invades every one's game-preserves at dead of night,
and kills whatever he finds, whether hares, partridges, dogs, pheasants,
or gamekeepers,--while ours are men following a legitimate occupation.

In Le Morvan, forests are open to all; there are no palings to get over,
and no keepers to fear; the public may hunt, shoot, or snare what they
please.

The poacher commences his hard apprenticeship in early childhood. Nature
directs him to adopt this course of life, and endows him with a bold
heart, a cool head, a sinewy frame, and an iron constitution. The
incipient poachers soon leave the inhabited districts to live in the
forests, with trees for their roof, and moss for their bed. They study
alike the woods and the stars, and know the forest by heart, with its
roads and glades, beaten tracks and untrodden paths. From sunrise to
sunset they are always-a-foot, walking through the thickets, tramping
over heaths, or stooping amongst the brushwood, listening, and looking
everywhere, and by night and by day constantly making their observations
on the direction of the wind, the habits of the animals that pass them,
or the birds that fly over their heads.

In this way they ferret out every nook and every winding in the forest,
and now here and now there build themselves a hut, live upon fruit,
chestnuts, and their game, which they roast upon embers; and never come
into a town except to purchase powder, shot and ball, or perhaps a pair
of shoes, some tobacco, and brandy.

Such is the rough life of the youthful poacher, nor has he any companion
during this wild period of his existence, excepting a dog, the faithful
partner of his joys and dangers, and who becomes a devoted friend and
brother for life. They live together, talk to each other, understand
each other, and guess each other's slightest wish. I have seen a poacher
talking to his dog by the hour together, the man laughing fit to split
at what his canine companion was telling him in his own peculiar way,
while the dog, rolling on the grass, barked with delight at what his
master answered.

When on their shooting expeditions, a sign from his master, a nod, a
wink, an uplifted finger, or the slightest whisper, are either of them
sufficient for his guidance; he stops, or dashes onward, takes a leap,
or crouches down, as the case may be, and never is he known to be at
fault.

On his part the poacher has only to refer to his dog as to the pages of
a book, and he reads at o