were let in. The first person his real taste for art and science renders the I was presented to was Monsieur Henri de usual run of men in his own position of Caradec, the master of the house an am-life wearisome and distasteful to him, his iable, courteous old man in his hundredth want of application and concentration, and year, in the possession of all his faculties, a certain inconvenient fastidiousness and and having preserved to that venerable age capriciousness of temperament, prevent him that rarest of all faculties the power of from associating with people of another loving and of being loved. He lives here class who would interest him. He is a pedwith his sweet old wife, who, being only ant among fashionable men, and a man of eighty-four, is looked upon by him almost fashion among the learned, and so he reas a child. Nothing ever was more charm- mains like the Halb-Hexe in Faust, susing than the tender attachment of these pended between earth and heaven and fit dear old people: everything said by the for neither-helpless, hurtful, and charmone has reference to the other; and they ing!” cannot be happy for five minutes out of each other's sight. Living under the same roof with them are Monsieur Octave de Caradec, their eldest son, and his wife, Madame de Lanneray (Monsieur Octave's eldest daughter), with her handsome young husband and their little Thérèse of four years old, and Mademoiselle Marie de Caradec, her unmarried sister, a young woman of about twenty, with a delightful countenance. Madame de Beaumont, Monsieur Henri's only daughter, a widow, with a grown-up son, also inhabits the château. I told her of Monsieur Jacques' terror about Ursula and Monsieur René. She laughed and remarked that she did not think that he need be under any sort of apprehension on that score, for that Ursula's manner to Monsieur de Saldes always indicated the most perfect indifference, while his to her seemed almost to express antipathy. "You are the person who appears to have captivated him, my dear. Bessy," she said, and added, "If your mother had not told me of your engagement, my dear child, I should have felt a little anxious and nervous about it; conquests over René are worse than defeats. Ah! isn't it sad to think that with all his power and all his charm his progress through life will have been marked by nothing but the tears of a few women who have loved him?" "Dear Madame Olympe," I answered, "I, as you know, bear a charmed life; but are you never afraid for Jeanne? she is very fond of him, and he is so attractive, and so often here!" When we came away I asked Madame Olympe if it was the general custom in France for families to live in this patriarchal manner, and if it worked successfully? She said that the custom was almost universal, and that as to its working, no doubt there were occasional disputes and differences, since where humanity is offence must needs come; but that on the whole the families so united generally lived happily together, and were strongly attached to each other. Certainly I had hardly ever seen anything so charming as that old man "Yes," answered Madame Olympe; playing with his little great-grandchild, and "but Jeanne is a wonderful child: her I must confess that it seems to me both acute observation and the justness of her pious and natural to crown old age with mind are quite remarkable. Thank God, fresh garlands of spring, rather than as we she has little imagination, and abundant do in England, when the blossoms and common sense and principle, and when she leaves have all dropped off, to leave it nak- does love, it will be a good man. Fancy ed and alone to die. her coming to me the other day and saying with the utmost gravity, Send for the doctor, maman René is ill. Baptiste was despatched early this morning for the curé, and he has been closeted with him for the last half hour. René has no doubt had his crampes badly in the night."' As we drove home Madame Olympe talked a great deal about Monsieur de Saldes, much of his gifts and accomplishments, and more still of the wretched manner in which he had thrown them all away. "With his talents," she said, "he might "Monsieur René is not much given to religious observance, I imagine?" said L. 66 Only, as Jeanne says, when he has his crampes. He is never religious but when he has an indigestion, and then he becomes superstitious." In the evening Madame Martin (Latrace's little wife of seventeen) came up with two or three young girls from the village to try her duet with Jeanne, and some of the choruses which were to be performed on Sunday. Madame Olympe accompanied, and Monsieur Jacques was indefatigable in helping to teach them all their parts. I, as usual, lay on my sofa talking to Ursula on one side and to Monsieur de Saldes on the other. "To-morrow is the meet of the staghounds," said he. "Shall you go to it, Miss Hope ?" "No," said I, laughing, "I think not. I have not quite got over the emotion of yesterday's sport yet." "Good heavens !" cried Ursula, "how I wish I could go. But there will be nothing all day but rehearsing, I suppose, and it will be out of the question." "I like you for not liking it," continued Monsieur René, smiling charmingly at me, and taking no notice whatever of Ursula's speech. It would not be womanly-it would not be you to take pleasure in putting anything to death." "Are you fond of no sort of sport, Bessy?" said Ursula. "Do you never fish?" "No," I said. "I tried once, but I was such a dreadful fool that I could neither put the worms on nor take the fish off the hook, and so I thought I had better not try again." end of the gun, you know" (and she clacked her tongue against her palate), "and that soon puts them out of their pain." I saw that she had felt the inimical tone of his remark, and that her spirit was up. Luckily for me," said Monsieur de Saldes, "I am generally a dead shot. My nerve is inferior to yours, Miss Hamilton (and he bowed). "Although I am a man, I have never yet been able to give a wounded creature that little tap you speak of." "You prefer pampering your Own squeamishness?" inquired she, innocently. I, who had seen her quite unable to kill a wasp in our bed-room only the night be fore, knew she did not mean a word of what she was saying, but that she was stung by his contemptuous manner, and getting into one of her defiant moods. So I endeavoured to start another subject, and asked her if she did not intend to try her voice in the church before singing there on Sunday. "O dear, yes!" she said. "We are to have a grand rehearsal there to-morrow. How I do wish it was a theatre instead of a church, and that I was going to sing to a dear good honest paying public that could hiss me if it chose! Monsieur de Saldes' face expressed unmitigated disgust. "You once seriously entertained some thought of going on the stage, did you not?" said he. "I am afraid it has cost you a great deal to give it up?" "More than you can conceive," she replied, complacently looking at him from under her half-shut eyelids. "I cannot imagine anything more honourable than to work for one's bread, or anything more delightful than to earn it by civilizing and refining a sympathizing multitude." "I love it!" she said. "I am sure one is "It must be gratifying, indeed," said he, born a sportsman just as one is born a poet" to pass one's evenings exposed to the gaze or a painter, or anything else. I could fish from morning to night, and shooting is more exciting still." Shooting!" said I. "Can you shoot, Ursula? Do you mean to say that you know how to shoot?" "Yes," she answered, " and I delight in it. I shot at the country place of some friends of mine in Italy, and was quite clever at bringing down my hares and rabbits-running, I beg to state, not sitting. It's the best fun in the world!" "Do you also consider it good fun, Miss Hamilton, when you manage to wound your game without killing it?" asked Monsieur de Saldes in his gentle voice. "Well," answered she, coolly, " perhaps that is not quite so pleasant, but one gives them a little tap on the head with the wrong of every idiot who chooses to pay his halfcrown for his stare, and equally delightful to spend one's days in the society of profigate and uneducated vagabonds." Ah, yes I haven't tried profligacy yet," said Ursula, getting beyond all bounds in her desire to anger him. "But I must own that I find virtue uncommonly difficult, and upon the whole rather tiresome. With regard to vagabonds, I think when you made your last civil observation, it must have escaped your memory that my mother was one of the vagabonds in question, and that in preferring the company of people of genius to the exhausted atmosphere which appears to suit your complaint, I only chasse de race." "Do you know this?" he said, with s most audacious smile, taking up a Don Juan |