which you at first take for a deformed blackbird,
but which turns out to be a water-hen. As far as our own observations go,
we do aver this to be a very handsome average of a French sportsman's
day's shooting. If by chance he has knocked down a red-legged partridge,
(grey ones are very scarce in France,) his exultation knows no bounds. The
day on which such a thing occurs is a red-letter day with him for the rest
of his life. He goes home at once and inscribes the circumstance in the
family archives.

But this state of things, it will perhaps be urged, may arise from the
scarcity of game in France, as probably as from the sportsman's want of
skill. True; but the worst is to come. After you have duly admired and
examined snipe, pigeon, quail, and water-hen, your friend again rummages
in the depths of his _gibeciere_, and pulls out--what?--a handful of
tomtits and linnets, which he has been picking off every hedge for five
miles round. "_Je me suis rabattu sur le petit gibier_," he says, with a
grin and a shrug, and walks away, a proud man and a happy, leaving you in
admiration of his prowess.

M. Dumas expresses a wish to make the acquaintance of one of these modern
Nimrods, and his friend Mery arranges a supper, to which he invites a
certain Monsieur Louet, who plays the fourth bass in the orchestra of the
Marseilles theatre. The conversation after supper is a good specimen of
_persiflage_. After doing ample justice to an excellent repast, during
which he had scarcely uttered a word,

"Monsieur Louet threw himself back in his chair and looked at us all, one
after the other, as if he had only just become aware of our presence,
accompanying his inspection with a smile of the most perfect benevolence;
then, heaving a gentle sigh of satisfaction--'Ma foi! I have made a
capital supper!' exclaimed he.

"'M. Louet! A cigar?' cried Mery: 'It is good for the digestion.'

"'Thank you, most illustrious poet!' answered M. Louet; 'I never smoke. It
was not the fashion in my time. Smoking and boots were introduced by the
Cossacks. I always wear shoes, and am faithful to my snuff-box.'

"So saying, M. Louet produced his box, and offered it round. We all
refused except Mery, who, wishing to flatter him, attacked his weak side.

"'What delicious snuff, M. Louet! This cannot be the common French snuff?'

"'Indeed it is--only I doctor it in a particular manner. It is a secret I
learned from a cardinal when I was at Rome.'

"'Ha!