lish mare, I was quite sure I could
pass wherever he could. He took me through all sorts of queer little
paths, the branches sometimes so low that it didn't seem possible to
get through, but we managed it. Sometimes we lost sight of the hunt
entirely, but he always guided himself by the sound of the horns,
which one hears at a great distance. Once a stag bounded across the
road just in front of us, making our horses shy violently, but he said
that was not the one we were after. I wondered how he knew, but didn't
ask any questions. Once or twice we stopped in the thick of the woods,
having apparently lost ourselves entirely, not hearing a sound, and
then in the distance there would be the faint sound of the horn,
enough for him to distinguish the vue, which meant that they were
still running. Suddenly, very near, we heard the great burst of the
hallali--horses, dogs, riders, all joining in; and pushing through the
brushwood we found ourselves on the edge of a big pond, almost a lake.
The stag, a fine one, was swimming about, nearly finished, his eyes
starting out of his head, and his breast shaken with great sobs. The
whole pack of dogs was swimming after him, the hunters all swarming
down to the edge, sounding their horns, and the master of hounds
following in a small flatboat, waiting to give the coup de grace with
his carbine when the poor beast should attempt to get up the bank. It
was a sickening sight. I couldn't stand it, and retreated (we had all
dismounted) back into the woods, much to the surprise and disgust of
my companion, who was very proud and pleased at having brought me in
at the death among the very first. Of course, one gets hardened, and a
stag at bay is a fine sight. In the forest they usually make their
last stand against a big tree, and sell their lives dearly. The dogs
sometimes get an ugly blow. I was really very glad always when the
stag got away. I had all the pleasure and excitement of the hunt
without having my feelings lacerated at the end of the day. The sound
of the horns and the unwonted stir in the country had brought out all
the neighbourhood, and the inhabitants of the little village,
including the cure and the chatelaine of the small chateau near, soon
appeared upon the scene. The cure, a nice, kindly faced old man, with
white hair and florid complexion, was much interested in all the
details of the hunt. It seems the stag is often taken in these ponds,
les etangs de la ramee, which ar