362 

KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 

ing to Bombyx’s good-humor. Now as times go, 
Mr. Editor, Bombyx is not ill-tempered; but he 
could not maintain his position and make himself 
respected if he accepted a simple apology in this 
business. So, after a meeting with their spokes- 
man R - (the worthy “Pinte Proprietor,”) he 
declined having anything more to do in the matter, 
save through the medium of the Juge de Puiz, 
who must do his duty, letting justice in this case 
take its natural course. 
They had reckoned on their numbers and votes, 
and the votes of their friends. Bombyx relied 
upon the simple fact of the villainous assault upon 
his servant and myself, together with his two wit- 
nesses, and the pretty general admission of the 
rascals themselves. Finding it no go, and that 
Bombyx would have nothing to do with their 
apology, they became as furious as maniacs, and 
held their nightly meetings at the ‘“ Pinte,” where 
future operations were discussed and arranged. 
Bombyx also took the precaution of requesting 
Jean to sleep every night at his house. 
Somehow or other, Jean had got a kind of clue 
to another concoction of these worthies; and he 
determined to sift it. So one night he brought 
down with him a stanch friend, a certain Adolphe 
(you may judge what sort of a man that must be, 
on whom Jean could rely in case of accident); and 
slipping down to the lake with him, he made a 
complete detowr, and came to the very ‘“ Pinte” 
where these worthies were assembled,—he appa- 
rently arriving from the Geneva road. Seeing 
“‘mine host” at the door, he said to his com- 
pagnon, ‘ Allons! j'ai bien sovf.. Allons! prendre 
une botella!” 
R (knowing how Jean was with Bombyx), 
thought it would be a good opportunity to try and 
cajole him to speak to Bombyx, and to compromise 
matters ; so (not in the least suspecting Jean’s 
manceuvres) he began to talk them over; but find- 
ing his mistake, he denounced Jean, when one of 
his party showed a stiletto,—probably the very one 
with which J was wounded. Alphonse displayed 
the muzzles of a pair of fine pistols. Jean stroked 
his nose and showed the tip of his “‘ serpetta:” and 
grinningly went on, quietly discussing his bottle. 
We, however, at home, finding Jean very much 
later than he intended to be, and imagining the pos- 
sibility of an attack upon him by these cowardly 
ruffians, determined to sally forth. This we did 
imstanter. Bombyx provided himself with an 
“‘assomateur,” one blow from which would make 
the most violent man as peaceable as could be de- 
sired. The sons were furnished with some of Van- 
naud’s best bred little bull-dogs ; and Pere H—— 
was summoned pour monter la garde during our 
short absence. 
We soon came close to the “ Pinte,” and then 
loitered about. It was presently known that the 
reinforcement had arrived, and Jean and Adolphe 
appeared, followed by the rascals. We, however, 
got peaceably home, and this still increased their 
wrath. 
The day, however, was approaching for our 
appearance before the Juge de Paix, and R 



got absolutely wild: One evening, as Bombyx 
and his sons were returning from a day’s sport, 
at St. Sulpice, and passing before the “ Pinte,” 
R—— jumped into the middle of the road; and 
placing his arms a-kimbo, deliberately and coolly 


let forth such a volley of disgusting epithets, that 
I will not distort my mouth by attempting to 
repeat them; winding up his eloquent harangue 
by styling Bombyx a vieux gueux. Bombyx was 
just going to reply to this, by knocking the rep- 
tile on the head ; but Jean intervened, and whis- 
pered to Bombyx,—He has quite done for himself! 
Leave him alone,—he is now quite in your power, 
and you can rid the neighborhood of this pest. 
We walked home withont replying one syllable; 
contenting ourselves with making a second com- 
plaint against this worthy. At last,—the day for 
meeting before the Juge de Paix arrived. Such 
fun! But I must reserve this sport for my next. 
Adieu! Au revoir. 
Your faithful old dog, 
Tottenham, Dec. 15. 
P.S.—My best love to that unfortunate little 
Charlie. How could he be so silly as to let 
those rascals slip the chain from his collar ? Bless 
my old master! He never put a collar round my 
neck. No: I all my life long have been as free as 
air. I could trace the old boy’s footsteps any 
where. I should just like to see one of those 
wretches, who stole poor Charlie from his mistress, 
try a similar trick with me; or dare to take Old 
Bombyx’s stick out of my mouth,—if I wa#*com- 
missioned to carry it, that’s all! I warrant you 
he would either go away minus some of his 
fingers ; or he would bear the impress of “ Fino— 
hismark,” for the remainder of his days. Charlie 
does not yet half know the world. I will take 
Fro. 
him out with me some day, and sharpen him up. 
LINES IN PRAISE OF “ BEAUTY.” 

She sits enthroned the stars among, 
She danceth in the moonlight beam ; 
She trips the waving fields along, 
And glideth o’er the silver stream. 
She sparkleth in the ocean spray, 
And shineth in the morning ray! 
She gives the Heavens their azure hue, 
The clouds their gold and crimson dyes ; 
She beams in every drop of dew, 
And throws her rainbow o’er the skies. 
On mount, wood, valley, river,—all, 
Her smiles of bright enchantment fall! 
Hers are the blossomings of Spring, 
And hers the golden autumn fruit ; 
’ We see her on the insect’s wing, 
And trace her in the tenderest shoot. 
She fires the thought, she thrills the soul, 
And binds the heart with sweet control ! 
She sporteth ’mid the Arctic snows, 
And buildeth there her crystal towers ; 
She roameth where the Indus flows, 
And scattereth there her saffron flowers. 
She showers her gifts o’er dale and hill, 
On ocean, isle, and mountain rill! 
Deep, deep in subterranean cave 
She sleeps, unseen by mortal eye; 
Beneath, the blue, transparent wave— 
Above, the bright, unclouded sky ; 
In olive groves and sapphire cells— 
In sea, sky, earth, and Heaven she dwells ! 
From Hogg’s Instructor, 

