on the same line of shore, calling loudly and angrily to his dog, but the animal seemed to have quite forgotten his master’s voice in the pitiless pursuit.  The fawn touched the land—­in one leap it had crossed the narrow line of beach, and in another instant it would reach the cover of the woods.  The hound followed, true to the scent, aiming at the same spot on the shore; his master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was now coming up at the most critical moment; would the dog hearken to his voice, or could the hunter reach him in time to seize and control him?  A shout from the village bank proclaimed that the fawn had passed out of sight into the forest; at the same instant, the hound, as he touched the land, felt the hunter’s strong arm clutching his neck.  The worst was believed to be over; the fawn was leaping up the mountain-side, and its enemy under restraint.  The other dogs, seeing their leader cowed, were easily managed.  A number of persons, men and boys, dispersed themselves through the woods in search of the little creature, but without success; they all returned to the village, reporting that the animal had not been seen by them.  Some persons thought that after its fright had passed over it would return of its own accord.  It had worn a pretty collar, with its owner’s name engraved upon it, so that it could easily be known from any other fawn that might be straying about the woods.  Before many hours had passed a hunter presented himself to the lady whose pet the little creature had been, and showing a collar with her name on it said that he had been out in the woods, and saw a fawn in the distance:  the little animal instead of bounding away as he expected, moved toward him; he took aim, fired, and shot it to the heart.  When he found the collar about its neck he was very sorry he had killed it.  And so the poor little thing died; one would have thought that terrible chase would have made it afraid of man:  but no, it forgot the evil and remembered the kindness only, and came to meet as a friend the hunter who shot it.  It was long mourned by its best friend.

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MISCELLANIES.

CIRCUMNAVIGATING A POPE.—­Cardinal Maury did not allow you to advance far.  He was fond of telling anecdotes, but he loved to select his subject and to choose his terms.  Memory well managed can furnish a tolerable share of the wit and spirit of conversation, and he was, in this respect, the most capital manoeuvrer I ever met with.  As he had been absent from Paris for fourteen years he had a great deal to tell.  Every one, therefore, listened to his stories with pleasure—­himself among the first.  Even at the dinner-table he permitted himself the indulgence of a vast quantity of Spanish snuff, which he generally shared with his neighbors, distributing a large portion on their plates, which rather spoiled the pleasure of those who had the good