KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 
He had been at Jerusalem as well as London. He 
was also a very kind-hearted, liberal man ; indeed 
such a man as you seldom meet with. He was, 
however, rather too fond of testing the quality of 
his own merchandise. He was married to an 
English lady, now living ; and having amassed a 
considerable property (more than he required in 
his business), he purchased, many years ago, an 
extensive country-house and farm at “ Cour,” 
close by where my old master lived. This he 
named after his “little wife,” as he used (and 
certainly very correctly) to call her. She was 
indeed a little body ! 
There were extensive fields, vineyard, gardens, 
farm-yard, every description of stabling and out- 
houses, greenhouse, &c. Also two large dwelling- 
houses, one of which he occupied himself, and the 
other he used to let furnished, whenever he had 
the opportunity. Among the sundry appurte- 
nances to this estate, was a capital range of pig- 
sties, occupied by sundry fine porkers. I should 
say that, properly managed, the farming would 
have been as profitable as the wine department ; 
but my friend was too liberal, and perhaps the 
wine trade was too alluring. He also had it all 
his own way; there being no rival nearer than 
Geneva, where resided a certain Mr. A. Now 
there was a certain tacit understanding between 
them that they should not poach upon each other’s 
grounds. Moreover, Mr. G. could “ spek won 
leetle bit Anglish ;”’ and his favorite expression 
was “ Hang it, Sare!”” Indeed he could scarcely 
utter a dozen words in English without the favo- 
rite “‘ Hang it, Sare!” 
At his well-stocked cellar at St. Frangois, you 
might procure every sort of wine ; including some 
capital port, sherry, and Madeira (at least, so I 
have heard old Bombyx say) ; also Barclay’s and 
Guinness’s stout, Scotch ale, &c. &c. Many a 
time I have been up into the little bureau at St. 
FranGois, with my master, to order some stout 
and wine; but Mr. G. would never let you go 
till you had taken two or three glasses of sherry, 
or else a refreshing glass of porter, which, to an 
Englishman abroad, is really a treat. He had also 
a supply of Cheshire and North Wiltshire cheeses ; 
and in the winter, once a week, he received a 
supply of soles and oysters. So you may imagine 
he was greatly patronised by the English. 
If you said to this worthy on leaving his bureau, 
“Don’t forget my stout, G.,”’ he would reply,— 
“No, Sare! Hang me, Sare, you shan’t have 
any, Sare. Hang it, Sare,—you shan’t have it, 
Sare, before you get home. I shan’t send it, 
Sare, directly. No, Sare.” 
“ Bon jour, G.” 
“ Bon jour, Sare. Let me give you one, two 
glass more ale, Sare; this warm weather, Sare. 
Hang me, Sare,—it do you very much good, Sare !” 
However, it was at his country-house that I was 
most familiar, and, as G. had a beautiful little 
spaniel, called ‘‘ Jack,” given to him by an 
English nobleman who once occupied his country 
house (Lord D., now no more), and a large 
sporting dog, named “ Nero,” I and my brother 
were excellent friends there. Besides, the farm- 
yard and out-buildings were excellent places for 
sport, and we were there quite ‘‘at home.” More- 
over, do what we would there was never a cross 
word; it was only: —‘ Hang me, Sare! if you 



169 
are not the funniest dog I ever saw, Sare!”’ 
Sometimes we invited ourselves to breakfast with 
him and his two dogs, and about fifteen cats. 
“Yes, Sare. Hang me, Sare! I am very fond 
of cats, Sare!” One cat would jump on his 
shoulder, another on his knee, and another on the 
table, with her pretty head in the milk-pot. 
Presently Mrs. G. would come in, with a nice 
little bit of cold pork ; and while G. was playing 
with the cats, and his card sposa was goue to 
fetch the mustard, ‘“ Carlo” slipped off with the 
pork, and we would quietly enjoy it under a fine 
pomegranate tree in the garden. 
On Mrs. G.’s return—-“ Well, where’s the 
pork?” “T haveno seen no pork, my dear ;” and 
then, suspecting all was not right, he would look 
about, and find myself and my brother, with 
scarcely anything but the bone remaining. In- 
stead of a good sound thrashing, it was only, 
‘‘ Hang me, Sare, you are two impudent dogs. 
What you mean, Sare, to comeand eat my déjetiné? 
I shan’t stand it, Sare.” 
Another bit of pork was produced, and G. 
went back to his breakfast, as usual, full of good 
humor. One day we played him a shameful trick ; 
but nothing put him out of his way. -He had just 
been killing a couple of fine porkers, and ‘‘ Carlo” 
had seen them—so plump, and white, and tempt- 
ing, there was no resisting it; and so we deter- 
mined to have our share. Now this was an 
abominable shame on our part; for G. was 
a most excellent neighbor, and never killed 
a pig without bringing a small joint as a 
present to Bombyx, and some sausages that Mrs. 
G, had made herself. But ‘‘ Carlo” had resolved 
to have a bit of this pork, and that cotie qu'il 
cotite. I demurred, and refused to join in such a 
rascally adventure, whereupon he gave mea 
savage gripe on the hind leg; but I was as 
quick as he was, and catching him by his stump 
(I can scarcely call it his tail, for from his battles 
and squabbles with other dogs, his caudal appen- 
dage was anything but a gentlemanly one, and I 
should have been ashamed to own such a thing) I 
soon made him loose his hold. After having 
allowed myself to be persuaded to “let go,” off we 
sallied ; and having inspected the pork, decided 
upon a prime side which was evidently intended 
to appear at G.’s breakfast-table, (during the 
winter) in the shape of nice grilled bacon. So 
Carlo, seizing it by one corner, and I by the 
other, we watched our opportunity ; and dragging 
it unnoticed through the farm-yard, got safely 
into the field. Here we rested awhile, and seeing 
the coast clear, we started again and got it safely 
across two large fields, close up tothe road. Here 
a very high close-set hedge stopped our further 
progress. 
‘Bother it !”’ said Carlo, “ I think we must take 
it through Pére H.’s field. His gate is 
usually open, and then we can get out. This was 
luckily accomplished without a very great loss of 
time, and we now had only to drag it along the 
side of the hedge till we got opposite Bombyx’s 
residence. Here we also arrived safe and sound. 
Now came the difficult part—to land it safely 
inside. To ring at the bell and get the gate 
opened, we dare not. 
“Thave it!” said Carlo. ‘We can’t leap u 
the wall with it, but I see how it is to be done.” 

