tree to tree, so that all passage through the row was blocked. "Now," said the chief pigeon-catcher, "the birds at this season come flying from the north to go to Spain, and they keep near the tops of the hills. Well, suppose a flock coming now; they see the trees, and will fly over them--if it wasn't for the _pigeonier_." "The _pigeonier_! what is that?" "We're going to show you." And he shouted to the boy in the crow's nest, "Now Jacques!" Up immediately sprang the urchin, shouting like a possessed person--waving his arms, and at length launching into the air a missile which made an odd series of eccentric flights, like a bird in a fit. "That is the pigeonier," said the fowler; "it breaks the flight of the birds, and they swoop down and dash between the trees--so." He gave a tug to a short cord, and immediately the wall of nets, which was balanced with great stones, fell in a mass to the ground. "Monsieur will be good enough to imagine that the birds are struggling and fluttering in the meshes." [Illustration: MARBLE WORKS AT BAGNERRE.] At Bagnerre there is a marble work--that of M. Géruset--which I recommend every body to visit, not to see marble cut, although that is interesting, but to pay their respects to, I believe, the grandest dog in all the world--a giant even among the canine giants of the Pyrenees. I have seen many a calf smaller than that magnificent fellow, who, as you enter the yard, will rise from his haunches, like a king from his throne, and, walking up to you with a solemn magnificence of step which is perfect, will wag his huge tail, and lead you--you cannot misunderstand the invitation--to the counting-house door. For vastness of brow and jaw--enormous breadth and depth of chest, and girth of limb, I never saw this creature equalled. The biggest St. Bernard I ever came across was almost a puppy to him. A tall man may lay his hand on the dog's back without the least degree of stoop; and the animal could not certainly stand erect under an ordinary table. "I suppose," I said to the clerk who showed me the works, "you have had many offers for that dog?" "My employer," he replied, "has refused one hundred pounds for him. But, even if we wished, we could not dispose of him: he is fond of the place and the people here; so that, though we might sell him, he wouldn't go with his new master; and I would like to see any four men in Bagnerre try to force him."