358 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



than usual interest ; for, since the article "was 

 in type, the Manufactory of the Gutta 

 Percha Company has been seriously damaged 

 by fire. "We are happy to hear that the 

 Works will be in full operation again ere 

 long. 



autobiography of a dog— No. xiv. 



WRITTEN BT HIMSELF. 



[Continued from Page 300.) 



Punctual to my promise, here I am, my best 

 of Editors, ready to chat to you about sledging. 

 I will also tell you of our trip to Versoix and 

 home again. The details -will amuse you, I know, 

 and cause a laugh at our expense. At the same 

 time it will convey to you an idea of the very rapid 

 changes of temperature to which my country is 

 often subject, and the consequences of which oc- 

 casioned so much discomfort to my old master, as 

 it also continually does to many others. I must 

 confess, however, that /was the least annoyed of 

 the party forming the expedition. 



It was in the month of January ; and towards 

 the latter end of the month a vast deal of snow 

 fell. The cold, too, had for some time been 

 intense (the thermometer ranging generally from 

 18 to 20 degrees below zero during the night and 

 early morning). 



At this time Bombyx made up his mind to 

 visit some of his relatives residing at Versoix and 

 Geneva — having first ascertained that they would 

 not be out upon a similar excursion. One fine 

 morning, about nine o'clock, two pretty sledges 

 arrived at our old residence on the road to Chailly. 

 A first-rate breakfast having been disposed of, 

 and a glass or two of Kirschenwasser, just to 

 keep out the cold (my own breakfast, I may tell 

 you, was unusually warm and savory, and the 

 postilions pronounced the Eau de Cerise veri- 

 table) — the two sledges were soon occupied, and 

 I squeezed myself in a snug corner, close to my 

 master's feet. Assuredly no cold could reach me 

 there. All being now right, and the German 

 servant, who was in the last sledge, having 

 quickly disposed of a parting bumper of Kirschen- 

 wasser (/ saw him, although Bumbyx did not), 

 off we started. 



It was a glorious morning. The scene was 

 brilliant as in June ; but the cutting, cold wind, 

 caused to lodge on our noses and chins the minute 

 particles of frozen snow which it blew off the 

 hedges and trees, and soon undeceived us on this 

 point. So I thought it most prudent to curl my- 

 self up as well as I could do, and keep my tender 

 nose from coming in contact with cold, rude 

 " Boreas." Would not you have done the same, 

 dear Mr. Editor? [Indeed we should, Fino.] 



Well, on we went through Lausanne — whips 

 cracking, bells tinkling, postilions hallooing; 

 down Montbenon like mad, passed St. Sulpice, 

 where I heard my old master call out, " Stop a 

 minute at Morges ; we'll have a glass of old red 

 wine and light a cigar." "Bel et bien, Monsieur,"' 

 cries Bebi (such was the name of our postilion). 



" Monsieur a bien raison," rejoined Louis, who 

 conducted the other sledge. 



In a few minutes more, we were before the door 



of our well-known hotel, the " Trois Couronnes a 

 Morges." " Bring up some chateux neuf," says 

 Bombyx. u Have you any of the old sort ? " 

 " Oh que oui, j'en ai toujours pour Monsieur." 

 The red wine was accompanied by some dried 

 fruit ; after which, the postilions and Bombyx, 

 the German servant, and the young masters, 

 being supplied with some capital " Bahias," and 

 myself with a basin of good warm soup, in a 

 quarter of an hour we were off again. 



" We shall dine at ' Bolle,' Bebi," says Bom- 

 byx, " at our old friend's — the ' Tete Noire.' " 



11 Oui, Monsieur ; you'll get some capital Gibier 

 there. I was there at the beginning of the week, 

 and it was beautiful." 



Crack again went the whip, and off we flew. 

 Our hearts were warmed by the good old wine, 

 and gaily we tripped by St. Pres ; and after a 

 while reached Eolle, driving straight up to the 

 " Tete Noire." This is a very curious-looking 

 place outside, Mr. Editor ; and what would Mrs. 

 Harriet Beecher Stowe say, if ever she should pass 

 through this quaint old town, and see a large 

 nigger's head swinging over the sole front entrance 

 of the " Tete Noire ? " Whatever you may think 

 of the exterior, you will find yourselves " quite at 

 home " in the interior ; and a more luxurious 

 dinner no epicure need covet. As for cleanliness, 

 it is a perfect pattern. You may imagine how we 

 all closed around the blazing fire. Presently a 

 voice that was quite familiar to me said, " Eh 

 bien, Fino, que fais tu ici ? " It was the son of 

 the proprietor of the "Faucon," at Berne, whom 

 I knew very well. 



" Well, old friend," said he, " I'll prepare you 

 a splendid soup." He soon twigged Bombyx ; and 

 in a quarter of an hour a dinner, fit for Prince 

 Albert or the Emperor of all the Eussias, gar- 

 nished the table. Some excellent pale ale, of 

 rather a bitter flavor, made its appearance ; and 

 after dinner some old " Hermitage Rouge," which 

 was perfectly unique. My Friend Francois (such 

 was the name of my Bernese acquaintance) had 

 requested Bombyx to allow me to dine with him ; 

 and I soon found out that he was on a visit to his 

 uncle, the proprietor of the " Tete Noire." He 

 treated me like a prince. In short, I had every- 

 thing that could make a dog's heart happy. 



Again our sledges were ready ; and more 

 " Bahias " being provided, off we went, and after 

 a long run reached " Prangins," and soon after 

 " Nyon." Here we just moistened the horses' 

 mouths, and our own — spun along to " Coppet ; " 

 and leaving the celebrated " Chateau of Madame 

 de Stael," on our right, passed on to "Versoix," 

 which we reached very jolly but very cold. There 

 sat Bombyx's fat relation (nearly as fat as him- 

 self, Mr. Editor), waiting under the sheltering 

 portico of the " Croix d'Or," and puffing his cigar ; 

 whilst ever and anon he protruded his rubicund 

 visage from behind the pillar, to see if he could 

 catch a glimpse of our sledges ; a few minutes 

 more, and we were under his hospitable roof. 



Here a famous supper was duly announced at 

 the homely hour of nine ; and even now, Mr. 

 Editor, my old master never has his supper later 

 than that'hour. Still, you know, there are ex- 

 ceptions to every rule ; and we did not think of 

 betaking our weary persons to our beds till near 

 midnight. 



