ng its feathers on a branch
within ten feet of his head. Afraid of losing sight of it, M. Louet waits
till the landlord comes to announce supper, and then desires him to bring
his gun. But there is a punishment of fine and imprisonment for whoever
fires a shot, between sunset and sunrise, within the precincts of the town;
and although the enthusiastic sportsman is willing enough to run this risk,
the hotel-keeper fears to be taken for an accomplice, and refuses to fetch
the gun, threatening to drive away the bird if M. Louet goes for it
himself. At last they come to terms. M. Louet sups and sleeps under the
tree, the bird roosts on the same; and at the first stroke of the matin
bell, mine host appears with the fowling-piece. Our chasseur stretches out
his hand to take it, and--the bird flies away.

M. Louet throws down the price of his supper, and scales the garden wall
in pursuit. He follows his intended victim the whole of that day, and at
last has the mortification of seeing it carried away before his eyes by a
hawk. Foot-sore and tired, hungry and thirsty, the unfortunate musician
sinks down exhausted by the side of a road. A peasant passes by.

"'My friend,' said I to him, 'is there any town, village, or house in
this neighbourhood?'

"'_Gnor si_,' answered he, '_ce la citta di Nizza un miglia avanti_.'

"The thrush had led me into Italy."

At Nice M. Louet is in great tribulation. In the course of his long ramble
his money has worked a hole in his pocket, and he discovers that he is
penniless just at the moment that he has established himself at the best
hotel, and ordered supper for three by way of making up for past
privations. He gets out of his difficulties, however, by giving a concert,
which produces him a hundred crowns; and he then embarks for Toulon, on
board the letter of marque, La Vierge des Sept Douleurs, Captain Garnier.

Once on the water, there is a fine opportunity for a display of French
naval heroism, at the expense, of course, of the unfortunate English, to
whom M. Dumas bears about the same degree of affection that another
dark-complexioned gentleman is said to do to holy water. This is one of M.
Dumas's little peculiarities or affectations, it is difficult to say which.
Wherever it is possible to bring in England and the English, depreciate
them in any way, or turn them into ridicule, M. Dumas invariably does it,
and those passages are frequently the most amusing in his books. In the
pre