res, when the
poodle, whose sagacity is quite equal to that of his master, plunges
into the water, and if the fish is either dead or severely wounded fails
not to bring out with him the scaly morsel; thus so long as the heavens
are bright and blue, the water is warm, the large fish choose to
promenade in the sun, and the sportsman's powers of climbing hold out,
the sport continues. Sometimes the poodle and the fish have a very sharp
struggle, and then the fun is great indeed, unless by chance the
sportsman should unfortunately miss his hold in the midst of his
laughter, and drop head-foremost into the water with his cabbage and his
double-barrel.

Pierre Pertuis on the Cure, is also a famous place for fishing, and an
extraordinary spot, and the Morvinian peasant, a highly
poetically-flavoured individual, has made it the theatre of some very
fantastic scenes. Imagine a yellow rock, of gigantic height, terminating
in a point, with its sides full of fissures, holes, and crevices,
inhabited by crows, owls, and bats, having its base in the river and its
summit crowned with a rough _chevelure_ of brambles and large creeping
plants. The lower part of this rock is intersected by holes, through
which the water rushes, tumbles, and whirls. The peasants pretend that
the river near the rock cannot be fathomed, and that this particular
spot is inhabited by fairies, nymphs, syrens, and other amiable ladies
of this description, who have superb voices, and sing from the interior
of their grottos delicious melodies of the other world, with the
charitable intention of attracting the passing traveller or fisherman,
and drowning him in the whirlpool beneath--a fate that would certainly
be inevitable, if the attraction in question could bring them within
its vortex, for certain it is that neither sheep-dogs or cattle which
have fallen in, or been drawn within reach of its power, have ever been
seen again. When the tempest rages here, the wind, rushing into the
holes and fissures, produces a kind of moaning AEolian noise, and this
with the cries of the owls and the rooks when the _mistral_ blows and
they have the rheumatism, produces, and no wonder, a superstitious
feeling of awe in the mind of the ignorant peasant.

On the Cousin, which flows majestically through some of the most
magnificent pastures in the world, and on the summit of a large hill,
stands the charming Chateau des Panolas, the towers and walls of which,
covered with pointe