cile within the barrel, he
began to load. One charge--two charges--then a third, "as a compliment,"
and after this, a fourth, "for good luck." On this infernal
charge--imperial, as he called it--this Vesuvius, this volcano of
saltpetre, he threw half-a-dozen balls, or, if he was out of them, a
handful of nails; and then he rammed--rammed--rammed away, like a
pavior.

My hair stood on end, and every limb trembled when he fired it off--holy
St. Francis!--the very forest bent, and coughed, and sighed; and it made
as much flame, smoke, noise, and carnage, as a battery of horse
artillery. One might have heard it all over Burgundy, or Provence for
what I know; and hence, no doubt, his _sobriquet_ of "the Four-Pounder."
I always thought his shoulder must be made of heart of oak. On one
occasion he did me the incomparable favour of loading my gun in this
fashion, but luckily for me, informed me of this piece of civility
before we started; and greatly was he chagrined when I declined to fire
it. In the common occurrences of life, Navarre was a right good fellow;
he had great good sense, could take a joke, was simple and modest in
his manners, and very kind-hearted and retiring. But once in the forest,
the dogs uncoupled, and the business of the chase commenced, he bounded
to the front; his eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated, he took a deep
breath, listened, and snuffed the air; he limped no longer; and as his
courage was unequalled, and his knowledge of wood-craft profound, the
proudest of every rank were content to follow where he led.

CHAPTER VI.

Bird's-eye view of the forests--The student's visit to his uncle in
the country--Sallies forth in the early morning--Meets a
cuckoo--Follows him--The cuckoo too much for him--Gives up the
pursuit--Finds he has lost his way--Agreeable vespers--Night in the
forest--Wolves--Up a beech tree--A friend in need--The student bids
adieu to Le Morvan.

We have alluded in the opening chapters to the inexhaustible wealth
drawn by the inhabitants from the woods of Le Morvan, though we have as
yet touched but slightly on their beauties. To see them at one _coup
d'oeil_, in all the splendour of their extent, one ought to call for
the veteran, Mr. Green, and, safely (?) lodged in his car, with plenty
of sandwiches and champagne, fly and soar above these forests of La
Belle France. By St. Hubert, gentle reader, your eyes would be feasted
with a glorious sig