mself;
and, to say the truth, he was to a certain extent authorized to say so,
for the head, handsomely decorated, was sent to his mother, the
following words having been nicely printed on the tusks:

"Killed by Gustave Adolphe de M. the 15th of August, 18--."

In the course of time Adolphe's nerves improved so much that he could
manage to knock down a leash of birds, or roll over a hare; but boars
and wolves he declined to have anything further to do with; and when I
met him by accident some years after, in the presence of mutual friends,
he said, "Ah! de Crignelle, what two famous shots those were I put into
that boar! But, gentlemen," he continued, with a sigh which seemed
pumped up from his very heels, "what terrible forests those are of Le
Morvan, and how dangerous the _chasse aux sangliers_!"

CHAPTER XII.

The _Mares_--Manner in which they are formed in the depths of the
forest--_Mare_ No. 1.--Description of it--The appearance of the
spot--Mode of constructing the hunting-lodge--Approach of the
birds--Animals that frequent the _Mares_ in the evening.

Of all the various sports of Europe, that which produces the greatest
excitement, that which is, more than any other, full of deep interest,
dangerous and difficult, is without doubt hut-shooting at night on the
banks of one of our large _Mares_.[1] Here the sportsman, left to
himself, is deprived of all help; concealed in a corner of a wood, or
squatting at the foot of a tree, he requires all his courage, all his
experience; for he then finds himself engaged in a deadly conflict with
the most subtle and ferocious beasts, possibly a mouthful for the
largest and most powerful jaws, and at the mercy of the quickest ears of
the forest. Motionless in his hut, like a spider in its web, nothing can
put him off his guard--neither the view halloo of the passing huntsman,
the cheerful notes of his horn, nor the music of the dogs, can distract
his attention. All around is calm, solitude and gloom surround him, no
voice interrogates him, no eye sees him; he is alone, quite alone, his
blood circulates tranquilly through his veins, his faculties are all on
the stretch, he waits, he bides his time. The shadows lengthen, twilight
arrives, the forest puts on the garb of evening, the silence and
solitude are more deeply felt, night is at hand, the moment so ardently
desired approaches. Imagination begins to work, phantoms of every
description co