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“ AND now, Messire Gaultier,” said Froissart to him one morning, after a return from Valenciennes, where he had been making some stay, “ I will take you to see the Limiers I told you of, and which his Grace of England commanded me to present to Messire Gaston de Foix.”.
“With all mine heart,” replied Gaultier, presenting his hand, and walking towards the mews.
“Well, Damoyseau, how think you of these greyhounds ? are they not a present worthy of the noble monarch who hath given them? Did you e'er behold such animals? See, what a presence! Look, too,” he continued, “just place your hand upon them : the hair, so rough to look at, is soft as silk unto the touch : feel, too, their limbs ; how strong they are-how firm the flesh-all muscle. What eyes, too!they seem as meek as a hind's ; aye, and so in sooth they are, as long as I have mine own upon them, and they be in mews; but once let them out, in the forest-i'faith, 'tis another matter--they are very devils.”
“No, in good troth," answered Gaultier, approaching the dogs, and patting them with delight,-“ never, in all my life, have I beheld such fine noble-looking greyhounds as are these. Never! Why, Messire de Foix will not know how to tell his joy for such a gift. Surely, the race of dogs in England is much superior to that of our country, or e'en of France ;—that is, Iand I've seen many a fine greyhound too-I have ne'er met with the equal of these.”
“ To be sure it is, Sire," replied the historian," there's no compare between them-nokind of comparison 'twixt the two breeds ;—the English dog is much larger than any other—so much more bold and fleet-he never tires-never quits pursuit till he is up with the game. Look you, Messire Gaultier, you never see such a dog as
that in France, or any other country. Mark him !—what a fine-what-I may say, a striking countenance he hath!—so mild, so meek, so gentle in appearance, and yet, withal, bold as a lion! Faith, would not I choose to be a hindnay, nor a panther even in his path: he'd worry me to death, as did Actæon's dogs in times past."
" Actæon - Actæon!" — repeated Gaultier, musing, “who is Actæon? I remember not to have ever heard of him. Was he, too, some friend of your's ? a neighbour, perhaps, of Messire Gaston de Foix ?"
Froissart smiled: "I am not able to introduce you to him just at present,” he replied, “ 'twould take too long, but have already promised to bring you acquainted some of these days, with many matters you now reck not of, this shall be of the number ; for the present I will only tell you, that Actæon was a hunter, torn to pieces by his own dogs, for having, without design, done that, which many hunters would do from choice,-to wit, for having seen his patroness, Diana, come out of a bath. Now, let
us mind the dogs! Look at the one which I was speaking of;—observe the action of his limbs. Here — Tristam — Tristam!- hither, boy!--come along, and show thyself off!"
The dog bounded at his voice, and leaping on his master, placed his fore-paws on his shoulders, and covered him with kisses and caresses.
“ You call him Tristam, do you !" said Gaultier,—“how name you then the other three ?"
" Hector, Brun, and Rolland. Dogs should never have names of more than two syllablesindeed, Gaston de Foix saith that one syllable is even still better; for mine own part, I think so too; and sure I am, that if their names exceed two syllables, it is very difficult, not to say almost impossible—to pronounce them, in the hurry and bustle of the chase. But now tell me, Messire Gaultier, of the three modes of hunting, which do you best love- Venerie-Fauconnerie—or that of the Arbalète ?"
“ Of the two first named,” replied the other, “I am so passionately fond, that I know not which to prefer. Venerie hath much charm for me.—There is something so enchanting, which so exalts, in the sound of the shrill clarion, ringing through the woods at morn, and in brushing the fresh early dew from off the foliage, as one rushes through it, chasing the wild boar or wolf. This is delightful-very, very delightful, indeed! Then I'm also equally fond of Fauconnerie, and love to see my hawk striving to gain the higher air—then stoop, and pounce upon his prey;—but as for the chase of the bow-the Arbalète-follow that who will, for me-I yield it up to them with a good heart."
“ Spoken just like one of our countrymen, or as a Frenchman would speak,” said Froissart“ and is exactly what Phoebus—that is, Gaston de Foix, saith. He talks with all possible contempt and scorn of that sort of hunting, and saith 'tis only fit for fat people, priests, and prelates,- I cry him mercy there!—and will not e'en admit that bowmen can attain unto the same high seat in paradise, as may the Veneur and the Fauconnier. Truly, indeed, he seems to think they may consider it as a piece of extreme good fortune, and look upon it as an act of special