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.
* * * *
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