Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/105

92 wild birds of his own species. It is strange how tame birds excite the animosity of wild ones of their own tribe. It would seem almost as if they were considered false to their clan, or traitors to their family, in having gone over to the stronger party. Our raven never cared what man could do to him; but when he was pounced upon by a wild raven, his terror and excitement were extreme. This was more frequently the case than would have seemed likely, considering the scarcity of these birds. They generally came singly; but one morning we were alarmed by a terrible commotion in the yard, and learned afterwards that no fewer than six ravens had attacked our poor bird. He looked very small all the rest of the day, kept his feathers tight about him, and quite forgot to say, “What’s matther wi’ ye!”

If our raven did not die the death of a hero, his last end was still strangely characteristic of his life, though very mournful to relate. For a long course of misdeeds, retribution came at length. An old barn-door cock, an unusually large bird, who had persecuted him for some time, one day, seizing him unawares, so blinded and mangled poor Ralf that he was unable to defend himself; and when at last borne away by his ruthless enemy, was heard muttering, with more than wonted pathos, “What’s matther wi’ ye!”

The funeral of the raven was conducted with much solemnity, a clergyman then on a visit to our family being requested to officiate. He was interred amongst the old trees of a rookery, a large company of juvenile mourners attended, and many tears were shed around his grave.

this time last year, I had several reasons for spending a winter abroad, not the least of which was economy.

The question was, “Where shall I eat husks?”

The answer was, some cheerful place where there was something to be seen, and where amusement, and perhaps everything beyond bed, board, and washing, might be had for nothing. This was required by my finances—and so I chose Paris.

I had turned over in my mind all the English haunts on the Continent, but none of them were very attractive to my John Bull ideas; for, though I had travelled a good deal as a soldier, I had not as yet set foot on the Continent. Some of the haunts were too far off. In some there was nothing whatever to do; in others nothing whatever to see; and in not a few neither the one nor the other—two great drawbacks for an idler. It is very tantalising to have to look on at the best of games; but a man must look on when he cannot afford to play. This was my fate.

Brussels would have attracted me, for, by all accounts, it is a nice clean town, not very expensive, and the brave Belgians are not more un-English than the usual run of foreigners. But there were at that time two or three very agreeable English families of my acquaintance residing in the place, and this turned me against Brussels. They would not have been glad to see me, nor I them.

And so I chose Paris, apparently not a good choice for a man bent on economy; but I heard that Paris was like London in one respect—a man could live as he liked in either place, and have no question asked as to the how and the where. Let a bachelor keep out of the Rue St. Honoré, and mount five pair of stairs instead of two, and he may live in Paris as cheap as he chooses. At any rate, I would try Paris, and if it was too expensive, I could always retreat, shut myself up in Dieppe, or some other place on the coast, and stand a siege as long as the supplies lasted.

So one morning I packed up my things, and was in Paris the same evening. I was driven to an hotel recommended to me by an Englishman during the passage in the steamer; but as the worst room in the house was three francs and a-half a day, without attendance, I started off the following morning in search of a lodging more suited to my finances. I had the choice of either living in a room in an hotel, which in France—and I am speaking more particularly of hotels for the French,—is nothing more than a large lodging-house, with the privilege of dining in the house or not; or I might take an apartement, which is a suite of rooms with a kitchen, furnished and let by the week or month, or unfurnished and let by the term. This was rather more than required; and besides, the next term being in January, I could not enter at once as I wished. After trailing through half Paris on foot, wheels being out of the question, it was evident that I should be driven to an hotel at last. And even here it was difficult to find anything suiting at once my needs and my means: most of the rooms that fitted the latter were wretched dens at the top of the house; some were quite among the tiles, and, though airy, were far from clean. On the same landing with, and next door to not a few, there were odd-looking women, with large ragged families. Up to this time I had laboured under the impression that a Frenchwoman managed not to have more than three children, but this is a mistake au cinquiéme. At the end of a week I was still in the room at three francs and a half a day, and on the point of commencing a retreat to the coast, when in one of my expeditions in search of a home, I entered into conversation with a gentlemanly-looking person in a cocked hat, long blue cloak, and sword. The lady who became my landlady said that it was le bon Dieu that sent me to her hotel; but I found out shortly afterwards that the gentlemanly-looking person was a policeman. He informed me that there was an excellent hotel in the Rue des Mathurins, kept by a friend of his who had been three years in England, and who spoke English; and at that hotel I should find every comfort. “The English spoken” was not a great recommendation, though the comfort of hearing one’s language spoken in foreign lands may not actually appear in the bill, it always puts forty per cent. on every other item.

However, I went to the address, and found the Hôtel d’Ici Bas a respectable-looking house. The landlord spoke English, certainly, but broken into very little pieces, and Madame was a well-dressed